#this is very targeted towards two particular people I wonder if anyone can tell

[tiredsystem-r-us]

Tfw you’re simmering in a friendly platonic ‘i wanna be friends with you’ type of crush but you’ve never had proper online friends before and so you’re like ‘aaa how’ and awkward but also they are friends with each other and write you favorite fics for a certain fandom and you follow them on tumblr and reblog there stuff a lot and one has a kofi tier that lets you into their discord and you’re sitting there like ‘hhhhh can I afford to pay to potentially slide into their circle aaaa’ and ranting to your friend about it now

[hongism]

05 - j.wooyoung + lingerie (18+)

» j.wooyoung x gn!reader » 18+ dni if minor, nsfw/pwp » language, feminization, lap dancing, strip tease, bratty wooyoung, manual stimulation, grinding, cum eating, dirty talk, finger sucking » wc 3.3k » link to masterlist

you’ve almost come to the conclusion that tonight was a complete and utter waste of time when your eyes pause in their subtle search across the room. it’s fast, and you almost miss him because of how quickly you’re surveying the club, but you have to backtrack at the sight of the pink head of hair. it’s not too out of the ordinary — not for a club like this one at least, and frankly, the face connected to the stark hair entrances you more than the hair does. the friend at your side seems to notice where your gaze keeps lingering, elbow careening into your ribs seconds later.

“like what you see over there?” she giggles, most likely amused by how you jolt and startle with the contact.

“he’s pretty,” you mutter back as you strain your neck a little to catch sight of the rest of him. he’s not up on a stage with the other dancers, not wrapped around a pole or anything like that, so you can’t get a full and clear view of what he’s wearing.

“he doesn’t perform with the others, i hear. solo performer, and only does private shows.”

sure, there’s a stack of money set aside for this particular reason, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to cave and spend it all on this one man.

you aren’t.

it’s not going to stop you from getting up and going over there to get a better look at him.

“i’ll be back,” you mutter, picking up your wallet and drink with the same hand. you’re hoping it won’t look obvious to your friend, but the laugh that follows your movements is telling enough.

“have fun!”

you step through the crowd of couches that are mostly full of older men and women, apologizing each time you cross in front of them and accidentally block their view of the dancers. your target hasn’t moved, still lingering near the bar with a drink set in front of him as he also indulges in the sight of the dancers on stage. you’re almost fooled into believing that he’s simply a client here and not actually a worker, but there’s a certain sway to his hips and head against the music thumping through the club that says otherwise. he moves his body too well even with subtle and small movements. elbows propped up on the bar counter behind him, a lollipop dangling from his fingertips and periodically going up to catch on his tongue, and that pretty pink hair bouncing with each movement he makes. you’re enticed in an instant.

the obscenity of his outfit doesn’t help one bit either. and perhaps obscenity is a bit too strong a word to describe it, but your brain goes to static and white noise the more you see of him, and it’s easy to see why that is. a sheer lavender crop top that does nothing to hide the lace bralette underneath, along with a pretty plaid skirt that tapers his waist almost too well, belts and buckles hanging from both sides and jingling when he sways his hips in time with the music. the further down your eyes go, the more overwhelmed you get because he’s got fishnets (of course) that lead to chunky black combat boots. he looks simultaneously quite out of place here while also seeming like there’s no other logical place for him to be. your steps towards him falter a little; it’s no wonder that he doesn’t have anyone at his side right now. he’d outshine them without even trying, and the air around him feels a bit untouchable as well like he’s too good for anyone’s presence except his own and the bartender behind him. the thought to turn around and return to your friend like a dog with its tail between its legs crosses your mind. that’s all it does though because as you shift to act on that thought, sharp eyes snap over to meet yours across the bar counter.

opposite ends of the spectrum, separated by at least ten barstools if not more, plenty of other people in front of him to look at, yet the dancer cranes his head in your direction and makes eye contact. 

your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, an act more out of nerves than meant to be seductive in the slightest. 

there’s no direct invitation to go further towards him. really all he does is incline his head slightly, and you take it as a cue to step around the barstools and walk over to where he’s tapping his chunky boot against the floor.

“hi.”

you startle upon hearing his clear tone, although you aren’t wholly sure why that’s the case. 

“hello,” you greet in return. you keep your glass caught firmly between your fingers as you sit in the barstool beside him. he looks even prettier in this light — with blinking up at him from where you sit and the neon lights cascading over his face and hair. there’s a stunning beauty mark under his eye, and another on his lower lip under the sheen of pink lip gloss. something sparkles under his eyes and in the inner corners, what you can only assume to be eyeshadow and glitter. 

“i caught your eye, huh?”

there’s a twinge of embarrassment that shoots through your body, and you duck your chin to your chest, clearing your throat as quietly as you can like it’ll dispel the nerves accompanied by the feeling. 

“cute,” the man continues. his sweet tone is almost like honey, or some syrup that tastes like it could be too much after a certain point. “wanna buy my time then?”

the offer comes so quickly that you’re a bit shocked. all these people in the club and yet not one has approached him? or accepted his offer? it seems far too unbelievable.

“you’re not gonna ask me anything first? my name, my age, anything like that?”

he laughs for the first time tonight, and you think you’ll grow to love that sound by the end of it. the lollipop pushes back between his lips only for him to make a show of how he swirls his tongue around the ball of candy. when he pulls it back out, it springs free with a lewd pop in its wake.

“you’re the first one tonight who’s stopped me to ask that. most just jump straight to it. i’m wooyoung. and you?”

“y/n.”

“hmm, it’ll sound prettier coming from my lips later.”

your brain buffers and hits a wall. you lose whatever thought was lingering in your mind, and wooyoung has the audacity to flash a grin and send a wink your way.

“you’re in luck tonight, y/n. i only start taking clients at ten o’clock, and it’s two minutes past ten right now.” a strobe of neon red flashes over his face, illuminating his eyes in a way that makes your heart jump in your chest. “assuming you want me, that is,” he adds through a stretched grin, and you wouldn’t dream of denying him the pleasure of hearing your affirmation.

“yes, i’d like that quite a bit.”

wooyoung leads you off to the side of the club, where the hallway of private rooms begins, and he wastes no time in bringing you into the nearest unlocked one. you’ve got your wallet still clasped between nervous hands, but your drink was long forgotten on the bar counter you found wooyoung at. it’s fairly standard for this type of room, nothing to gawk at or make note of aside from the metal pole that stretches up to the ceiling. you’re certain your attention will be firmly planted on wooyoung throughout the entirety of your stay here, so you aren’t worried much about making yourself at home.

the dancer seems keen on the same as well, or at least he’s excited to get started. knowing how much money you’ve got in your wallet, you can’t blame him for the excitement. he turns to face you after shutting and locking the door, skirt billowing around his thighs a little. you think you see a flash of lace underneath, tucked under the fishnets, but that could very well be merely a wistful thought and nothing else. 

“lay down,” he demands, motioning to the short round table right in front of the couches.

“um…” you blink from the white surface to wooyoung’s serious expression. 

“what? never had a lap dance before?” he quirks a brow and flashes another dastardly grin, and you hate the way your stomach flips over at the sight of it.

“not one where i’ve had to lay down, no.” 

wooyoung huffs out a laugh and pops his lollipop back into his mouth. he steps around your awkward, still form to put one of his feet up on the pristine white surface. the boot releases a hollow noise when it hits the table.

“oh, you’ll love it, i promise. now come on, on your back, legs relaxed. i’ll make it worth your while. and your money too, we hope.” 

wooyoung’s little tilt to his chin and the soft bats of his lashes are what convince you to do as told. you slip your shoes off next to the couch and tuck your wallet away in one of them lest wooyoung has the bright idea to make off with all your belongings. then you scramble over the slick surface to lay flat atop it, eyeing wooyoung as he hums and steps up fully on the table over you. his feet straddle your body, right in the gap between your hands and hips, and he pushes that stupid lollipop back between his lips.

“here are my rules, y/n. no touching, no kissing on the lips, no marking, and no demands. you’re here for a show, so i’ll give you one. and maybe i’ll use you to get off a little too? what do you say?”

you suck your lower lip between your teeth, contemplating his words and rolling them over in your mind a bit.

“and if i say no?”

“then i’ll give you a simple lap dance, and that’ll be that. and don’t worry. if i cum… i’ll clean up after myself. you don’t have to do any work really, if you don’t want to.”

“if i don’t want to?” you echo your question.

“how do you feel about sucking my fingers?”

your dumb and stuttered blinking are answer enough for him, and wooyoung leans over to the couch, balancing on one foot as he stretches to reach for something on the cushions. the position give you a far too direct view straight up his skirt. you get confirmation that you did indeed spot lace — a matching set with his pink bralette it seems on top of that.

the music that begins to thump through the speaks is foreign to you, not a song you’ve ever heard before, but the beat is sultry enough for you to understand why wooyoung would play this.

and truly, when he starts to move above you, you fully understand the appeal of this angle. getting to watch the way his skirt sways and teases what’s underneath as his cropped top flutters with his winding movements — it’s a heady feeling being under him and seeing this unfold over you.

wooyoung does his job, and he does it well in only a few swaying moves that promise more to come. if you had to make a comparison, you’d say it’s like watching art in motion, an exhibit where the artist shows you each stroke and twist of his brush. that’s wooyoung now, with the showcase of how he stretches his arms to the ceiling and brings them down the front of his body. the dim lighting in the room does nothing to make the mood less than what it is — pure seduction at its finest, and wooyoung is quickly bringing you down that pit of lust with him. you only know that’s where he’s headed as well because of how his skirt begins to tent a little as time goes on, evidence to how turned on he is by merely dancing to the music. he hasn’t gotten down far enough to even have physical contact with you, but with the way he’s moving now, you aren’t sure he’ll even get that far either.

he does go lower as the song shifts, beat still unfamiliar against your ears, but you’re barely hearing the music beyond how the bass thumps through your veins. as his knees settle on either side of you, close to your waist now and closing in just enough to squeeze you with a hair of pressure, his hands move up under the fabric of his top. they press higher and higher, catching on the hem and tugging as he reaches his neck. your eyes burn like you haven’t blinked in ages, and to be frank, you most likely haven’t because the grip wooyoung has on your focus currently occupies every fiber of your being.

wooyoung works the shirt off, tossing the sheer material over to the side. the look of his tanned skin with blush pink lace overtop clinging to him like a vice under the low lights: it’s sin in its purest form. and that sin only amplifies as he draws his hands down to the waistband of his skirt. he teases and pulls at the material, still lost somewhere between his mind and the music. one of his hands works back up his chest and throat, and when he reaches his mouth, he pulls the lollipop stick out to reveal a now empty stick that is also promptly tossed in the same direction his shirt went. 

“aren’t i pretty, y/n?” he asks all of a sudden. he’s not looking at you, not with the way his eyelids are barely shut, but it captures all your attention nonetheless. “pretty and feminine, hm? some people think i don’t dance as well as the girls out on the stages. but i’m just as pretty as them, aren’t i?”

“more,” you exhale without thinking.

“more,” he echoes back to you with an airy giggle to accompany it. his hands go to the side of his skirt, grabbing onto something on the left, and two seconds later he’s pulling away the entire strip of fabric in one swift movement. you inhale so sharply it stings your nostrils and aches in your chest, and wooyoung takes that as the opportune moment to roll his hips down against your abdomen. it’s not meant for your please, not in the slightest, but you still feel the coil of arousal in your gut snap and pull at itself as he repeats the motion and rubs his barely concealed erection against your stomach. “i’m always prettier than them, y/n.”

wooyoung’s eyes snap open at last, and he drops his skirt to the side before sitting up on his knees over you. the position is nothing if not lewd with how close to your face he is like this. you don’t have much time to think about it because he’s tugging the band of his fishnets down as well, shoes still caught on his feet so there’s no way they’ll go all the way off, but that doesn’t seem to be his intention anyway.

no, wooyoung just tugs them low enough to go under his knees, then he’s back to sitting on his heels and splaying his thighs to the side. the whole thing is a show: each piece of clothing, each drag of his hands, and every word from his lips. 

it continues with him pressing his hand against your chin, then teasing your lower lip with his middle and pointer fingers.

“you know… people always call me a brat. a bratty little bitch, to be specific. they aren’t wrong, of course. but they mean it as an insult whereas i take it as a compliment.” you suck wooyoung’s fingers between your lips and let him explore your mouth with the pads of them. he makes a show of stretching the insides of your cheeks, stabbing against them and watching your skin bulge under the pressure, then he’s pinching your tongue and scraping his nails over the top of it. it tickles in a pleasurable way, the kind that makes your stomach knot up and tense with lust. “i think i’m prettiest when i cum though. and that’s not something i let a lot of people see. they always get handsy even after i tell them not to. think that because i’m all subby and docile, they can break my rules.”

you watch in something of a daze as wooyoung reaches his other hand down to the lace lingerie clinging to his cock. he grips hard enough for you to see the harsh outline of his member, strained and stretching the fabric like it’s about to break. his slow rolls and sways of his hips continue even as he fucks into the palm of his own hand. you don’t think you could move or touch him even if you wanted to right now. each limb feels like it weighs ten tons.

“call me pretty again, y/n. a pretty little brat, yeah?” 

you can’t very well do that with his hand halfway down your throat like it is now, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. all that comes out are muffled moans caught on wooyoung’s fingers. he laughs, throwing his head back as the sound permeates the air, and you were right. you love the sound even more now when he’s a bit breathless and hoarse from arousal, hips canting against your abdomen still as he pushes himself closer to the edge.

“gonna cum, y/n, and make a pretty mess of myself. pay good attention to me please. i want you to see every second of it.” his eyes blaze with unbridled desire as he rubs over his panties a few more times. teeth sink into his lower lip, his nose scrunches up, eyes fighting to stay open and stay on yours without blinking. then he hits his high. it’s beautiful the way he falls apart over you, how his hips stutter and give a few jerky thrusts until his whole body goes still on top of yours. you think you have to agree with him too; this is the prettiest he’s looked all night in your eyes. 

it lasts either ten seconds or ten minutes — you have no concept of time right now, too enamored with the man above you and every movement he makes.

when he does come down, there are stars in his eyes and a sheen on his brow that trickles down the side of his face to his chin. he pulls his hand out of your mouth, but you can’t even bring yourself to close it as you watch him tuck the same hand into his underwear and scoop the stain of translucent white cum out. 

“taste for me?”

you manage a shaky nod, letting wooyoung return his hand to your lips, and when he cups your mouth gently, you poke your tongue out to lap the cum off his palm. 

“hm, now wasn’t that good? better than promised, in fact?”

“y-yeah,” you exhale, finally finding your voice after god knows how long of shocked and aroused silence. wooyoung grins. he leans over you, all but bare chest pressing to your clothed one, and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin with ease. his face hovers over yours. you can see his eyes clearer than ever.

“how about we go again then?”

[bitches-who-write]

As I Say (Part 2) Henry Bowers

Part 2 is finally here of @lazzs request!

Upcoming: Vic part 3, Belch part 4

Word count: 1,539

Warnings- Foul language, Very derogatory name calling, Sexual themes implied, Aggressive behavior.

Warnings: Foul language, Very offensive name calling, Sexual themes implied, Aggressive behavior… You’ve been warned!

Henry’s POV: 

I’ve been eyeing Y/N for a few weeks now. Taking in the way she clutches onto her books tightly to her chest as she rushes to class; head down avoiding eye contact, always hiding behind her hair and loose- fitting clothes. I notice the way she stutters and blushes when she's made to give a presentation in front of the  class. Biting her bottom lip and fidgeting as she’s on the spot. Even when she’s with those loser friends of hers, she’s so fucking quiet... so self conscious.

It makes her the perfect target. After watching her for a bit, it’s given me a few ideas of what I  want to do with this little slut. She seems so innocent it’d be fun to corrupt her.

-End POV- 

Y/N is pretty  self conscious  when it comes to wearing swimsuits in front of people. Even your everyday clothing is on the baggy side. It’s just not something you’re super comfortable with for no reason in particular.   You had just spent a nice afternoon at the beach. You purposely chose a less crowded beach that rarely anyone even goes to just to avoid others. You even went as far as to go alone just for the alone time so you could relax.  You left the house pretty early, around 10am and spent the entire day there but accidentally lost track of time. When you checked the time now, it was reading 4:30pm.  You make your way to the restroom/ changing area, switch out of your swimsuit and put on a loose fitting, casual black dress that ended just above your knee and slipped on your  flip flops. You quickly ball up your towel and swimsuit, throwing  it all in your bag and begin walking home. Since you had headphones in listening to music, you didn't even hear (or notice) Patrick sneaking up behind you. He grabs you from behind, covering your mouth as he pulls you back. Your legs trying to kick out but doing nothing to help you.  You still have no clue who this was and where you were being dragged off to.  It was not until you were turned harshly and tossed into a car. Your practicaly face-plant onto someone's lap.  You quickly realized it was Patrick who grabbed you),  along with Belch (the driver), and Vic in the backseat (who unfortunately you fell on)  but surprisingly no Henry.  Your face still on Vic’s lap makes the guys laugh; especially when Vic grabs you by the hair and purposely  bobs your head up and down, pretending as if you were performing a sexual act on him.  You struggle out of his grip and fall back into Patrick who catches you and stabilizes you to catch your balance. 

Y/N’s POV: 

Too nervous to ask any questions, Patrick smirks knowingly and answers the questions I have in my head. “Don’t worry too much, princess… Henry just wants to see you. It won't be all that bad… unless you don’t listen. Then that’s a different story, princess” He chuckles darkly as the fear spreads across my face even more. I cower between  Vic and Patrick who are smirking at me as they sandwich me in between them. Patrick puts his hand under my dress, rubbing my bare thigh like the perv he is. I try my best to remain calm but the fear takes over and I begin to tremble.  I keep my head down silently crying,  trying to hide my tears and blushing face; feeling embarrassed to have them see or hear me crying like this; but it’s too late.. Being stuck between them, they felt me trembling from crying.  That only made them laugh more at my expense and mock me with “awws”.  Vic chuckles and puts his arm around my shoulder.  He leans forward to look at Patrick and up in the rearview mirror to look at  Belch, too.  “No wonder why Henry likes this one, just look at her.” He pulls me to his side tighter, looking down at me as I continue to cower. Vic  smiles with satisfaction knowing he’s intimidating me.  After what feels like forever, we pull up to the Barrens.  Patrick hops out of the car, yanking me out behind him and grabbing the bag I have with me. He shoves me harshly towards a smirking Henry who is sitting on a rock and smoking a cigarette.  “Got her for ya Henry… Have fun.”  With that, he winks and walks back to the car.  The 3 took off, tired screeching,  leaving only me and Henry together alone.

Henry eyes me up and down as he walks around me. Kind of like how animals circle their prey. His lips curl up into a creepy smile as he says, “hey slut, I’ve been waiting for you.”  I finally worked up the courage to speak. “W-Wh-What do you w-want?” I crooke out, gulping in fear. He ignores my question and continues to gawk at me. Finally he speaks up. “I want to see that body of yours.”  My eyes widened as instant panic filled my body.  What does he mean “see my body”?? I’ve never done anything or dressed in a way  to give off the impression that I want sexual attention from him before so why me?  There were plenty of girls who throw themselves at the Bower’s Gang but not me! I blush and keep my head down.  “W-What do you mean, Henry?” I whisper nervously. He tilts my head up using his pointer finger and thumb to direct my chin up.  His eyes meet mine.  They look cold yet excited at the same time.  He then  grabs my bag, rummaging through it until he pulls out my swimsuit and smirks. 

Henry walks closer to me, shoving the swimsuit into my chest. “Put it on..now” he demanded with an authoritative tone. I looked up at him hesitantly  “B-but- I..I really don’t want to..” I say pleadingly as my voice trails off  but Henry has no remorse for me. He grabs me tightly by my ponytail, yanking me down and begins to drag me on the dirt ground. I’m half in the fetal position now, trying to cover my head; wincing at the pain. “I SAID FUCKING PUT IT ON, CUNT! You have two seconds before I cut that dress off you!” He warns, still holding me down by my hair; my head tilted back so I’m forced to look at him, while his knee holds down my body. He lets up as I begin to cooperate, frantically shaking my head yes as tears well up in my eyes. I pull the bottoms on. Luckily my dress covers me, giving me some form of privacy there, but the top is a different story.  I freeze knowing he’s watching my every move. I go to turn so my back is to him, hoping to  hide my chest at least but as soon as I begin to move, his harsh voice yells out. “Did I fuckin’ say you can turn away? You should be used to this slut. From what I hear, practically the whole town has seen you….now it’s my turn. I’m not asking you Y/N, I’m telling you.” He says, smirking once more. Again, I hesitantly freeze but after his prior outburst I certainly don’t want to upset him further.  My face becomes bright red as I remove my dress, only in my swimsuit bottoms. I try to block my chest by turning my elbows inwards as I tie the back of the bikini top. Once I’m dressed, I stand there with my arms folded and head down. 

Henry takes my arms and puts them to my side. He then trails his calloused hands down my arms and to the sides of my waist.. I shiver and flinch, making him laugh knowing he has full control over the situation.  He takes a step back and proceeds to take out a camera. What the hell? I think to myself. He then grabs me by my hair again and yaks me down to my knees. I close my eyes not knowing what to expect but then I hear the shudder of the camera go off. I slowly open my eyes again, looking up at Henry confused. He slowly turns the camera towards me to show me the photo. 

Due to the angle, the picture looked extremely suggestive.  It looked like something straight out of a porno because of the position Henry placed me in.   My eyes are red and tear-filled.  “You look so good on your knees for me.”  He said, using his thumb to wipe a tear away. “And now I know how these eyes will tear up when you’re gagging on my cock later.” 

After a few more sexual comments were made, Henry then warned me what I have to do for him.  If I don’t submit to his demands, he will use that provocative photo of me as blackmail and God knows what else he will do. It is Henry fucking Bowers we’re talking about here and you have to do as he says, afterall.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 8

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “You have become the only one in the universe who can claim to uniquely know him.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,002

Warnings: fluffy fluff, some plot, swearing, reunions, soft!Din, Kuiil thinks Cupid is a fool, Kuiil’s backstory from canon, surprisingly little angst (it shocked me too)

Author Note: I want to apologize to those on the tag list not getting notified. I have no idea why Tumblr isn’t cooperating and I feel horrible about it. I love each and every one of you who spares time to read this segment/series and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season.

Links to Part 1 and Part 7 and Part 9

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

The next morning you find Kuiil outside welding together two pieces of metal at his workbench. IG-11 tends to the small herd of blurrg the Ugnaught keeps in a large pen, feeding the two-legged creatures their breakfast. Although you were initially wary, the former assassin droid has been nothing but kind to you, if not a little obsessive about checking the bandage on your head every few hours.

“IG was explicitly warned by Death what would happen if your health declined in his absence,” Kuiil had informed you the previous evening when your attempt to stop the droid’s incessant fretting failed.

“He’s such a worrywart,” you muttered as IG-11 scanned your temperature, heart skipping a beat as it always does when you think about Din’s protective nature. There’s something unbelievably attractive about him making threats when it came to your wellbeing.

“A worrywart who left his gunship in my yard.” Kuiil aimed a sharp look towards the entrance of his home, as if he could see the Razor Crest from this distance.

You snorted a laugh at him calling Arvala-7’s desert landscape a yard of all designations, only for the rest of his sentence to register a beat later, making your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Wait, what? He seriously left the Crest here? Why would he do that?”

“The quicker his trip to Nevarro, the quicker he returns to your side,” was the response, accompanied with a shrewd look implying you were a fool for asking such a question.

Your Ugnaught host reminds you of a grandfather figure; a bit prickly and blunt at times, but ultimately kindhearted and selfless at his core, wanting only what’s best for those in his care. Between his insistence you keep resting in his bed and IG-11’s nurse programming, you no longer wonder why Din chose to leave you with them, thoroughly convinced you’re receiving better around-the-clock care than most people experience in medcenters.

Kuiil turns when you approach him, pushing his goggles back to the top of his cap as he clicks off the welding torch, eyes giving you a cursory once-over. You feel better than you had yesterday, both headache and dizziness gone, and he must sense that since his head dips in a firm nod, satisfied with what he sees.

“Good morning,” you greet, smiling.

“Morning,” he replies. His expression turns repentant, eyebrows lowering. “My apologies for waking you, but I could not let these repairs remain unfinished.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head up towards the sky, enjoying the warmth of the early sunshine after spending the entire previous day cooped inside his home. “I’m supposed to report back to headquarters later today, so I needed to be up anyways.”

Hearing the words out loud grounds the upcoming meeting in reality. It’s really happening. Hours from now, you're going to have to tell your bosses everything, now including your new title as Din’s soulmate. Maker, you can just imagine Hess staring you down with those beady, rat-like eyes of his, asking question after question about you and Din.

And if Hess was serious before on the comlink—and you highly doubt the bastard’s ever told a joke in his life—then there is also the very real prospect of Moff Gideon being there to take part in your interrogation.

“Are you alright?” Kuiil asks, noticing how pale you’ve become. Without waiting for an answer, he ushers you over to a nearby stool. You sit, mouth opening to reassure him you’re fine, only to be startled by the knowing glint in his eyes. “I recognize your anxious face from my years as an indentured servant. You fear punishment from your superiors.”

Your eyes widen, stomach suddenly feeling hollow. “You were a servant?”

“From my birth until my hundredth year, yes.” The nauseous feeling intensifies. You knew Ugnaughts typically lived up to two-hundred years, meaning Kuiil had lived half of his lifetime in servitude. “Earning my freedom did not occur without harsh discipline.”

You draw in a shaky breath at that. It feels wrong, being worried about meeting with your bosses when there are others, such as Kuiil, who have endured far worse horrors.

“Those with power think it comes from weapons and control over others through means of fear and violence,” he continues, returning the welding torch to its proper placement in his toolbox. “True power comes from the strength of one’s hope. It allows you to believe in a better future for yourself and so long as you cling to it, no enemy can break your spirit.”

His rumbling baritone washes over you, calming the worst of your worries. You press your thumb against your soulmate marking, a nervous habit that has developed since you first saw it yesterday. You’ve become addicted to the warmth the mark emanates as it reassures you you’re not hallucinating its appearance.

“I just keep thinking about what their reactions are going to be when I tell them about me and him being together,” you confess, feeling shy as you duck your chin to avoid eye contact.

“Are you embarrassed of Death being your soulmate?”

Your head snaps back up, shocked by his bluntness. “What? No. Din means everything to me.”

The words seem too loud against the quiet atmosphere of the planet. They reverberate off seemingly every surface—the desert rocks, the Razor Crest’s steel paneling and the metal roof on Kuiil’s home—echoing for miles in every direction. Despite knowing that isn’t truly possible, you are unable to stop yourself from wincing.

“You gave Death a name?” Kuiil’s bafflement is visible in the way his head tilts, looking at you in a way that is reminiscent of Omera’s puzzled expression back on Sorgan.

"I didn’t.” You shake your head, for some reason feeling the need to clarify, “He named himself. It’s just something for me to call him when we’re around mortals.”

“I have known Death many decades now,” he begins, sounding no less confused despite your explanation. “He’s quite...particular about the mortal traditions he chooses to adopt, such as appearing as a human male and piloting a gunship.”

“Yeah, I know how picky he can be,” you say slowly, not understanding what his point is.

“Not once has he ever felt compelled to use a mortal name because, in his opinion, names establish ties."

“What does that mean?”

“Without a name, he is but another stranger amongst trillions of beings, unrecognized and unmissed,” Kuiil explains, and you find yourself leaning forward, elbows on your knees. “By giving you a name to call him by, he has tied himself to you in a way he has not permitted anyone else. You have become the only one in the universe who can claim you uniquely know him.”

“Huh.” You let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of your heartbeat pounding deafeningly in your eardrums as it begins to sink in just how monumental the gift of Din’s name truly is. “Well how bout that.”

And the shrewd look from last night makes a reappearance, conveying once again how foolish he thinks you are.

“I have spoken.”

~~

People tend to forget a Cupid’s bow is first and foremost a weapon of defense. Comprised of wood from a Brylark tree, sinew from orbaks, and a thin layer of a mudhorn’s horn, it can be compared to Din’s armor in that it is virtually indestructible. A Cupid carries two types of arrows: one made from kyber crystal meant to lighten one’s emotions or, on rare occasions, induce lust, and the other one made from a kyber crystal coated in ichor, meant to inflict harm against enemies. Once a target is hit, the effects are instantaneous and the arrow vanishes in a burst of sparkling light, regenerating in your quiver seconds later.

You underwent rigorous training to learn how to become a master of archery. Your bow is bound to your Cupid abilities, capable of being summoned to your aid and dismissed with a mere thought. You were taught how to control your breathing, learning that the expanding and contracting of your chest cavity during a shot can ruin your aim. Missing a target is one of the worst mistakes a Cupid can commit, meaning you must make every single shot count.

All that to say, Cupids are fierce archers as much as they are dedicated matchmakers.

They are also dangerous when startled unexpectedly.

You’re in the middle of tidying up Kuiil’s tiny kitchen space, a task you had insisted upon after he’d served you a delicious lunch, humming to yourself quietly as you scrub at the dishes when hands wrap around your waist, pulling you backwards towards someone’s chest.

You react completely on instinct, teleporting out of their hold and reappearing on the other side of the room, bow ready with an ichor arrow aimed directly at the assailant. It is only when the meager light of the nearby lantern reflects off their beskar helmet do you realize who you’re facing.

Immediately you lower and dismiss your weapon before pressing a hand over your chest where your heart is fluttering like a trapped bird. “I’m so sorry, Din,” you tell him, limbs trembling as it sinks in just how close you were to shooting him. “Maker, you scared me and—and I thought I—well, I don’t know what I was thinking, just that I had to—”

In between blinks he appears in front of you, yanking his helmet off with such ferocity your words catch in your throat. You have only the slightest of seconds to glimpse the arousal darkening his brown eyes before he slips a hand behind your neck and crashes your lips together.

He kisses you as if you’re gravity and he’ll float away if he dares to spare a moment to breathe, sending a current of warmth surging through your body. You thought the mere touch of his hand had been life-altering, but it is a mere candle compared to the wildfire his lips spark. Your eyes fall shut as you kiss back with an equal amount of fervency, bringing him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck, grinning at the groan the action spurs from deep within his chest.

There is the heavy thud of his helmet striking the ground before he’s wrapping his hand around your waist, slotting a thigh between your legs to ensure every inch of your bodies are touching. Your cheeks rub against the scratchiness of his facial scruff, an invigorating burn you think you could easily become addicted to.

An embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes your lips when he pulls away a minute later. He’s never looked more attractive, mouth swollen and hair disarrayed from your roaming fingers. His hands cup your face, and it occurs to you as he swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones he isn’t wearing his gloves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, sounding slightly hoarser than usual and out of breath. His gaze roams your face, like he’s trying to re-familiarize himself with your features after the time spent apart. “Especially with your bow. When you pointed that arrow at me, there was this...fierceness in your eyes I’ve never seen before. Fuck, angel, you looked so gorgeous.”

“Seriously?” you say, raising an incredulous eyebrow, because of-kriffing-course he’d be the one being in the whole universe who is turned on by a weapon being pointed at him.

“Seriously.” He leans in, forehead pressing against yours, noses brushing. It’s hard to focus when he’s this close, like you’ve again entered that separate realm where it’s just you and him.

“Din, look,” you whisper, fighting the magnetic pull insisting you kiss him again long enough to show him your marked hand. “It’s real. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The smile that stretches across his face when he sees it is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Angel,” he says, tilting your head so the words are spoken right against your lips. “I’ve wanted to hear you say those words ever since I gave you my name.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @eleinemk​, @captain-jebi​, @aerynwrites​, @promiscuoussatan​, @stilllivindue2spite​, @coaaster​, @lin-djarin​, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

[caker-baker]

I love your super speed vs. telepathy snippets so much! Well, actually, I love all of your writing but I was really hoping you might continue it please? I would be very grateful!

The faces of the hero’s friends, cohorts, whatever one should call them, were clear in the villain’s mind, the hero had each memorized quite well.

They once again pulled at the mental track, letting go once they knew their hero was far away from whatever this place was.

Heroes didn’t always get the luxury of nicer headquarters, the villain had to admit that. If they couldn’t steal money, they must get it from their day jobs, or wherever they disappeared to when they weren’t fighting.

The clearly used pin pad showed wear on the numbers the hero had in their head, the passcode could’ve been figured out even if the villain didn’t go through their mind.

8, 5, 18, 15, 5, 19.

It corresponded with the alphabet, spelling ‘heroes’. A stupid name, a stupid passcode, even the hero thought that.

No matter.

The villain was able to walk right in, hands shoved in pockets, a grin on their face.

It was quiet in the talking sense, not extraordinary by any means. Four people in total lounged about.

Only one hero took immediate note at first. If the hero’s, now the villain’s memory served, this hero had no particular powers, but she was a skilled fighter.

And loud.

It’s the crazy villain. The others haven’t noticed. Where are their weak points? Attack first or wait?

So unorganized, this hero’s thoughts.

“Personally,” the villain began, slowly taking their hands out of their pockets. “I would attack first. It makes it easier on me.”

“Guys.” The unorganized hero said, voice stern. Her words were of no use, though, as the three others had already stood.

A thousand thoughts hit at once.

That’s not Hero.

Why hasn’t Hero come back yet?

They knew the passcode.

What did they do to Hero?

It didn’t work.

Did Hero betray us, or did Villain use them?

Not this one. Anyone but this one.

Its three against one this time.

The villain winced slightly, while the heroes had taken their fighting stances.

“Is it too many at once, Villain?” One of them taunted. Their words were brave, albeit foolish, yet their mind betrayed them.

“No point in putting on a brave face.” The villain said. “Not when I know how you really feel.”

The first attack came directly from the villain’s front - the fighter.

They knew they weren’t as good as her in physical fighting, but her strategizing skills needed polishing, especially considering the villain could hear where she planned to attack.

What was meant to be a surely vicious punch to the jaw ended up as an arm twisted behind her back.

The villain heard the next move before this fighting hero did.

Even if she didn’t realize it, she was thinking about how to get out of this on a subconscious level, her body just recognized it before her mind.

With no remorse, the villain pulled her closer, fingers on her temple, vaguely wondering why they hadn’t used this trick more often.

“Sleep.” They commanded, watching her fall to the ground.

Three other heroes had stood in silence. According to their thoughts, what she just did was incredibly reckless, incredibly unplanned. The same question did find its way to all of their minds - Will she ever wake up?

“She will.” The villain answered the unspoken worry. “Just in time to see your ruin.”

Two of the others seemed much more cautious, brute strength and the force of wind is what they had to work with. The third lingered back, not the fighting type, it seemed. They looked to be the whitecoat the villain had seen, strangely unfamiliar in an unprofessional setting.

“Where’s Hero?” The wind hero asked, slowly circling the villain along with the strong one.

“Ah, here and there. I don’t presume to know their whereabouts.” Well...

“What did you do to them?” The strong one demanded, much more hotheaded than their counterparts.

“My, oh my.” There was a strange look on the villain’s face, one the heroes didn’t care for. “I’m not using them for any ‘sick experiments’, as you are thinking, it’s not quite my style. You, however-”

An arm was wrapped around the villain’s neck, who took the opportunity to elbow the strong one in the gut. It didn’t really work, it wasn’t really meant to work, the villain just needed some sort of physical contact they initiated.

“Sleep.” The commanded, and though this one’s grip faltered they didn’t entirely let go of the villain.

Fine enough.

The wind one rushed forward, the strong arm still holding the villain, who used the anchor behind them to kick the oncoming hero.

“Sleep.” The villain commanded more harshly, feeling the grip around them weaken and fall.

At this point, the villain had to remind themselves of their strengths, the effort it took for the strong arm nearly draining them.

Still, there was only the wind one left before they could get to the whitecoat.

“You’ve seen what I can do.” The villain said, eyeing the hero who was doubled over from their kick.

“But you haven’t seen me.”

The silence of a building turned into the whistling of the winds, gusts of air flowing about in harsh and rapid movements.

“I wonder,” the villain spoke over the roaring. “if the others know of the little sordid affair you and the strong arm are having, how far you would fall from the fighter’s good graces.”

The winds died suddenly.

“You’re lying.” An aghast hero muttered, their confidence waning . “We aren’t..I wouldn’t-”

“Ah, lying to a telepath,” the villain chuckled, slowly closing the distance between them. “You know, Hero tried the same thing. Remind me where they are again?”

The wind hero staggered slightly, but was caught by a cold hand clutching the back of their neck.

“It’s much easier to do this when one is mentally beaten down.” The villain grinned. “Sleep.”

Onto the ground they went.

“Then there was one.” The villain said ominously.

The building now seemed to lack a whitecoat the villain was keen on finding, although that wasn’t really the case. The case was a scared tag along ‘hero’ used for medical expertise was hiding somewhere.

“I can hear your thoughts. Please don’t concern yourself with such fears, I just want to talk.”

The villain thought they would be kind, and wait for the whitecoat to reveal themselves before dragging them out by the collar.

It didn’t happen.

Without making a sound, the villain made their way to a small door, one meant to hold who knows what, but also one being used to hide in.

“Boo.” The villain said, opening the door.

While the whitecoat shrieked, the villain tutted.

“I told you.” They said, taking hold of a trembling collar. “I just wanted to talk.”

The second the whitecoat was heaved upward, they tried to make a dash for it, only for something hard to hit them, mentally.

“You are much easier to keep still.” The villain admitted. “You, like everyone else, are noisy. There’s more of you to take hold of. Every room I walk into is filled with people thinking bigger than life. It’s exhausting, it’s rude.”

“I-” they stammered, frozen limbs incapable of shaking. “I-I’m sorry. Is there-is there some-something I can do for you?”

The villain cocked their head. “Everyone seems to be afraid of me. There is only one who managed to keep calm throughout their fear.” They looked the whitecoat up and down once, unsatisfied with whatever they saw.

“You are smart.” The villain commented.

“Tha-thank you.”

“But so easily you yield to the voices of those heroes.” The disdain in the villain’s voice would have made the whitecoat flinch, if not for their being kept in place.

“Do you know what they felt?” The villain continued, fixing a glare on their target. “I know. I was in the hero’s head, and all they wanted was peace. Peace you denied them. It was well enough of you to send them to me, they would have died otherwise.”

“The-” the whitecoat made to defend themselves. “There was-wasn’t a ch-choice.”

“Oh, spare me your ramblings.” The villain scoffed. “No choice, it’s your job, the hero was fine with it, every pathetic excuse on your tongue is useless. Tell me, would you prefer I put you to sleep before the place blows?”

“P-pl-please, no.”

“You would rather stay in place?” The villain smiled. “How brave.”

“Villain?”

Damn, they hadn’t been paying attention to the mental track.

“Hero.” The villain greeted, not turning around to face them.

“This is why you wanted me away for a while.” The hero muttered, pieces of evidence coming together. “It would give you time to do...”

The villain still hadn’t turned to face them, but could hear the hero’s thoughts while investigating their sleeping teammates. Mainly, they were relieved none of them were dead.

Yet.

“H-hero.” The whitecoat managed to bite out.

With a withering glare from the villain, the whitecoat shut their mouth again.

“You have me in an awkward position, pet. Didn’t you promise to stay away?”

“I forgot a status report, they needed to know I was alive.”

“This one knows.” The villain said, turning their head slightly. “You should go now, pet.”

“I think I should stay.”

“I enjoy being on amicable terms with you. For the sake of staying so, I suggest you leave.” As an afterthought, the villain added, “Please.”

The whitecoat’s cogs were turning rapidly, the villain knew so, the villain hated it.

“I suggest you quell those thoughts, and quickly.” The villain snarled.

“Why are you doing this?” The hero asked, taking a slow step toward, eyes flicking between the whitecoat and the villain’s back.

“I wouldn’t try it, pet.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s a lie.”

The hero took a sharp breath. “Ok. Ok. We’re at a standstill-”

“Your speed, my mind, evenly matched throughout the passage of time. Either that, or you get lucky.” The villain sighed. “How frustrating it is.”

“So what if we just leave each other alone?”

The villain turned, quick and sharp.

“You are serious?” The villain squinted. “You are serious.” Their laugh was a horrible noise, short, taunting. “No, pet. I never fully planned on letting you be.”

“That’s fine.” It was only kind of a lie. “Just leave the rest of them alone.”

A sort of glee shone on the villain’s face. “But now they know me. I can’t quite let them live.”

The hero was slightly desperate at this point.

“Once you told me I was the only one who knew of your telepathy, it was because you took away everyone else’s memories. Do that now.” The hero’s beg was silent, the thought only meant for their head, but the villain still heard it.

The villain’s original plan was derailed, but this one was just as sweet. “Therein lies yet another problem, pet. They know you, and you know me. After each encounter, you’ll go running back to them.”

“I won’t. I won’t tell.”

“Liar.” The villain whispered, smiling.

“Then take me from their memories, too.”

There it was.

“Hero!” The whitecoat protested, their voice turning firm. “Hero, no.”

“You,” the villain rounded on them. “Stay quiet.” They turned back to the hero. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

With pursed lips, the hero answered. “I have a feeling there wasn’t much of a choice to begin with.”

“Very well.”

The whitecoat felt the invisible hold on them release, but that freedom didn’t last long. The villain was on them, and with a single word, their consciousness faded.

[the-slasher-files]

Alright allow me to overanalyze on Asa Emory’s character, if you don’t mind... 

THE COLLECTOR AND HIS DOGS

Basically this is just me nerding out over dogs and the life of having working dogs also the connection Asa might have to them, so don’t mind me. Now if you do not know I am a person who owns 3 dogs myself, is a big dog lover, have worked with many many different types and characters of dogs, and also follow different sports and clubs with dogs involved. So from experience and research this is where I get this info I'm gonna share ;) hope you enjoy my ted talk🔪💕

In the first movie The Collector Asa has a German Shepard chained up outside the home, using it as a first of many strings in protection. Later on in the movie you get a better look at the dog and what it can do; searching and wanting to lock onto a target, any target. Now this is different from protection work and leads more into a German dog sport called schutzhund. This sport is the ability to test just how good your working dog is at working, it is based from protection work, to tracking, to obedience, to bite. 

This training style is very severe in some cases, and this is what the police use for their training more often than not. It takes a very particular person to have dogs in this sport, even if it is just for fun. And we all know just how particular Asa is lol. 

Now who is the type of person to put their dogs into this? A very interesting one. First of all, anyone who is really into this work will hand pick the type of dog they want, from breed to working lines (meaning how well the dogs parents did in competition, as well as how the breeder is with other dogs). Now you can choose as well where you get these dogs from, could be from Europe to America doesn’t matter, it is up to the soon to be owners choice. Either way these dogs are expensive and need heavy hours set into them to achieve the level of training Asa has his dogs working on, and even more so in the second movie by working together. These people often have a huge thing with power and control, which we already know from Asa, but also they usually need/have extreme self-discipline wanting to be perfect in every aspect, could be a dogs position next to you if they aren’t as close that gets you fucked up because they could not defend you properly. Everything needs to be flawless. 

With all this work, self-discipline and control it can be extremely rewarding, especially for Asa in this case to see someone get their face ripped off, it is in his sadistic nature. Even having the dogs presence is often enough to intimidate anyone, in a lot of police work situations people will flee or hide somewhere if they know it is just a single officer, but once the dog gets brought in people more than likely surrender, fast and easy. If anyone of Asa’s collection pieces chooses to run or hide, the dogs can sniff out where they go, they can out run people and will bite, at least without the dogs people could have a chance. Another good thing about dogs is that they alert, if Asa is working and the dogs bark he will know exactly where that person is easily. 

So to overview what I just rambled about before getting into the next topic, Asa is a very control oriented person, needing to have power over something and be very strategic in doing so. Getting off on the intimidation and fear factor of his victims, and even more so when people get bit. These dogs are also for his own protection, caring about himself and his beautiful collection first, and maybe even caring for the double life he leads more. It also can make Asa’s life easier, not having to always make the kill himself, and this leads me to believe that it isn’t really the kill that gets him off, it is the chase, the skill he has taken and the victims skill of getting away that drives him. Almost uses the dogs in more annoyance just because people aren’t dying and getting in his way or messing with his stuff. I mentioned skill a sentence back and I want to bring it up again because I think it’s important; Asa can appreciate the skill of his victims, it makes it more thrilling but also I think he has a deep appreciation for his dogs skills, being extremely hard working and intelligent creatures, like himself and some victims. Now with the thing about Asa taking his favorites, he is trying to find the right one, the perfect one, making more sense for him to have dogs, Asa can mold his perfect dog, using only working dogs, dogs that love to please and want to be perfect for you.            

Now moving on to the next topic - Connections. So this could go two ways, a good way and a bad, no in between. The majority of people grow extreme bonds with their dogs, especially their working dogs, all the hours you put into the training and you have to trust your dog and they have to trust you. In the military specifically dogs build one of the strongest connections with the soldiers, they are their comfort because they see the same things and yet still have a wagging tail, they can save each others lives, protect one another and appreciate each other deeply for skill and for love. Now there are other people, most common in police work because the dogs can sometimes be too intense or have certain contracts but, these people don’t take their dogs home or when they are home they stay in one room or kennel mostly. Sometimes there are dogs that just can’t adapt to home life and just want to work, but sometimes they can make wonderful family and house dogs. At the same time it is up to the owner choosing what they want for the dog. 

Something strikes me with Asa that he genuinely loves his dogs but at the same time some of his actions make me think twice. In the first movie the dog is chained up away from the dangerous traps of the inside, he is protecting the dog at first, but moving along in the movie he releases the dog into the home going after Arkin. Now this is the dogs job mind you, so Asa trusts him, but also you can see a lot of traps or dangers have been removed so the dog can work safely and knows the dog is smart enough to avoid some of the obvious traps. He lets him work but also wants to help the dog, perhaps not wanting the dog to get seriously hurt or maybe just finally finishing Arkin off. Also the scene where Asa is outside and calls off the dog when he is biting a guy, again maybe for safety of the pet maybe just to watch the man struggle. Ultimately the dog dies in the first one, but Asa watches very carefully when the dog is going after Arkin, and there is almost a ‘sadness’ or maybe curiosity to Asa’s face, and I think he knows in that moment his dog is sadly dead. 

In The Collection you don’t see the dogs really work that much, you only see them barking at Abby then barging in the room with Asa, so it is hard to really see any connections. From both movies I would say Asa takes the dogs with him for the most part, takes them to ‘jobs’ and brings them to the hotel. Now at the hotel it is important to notice the dogs do not have free range or else we would see them probably a lot more. My best guess is that Asa cares for the dogs and doesn’t want them getting hurt by his traps until he knows who the people are, that’s when he loses it, literally going in all guns a blazing. When he does bring the dogs out they are only with him, aka his control and protection side coming out. Now in this scene Asa has an assault rifle that he uses in tandem with the dogs, but I noticed carefully watching the scene, Asa never shoots towards the dogs, he lets them work, again trusting them deeply, if he did shoot around not caring for them the bullets would have defiantly hit Arkin and wounded him or killed him. Of course after this scene we don’t really get to see Asa in any sort of grief, (which I really wanted lol) he is just busy trying to kill everyone else and not get caught by the cops. 

Then in the final scene of The Collection we see Asa’s home, this is like months after the events at the hotel from what I can tell, but we see no dogs, not a trace. Simply he maybe could not have gotten anymore dogs since his collection was destroyed and he doesn’t really need dogs to protect his stuff any longer, or maybe Asa did not find new dogs that he wanted yet, or just maybe they were locked in the house away in a room, keeping his house spotless. Who knows it is all up to the person watching, I don’t think they expected a dog crazy person to be diving this deep lol.

So my final thoughts. I personally think Asa really likes his dogs and they bring him good company and something to have power over in his regular life. Once you have a dog, especially dogs that take so much work and training time it is very hard for people to just stop having dogs. Also being a biologist I think he can deeply appreciate them for their intelligence and skill. If anyone says Asa would like cats you can fuck off because look what happened to the cat in the first movie, it was clumsy and got itself killed, plus look at his house, not a thing knocked over lol, a cat would never do for him. Anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk and letting me nerd out! Fill free to add your own thoughts.       

This is Aero from the first movie, a German Shepard that might be from some European lines, but looks mostly American to me.     

Now I sadly couldn’t find these dogs names, but these 2 are a little different. To me the one on the left looks like a European line longer fur german shep. While the one on the right looks like a belgian malinois maybe with some shepard in it. 

[sevens-evan]

Hey, I know I'm late but catradora 23 for the prompts list if you're feelin it. Love your fics!

superhero/supervillain au supremacy

Adora doesn’t expect to make it out alive.

She’d been warned about the bomb with literal hours to spare, and warned by the bomber herself, oddly enough. It’s planted in a police station downtown, in the basement, and they’d had time to evacuate every single person in the block before Adora went down to try to disarm it. The police had tried to convince her to let the bomb squad handle it; Adora had refused. She has Bow in her earpiece, and she’s yet to run into a piece of tech he can’t reverse engineer off a few photos and a detailed description.

Besides, if the bomb does go off, Adora might survive. She has a better chance than any normal human, at any rate, with her magically enhanced skin. Not a good chance, but at least a chance.

When Adora gets down into the basement and her earpiece fills with static, she mentally takes that chance and throws it out.

Without Bow, there’s no way Adora can defuse the bomb. But she’s seen this particular bomber’s work before, and even with the block evacuated, Adora doesn’t trust it not to kill people. There are police outside, a few reporters, bystanders gawking from behind the police tape line. All of them are in danger, unless Adora does something. Defuses the bomb, or throws herself over it, takes the blast with her own body.

That would kill her for sure. But Adora knows what her body can take, and if it comes down to it, her own death could prevent somebody else’s. So Adora stays in the basement, staring down at the wires attached to the bomb and praying that whatever’s jamming her signal to Bow will stop before the timer ticks down to zero.

“What are you still doing in here?” The voice comes from behind her, and Adora whirls around to face its source.

It’s the bomber. She’s dressed as she has been every time Adora has crossed paths with her: black spandex and maroon body armor, her whole head hidden beneath a black helmet that curves back into two points, almost like ears. The purple eyes of the helmet glow in the low light of the basement, and the voice modulator the bomber is using makes her sound robotic and dead. She hardly seems human, if not for the way her arms are crossed, fingers digging into her own biceps like she’s angry, or frustrated.

“You,” Adora says. She never calls the woman by name—she doesn’t know her real name, and she thinks that the media’s insistence on calling her Catwoman is both cartoonish and unimaginative. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“That thing is going to go off, She-ra,” the woman says, gesturing at the bomb. “There’s nothing you can do about it. Go.”

“I’ll disarm it,” Adora says. The woman tilts her head, and the glowing eyes of her helmet seem to narrow.

“You might,” she agrees, “if the signal jammer I hid inside the wall stops working suddenly. Otherwise you’re going to be doing it without your little friend in your ear, and for some reason I doubt you have the expertise.” Adora grits her teeth. She wants to ask how the woman can possibly know about Bow, but she doesn’t have the time to waste.

“Either try to stop me or leave,” Adora says, and, in a move that is probably very stupid, she turns her back to the bomber. She kind of expects an immediate attack. She doesn’t get one. The woman lets out a frustrated huff, which sounds like an electric sizzle through her voice modulator.

“It’ll kill you, dumbass,” she says.

“That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

“For what?” The woman sounds angry now, and...familiar? Something about her tone, even through the modulator...

“I’m not explaining my plans to you,” Adora says, turning back around. “Get out of here before it kills you, too.” The woman makes an aggravated noise, stomps her foot, and pulls her gun.

Adora doesn’t have time to defend herself before a dart lands in her neck.

When she wakes up, she sees the sky. It’s a beautiful day in Bright Moon, sunny and bright with the occasional fluffy white cloud passing by. The light immediately gives her a headache, and she rolls onto her side, groaning in irritation.

“Welcome back,” a voice says, and Adora remembers how she ended up passed out on a rooftop. She tries to jump to her feet, but she can’t quite balance, and she ends up on her hands and knees, glaring at the source of the voice. The woman is sitting a few feet away, her feet dangling off the edge of the rooftop, looking back over her shoulder at Adora.

“You drugged me,” Adora says. It comes out sounding a little offended.

“It was that or let you kill yourself,” the woman says.

“Wouldn’t that solve a lot of your problems?” The woman doesn’t answer. "Why did you save me, anyway? We’re enemies.”

“Yeah, I know,” the woman says. “I just didn’t wanna see your guts splattered all over the bomb crater.”

“But you’re fine seeing someone else’s?” Adora says. The woman looks away, down towards her own feet, and crosses her arms in front of her. The move had looked angry in the police station basement, but now, from what Adora can see, it’s...sad? The woman’s shoulders are slumped, her head down.

“Nobody died,” she says. “I’m good at what I do. That bomb destroyed the police station and absolutely nothing else.” Adora blinks, processing that information. Between the extensive warning she had been given about the bomb, and the way it was apparently engineered to only destroy its target...Adora wonders if this woman actually wants to kill anyone. It certainly doesn’t seem like it.

“Just tell me why you did it,” Adora says. “Why did you save me?” The woman groans.

“For fuck’s sake,” she says. “Because I’m in love with you, okay? And I don’t want you to die.”

...What?

Adora has no idea what to say to that, but her mouth settles on, “You don’t even know who I am.” The woman laughs. Halfway through, her voice modulator shuts off, and her laugh comes out unfiltered: raspy, sarcastic, familiar.

An impossible fear settles itself in Adora’s chest.

The woman reaches up and lifts off her helmet, revealing short, messy brown hair and a nasty-looking scar on the back of her neck. Then she turns her head, and Adora’s heart stops.

That laugh isn’t just familiar. It’s the laugh that Adora grew up with, fell in love with, hasn’t heard in almost six years. It’s—

“Catra,” Adora says—whispers. Catra smiles at her.

“Hey, Adora.”

[jinxxedwammys]

Ok hear me out. I’ve listened to “Sway with me (slowed)” by Cytus II and I have this whole imagine of the reader at a masquerade ball as an undercover agent, and as The Wammy Bois (preferably L or Near) S/O or crush. Well the situation turns for the worst and L (or near) rushes out into the party (he was originally watching on cams) to get a hold of the situation to either like confront the Bad Guy or just protect the reader. Idk I think about it when I listen to the song. Love your writing btw

Aww thanks anon, I'm glad you like my writing! And damn, I like this one a lot! This calls for a fic. Thanks for requesting! (Not me accidentally making this somewhat like that ball scene in Black Butler.. oof)

For this I chose L and decided not to do Near, I hope that's okay.

Warnings: Mentions of human trafficking, Main antagonist being a creep, daggers.

(Image from some wallpaper site and very lightly and badly edited with befunky)

The night was young, the sun had only just set below the horizon plunging the city into darkness. At 8PM this night there was a masquerade ball at a very wealthy businessman's mansion. As all the high society guests exited their limousines and luxury cars escorted by servants you stood staring at the lavish mansion.

"I feel so out of place here... Do I really blend in enough?" You quietly asked Watari who stood beside you as your "servant". You shifted uncomfortably and looked to him for an answer.

"Yes, of course you do. You fit in very well. Please do not worry, I'm sure you will be alright in there." He bowed before reentering the drivers seat of the vehicle you'd arrived in. You took a deep breath before carefully ascending the marble stairs leading to he door. Before you could be noticed by anyone in particular, you placed the earpiece you had been provided in your ear disguising it with your hair.

Unlike the other guests, tonight wasn't about enjoyment or entertainment for you. You were assisting with an investigation into one of the high class men attending this party known as Daniel Grant. He had been suspected of human trafficking, though it seems he had been doing more than just that. A recent investigation by the private investigator known only to the public as L suggested that he may potentially be behind multiple murders in the area. As it happens, you were the lynchpin in solving this case and getting the evidence needed to put Daniel Grant and all involved behind bars.

He seemed to target young people between the ages of 18 and 25. As it happens, you were perfect for that role. You were also a police officer. So only two weeks ago, you had been asked to assist the one and only L. Of course, when he contacted you, you were overjoyed. Finally, something more interesting than petty crime! But now, as you entered the lavish mansion you were far less confident than you were when you initially joined.

You knew L was watching the camera feeds from the CCTV system, but it still didn't calm your nerves. You nervously approached the table where the guest sign in book was placed, carefully signing your alias. Then you made your way to the ballroom where the party was held. You took a deep breath and adjusted your mask before entering into the room.

Inside, everyone was chatting amongst themselves every single person dressed very formally, women in beautiful ballgowns, men in fancy suits. Every single one wore a masquerade mask, some plain and simple, some adorned with gemstones, lace and other ornate designs. Everyone went silent when one man tapped his glass with a fork.

"Hello everyone, I'd like to thank you for attending tonight. Thank you all for celebrating my niece's 20th birthday with us" He motioned to a young girl blonde girl wearing a dark pink dress with a black lace mask. Everyone gave a short applause in response. "Please enjoy yourselves" He bowed slightly. You hadn't known this was a birthday party beforehand. You wondered what Daniel Grant had to do with this girl. About 20 minutes into the party, you decided to check in with L as you hadn't heard a thing from him since you arrived. You excused yourself to the bathroom.

"L are you listening?" You asked quietly and waited for a response.

"Yes, I am, is anything wrong?" He asked. You shook your head before you realized he couldn't see you right now, there were no cameras in the bathroom.

"N..No, I haven't seen Daniel yet either... I was just making sure you were there." you hurriedly replied.

"Mmh, I'll guide you to him if you would like, I can see him on the cameras." He replied clearly eating something.

"Okay, please do!" You left the bathroom and reentered the ballroom doing your best to hide the fact that you were scanning the room for the suspect. L's voice came over the earpiece again, this time instructing you to look for a woman in an emerald green dress near the center of the room. You entered the crowd of guests. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw the woman L had been talking about. She was in fact talking to Daniel Grant. They seemed to know each other. You stayed back, waiting for L to say something.

"Seems like you found them, stay back for a little while, I'll tell you when to approach" He said. You of course didn't respond since you were surrounded by others in earshot. You casually checked your pockets and approached another guest making small talk to kill time. You had taken your eyes off of him for a second, and the moment you looked back, the niece was talking to him. L seemed to notice as well.

"Daniel is currently talking to an important innocent. Please intervene now." You looked around the room before casually approaching the two.

"Hello, I came to wish you a happy birthday!" You said, sort of putting yourself between them. She nodded, thanking you and went back to talking with Daniel. You sighed in annoyance, but persisted.

"Hey, could you by any chance show me to the washroom? I've been looking for it and I just can't find it" You asked. She looked at Daniel, excusing herself from their conversation before leading you to said washroom.

"I'm sorry for inconveniencing you... Oh.. and I think it would be best if you stayed away from that man." She gave you a quizzical look.

"Why is that? He's one of my mother's friends." She asked. You were kind of shocked. Another detail L had left out. You questioned if he trusted you before ultimately banishing the thought. Of course he trusted you. You wouldn't be the one confronting the guy if he didn't.

"Just trust me, he's no good" You warned. It was clear that she didn't take your words seriously whatsoever. She scoffed and left. Now what? You wondered. And just like that, L's voice came through again.

"I want you to talk to him, try your best to get him away from her." Immediately you left the bathroom and made your way back to the ballroom again. By now, there were a few people dancing. Unfortunately Daniel seemed to be one of them, but you had a plan. Dance your way to him! You started off with a tall man with a purple tie, then to an average height lady in a light blue dress, then a lady with a fuchsia pink dress, and so on until finally, you were dancing with Daniel.

"You're the person who rudely interrupted my lovely conversation with the guest of honor" He observed. His voice was cold, though there was a tinge of intrigue.

"And what of it?" You sort of snapped. He smirked, it sent chills up your spine. You backed away slightly, but he closed the distance.

"Oooh, I like them feisty" He growled into your ear. You couldn't help your face twisting in disgust at that.

"Why don't we go... somewhere more private" He suggested. It was then that L's voice came on through your earpiece.

"Go with him, I want to see what he'll do" You gulped. You really didn't want to go anywhere with that creep. But L's orders... You nodded and Daniel led you upstairs. You both stood in front of a bedroom door. He opened it, directing you to go inside. As you did, his eyes seemed to undress you. It was then that he took out a dagger holding it to your neck.

Meanwhile, L sat in his temporary investigation headquarters observing your actions. He had just stuck a piece of cake in his mouth when you had been attacked. He had not expected Daniel to be armed. You were in grave danger and he knew it. He immediately stood up, the fork clattered to the ground and the plate the cake had been on shattered as it hit the floor. He didn't care.

"Y/N, hang in there, I'll be there soon" he quickly said to you before rushing to get Watari and speed off to the party. The car ride seemed to take forever. Every second of it, he watched and listened. Daniel seemed to be just threatening you for the time being, but at any second, he might just kill you. The very second they arrived, L clumsily jumped out of the car and rushed up the stairs to the manor, past the guards outside and up another flight of stairs to where you were.

L had for the first time in his life, brought a gun in case things got even more ugly, but he doubted he'd need it. Daniel didn't seem like the type to be bold enough to kill in front of another person. Even so, he gripped the gun before entering.

"Let them go!" L commanded. Daniel's head snapped in his direction.

"Get out, this is none of your business" Daniel said, turning back to you.

"It is my business, that happens to by my significant other you have there." You blinked. Significant other? Is he acting? You thought before mentally reprimanding yourself for thinking that now. L moved a little closer.

"Oh.... She is... I'm sorry" Daniel backed away. It was kind of comical how he looked like a scolded dog. You stood up and walked towards L, glancing back a few times at Daniel to ensure he wasn't going to get violent again. And without another word, L led you out of the manor to safety. Though there was one question burning in your chest. When you were safely in the car you decided to voice it.

"L... Do you actually like me?" L turned to you, his expression was completely unreadable.

"Yes" He said almost monotonously. But that was good enough for you.

[kuroopaisen]

squabbler. (tsukishima kei)

➵ being a student in your country’s most prestigious mage university isn’t easy. even less so, when you have to turn to your sworn enemy, tsukishima kei, for help.

wc: 6.4k

warnings: gn!reader, mage!au

a/n: dariamorgendoerfer100 thank you for your support! you’re very sweet, and i enjoy your little comments T-T and a big thank you to both erin and ren for beta’ing this :( i love you both so much

Maybe you were a little early. And this was just a theory class; nothing too exciting, just an overview of the history of magic. But you couldn’t help it. You were just so damn excited.

You were the first person from your village to have earned a spot in the nation’s most prestigious mage academy, after all. Well, the first in a few decades. But that sort of detail wasn’t too important. What mattered was that you were here, in the halls of the great academy.

Said halls were currently empty. But you didn’t mind it too much. It gave you some time to admire it all. Admire how old the stone looked, without giving the impression it was falling apart. Admire how the entire place seemed to thrum with magic, echoing through every nook and cranny. Admire how even the way the sun filtered through the windows seemed to have a mythical quality to it.

However, rocks and stones were only interesting for so long. And nobody else had turned up.  

How early were you? You pouted, playing with the hem of your robes.

Were you in the wrong place? Had you misread your letters? Were you on the wrong side of campus? Would you be penalised for being late? Was your academic career in shambles before it had even begun?

At that moment, you heard footsteps. You twirled around, almost tripping over your own feet.

It was a tall blond boy, clad in glasses and an expression of sincere disinterest. He looked roughly your age, and his umber robes were just a little too short in the sleeves.

Why was he so tall? Were humans allowed to be that tall? Had he used some kind of elicit magic to spur his growth?

You’d never met anyone that tall before. Not back home. And you were a really, really long way from home. And now was not the first moment that you’d wondered if you’d made the right decision, moving so far away.

No! You wouldn’t be intimidated by this. You’d come all this way, after all, and you were ready for anything. You would talk to this boy, and you would make your very first friend at this academy. Now that was a thrilling thought.

“Hello!” You piqued up, maintaining a respectable enough distance between the two of you. You’d have liked to say it was because you wanted to be polite, but it was mainly to ensure that you wouldn’t have to crane your neck so much as you looked up at him.

The boy said nothing. He didn’t even look at you. Had he not heard you?

“Are you excited to start?” You asked, speaking a little louder this time. That was a neutral enough question. Surely, that would beget some kind of response.

Still nothing. But, you did notice his eyebrows sink a little.

“I’m a bit nervous, myself,” you smiled nervously, tilting your head at him. Maybe he was just shy?

You swallowed, trying to ignore how clammy your hands were becoming. “Are you… from around here?”

The boy glanced at you for a second, and you felt the tightness in your chest ease a little.

But instead of answering you, he reached into his bag and pulled out one of the textbooks. He opened it without a word, leaning against the wall and positioning himself in such a way that allowed him to put you out of sight.

Oh, now you were mad. What, he couldn’t even engage in polite small talk? What was he, a child? What an ungrateful little–

You glowered at him, crossing your arms as you slumped against the wall. You weren’t about to start a fight. That wasn’t worth it – especially not on your first day. But you couldn’t help but feel a little angry.

You hadn’t managed to make your first friend at the academy. Oh, no.

You’d just made your first enemy.

✧✧✧

It only took about half a year for things to start going wrong.

For the most part, you were pretty decent at this whole magic thing. It wasn’t so much a natural aptitude – although your natural abilities certainly weren’t bad – but more a testament to your hard work.

Unfortunately, that asshole you’d met on your first day – who you’d now come to know as Tsukishima Kei – was also good. But he didn’t seem to care. Admittedly, you’d taken a peek at his test scores before – yes, you know it’s unethical, but you couldn’t help it. You’d just wanted to know if he had any legs to stand on, being as insufferably smug as he was. You hadn’t liked the answer.

Worse yet, your professors liked to call on him in class. And he answered perfectly, each and every time. And yet, he always sounded so bored? How could someone be bored learning about magic? Gods, that pissed you off.

And somehow, by some cruel trick of fate, he was in every single one of your classes. The cohort was big enough to be split in two, but no matter the arrangement of the rest of your peers, the two of you were always together.

He knew you didn’t like him. You’d never really spoken about it, but there’d been a fair few times when you’d mutually glared at each other during class. You weren’t quite sure if he just looked at everyone like that, or if he was targeting you specifically. Either way, you didn’t like it.

That wasn’t even taking into account the numerous tense in-class discussions you’d had. Every time you presented an idea, this beanpole of a man decided he needed to challenge it. You’d been humiliated for the first few months, but you’d made a valiant effort to grow some thicker skin. It had worked, for the most part; some days you could even fire back at your apathetic nemesis.

You could handle him fine enough. But your dorm-mates had decided to get themselves into a massive argument. You still weren’t sure over what, exactly, but it’s origin evidently didn’t matter. You were stuck in the middle, trying desperately to smooth over the situation.

But, it was quite difficult easing tensions when each angry party had the ability to set someone’s hair on fire – even if it was against academy rules. Playing mediator was taking up more of your time than it had any right to, and it was proving to be exhausting.

Worse yet, the workload had grown even more intense, and it was starting to overwhelm you. You’d known that the academy was tough, but you hadn’t properly comprehended it before coming here. Now, you were experiencing it.

And on top of all that, you’d been hit by a recent bout of homesickness. You could handle them well enough, frequently, that they were – but all those extenuating circumstances meant that your typical coping strategies were less effective.

You’d managed to stay on top of your studies, for the most part. Except, unfortunately, for one subject in particular.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t wrap your head around alchemy. You always seemed to mess it up – and no amount of private tuition from the professor could help. You could tell she was a very clever woman, but it was obvious that because she just knew so much about it, she had a hard time noticing where the gaps in your knowledge might be. And frankly, the amount of time you spent speaking to her after class was getting embarrassing.

You’d decided that you wouldn’t speak to her this afternoon. It wouldn’t be productive, for one, and you were worried that you were wearing her patience thin. Perhaps it was time to find a proper tutor…

None of your friends were particularly good at alchemy, and you didn’t know any of your upperclassmen. Did the academy have an official tutoring program? You’d never actually looked into that sort of thing. But trying to search out that sort of thing would take precious time that you should spend studying…

That’s when he walked past you.

Tsukishima Kei. Top of the class.

A horrible idea blossomed in your mind. One that made your stomach churn.

Can I swallow my pride? You thought.

Yes. I’m desperate.

As soon as you finished that thought, you turned and tore down the corridor as fast as your legs could carry you. He was already what felt like half a country away. Damn him and his long legs.

“Hey!” You hollered, cursing your own lack of stamina. “Hey, Tsukishima!”

He paused, looking over his shoulder with an expression of baffled irritation.

You skittered to a stop behind him. “Please tutor me,” you said, each word punctuated by a deep breath.

“Huh?” He grimaced, looking down at you. “No.”

“No please!” You gasped. “Please!”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at you, turning around.

Oh, you weren’t letting him get away that easily.

You dashed around him, standing right in his way.

You were running on pure instinct and desperation now, bowing sharply with your fists clenched at your side.

People were definitely starting to stare. But you were pretty damn desperate. The examination was barrelling towards you, and you certainly hadn’t studied enough for it.

“I’ll help you if you stop making a scene,” he hissed, face flushed with embarrassment.

You shot up to full height, looking at him with an expression that appeared to be misplaced adoration. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Did you listen to me at all—”

“Tomorrow night, seven o’clock,” you breathed, “The library. Bye!”

You fled, not giving him the time to refute you. And you were glad you ran; you could feel your cheeks burning, almost as much as your chest was. You hated running, but you needed to make sure he wouldn’t change his mind.

That was unequivocally one of the most embarrassing things you’d ever done.

But you were pretty damn desperate.

✧✧✧

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided not to come. Your trust in him was tenuous at best; you could only hope that you’d appealed to at least some iota of human decency locked behind that mask of apathy.

Suffice to say that morale was low.

It had been a long day. One of your friends had roped you into renovating the greenhouse with them, and that had been much more work than you’d anticipated. Apparently all the plants along one of the walls had to be relocated, and all in one day. You’d wanted to say no when you’d found that out, but your friend had been so stressed. You hadn’t had the heart to walk away from them.

So, you’d been diligently running around all afternoon, slowly feeling the work ebb away at your energy reserve. All the while, you’d been worrying about your study session. Wondering if Tsukishima would turn up. Wondering if he was actually capable of salvaging your alchemy grades.

You glanced at a candle in one of the alcoves, each inch burned representing an hour passed.  

Tsukishima was late.

You sighed, resting your head on the desk. It was foolish of you to put your hopes in him. He had no reason to extend a hand. If anything, your academic blunders were probably a feather in his cap. You hated the thought of him revelling in your failure. Were you really so stupid as to ask him for help?  

Before you knew it, you’d closed your eyes, fluttering in and out of consciousness. You would’ve made more of an effort to stay awake, in case Tsukishima did turn up and use the fact you were sleeping as an excuse to run off.

But you were just so tired…

Tsukishima Kei… bastard…

You could hear students shuffling around the library, but nobody seemed to be approaching you. How long had it been now? Were you a fool for waiting around for so long, for a boy who obviously wasn’t coming?

Alchemy… I have to pass…

A warm, pleasant sound came from above you, rousing you gently from your half-consciousness.

Was that… a laugh? Well, it wasn’t a true laugh; it was something more like a chuckle, like the person responsible for it was ashamed to be so amused.  

Your eyes fluttered open, all bleary from your nap. “Huh?”

“If you don’t wake up, I’ll leave.”

Your head snapped up at that, your archnemesis coming into vision. You realised, then, that it must’ve been him that laughed. That unfortunately came hand-in-hand with the revelation that you didn’t hate the sound.

“I was tired,” you grumbled, stretching your arms above your head in a grandiose show.

“Whatever,” he sighed, slipping into the seat next to you with the air of a man who was about to start calculating his debts. “Maybe you should just head back to your dorm,” he sighed. “I don’t know if you’re in any state to study.”

“Listen,” you hissed, “I’m tired. And you’re late.”

“Relax,” Tsukishima yawned, reaching one hand into his bag. “I had work to do.”

You blinked at him, trying to soothe the anger brewing in your chest.

“I actually finished early, by the way.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, the anger quickly slipping into a mild guilt. “I’m— sorry—”

“Whatever,” he sighed, tossing a textbook onto the table.

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. You were supposed to be studying, right? That meant you couldn’t be too abrasive, lest you get nothing of worth done. Could you do that?

“Let’s just get this over and done with, alright?” He sounded just as bored as always.

You mumbled something incoherent, even to yourself.

“What do you need help with?” Tsukishima sighed, electing to ignore you.

“Uh…”

“Don’t say everything.”

You stayed resolutely silent.

“Fucking…” Tsukishima groaned, rubbing a temple with his fingers.

“Well, that’s not very polite,” you grumbled, crossing your arms as you sat back in your chair.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what to focus on,” Tsukishima snapped, frustratingly straightforward. “Do you know the basics of chrysopoeia?”

You blinked at him for a moment. “Yes…?”

“Do you know what that is?”

“That’s when…” You frowned, racking your drowsy brain for the answer. The term was familiar, but…

“Come on.” Tsukishima looked like he was one breath away from getting up and leaving. “We did this last year.”

“Oh!” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter. “Gold! It’s gold!”

Tsukishima sighed. “Almost. Do you remember how to make gold?”

“What am I making it from?” You frowned. “You can’t ask such a broad question.”

He blinked at you for a second, seemingly frustrated at the fact that you were right. The base metal mattered, after all.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m sure you know how to do it with lead, so… how about copper?”

The two of you ran over a series of transmutations, helping Tsukishima figure out the gaps in your knowledge. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or annoyed by the fact that you knew more than he’d expected. You, at least, felt some sense of pride; you were smarter than he’d given you credit for. Although, another part of you felt as though you should be offended by the fact he’d thought you’d be stupider than this.

You glanced at the candle again. Another two hours had passed. Gods, you were getting tired. You plopped your crossed arms on the table, sinking down over them and using them as a pillow. You closed your eyes for a second, letting Tsukishima methodically explain the theoretical process of refining an alkahest.

“Are you even listening to me?” He hissed, nudging you with an elbow.

“Mhm,” you murmured, half your face covered by your crossed arms.

Tsukishima had half a mind to bonk you on the back of the head with his textbook. But, he wasn’t about to do that. Not when you seemed like you’d explode at him for the smallest of provocations.

It was a real shame you looked so cute, all sleepy—

What… the fuck? He thought to himself, freezing at the revelation.

You? Cute? Those were not two words that belonged together. Not under any circumstance.

“Get up,” he hissed, two fingers poking at your temple.

You groaned, trying to hit his assault away with a limp hand.

“We’re done here,” he huffed, standing up sharply.

You jolted upright in your chair, looking up at him with wide eyes. “But we’re not done!”

“It’s one in the morning,” he grumbled, pointing at the candle nestled in a cranny on the wall next to you. Sure enough, the wax had melted, leaving a stump that was only a couple of inches tall.

“But… but I still don’t feel like I’ve caught up,” you groaned, standing up with a creak in your bones. How old were you? Sixty?

“Not my problem,” he shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

No. No, you weren’t letting your one chance at academic redemption get away from you that easily.

“Tsukishima,” you whined, turning to look up at him with the most desperate puppy eyes you could manage. You had half a mind to clasp your hands together in front of you to really complete the image. “Tsukki—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Whoops. “I’m sorry!” You said, the phrase jumbling out a bit too quickly. “Please… please help me out again. Please.”

He looked down at you, his eyebrows pinched together in a look that you could only describe as mild disgust. Were you that annoying? Was this such a waste of his time?

“Fine.”

Huh? “Wait, are you serious?”

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

An unbridled grin broke out across your face. You’d looked deflated mere seconds ago, but now you’d been given new life. Tsukishima was doing all he could to ignore how radiant you looked in the dim half-light of the lanterns.

“If I said no, you’d just keep pestering me about it,” he grumbled, turning his back to you.

You pouted, but had nothing to say. Unfortunately, he was right. You just turned back to your books, packing them into your bag.

“Hurry up,” Tsukishima sighed, making you jump.

“Hm?” You looked over your shoulder, surprised to see him still standing there.

“I want to go to sleep.”

“Then go to bed,” you blinked.

“I will,” he said, “but I can’t do that until I’ve dropped you off at your dorm.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that you almost apologised. Almost.

“Huh?”

“Just… just hurry up, okay?”

✧✧✧

“Hey, Tsukki? hat’s wrong?” Yamaguchi frowned, tilting his head at his companion. “You’re usually great at this stuff.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tsukishima grumbled, letting his hand fall to his side. He’d been trying to produce a solid ball of light for the past five minutes.

“Are you sure?”

Tuskishima clenched his fist, feeling a wisp of air escape from it. Ah, so he’d been producing something, at least. But regardless, he was wasting their designated time in the courtyard. And he certainly didn’t plan on wasting any more of it by indulging Yamaguchi’s desire to pry into his private life.

“You’ve been kind of off these days, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi pouted, eyebrows pinched together as he regarded his friend. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine,” Tsukishima snapped. Even he knew that was a disproportionate response. But the fact of the matter was he certainly wasn’t sleeping as well as he could be. It was just that every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts managed to find their way back to you.

And quite frankly, he didn’t want to see you anymore than he had to. Even if it was in his half-asleep thoughts, where you were smiling up at him like you actually wanted to see him—

“Tsukishima!”

Oh no.

He cringed, jaw clenching as he saw you running towards him from the other side of the courtyard, your robes fluttering behind you.

Yamaguchi glanced at him, eyebrows raised just a little.

You came to a stop in front of them, giving them each a little bow. Only Yamaguchi returned it.

“What do you want?” Tsukishima swallowed, uncomfortably aware of Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi murmured. It was less his name and more a plea to not be so rude. Tsukishima could tell that from Yamaguchi’s tone of voice alone.  

You looked up at Tsukishima, your features pulled into a look of perfect indignation. “Oh, so he’s allowed to call you Tsukki.”

“Bold of you to assume he ever asked me for permission,” Tsukishima grumbled.

You pouted at him for a moment, until your eyes lit up with a certain kind of mischief that Tsukishima had come to dread.

“He talks about you a lot,” you said, turning to Yamaguchi with the brightest smile on your face.

“I do not—”

“You sound like a good friend,” you beamed, hands behind your back. “Tsukki seems to hate literally everyone, so good job!”

“Why are you like this?” Tuskishima groaned, his hands coming up to cover his face.

“Like what?” You asked, your expression the perfect picture of innocence.

He wanted to choose his next words carefully. Very carefully.

“Ah!” You straightened up, your head whipping around to the other side of the courtyard.

“Is everything okay?” Tsukishima frowned, only the smallest touch of concern in his voice.

“I have a meeting,” you said, twirling around in a flurry of robes. “Bye!”

Tsukishima opened his mouth to shout after you; something about how you can’t run away from an argument, about how this entire exchange was entirely useless, about how you needed to keep better track of time…

But you were already gone. All he could do was stare at the spot you’d just been, a look of mild displeasure on his face.

He didn’t check that expression in time. Yamaguchi had already seen it.

“Oh?”

Oh no.

Yamaguchi was grinning. Widely. Usually he’d try and hide that sort of thing behind one of his hands, but not today.

“I don’t,” Tsukishima grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Yamaguchi giggled.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” Tsukishima grunted, the tips of his ears suddenly feeling quite warm.

“So,” Yamaguchi hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Want to tell me about them?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Really?” Oh, Yamaguchi was having the time of his life. “You don’t want to… hold their hand, do you?”

“Yamaguchi.”

“What? I’m just curious.”

“Another word out of you and I’ll strike you down where you stand.”

✧✧✧

You liked Yamaguchi well enough. The fact that he was friends with Tsukishima was almost funny.

You just didn’t know why he was with the two of you right now.

“Yamaguchi.”

“Mhm?”

“Do you need to be here?” Tsukishima sighed, not looking up from the textbook.

“Aw, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi frowned, barely trying to hide the mischief in his eyes. “I just want to hang out with my best friend.”

“And?” Tsukishima prompted, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, Tuskki,” you pouted, tilting your head at him. “He just wants to hang out with his best friend! You’d really kick him out so coldly?” You didn’t know why Yamaguchi was in the mood to tease, but you definitely wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn’t ask for your input,” Tsukishima snapped, picking up his quill with an unusual amount of irritation.

Yamaguchi snickered.

“You should respect your friends some more,” you sighed, twirling your own quill in your fingers.

“Who are you?” Tsukishima scoffed. “My mother?”

“No.” You shook your head, sketching the symbol for mercury on your page absent-mindedly. “I would’ve raised you better.”

Yamaguchi had to cover his mouth at that one.

“You’re dragging my family into this?”

Oh shit, you thought, might want to backtrack that one. “You’re right, I should give your mother more credit. I can’t imagine having to put up with you for… what is it now? Eighteen? Nineteen years?”

“Do you want me to tutor you or not?” Tsukishima glowered at you. “Because if you’re going to keep being ungrateful, then—”

“I’m sorry!” You squeaked, bowing your head at him. “I take it back, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met—”

“That wasn’t an indication to swing too far in the opposite direction,” he rolled his eyes, praying that his cheeks weren’t too pink. “Now just… just start solving that transmutation, okay?”

You pouted at him for a long moment.

“What?” Tsukishima sighed.

“I’m just wondering,” you mused, “Are you cursed?”

Tsukishima’s face dropped. “What are you on about?”

“Well, I was thinking,” you hummed, tapping the feather of your quill against your lips. Tsukishima was determined to look literally anywhere else.

“That’s not a good thing,” he mumbled.

“You’re literally incapable of saying anything nice to your friends,” you mused, tilting your head at him. “Is that because you’re cursed?”

“Do you ever say anything that makes sense?”

“See! That’s a great example!”

“What—we’re not friends—”

“Now that’s the meanest thing you’ve said to me so far!”

Why were you like this? Why were you so difficult to put a finger on? And why was Yamaguchi giggling?

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima growled, casting him a glance.

“I’ll be quiet,” Yamaguchi smiled, turning back to his own work.

“And you,” Tsukishima said, tapping you on the nose with his quill. “Get to work.”

For once, you complied. Fun as it was to get on Tsukishima’s nerves, you had an exam coming up. And if you lost your one comrade in this fight to the perils of homework, then you were willing to get serious yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Yamaguchi wasn’t actually doing his work. Not at all. He was watching the two of you, desperate to catch a whiff of any romantic tension.

He’d never seen Tsukishima be this… patient. Sure, it might not have seemed that way to anyone else, but Yamaguchi knew the lanky blond better than anyone else here. The fact that Tsukishima was taking the time to explain anything to you was a miracle in itself.

But that wasn’t enough to convince him.

No, he was convinced by the deep flush of red that graced Tsukishima’s cheeks when you beamed up at him. You’d just re-explained a concept to him perfectly, and it was Tsukishima’s dry praise that got you to light up so much.

Poor Tsukishima didn’t know what to do, simply staring at you with a look that was halfway between annoyance and confusion. Yamaguchi hadn’t thought that an ‘angry blush’ was a thing, but he was seeing it right in front of his eyes.

What he didn’t know was that Tsukishima was angry for two reasons; the first was that you were so damn cute, despite how annoying you could be. The second was that he didn’t want to admit you were cute. Which meant this feeling had nowhere to go. It would just fester in a corner of his chest, ready to jump on him while he was trying to get to sleep.

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked, shocking Tsukishima out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re glaring at me,” you said, biting your lip. “And you’re all red.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, a little too quickly.  

Yamaguchi giggled at that. Did he have to be here? Tsukishima just wanted to suffer alone.  

“Oi, guys!” A voice boomed out, much too loud for the library. “Come look at this!”

“Oh no,” Tsukishima sighed, fingers rubbing his temples. “Not them, too.”

You looked up, determined to see who, exactly ‘them’ was.

Three boys stood in front of you, two clad in the rich purple robes of the fourth years, and one in the emerald green of the third.

“Oh ho?”

“Oh ho ho?”

“What’s this?” One of the fourth years smirked, his unruly black hair sticking out at all angles. “Is our little Tsukki blushing?”

“Sure looks like it,” the other fourth year grinned, and you realised he was the voice that’d disturbed the peace. You realised, not without some amusement, that he looked something like an owl.

“Leave him alone,” the third year sighed. He had the air of a mother who’d been worn down from years of trying to look after some delinquent children.

You braved a glance at Tsukishima.

He looked like he wanted to die; but not without taking those two fourth years out with him.

“But Tsukki’s talking to someone who isn’t Yamaguchi,” Bokuto gasped, patting the third year on the shoulder. “Akaashi, this is big.”

“He talks to you, doesn’t he?” Akaashi sighed.

“Not by choice,” Tsukshima mumbled.

“Don’t be mean,” the other fourth year chided, crossing his arms.

“Can you please leave?” Tsukishima said. “We’re trying to work here.”

“Aw, you can’t talk to your precious upperclassmen?” Bokuto cooed.

“We happen to be quite busy.”

“He used ‘we’ twice,” the other fourth year pointed out, giving his friend a knowing look.

“For fuck’s sake…” Tsukishima sighed, rubbing his temples yet again. “I’m trying to help my—my friend study so they don’t fail an exam, okay?”

“I’m your friend?” You gasped, placing a hand over your chest in mock-delight.

Tsukishima only just realised what a terrible mistake he’d made.

“Oi, Kuroo,” Bokuto slapped the other fourth year’s arm with the back of his hand. Tsukishima didn’t like the look on either of their faces. “I need to talk to you about… something.”

Kuroo grinned in response, and both boys ran off so quickly that they might as well have puffed into smoke.

“I’m so sorry,” Akaashi mumbled, giving the three of you at the table a small bow.

“Not a problem,” you smiled, waving a hand at him.

He just nodded before walking off himself. You weren’t sure if he would bother looking for the other two or not.

You snuck a glance at Tsukishima. “Are you okay? You seem… stressed.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders.

“Friends of yours?” You hummed. “Like me?”

“You could say that,” he grumbled, his cheeks just as vibrant as they had been a couple of minutes ago.

You grinned, elated at your ‘win.’ Sure, a couple of weeks ago you would’ve balked at the thought of wanting Tsukishima Kei to call you his friend. Maybe it was because it had seemed so impossible to win any kind of approval from him.

Yeah, that had to be it.

“Can we go over the transmutations of iron?” You asked, cutting off your thoughts before they could steer themselves in a direction you didn’t like.

The two of you worked away for the next half an hour or so, Yamaguchi peacefully watching on from the other side of the table. But eventually, he’d seen all he wanted to see. And he wanted to give you two a little privacy; for Tsukishima’s pride, if nothing else.

“Anyway,” Yamaguchi yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m going to go.”

You jumped. In all honesty, you’d totally forgotten he was there.

“Whatever,” Tsukishima sighed. He looked a bit like he was trying to fight off a yawn himself.  

Yamaguchi stood up and gave you a little nod before beaming at Tsukishima. “Tsukki, I’ll see you later tonight at the dorms, right?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Tsukishima frowned.

“Just checking,” Yamaguchi said brightly. You had half a mind to ask him what that was about, but he’d scurried away from the table before you had time to think about it properly.

Tsukishima had decided to pay it no mind, instead just turning to you and saying something about gold. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you could feel the weight of the day beginning to bear down on the two of you.

Tsukishima groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” You asked, glancing at him.

He sighed, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. And it wasn’t really.

But seeing him without his glasses made you pause. Was Tsukishima Kei… handsome? Had he been handsome this entire time, and you were just too blinded by rage to notice it? And what were you supposed to do with this information?

You watched, rapt with terror as he put his glasses back on.

Enemy sighted. You blinked, trying to process what was going on.

What the fuck had just happened? Were you so tired as to think that your sworn rival Tsukishima Kei was attractive?

Besides, what did it even matter if he was handsome or not? Plenty of handsome people were downright unbearable. Not that you would slander Tsukishima in such a way. He wasn’t that bad.

“Hurry up,” he grumbled, packing his own books into his bag.

Oh, right. He was going to walk you back to your dorm. Again. He’d made a habit of it, after these little study sessions of yours. The fact that he was under no obligation to do such a thing made it all seem so… gentlemanly.

You said very little as you walked side by side, too wrapped up in your own thoughts. He was supposed to be your sworn rival. And yet, there you were, feeling a bit like you were floating, and a bit like you were about to throw up.

Oh, well. This would be over soon enough.

✧✧✧

“So.”

You looked up at him, biting your lip. “So.”

“How do you think you did?”

Tsukishima was close behind you as you left the classroom, the bubble of anxious conversation rippling through your peers.

You were more nervous about this closeness between you than you’d been about the damn exam. You swallowed, quickly maneuvering your way through the crowd to find some more open space.

“You haven’t answer my question,” Tsukishima grumbled, hot on your heels.

Oh, right.

“I did the best I could,” you said, looking up at him with a smile.

He smiled back.

Oh, no. No, you weren’t used to that. You weren’t used to how cute he looked when he smiled. Oh, this was all unfamiliar territory. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to feel. Uh—

“I tried my best, and that’s what matters,” you breathed, turning around and skipping down the hallway. What were you? Seven?

Tsukishima watched you, his legs long enough to keep up with you without issue. “Are you… okay?”

He probably thinks I’m weird, you thought. I’m an adult and I’m bloody skipping down the hallway like a child—

“Yes! I’m fine!” You lied, slowing down to a regular walking speed. What were you even supposed to say to him anymore, now that the exam was done?

Tsukishima hummed, but he didn’t press the issue further. Which was worse—you abhorred the silence.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do with my evenings, now,” you said, more in a bid to fill the space between you than anything else. “I’m going to be deathly bored.”

Maybe that was a little too honest.

But you didn’t miss how he very quietly murmured, “Me too.”

Oh, you weren’t going to let that go. Not at all.

You zipped in front of him, coming to a standstill. He skidded to a stop himself, both startled and embarrassed at the fact that he’d nearly just tripped over you.

You looked up at him resolutely, a mixture of nervousness and mischief painted across your face. “That’s because you won’t be hanging out with me, right?”

Tsukishima opened his mouth as if to say something, but he seemed to stop himself from responding. But, his cheeks bloomed a familiar red, and the tenderness in his eyes betrayed him.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you felt a handful of words away from humiliating yourself. But there was a little, tiny opening here, and you didn’t want to let it go to waste.

“Would you… like to catch up later?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

“To… study?”

You did have a couple more exams to worry about. But that wasn’t what you were interested in.

“We can if you really want to,” you smiled, lacing your hands together behind your back. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to head into town?”

“Sure,” he swallowed, sticking his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t quite meet your gaze, his entire posture screaming with awkwardness. He really had no clue how to handle this, did he?

“You know I’m talking about a date, right?” A tease or two wouldn’t hurt.

“Of course I know that!” He snapped, neck and ears now slowly turning red. “I’m not dumb!”

“Ah! So you do like me then!” You giggled, well-aware that your own cheeks must be glowing by now.

“I—I never said that,” he huffed, finally looking at you.

You frowned at him, eyes wide and round with hurt. It did sting a little.

“But… But I never said I don’t,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

You beamed up at him, standing up a little straighter as relief flooded your chest.

“You’re so exhausting,” he whined, bringing his hands up to cover his face. You’d count that as an absolute win.

You laughed, stepping forward and tugging at his wrists. You weren’t used to that kind of contact, but you were determined to start familiarizing yourself with it.

He dropped one of his hands from his face with some reticence, and you took the opportunity to lace your fingers through his.

“Let’s get something to eat,” you said, positive that if his hand wasn’t tying you to the ground, you’d be floating off into the great unknown.

He said nothing. But, he didn’t let go of your hand.

Some part of you felt like gloating. You’d managed to leave the Tsukishima Kei speechless; and you’d managed to make him blush. Even if your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, and even though you couldn’t stop a smile from taking over your face, you’d managed to get the last laugh.

But, had you really?

✧ ✧

“I can’t believe it,” Kuroo snorted, watching the two of you from the other side of the courtyard.

“I told you they’d be fine,” Akaashi sighed, a little flutter of relief in his chest.

“I still think our plan would’ve been great,” Kuroo yawned, scratching the back of his neck.

“Leaving two people stranded in the forest is more likely to leave them panicked, not ready for love,” Akaashi said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo sighed, waving a hand at his friend. He glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

An expression of resigned acceptance graced Akaashi’s face. “Bokuto’s never going to shut up about this.”

[imagine-that]

Snowball

Warnings: absolutely none, just a super cute, fluffy, wintery fic

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

AN: this is for @potterverseimagine ‘s 300 writing challenge, I used prompt #11 “You look freezing. Let me warm you up.” This is honestly one of my favourite ones I’ve written so far so I hope you guys like it too. Also, Fred is one of the main loves of my life right now so I kind of write a lot of him (yes all of them are fictional.)

As class is finally dismissed, you run through the halls, quickly making your way outside to the courtyard where your boyfriend had asked you to meet him.

Then again, when you really thought about it, he hadn’t so much asked as he’d told. From what you remembered, which was most of it, it was more like he’d said “You, me, the courtyard after class.” And winked in an overdramatic manner, his typical move.

Obviously you’d agreed, your curiosity getting the better of you.

As you spot his red locks of hair, you quietly tiptoe through the snow behind him, putting a finger to your smiling lips as one of his brothers notices you. You excitedly put your hands over his eyes, suppressing your giggles as his brother watches in amusement.

“Guess who.” You sing song, masking your voice awfully.

“Hm I wonder who it could possibly be?” He says sarcastically, a grin on his face. “Could it be y/n?” He asks thoughtfully, making you giggle.

“Afternoon Freddy.” You greet, confirming his suspicions as you peck him on the cheek and he removes your hands and turns around, grinning proudly at you.

The snow is falling in big, fluffy flakes all around the three of you in a beautiful manner but you’re too focused on the look across your scheming boyfriends face.

“I know that look... What’re you up to?” You ask with an eyebrow raised, arms crossed over your chest.

He looks over to George for permission to share, though you know he most likely would’ve told you anyways and his brother nods towards you, telling him to continue.

“What would you say if I told you we were going to start the biggest bloody fight Hogwarts has ever seen?” He asks with a mischievous grin, his brother showcasing a matching one.

“I’d say that you’re crazy and need to reconsider your choices.” You respond with a sigh.

They look between each other, both glancing back at you with a shrug and an apologetic smile.

“Merlin... why do I spend so much time with you two gits?” You ask, shaking your head with a smile tugging at your lips.

“Because you love me? And tolerate him of course.” George says, coming over and slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Ah yes, how could I forget.” You respond sarcastically, laughing and rolling your eyes at his joke.

Fred scoffs in amusement. “As if. We all know I’m the better looking one.” He says, pulling you away from his brother and back into his arms.

You chuckle to yourself, squeezing him in a hug tightly.

“True, true. Now, please explain what exactly you two did?” You ask, almost scared to know what the answer to that question may entail.

“Well...” Fred says, grinning the way he did whenever they were up to something.

Before he can say anything more, students come flying through the doors to the grounds, some on brooms and some on foot, a bit of every house included. They’re all wearing their winter coats and gloves and hats and scarves, clearly prepared to spend time outdoors.

You stare at the students flooding through the doors, completely confused. You obviously knew that the majority of them were meant to be in a lesson, the twins and yourself included. The only reason you’d opted to come and meet him rather than get to class early was because you didn’t take much of a liking to potions.

“For Godric’s sake what did you two do?” You demand, pointing an accusatory finger at the boys.

“Something wicked of course!” Fred smirks, looking around at the chaos.

“Something bloody brilliant!” George adds.

Soon enough, you can hear Filch running anxiously down the hall, if you can call what he does running.

“Students out of class! Students out of class!” He cries to any staff member who will listen.

“We’re well aware you idiotic ninny!” Professor McGonagall exclaims, rolling her eyes as he stops to catch his breath, looking disappointed by the lack of action being taken.

“What’s happeni-.” You start but you’re quickly stopped as a ball of white goes flying past you, smacking Cormac McLagen directly in the face.

His face contorts in shock, clearly having not expected it.

A second later, another few whip through the air, one hitting a younger Slytherin boy and one hitting Cho Chang on the shoulder.

Everyone starts frantically forming balls out of the snow, tossing them at their friends and foes. The air fills with laughter as students get hit and dodge.

“Now I see what you mean by fight!” You shout at Fred, smiling from ear to ear as you throw one of your own at Fred. To your dismay, he easily dodges it and the ball instead hits George.

He gives you a look that makes you instantly regret the toss.

“Oh no....” You squeak, running over to Fred and hiding behind him, holding on to his arms to keep him there. “Protect me Freddy!” You order, squealing as you start getting pelted with them at least three or four at a time.

“Oi! I thought we said no wand tricks!” Fred says to his brother with an eyebrow raised teasingly.

George merely shrugs in response, continuing his previous tactic.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you love!” Fred declares, staying his ground in front of you.

Still, George manages to hit you with every last one he sends your way, your hair practically white from all the snow falling into it.

You adjust your hat, pulling it even further onto your head to cover your already rosey ears.

“Harry! We draw the line at the cloak, no one else has one it wouldn’t be fair!” George shouts as one flies at him out of nowhere. Thankfully, no one else around seems to hear him but you laugh to yourself as Harry appears out of midair with a defeated look across his face.

You all spend the afternoon pelting the snowballs at each other, some using their wands to do it in multiples, some flying around in the air on their broomsticks and dropping the snow on unexpecting students on the ground but no matter how everybody is doing it, you’re all having fun. You could swear you’d even seen Professor McGonagall throw a snowball or two, though you knew she’d never admit it if asked.

Even Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy seem to be enjoying themselves, even if they were mostly attacking the first years. Seeing as it was only snow, no one seemed to care.

The one time anyone almost gets in trouble is when the twins throw a snowball each at Filch, in nearly perfect sync with each other, both of them landing on their target. He grumbles on and on about detention or expulsion but professor Dumbledore winks at them, waving them back over to the fun.

Some students grow bored of the snowball fight but no one heads in, finding other ways to enjoy the beautiful winter day. You catch glimpses of snow angels, watch the younger students use anything and everything the can find to go tobogganing with, shooting down the hill at high speeds and several others figure out fun games for everyone to enjoy.

As the sun begins to set and the sky grows darker, more and more students make their way inside, all either tired of the snowball war or too cold and hungry to continue. Only when professor Snape is hit across the face by one thrown by one of the Gryffindor quidditch team members on their broom are students ordered back into the castle, of course by the potions teacher himself.

But that isn’t before Oliver Wood, fly’s overhead, dropping an oversized ball of snow directly over you. You shriek as the rush of cold hits your body, soaking you even more than every other one combined.

“Wood!” You cry, glaring up at him.

He shrugs with a playful smile. “It was requested.” He says simply, waving and flying off before he has to face your wrath.

“Let me take one guess who requested that...” You say as you turn to face Fred, the two of you happening to be two of the only ones left outside apart from the odd Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw passing by to get to their dinner.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says innocently, coming closer to you and playfully tugging your hat down over your eyes.

You scoff, leaning into his chest and wrapping your arms around him, using one hand to push the brim of the hat back up.

“Mm you smell good.” You murmur into his jacket.

He chuckles, gently pulling you off of him.

“Let’s go back inside you nut.” He says, holding your hand in his contently.

As others file into the great hall, famished from the afternoon of fun, you and Fred push your way through the crowd and he gently pulls you along behind him as he says the Gryffindor password, only having to repeat it a few times as the lady insists on singing even louder. Finally she gives up and lets you two inside.

“You and your brother sure know how to make a scene.” You tease, grinning over at Fred as he smirks.

“Yes, yes we do. And we have bloody good fun doing it.” He responds.

You laugh. “And how did you come up with this particular idea, might I ask?” You question, head tilted to the side as you wait for an answer.

“Figured everyone could use a way to enjoy themselves before their O.W.L.S and their N.E.W.T.S. Or at the very least, make a few people laugh when we get the chance to hit professor snape or filch in the face with a snowball of course.” He explains.

“I don’t think I even want to know how you managed to pull it off either.” You say with a grimace.

“We partially got Dumbledore’s permission! That should count, even if it is only partially.” He counters, letting go of your hand and walking over to the boys dormitory entrance.

“Wha- hey! Where are you going?” You ask, your brows furrowed and your lip jutted out in a dramatic pout.

“Y/n, I don’t know if you realize but I’d rather not eat in soaking wet robes.” He laughs, smiling at your slight neediness.

“But Fred!” You whine, giving him a look you hope is just adorable enough to work, your y/e/c eyes twinkling hopefully.

He chuckles, giving you a sympathetic look. “I’ll be back in just a moment darling.” He promises. Before you can protest even a little bit, he’s walked away to his dorm, leaving you with your mouth wide open in shock.

You sink into the couch, waiting for him to return. A moment later, he hops into the spot next to you, coming to wrap his arms around you but immediately pulling away as he notices your overly rosey cheeks and your chattering teeth, your figure shivering heavily.

“Merlin y/n, You look freezing. Let me warm you up.” He exclaims, using a simple fire charm and starting a roaring fire in the fireplace in front of you, the lights dancing around in the darkened room.

You try to argue but he ignores you, pulling off his sweater and forcing it over your head.

He stares at you admiringly for a moment, making you smile like an idiot.

“What?” You ask through giggles.

“Nothing just that I think I might need a new sweater because that one is clearly better on you.” He compliments and your lips curl upwards, his words making you feel warmer already.

He runs back into his dorm before you have the chance to actually tell him so though, and comes back with his entire comforter trailing across the floor behind him.

He goes behind you, draping the blanket over your shoulders and wrapping you up in it in a hug from behind.

When he finally sits back down, he wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you over to him and onto his lap, blanket and all

“There. You don’t look nearly as blue as you did. Only a hint of the colour that I can see.” He says, grinning as you give him a pointed look, still shaking from the cold. “Might just help if you changed out of these sopping wet clothes love.” He adds, knitting his fingers in and out of your own.

“Oh fine.” You grumble, standing up and trudging off to your own dorm, quickly peeling off your clothes from earlier and changing into a fresh set of robes, pulling Fred’s sweater back over your body once you’re finished.

You eagerly head back, jumping into his arms and snuggling up to him in his lap.

“You were gone for a moment!” He states with a laugh.

“Yes but it was a moment too long.” You murmur into his chest.

“Ah yes well, I suppose a moment away from me must feel like an eternity.” He responds and you gently jab his shoulder with a roll of your eyes.

“Yeah yeah. I love you you idiot.” You giggle, moving your head up and placing your lips on his, kissing him deeply.

“I love you too darling. Really missed me that much though eh?” He teases with a grin and you laugh again.

“Always.” You whisper, resting your head back down on his shoulder. He pulls the blanket over both of you, pulling you even closer to him, your body pressed up against his chest.

“I suppose this is one good way to warm up.” He jokes in a hushed tone, the feeling of his breath tickling your ear.

“It’s the perfect way to warm up.” You correct softly, nuzzling your head up to him even closer and shutting your eyes.

Even though neither of you had eaten anything since lunch, you both drift off blissfully in each other’s arms, staying warm and cozy by the firelight of Gryffindor tower with wide and content grins practically etched on your faces.

[mochegato]

Covert Romance

Continuation of Covert Dating 

Marinette nervously followed Jason up the narrow stairs, clutching his hand for reassurance.  “Are you sure it’s okay for us to be up here?” she whispered anxiously despite there being nobody else in the stairwell to hear.  She was positive they were breaking some kind of rule.  There was no way random people were allowed to just jaunt on up to the roof of the Wayne Enterprises building.  It was one of the most secure buildings in the city, hell, maybe the entire state.

The security officer at the front door had let them pass with little more than a nod to Jason and a smile, showing very little concern about them wandering around.  But now they were almost on the roof and it seemed like there should be another level of security to get up there, like someone appearing out of nowhere to check ID’s and intentions.  But there was nothing.  Just her and Jason and Jason’s keycard granting them the run of the building.

“Yeah Princess, it’s fine,” he reassured her with a smile squeezing her hand. “There’s a reason I have a keycard. I’m allowed to go anywhere in the building I deem necessary.  And I have deemed it very necessary for me to be up here right now with you.” He threw her a dashing smile that made her blush brightly as he let go of her hand to pull out his keycard again.

“Ready?” he asked putting the keycard back in his pocket after swiping it on the security pad.  

“For what” she asked with a suspicious smile.

“It’s a surprise.  Close your eyes and wait here for a second,” he said, excitement creeping into his voice. He had never brought someone up here before.  The view from the roof meant a lot to him.  It was one of his favorite spots in the world.  Gotham looked magical from up here.  Something about bringing her here made him feel exposed and he was eager to see how she reacted.  

When Marinette closed her eyes, he pushed the door open and gently placed the box he had been carrying with their dinner on the ground before turning back to Marinette.  “I’m going to bring you out now,” he said gently as he put one hand over her eyes and the other on the small of her back to guide her to a particular spot on the roof. “No peeking,” he warned gently. She could hear his cheeky grin in his voice.

As soon as she stepped onto the roof, she could feel the cool, crisp night air hit the exposed parts of her face, cooling her burning cheeks.  She could barely register the sounds of the city over her racing heart as he led her out onto the roof.  Her heart nearly stopped when she felt him step behind her almost touching his chest to her back and whispered, “Okay, open your eyes.”

She opened her eyes and gasped at the sight in front of her.  “What do you think?” he asked eagerly.  When she didn’t respond immediately he anxiously explained, “This is my favorite spot in the entire city.  It is the best place to see all of Gotham lit up.  From right here, you can see the neighborhood I grew up in, the waterfront, gargoyles… you can almost imagine something good could happen here.  Like there’s hope for us all.  ” he whispered with a shaky smile.  

Her eyes opened exceptionally wide as she took in the view.  “Jason, this is absolutely gorgeous.  I’ve never seen Gotham this way.  Oh my God, this is… I should have brought my sketchbook. Jason, this is amazing!”  She finally tore her eyes from the city to turn and face Jason, her smile beaming.  “Thank you for bringing me up here.”

Jason looked down at her, her exhilarated expression making his heart skip a beat. He let out the breath he had been holding since he removed his hand from her eyes.  The city lights were reflected in her gorgeous blue eyes making them sparkle even more than they usually did.  He smiled gently at her “I guess we’ll have to come back up here for our next date too, so you can bring your sketchbook with you.”  

Marinette’s breath hitched as she noticed how very close they were to one another.  She smiled shyly, “Second date huh?”  

He raised his hand to move a strand of hair the wind was whipping around her face to tuck it behind her ear, before moving his hands to cradle her face and run his thumbs over her cheeks.  God, he wanted to see that expression on her face every day, every moment.  He wanted to be the one to make her look like that.  “Or third… or fourth… two hundredth.  However many you’ll let me have, I’ll take.”  Sincerity shone in his eyes as he leaned down slowly.  He gently lifted her chin, keeping eye contact the entire time to check for any signs of apprehension.  Seeing none, he moved to within centimeters of her lips and whispered, “Is this okay?”

“Please,” she whispered back pushing up to meet his lips with her own, giving him a gentle kiss that was far too short for her.  She pulled away and opened her eyes to look up at him.  When their eyes met she saw the same desire she felt clouding his eyes.  She quickly pushed up to give him a second, longer, hungrier kiss.  His arms wound around her waist, pulling her body closer to him as hers found their way up to his neck and hair, pulling his face closer to her so she could deepen the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, breathing deeply, she smiled happily and twisted in his arms back toward the city, snuggling back against him.  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and curled around her.  She leaned her head back against his chest with a happy sigh, taking in the beauty of Gotham at night.  She matched perfectly with his body, her head tucked snugly under his chin, like they were designed to fit together.  His body molded around her like a comforting blanket, making her feel warm and secure. She wanted more of this, more of him. “I’ll give you as many dates as you want.  As long as you’re there and kissing me like that, I’ll be happy.”  

“Couldn’t be much of a date if I wasn’t there.  Sounds incredibly boring for you.  What would you do?” He questioned in mock concern.

“Probably pine after you.  You’re right, I should just stick to dating you.”  She said pretending to come to a resolution.  

“It’s settled then,” he said nodding.  He squeezed her tightly for a moment and said, “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

A few minutes later, the blanket Jason had borrowed from his favorite Italian restaurant had been spread out and the dishes they had ordered placed on it along with a couple bottles of wine and glasses the owner had also packed in the box for them.  Joe had packed the box with everything they would need for an impromptu picnic and promised to tell his brothers, or anyone else asking about him, that he hadn’t seen or heard from Jason for a few days.  He even promised to ask if he should contact them if Jason did turn up to further the illusion that he hadn’t seen them.  Regardless of whether his brothers believed him or not, they wouldn’t get any information out of Joe to know if he went to another restaurant or got take out.  Jason was going to have to do something extra special for Joe.  This was exactly what they needed to escape from his family.

After dishing the food onto their plates and pouring the wine, Marinette broke the comfortable silence.  “Oh wow! You were right.  This is delicious.” He bowed slightly in acknowledgement instead of answering since his mouth was currently stuffed with food.  “So… you said there was a reason you had a key to go everywhere in the building.  What is that reason?”

“Oh… um…” he swallowed the mouthful he had just taken, “I’m head of security for the company.”  He’d had his answer prepared.  It was a plausible excuse, easy to believe with his expertise and familiarity with the building and employees.  

“Really!?  Oh my God! That must be insanely stressful.  This is one of the most targeted businesses in Gotham,” she reeled back in shock.  No wonder he was always keeping an eye out for suspicious activity and acting on it. She did it too, but that was because she had been Ladybug.  Now it made so much sense that he would do the same.  “I hope they give you lots of vacation days to burn off that pressure.” She took another bite of the pasta and furrowed her brow.  “Is that how you have access to a private jet?  They let you borrow it occasionally so you don’t go insane?”

“Not exactly but kinda, yeah.  Mr. Wayne lets me take it if I need to for some reason.  And my best friend’s dad is filthy fucking rich and has no problem using it to buy affection so... yeah.  What about you though?”

“Well… I mean, I don’t really.”

Jason raised his eyebrow at her. “Your roommate said that was bullshit.  Come on Mari, I want the whole and unabridged answer here,” he said urging her to continue.

She sighed.  “Okay so, my best friend… you almost met him tonight, my roommate, Adrien? Yeah, he used to be really wealthy with a private jet or two, but his dad turned out to be a supervillain… oh, remember me talking about Hawkmoth?  That was his Dad, Gabriel Agreste, so… not so many jets anymore.” Jason hadn’t expected that turn of events.  That would explain why she was so hesitant to talk about it.  Not a lot of people liked discussing their association with a supervillain.  Odd that her roommate would mention it in front of strangers, but then again who was he to critique someone else’s coping mechanisms.  

Jason was about to change the subject to a less dismal topic when Marinette swallowed her food and continued. “One of his other best friends is also rich.  Her dad is the mayor of Paris and her mom is Style Queen.  She likes me, Style Queen not the friend, although she doesn’t hate me anymore so… progress!  Well… tolerates me, so… frenemies?  Is it frenemies if only one person is doing it?” Marinette asked scrunching her face and cocking it to the side as if she was trying to figure out a puzzle before continuing to ramble on.  “But, she would really only let me borrow the jet if she thought it would annoy Adrien… or my other friends… or her parents… or anyone who said she couldn’t.  She really doesn’t like being told what she ‘can’ or ‘can’t’ do,” she rolled her eyes and grinned at Jason.  “Can’t really blame her though.  I’d do the same.  Also, my uncle is a rock star and another friend is a pop star and another is a supermodel… actually, she doesn’t have her own private jet but she does have a lot of people willing to let her use theirs whenever she asks, no questions asked... Also, I have a few clients that would probably let me borrow a jet if I asked desperately enough.”

Jason stared at her slack jawed.  His food was falling out of his open mouth unnoticed. “Holy fuck, Pixie!” he exclaimed when he could finally speak again.

“You wanted the whole answer! ‘Unabridged’ you said,” she protested, her cheeks bright red in embarrassment.

“And was that the whole answer?” he asked only half joking.

“I think… Oh, and I know a producer that probably has a few jets.  It seems like the kind of thing he would do. Maybe a few others.  My friends and I don’t really talk about things like that when we get together.”  She shrugged.

“Damn, who the fuck are you, Marinette?” he asked in awe.

She smiled and looked down timidly, “Didn’t I tell you?”  She looked back up with a scowl. “I am Batman” she growled out in a gruff voice.

Jason gave her a deadpan look and threw down his fork.  “That’s it. I lost my appetite.”  He mock pouted.  “That's it, Princess. You've managed to do what none of my brothers or hundreds of hours of hours of gory horror movies managed to do. I completely lost my appetite”

She gave him a raucous laugh that he quickly matched.  After the laughter had died out she looked back up at him with shining eyes and said playfully, “By the way, you can’t use ‘Princess’.”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“You called me Princess a few times tonight.  You can’t use that one.  You’re going to have to stick to Pixie Pop or Cupcake or come up with some others.”

“Okay, but what’s the hang up with ‘Princess’?  Bad memories? Someone who’s ass I need to kick?”

“No, no, nothing like that.  It’s just that it’s Adrien’s nickname for me and he’s very protective of it.  Not that he doesn’t have a lot of them for me, but that one means a lot to him.”  She looked at Jason apologetically.  

Jason nodded, “Got it.  Princess has already been claimed.  I can live with that.”  He narrowed his eyes at her and pointed a warning finger at her before saying, “You can’t use Zombie or Buckethead.  Those are already taken by my brothers.”

She laughed loudly.  “Seriously?” He nodded solemnly in response.  “Damn, those were the ones I was going to use too.”  He squawked in response making her laugh even louder. Once their laughter had lightened she looked back out to the city and hummed.  “So what do you think our friends and family are doing now?  Do you think they are still looking for us?”

“I’m betting,” he started, taking another bite before continuing, “they went to the restaurant we picked up the food from, it’s a family favorite, tried to track our phones before seeing they were turned off, asked Alfred where we might have gone, and when he told them to back off, went to a coffee shop to regroup and plan.”

“Hmmm… That’s a lot of time with each other.  I wonder which of your siblings Adrien is going to say he’s in love with when I get home.”

“That desperate, huh?” he joked.

“That much of a romantic,” she corrected.  “When he falls, he does it quickly and with his whole heart.”

Jason hummed in response.  That was something he could bond with Adrien over.  He smiled gently at her as she looked peacefully out over the city with a gentle smile.  She was the smartest, strongest, sweetest woman he had ever met.  She was really too sweet for Gotham.  She was definitely too sweet for Red Hood.  Was he making a mistake bringing her into his life?  He really, really liked her, maybe even loved her at this point, but his life was dangerous.  He knew she had experience with danger after her years living in Paris while the Hawk guy was running around, but being with a vigilante was a different thing all together.  How would she react the first time he came home with a gunshot wound or broken ribs? How would he react if someone took her to get to him?  She wasn’t a hero like him.  How would she protect herself? He shook his head to clear the negative thoughts out of his head.  They had plenty of time to discuss that.  Tonight, in this spot that promised so much hope, he was going to enjoy his date.  “We should dance,” he said smiling lovingly at her as he stood up and walked a few feet away.

“There’s no music,” she laughed incredulously.

“Then we make our own,” he extended his hand to her.

Marinette stared at his hand for a moment before looking back in his sparkling eyes.  The eyes she would follow anywhere.  The eyes she fell in love with.  She smirked at him, “You have some secret beatboxing skills you haven’t divulged yet? Because that would be amazing.”

He smiled gallantly down at her “No, but my humming would make Bocelli jealous.”

She laughed, “Oh that I have to hear.”  She set down her plate and bounced up.  Before she reached his hand, they heard a thump on the other side of the roof.

“Oh shit,” Jason sighed out in annoyance and he moved between Marinette and the noise, effectively hiding her behind him.

Marinette watched the side of the roof the noise had emanated from, steeling herself to fight.  Batman emerging from the shadows had honestly never occurred to her, although it made sense. He was probably investigating why there were unauthorized people on the roof.  “Why aren’t you suited up?” he growled at Jason.

“I’m not working tonight, Batman,” Jason said very deliberately, shooting him a warning look, “so I’m not in my uh… uniform.”

“Oh my God, it’s the real Batman.  Did I… did I summon him?” Marinette whispered to Jason peeking out from behind him.

Batman glanced down at Marinette and looked back at Jason.  Jason could feel the disappointment and raised eyebrow under the cowl.

“His son is the demon, not him.” He said quietly to her with a smirk. Turning back to Batman he said, “We’re here on a date B.  Hiding from my family who couldn’t mind their own fucking business and decided to crash our date.” He said pointedly.

“You’re hiding from your family and you decided here was a good place to hide from them?”

“Hiding in plain sight.  They would assume I’d take her to a restaurant for our date not here.  And nobody else is expected to work for a while.  I was hoping we’d be out of here before then.”

Marinette’s mind was reeling.  Jason seemed unnaturally calm talking to the Batman.  She supposed he might be familiar with him considering his position for Wayne Enterprises. But, they sounded like they know each other really, really well, more than just Jason working with him for security. Also, that didn’t explain Batman asking him about suiting up.  That wasn’t a term you used with civilians.  It was a term heroes used…. “Oh my God.  You’re one of the bats!  You’re one of Gotham’s heroes.”

“Vigilantes” Jason said

“Oh my GOD!!” Marinette exclaimed backing away.  “One nice, normal guy, that’s all I asked for.  Just one love interest that wasn’t a fucking superhero. Why is that too much to ask?”

“Vigilante.  What do you mean just one?  How many superheroes have you dated?”

“You know, it isn’t even just boyfriends. Just one friend that doesn't risk their life constantly.” She ran her hand down over her face, “ugh, Adrien is never going to let me hear the end of this.”

“Oh, I don't risk my life, I make others risk theirs…” he paused to consider what he had just said and furrowed his brow, “I just realized that makes it sound like I need to get rescued a lot.  That's not what I meant.  I meant the bad guys do…. You know what?  I never said anything. This never happened.”

“Jason you almost got Robin killed last week. And you've literally died”

“What?!  I mean join the club, but what?” Marinette shrieked at him.

“What do you mean join the club?!” Jason exclaimed toward her then turned back to Batman “and Damian was in danger because he got cocky and rushed in.”

“SECRETS Jason.  Secret identities don’t do much if you tell them to everyone you take on a date.”

“It’s not like I’m Dick.  This is the first date I’ve been on in a year,” Jason said rolling his eyes.

“Really?” Marinette asked softly.

“Yeah, I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to date in a while.” he shrugged more vulnerable than Marinette had ever seen him, like she was witnessing a part of him he rarely let people see.  “And I didn’t tell her,” he defended, rounding back to Batman.

“Well she figured it out somehow,” he growled back at Jason.

“Me either,” she smiled gently up at Jason, then turned back to Batman.  “Actually, it was you with the ‘why aren’t you in uniform’ and all the familiarity you had with him that gave it away,” she said significantly less gently to Batman.

Batman gave her his patented glare.

“What is that supposed to do?  Intimidate me?  It isn’t going to change what happened.”  She stared back at him unimpressed with a raised brow.  “I’ve been glared at by the best.  I’m not going to lie, you’ve got a good glare but if you think your glare is better than Gabriel Agreste or Audrey Bourgeois or my Mom’s you’re delusional.  I’ve stood up to all of them and their glares without flinching.” Aside to Jason she said “except my mom because she’s really scary when she wants to be.”  Turning to face back to Batman, “I took Gabriel Agreste and his glare down.  I can do the same to you.”

Jason stared at her mouth slightly agape.  What, and he could not stress this enough, the FUCK was happening right now?  His little, too sweet for Gotham girlfriend… girlfriend, right?  She did agree to only date him so… He’d have to get confirmation on that.  His too sweet for Gotham girlfriend was making Bruce her bitch.  He was fighting hard against the urge to drag her back into the stairwell and push her up against the wall.  No, focus. He needed to focus.  Something about what she had said was off.

His mind started racing through what she said.  She said she took Gabriel Agreste down.  What did that mean… didn’t she say Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth? Ladybug took down Hawkmoth… Oh my God! That’s why she has a history with superheroes! “Holy Shit, you’re Ladybug!” He grinned widely.  His sweet, kind, brilliant Pixie was a superhero who could protect herself!  And, could backtalk Bruce like she was already a Wayne… He could make that happen actually…

Marinette looked up at Jason with a shocked expression “What?”

“You said you took down the Hawk guy.  Ladybug took him down.  You’re Ladybug.  You’re a superhero!   Wait... Adrien is the other one, right?  The cat one you talked about?  That's why you're so close.  That’s why you two always had each other’s backs.  Oh fuck.  That means he was fighting his dad the whole time and didn’t know it.  Oooh, B you really need to keep Selina away from him. She’ll adopt him… actually, you should stay away from him too.  I already have one blonde, secret superhero child of a supervillain sibling.  I don’t need another.”

“Secret identities, Jason. They're a thing for a reason” Marinette hissed at him.  

He just smiled back at her annoyed face as he wrapped his arms around her, “I’m just so glad you’re a hero and can protect yourself.”

“SILENCE,” Batman yelled.  “Who is Ladybug?  Who is Hawk Guy?  And, who is ‘The Cat One’.”

“I’ll brief you later,” Jason said grinning lovingly down at the woman in his arms. “Right now, I think I need to borrow the jet.”

Marinette opened her mouth to argue about secret identities but instead shook her head and sighed resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m not getting married without a white dress,” she said in resignation.  “I’m a designer, I need an amazing wedding dress.”

Just then the door to the roof burst open and Dick, Tim, Stephanie, and Adrien rushed through, tripping over each other in their haste to get out on the roof.

“I knew it!  I told you they would be here,” Tim said to the others in triumph before freezing when he saw Batman.

“Oh my God!  It’s Batman. It’s the Batman.  This is amazing,” Adrien gushed bouncing on the pads of his feet.

“It isn’t really that special, Blondie.  He’s way over hyped.” Stephanie said rolling her eyes and shooting Batman a sardonic grin.

“So… what’s going on guys?” Dick asked cautiously.

“It’s all good.  He can explain,” Jason said pointing to Batman and grabbing Marinette’s hand, guiding her toward the door.

“Hey, where do you guys think you are going?” Dick called out to them.

“We’re going to let the Bat explain everything.  Also, just so we’re all on the same page, everyone up here is a hero or vigilante,” Jason grinned back at them like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade. “Have fun with that conversation. We’re taking this date on the road,” he said pulling Marinette through the door and closing it behind them. “Come on, let’s get going before they come around.  Maybe we can be in Vegas before they recover.  If you want to.  If not we can date like proper people do and see where it goes.”

“I’m always up for a little chaos,” Marinette responded pressing a chaste kiss on his lips and grinning at the grumble he let out when she pulled away.  When he leaned back toward her trying to recapture her lips she pushed him away gently with a finger on his lips.  “We better move quickly then and if I start really kissing you again, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop,” she said giving him a seductive look.  “My Uncle’s in Metropolis tonight.  I can have his jet here within an hour but he’ll probably demand to be a witness. That gives us enough time to stop by my workshop and pick up the dress I just finished working on, which just happens to be white.  Kismet,” she grinned, grabbing his hand as they ran down the stairs laughing deliriously.

 Continued in Covert Wedding

______________________________________________________

Did I write this entire fic just for the ‘I am Batman’ line?  Yes, yes I did.

[permian-tropos]

Daniil - Liberosis

Didn’t think this prompt word would become so poignant so soon. The subject matter wound up kind of surreal and taking whatever path I thought might be interesting but sometimes it’s nicer to let other people search for meaning in something. 

IDK yeah I just wanted to publish this. Contains canon-typical misery.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

-

It rains again, always with that damn rain, and inside of each puddle in the street is the reflection of a man with cold eyes. They’re a little bit sardonic, as if the protective cloth tied over his mouth obscures a world-weary smirk. They track movement deliberately, and never dart or flash.

When did this happen? When did his features freeze in place like this? It’s interesting. The last time Dankovsky saw his own reflection, he was burned out like a candle stub.

This is better. You’d rather see a second wind from the Capital doctor on his rounds, a man who cares less and does more, even if what he does isn’t much use to anyone. It’ll give people less reason to panic.

The plague is spreading on the wings of panic. That’s why the patrolmen show no mercy to the sick, those shambling mummies, when they stray into the streets.

Dankovsky never gave such an order. The man in the puddle wears his intentions well: But I wouldn’t countermand it.

When you think about it, the only way to fight the plague is to resist your natural human desire to seek help, or even the comforting touch of another; instead you must succumb in solitude, to save others.

The nature of epidemics really is to target the most precious aspects of our being…

“What do I do? What do I do? I’m lost…”

Dankovsky first expects that wheedling voice to come from a child, but it’s too knowing, like it’s playing a game.

Sometimes they’re called mimes, but they talk too much. They’re more amused by the circumstances than the name Tragedian suggests. Subconsciously, Dankovsky has gotten into the habit of treating them as if there is not a human under that patchwork black cloth, but paper stuffing, or an animated wire frame. They’re an oddly useless counterpart to the orderlies, and they certainly don’t answer to the Bachelor.

“One of you?” he sighs, backing up a few steps. “What do you want from me this time…? Get it over with.”

The masked man dawdling under the streetlamp tips its head slowly one way, then the other. “His Excellency thinks I spoke to him?”

“I’m the only one on the street. Unless you’re raving, in which case I have no time for lunatics.”

“How cruel. In any case… I’ve lost my mask.” The Tragedian shields its eye-holes from the rain with a hand, and looked far and wide.

“It’s right on your head,” Dankovsky grouses. “Now what’s my reward for finding it, a bag of marbles? Or wait, you’ve lost those too.”

“Oh, no, not this. This is my face. You see how blank and plain it is? It wants a character, a role to play. A mask, a mask.”

Dankovsky folds his arms. “What about playing a man who doesn’t leave his house… wherever he comes from, his burrow, his den, and doesn’t get himself into trouble?”

The Tragedian offers an apologetic shrug and spread palms. “I tried it but alas, it weren’t for me. I didn’t know my lines, and came too late…”

The Bachelor mutters, “You’ll be a dog soon – playing dead.”

“I’ve lost a mask of careless cruelty… I think it would be fun to wear a while. It grins at simple victories and doesn’t shed a tear for those less fortunate. I’d like to be the one who laughs in Hell…”

“Fine, I’ll look for something like that… I suppose.” It wasn’t the first bizarre request he’d taken, and been able to fulfill despite not understanding it at first. Whatever the Tragedian was looking for, it would turn up eventually.

Now the Tragedian was clasping its hands together, pleading. It was remarkably expressive for having, as it said, such a blank face. “But if perhaps you’d let me borrow yours…”

“That’s completely unsanitary.” What kind of idiot request was that?

“I mean the one behind the cloth, the visage that regards the world so icily…”

The Tragedian pokes an impudent, spidery finger right between the Bachelor’s eyebrows, which pinch together in great chagrin.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at… but I get the impression you’re not asking for a real object.” He slaps the finger away. “If you want to wear my face, playact all you like. Just don’t impersonate me to anyone important, or use my name for any stupid ventures. Or you’ll regret it.”

Dankovsky leaves the actor to mime out his gratitude, head fervently bowing, clasped hands pumping up and down. He’d expected to get something out of this exchange, but perhaps it’s a longer-term investment. Or it’ll be quite the farce when the thespian starts wandering around the town pretending to be him. He’s not sure what he’s given away.

Signal fires mark the start of an infected district. He tightens the cloth around his mouth and nose and rushes in. There’s one house in particular he has to visit, so he very much intends to keep his head down all the way there.

His ears are assaulted by wails of the dying, carried far even by stagnant windless air.

At first he doesn’t understand why his skin is prickling. Senseless paranoia.

I gave away my mask…

It doesn’t mean anything!

But something’s changed in him for sure.

Even though it’s illogical, he’s shivering like ice has been poured down his shirt.

His eyes catch movement and he jolts away at first, because he’s learned to flee whenever a human shape stumbles across his path in districts like these. One filthy touch from any of these walking corpses could pass on the infection.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t come near me…”

“Help us…” the mummy gabbles. It’s sobbing under the linen wraps, but those cries might be of relief as well as pain. “Please, please, you’ve got to help us… I’ve been looking all over for a doctor… You’ve got pills, haven’t you? Kind sir… spare us something… even just a sleeping draught…”

Dankovsky should be fleeing, and he’s frozen instead. He should do the compassionate thing and put a bullet through this faceless cloth-wrapped head, and he cannot. He has the unsettling thought he would rather turn the gun on himself.

The supplicant takes his inaction as permission. Its hand has seized him and is crawling up his forearm, creeping as surely as a mold on a wall.

“There must be something…” the infected one pleads. “If only to… I just wanted to… oh, but it’s so… my head’s spinning… I can hardly hear myself, can you hear me? Am I speaking? Are you there?”

More dying souls are shambling out of the alleys and either they can smell healthy skin like sharks smell blood or they’re spotting him through the gauze over their eyes and immediately recognizing him. Two have emerged from behind one building… a third and fourth from a park…

The dead come to drag him down into the earth. Rain pours down his cheeks.

“Hey!”

There’s someone behind him, shouting, but he doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until—  

“What do you think you’re doing, dummy? Dummy Dankovsky!”

“Hah?” He’s unstuck when that strident childish voice pierces his ears through the white noise.

In comes charging none other than the wandering saint girl, shoes pattering and splashing through the sodden pavement. She spreads her palms out like she’s pushing out a great wave of force from them, some kind of heavenly wind, and even though no immediate magic goes off with a theatrical bang and puff of smoke, the sickened townsperson withdraws.

Clara catches Dankovsky’s arm. Her grip is mighty steel.

“You didn’t think you could heal them with your touch, did you?” Her tone is either mocking or heartachingly sincere. She’s too peculiar to ever be one thing or another, so maybe it’s both. “Don’t… don’t get those funny ideas into your head, okay? You’ll make people worry about you…”

Of course he finds her words ironic, but not surprising. It’s the usual way that young people parrot the things they’ve been told by others, as a way of expressing concern.

Especially ironic now that she’s extending her free hand towards the bandaged wretch, with a strained but beatific smile, flashing white teeth. Her fingers unfurl, flexing, preparing for an incredible sleight-of-hand.

“Don’t be scared,” coaxes the Changeling. “I’ll take care of you!”

“Careful—!” the Bachelor croaks, voice stolen by panic. But he still waits with bated breath, wondering if he’s about to witness a miracle.

But as soon as Clara’s palm brushes the gauze-wrapped fingertips, the infected person’s hands turn to claws. They gasp and clutch their chest, rocking on their heels, head bobbing.

It’s almost as if they’re trying to express a profound devotion and love that cannot fit inside them. Then they exhale without a word, collapsing in a heap, like a thread over their head has been snipped.

Clara’s smile shrinks by millimeters. Water droplets slide off it, dropping from the corners of her lips.

“Why…?” Her query is a quiet chime, a small tolling bell.

“Leave it, leave it. It was a myocardial infarction,” Dankovsky mutters. “Plainly, a heart attack. It’s usual for them to die like this in the end… Perhaps they were startled by us… Overwhelmed by a moment of hope.”

“I thought I was the one who healed…” the girl says, eyes fogged with confusion. “I mixed it up… Even we can’t tell us apart anymore…?”

Damn this… The girl’s delusions are only going to worsen now. Whoever’s been letting her roam about without supervision needs to rethink their priorities. She used to irritate Dankovsky with her proud preaching, and he was afraid she’d be able to stir the town’s population into a fervor. They come out of their homes in search of her sometimes.

Still, it’s possible she’s been witnessing frightening things for days — or longer? who knows where she came from or what she’s suffered to be without a family now — and has convinced herself she must have a purpose. Whose mind doesn’t falter like that in the face of an insane world?

The Bachelor doesn’t think he’s nearly as paternal as his rough-and-tumble counterpart, the favorite of the orphan underclass, Burakh. But Burakh’s not here right now.

Dankovsky slings a strict enclosing arm around Clara’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do it, Clara…” he commands her to believe, as his heart keeps minutely panging in that new way that he’s not accustomed to. “Don’t think about it. Pull that ratty scarf over your mouth and nose and keep moving.”

She’s stumbling after him, reluctantly keeping apace. “But can’t you see I’m not her…?”

“Whoever you are, I don’t care,” Dankovsky mutters. He stares only ahead, at the distant waterlogged signal pyre marking the invisible border between poison and safety.

[theonceoverthinker]

Oh Gods, They ARE Roommates! (Fair Game Week Day 1 Submission)

Summary: When a leak springs in Qrow’s bedroom, Clover offers to share his room in the Ace Ops’ suite while the repairs are being done. Follow the shenanigans they and their friends get into as they navigate a scenario that just about everybody but Qrow and Clover themselves swear is straight out of a romcom and see if Qrow and Clover have such an ending in store for them. 

AO3

A/N: Here it is! My Day 1 Submission for @fairgameweek2021!!!! I figure a roommates story gels pretty well with the dual themes of sun and moon so here we go!

Shoutout to @drbtinglecannon who I’ve been screaming about this fic with for months now and who requested it as her gift for her 400 HC sweepstake prize!!!! I know it took nearly 100 days, but here you go!!!!

()()()()()()()()()()

CHAPTER 1

A leak.

A gods damned leak.

And a leak that he’d later learn only hit his room on top of it all.

Bad luck semblance or no bad luck semblance, that just wasn’t fair.

But regardless of whether or not it was fair, what it was was real and Qrow needed to do something about it.

From what Qrow gathered as he simultaneously observed the situation, got dressed, and tried to salvage anything previously left on the floor, the leak likely started last night while he was sleeping. Qrow slept right through its start and only realized it the next morning upon rising from his bed and feeling the very odd sensation of cold water greeting the heels and balls of his feet on the now wet ground.

Qrow was fortunate that most of his personal belongings had been spared the unwanted water’s wrath and those that were hit could be salvaged easily enough with some towels and just good old-fashioned sunlight. It still didn’t make the matter of his room flooding good though, just a bit more tolerable.

He couldn’t live like this.

Well, he probably could, but he sure as hell didn’t want to.

Qrow had slept in damp or even flat-out wet beds before under worse circumstances, and the smells of mold and mildew were not ones he ever wanted to make repeat appearances in his nostrils again.

Besides, it took forever to get the grime out of his hair.

No, Qrow needed a new living arrangement, and he needed it fast.

There was only one man he could go to to get that particular job done -- or at least get it done quickly -- and Qrow had no reservations whatsoever about paying that man a visit.

What a day this was shaping up to be...

It was a shame -- Qrow was actually getting used to his personal little corner of Atlas Academy. It was a comfortable enough space, not to mention private. He actually had a bit of space from the kids and while he enjoyed their company to some extent -- or at least, that was all he was willing to admit to anyone apart from himself -- after traveling side-by-side with them for weeks on end, the privacy that he gained from having a room to himself a little ways away from them was more appreciated than it wasn’t.

Well, maybe he’d get lucky and get a similar living situation again.

Of course, he often knew better than to hope for such things, but hey, he was trying to embrace optimism.

His nieces must have been rubbing off on him.

Perhaps someone else was, too.

Qrow found a custodian down the hall from his room and informed him of the leak on his way up to one of the academy’s elevators. An almost imperceptible movement jostled below Qrow’s feet as the elevator made its way up to Atlas Academy’s top floor.

Faces of varying degrees of familiarity met Qrow as he left the elevator and approached the likely location of his intended target. Qrow did what he could to starve off his own grouchiness, but by the time he had just one corner left to pass, the desire to do so had eroded away like footprints in a sandstorm.

And just in time to meet that grouchiness, James Ironwood was exactly where Qrow figured he would be.

James stood in the hallway right by his offices’ door, presently speaking to a couple of his soldiers. Whatever they were talking about, based on his slightly less rigid than usual posture and tone, it didn't seem like it was very important and probably wouldn’t keep him busy for too long.

That was good for the both of them, because Qrow intended to fill that void of business as soon as he could.

Qrow stayed by a nearby corner of the hallway while they continued talking, but the moment that the soldiers left James’ company, he struck. James gave him a small smile upon taking notice of Qrow, though it didn’t last long once he saw what was likely to Qrow a still very annoyed look on his face.

“Qrow,” James said, hesitantly, yet not without that professional tone he wore like a suit. “Always a pleasure.”

“Speak for yourself,” Qrow grunted. “A leak sprung in my room.”

A beat passed. James’ right brow raised.

“Bad?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it was good.”

“Fair enough,” James said right before releasing a sigh. “Come inside. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Qrow nodded, and followed James as he led him into his office.

Once inside, James brought up on his projector a cubic holograph-like projection of Atlas Academy. From the other side of the hologram, Qrow could see that each and every room was outlined in a minimalistic way, with letters and numbers along the tops of them and the cube’s top and bottom squares greyed out. Qrow watched as James’ eyes surveyed each visible room on the square of the cube closest to him, muttering things to himself that were too low for Qrow to hear. Once done with the first visible section, James swished his hand so that the hologram would go to the next square of the cube, and then the third not long after it, and then the fourth not long after that. However, James' expressions and the tone of his muttering didn’t change at all across the four sections from what they were during the first one.

Honestly, Qrow couldn’t help but find that just a bit concerning.

When he was at last done, James moved his finger so that the second square on the cube he visited was brought up. While there was a look of unease on his face, Ironwood gave the screen a decisive nod.

Finally, frowning and seemingly just a tiny bit nervous, he turned to Qrow, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“There are no other single rooms right now, unfortunately,” James said. 

Looks like Qrow’s instincts were right again.

He frowned. Qrow had expected as much, but the news was still annoying to hear all the same.

“So what are my options?” he then asked, coming out more as a sigh than a question.

“What I can do is place you in one of the dorms, like where the kids are staying. You won’t be alone though. You’ll be with some of my other Huntsmen, but it’ll only be for a couple of weeks, at most.”

Great.

Two weeks rooming with up to -- and, knowing his luck, likely -- three of Ironwood’s men, hearing them go on and on about Gods knew what, dealing with the small dorm room’s litany of smells, and never getting so much as a moment to himself.

And there was, of course, always the chance that they could figure out the truth of his semblance.

Qrow hadn’t told that particular truth to a lot of people in Atlas, and though those he did hadn’t given him a hard time about it, he frankly was hoping the number of those who knew wouldn’t increase. However, Qrow knew it inevitably would come up sooner than later -- it always did, especially with Huntsmen -- and he was decidedly not looking forward to the reactions from his roommates over it, nor their treatment of him afterwards.

Wasn’t that just the perfect cherry to put on this pain of a sundae?

Still, Qrow reminded himself, it was something, and something was better than nothing. 

Qrow was about to begrudgingly accept the offer, but was interrupted before he could do more than open his mouth by the sudden sound of a man’s clearing cough from behind him. 

There was no need to wonder who it was -- the voice had become to Qrow as distinct as the feeling of the sun in the sky, and honestly, about as welcoming of a sensation.

Qrow turned around and lo and behold, just as he expected, there stood Clover Ebi -- bravado, charm, cheery disposition, and all.

Why did Qrow always seem to find his soul suddenly starting to feel just that smallest bit lighter these days whenever he showed up?

Eh, that was a question for another day.

For now, Qrow just wanted to know what it was he had to say.

If nothing else, it would at least make his day a bit more interesting rather than just the irritating mess it was turning out to be.

“Ah. Good morning, Clover,” James greeted.

“Good morning James, Qrow,” Clover said, walking up to them and shooting Qrow a tiny, yet kind glance as he did. “Sir, if you’ll allow me to interject, I don’t think that a dorm’s the best option for Qrow. Those beds are fine enough for the kids and some of our younger soldiers to be sure, but they’re none too kind on the back after a certain age, and I don’t think I need to tell you that like it or not, that’s an age we’ve all hit as well as surpassed by now.”

James sighed, giving Clover a slight nod. “You’re not wrong. So, what do you suggest we do? I’ve no other rooms to put him in.”

“That’s true, but thankfully, I do.” 

James’ brow furrowed for a second, clearly puzzled, before settling to something of a reserved curiosity. 

Clover gestured towards the holographic model that James visited a few moments ago, as if silently asking permission to use it. James nodded, and Clover took to the model, zooming in on one of the upper floors of the cube’s second square. Finally, he pointed his finger at one of the larger rooms.

“The Ace Ops’ suite has two beds per room,” Clover went on to explain, “and the bed across from mine is empty. They’re better built than those in the dorms, a bit larger in size, and I think Qrow will appreciate the privacy of only having one roommate as opposed to three. So, Qrow can stay there, if he wants, that is.” Clover then turned to Qrow. “What do you think?”

Qrow paused for a second. As Clover posed to Qrow his offer, Qrow heard a small, but unmistakably present twinge of hesitance in Clover’s voice. However, Qrow couldn’t figure out for the life of him why it was there. Whatever was the reason, it definitely wasn’t regret on his part about offering the room to Qrow -- James had clearly either forgotten or never heard of Clover’s extra bed, and Clover was more than smart enough to know that if he didn’t want to share his room, he wouldn’t have had to breathe a word about it, let alone offer it to Qrow, but he did.

So then what was the deal with the hesitance?

Well, there was one way to find out, and that opportunity was presently standing right there in front of him.

Besides, it didn’t take a genius to see that compared to three strangers, rooming with one Clover Ebi was a far better option.

It didn’t hurt that he was a pretty decent guy either.

“Yeah,” Qrow finally said. “That sounds good.”

Clover smiled. That bit of unease was still there, now in his eyes, but Qrow could tell that the smile itself was as genuine as it ever was and hard not to look at because of that.

“Great!” Clover said. “Why don’t I help move your things from your room to mine and we let James get back to some slightly more pressing matters?”

“That would be preferable,” James chimed in, answering for Qrow and smirking back at Clover.

“Always a pleasure,” Qrow snorted, calling back to James’ initial greeting as he followed Clover’s lead out of James’ office.

As they headed towards Qrow’s room, Qrow noticed that as it often happened, by this time of the day, much of the hustle of the morning had settled down, now just a student or a soldier here or there making their ways to their respective classes and drills.

Qrow liked the Academy at this part of the day for that, but always felt the least bit unsettled by the quiet of it. There was this weird echo the hallways had as they carried the sound of just his footsteps for just a second longer than he felt they should have.

Clover’s presence alleviated things somewhat, as if a bit of noise somehow subconsciously radiated off of him like heat off of a fireplace. He turned to Clover who gently met his eyes with his own while sporting an easy smile.

“Thanks, by the way,” Qrow said, “for the offer.”

“Happy to help,” Clover said.

“How’d you hear about it anyway?”

“I was walking by your room to see why you didn’t come down to grab your morning coffee, and saw a custodian working there,” Clover answered. “He told me what had happened and from there, I figured that you’d probably gone to speak with James.”

“And so you came to save your boss from a cranky old Qrow?” 

Qrow smirked, both at his comment as well as its underlying meaning. Maybe one day, he’d tell Clover the truth about his other form, but that would be on a day when he had so much as a single clue as to how to even start that conversation.

Then again, given the very nature of that confession, that might be a long time’s wait, though it was time that Qrow couldn’t help but feel like they had.

“And to save that Qrow himself,” Clover responded. 

Qrow’s smirk melted into a snarky smile as they entered the elevator. 

“Should I be swooning and calling you ‘my hero?’” Qrow nudged his head in Clover’s direction, clasped his hands together, and batted his eyelashes a couple of times just for good measure. 

“If you’d like,” Clover said, punching in Qrow’s floor number just before letting loose another one of his winks, winks Qrow was simultaneously well-used to by now but still caught off guard by. “I certainly wouldn’t object.”

The elevator door closed and the two of them started laughing. 

Clover’s laugh was infectious -- deep, attractive, casual, yet spirited -- and it made Qrow’s last a little bit longer than it otherwise would have for a joke like this.

It also reminded Qrow, as their barks of laughter settled down into rumbling chuckles, of how much Clover’s laughter contrasted that bit of hesitance in his voice he had at James’ office.

Well, Qrow figured that before they started the process of moving him into Clover’s room, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to clear that up.

“Everything okay, Clover?” Qrow asked. “Couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a little strange back up in James’ office.”

Clover's smile receded, not completely, but all the same into something more neutral. “By offering you the bed?”

“No, that was normal for you. I just noticed you just had this weird look in your voice as you were offering it.”

“I see.” Clover snorted. “You’re far too observant for your own good. You know that, right?”

A wicked smirk took over Qrow’s features. “Absolutely.”

Clover sighed. “I just didn’t want you to feel pressured into taking the room because it was me offering it or because James was there. I could only take a guess at what you wanted, but if I was wrong…” Clover seemed unable to continue, but able to tell that Qrow could understand his logic from there.

Qrow smiled at that bit of vulnerability Clover let him have. He’d received fragments of those bits here and there, and they had a way of sticking themselves onto Qrow’s heart like syrup on pancakes and feeling just as pleasant.

“You made a good guess,” Qrow assured, “and I appreciate it -- really, I do. Thanks, again.”

Clover’s smile brightened. “You know, you’re a lot better at giving compliments than you are at receiving them.”

“What can I say?” Qrow shrugged. “That’s just how I work.”

“Then I’ll just have to work that much harder to change that,” Clover challenged.

Qrow was starting to suspect that if anyone could accomplish such a feat, it would be Clover, and as they exited the elevator and continued towards Qrow’s room, Qrow realized that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[nicknellie]

Context so people who haven’t seen Ghosts can still read and enjoy this: Alex is the ghost of a WWII Commanding Officer. In this fic he relives his army days before he died, telling Julie all about it, focusing on another soldier in particular - Lieutenant William Havers.

Sidenote for people who have seen Ghosts: Alex is the Captain, Julie is Alison (because I would pay real money for them to have a conversation like this in the show), and Willie is Havers.

This is the saddest thing I’ve ever written. I wanted to include Willex in the longer Ghosts AU I’m writing but I couldn’t find a natural way to fit it in so I wrote this as something completely separate. Every interaction between Alex and Willie is taken from BBC Ghosts and is very gay.

Here’s to Buried Secrets

Alex could remember it like it was yesterday. Late June in 1940 – hazy spring had bled into a dazed summer, his troops were getting restless after going on a year of work, and he was just about ready to lose his mind. That day had been one of startling revelations and hard-hitting truths, painful decisions that felt like betrayals, stagnant silences and hurt.

With the war dragging on endlessly, his troops had been getting complacent. They did critical work at their base, top secret and crucial to the war effort, but there were times where nothing would happen for days at a time and the troops would get bored. Their behaviour was beginning to waver, and though he wasn’t too against it overall (he understood why they were acting up, he was bored to death too) Alex had to do the right thing and set them straight.

“Now,” he said, “that brings me neatly to point sixteen. There is still a great deal of noise going on at night – laughing, giggling, horseplay. Now, we all get bored – that’s inevitable in our circumstances – but may I remind you, we are at war. I wo…”

He had let his sentence trail off. At that moment, the doors at the back of the room had swung open and in walked Willie. Lieutenant William Havers was Alex’s right-hand man and close friend. There couldn’t always be much room for friendships when at war, and living in such close quarters with everyone in the house could make bonding difficult, but there was something about Willie and Alex that had allowed them simply to click. They understood each other – they cared for each other. Perhaps a little too much.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” Alex greeted, interrupting his own speech.

Willie walked towards him, hand outstretched, holding a small, folded piece of paper. “Communique for you, sir, from HQ, marked urgent.”

“Ah,” Alex returned, taking the note. “Finally! This’ll be my requisition for a service revolver.”

Willie smiled gently as Alex unfolded the note, and Alex suppressed his own. But as soon as he read the note, there was no smile left to hide. This was that first striking blow, that devastating loss; the note brought with it the news of a surrender.

“Good God,” Alex exclaimed, skimming the note over again, making sure he’d read it correctly.

“Sir?” Willie prompted, sounding concerned.

“France has surrendered,” Alex explained.

“My God,” muttered Willie. The troops, still assembled to the side of the two men, began murmuring amongst themselves, the tension in the room much higher now than when Alex had been telling them they needed to go to bed on time.

Alex looked out the window, scanning the sky for any sign of attack. It was silly, he knew – nothing could have happened so quickly – but as it was wont to do, his anxiety began to overwhelm him.

“The Germans are coming,” he said, breath hitching in his throat.

“I don’t think they’ll be here just yet, sir,” Willie told him.

Alex shook his head, regained control. Willie was always good at doing that; he could sense when Alex needed help to calm down, and he could do so with an easy joke, a clever quip. Coming from anyone else, talking to a commanding officer that way might have been a sign of disrespect, but from Willie it was just what Alex needed.

“What? Right,” Alex agreed.

Willie could see he was still distressed. “May I suggest we initiate the emergency lockdown protocol, sir?” he said easily.

“Yes!” Alex exclaimed. He was eternally thankful for Willie – God only knew where he would be without that man by his side. “Yes, jolly good.” He turned to address his troops. “Now, it’s vital that nothing fall into enemy hands.”

“You heard the CO,” Willie said to the troops as Alex turned to watch out the window again. “Get to your duties.”

The troops dispersed in a cloud of excited but nervous chatter, getting to their stations, hiding their work. Alex was left alone with Willie, his only comfort. As Willie came to stand by the window with him, that easy, dashing smile on his lips, Alex felt himself both tense and relax. His worry ebbed away, but it was replaced with the hammering of his heart and a shortness of breath.

“Er… exciting times, Willie,” he ventured. He knew he should have called Willie by his proper title, or at least his surname, but when in private the two were much more open and colloquial with each other. Besides, in the wake of such a bombshell using his first name didn’t seem so scandalous. “If they do invade, we might get a proper pop at Jerry.”

“Yes,” Willie said through a chuckle. But the smile on his face dropped after a moment. Alex felt his heart plummet – Willie was usually all smiles and it was never good when they fell away. “About that, sir… I know we do vital work here, sir… but I want to get involved in the fighting. I’ve put in for a transfer.”

Alex felt like his breath had been stolen from him. Here again, that blow to the gut, that crushing feeling of betrayal. He knew distantly that Willie wasn’t betraying him and he could understand why he wanted to go. What stung was that he was only finding out after the fact. Though he knew also why Willie hadn’t told him: because they both knew that Alex would have done everything in his power to stop him, and it would have been too painful for either of them to bear.

Neither of them had ever mentioned it, but there was something magical about the bond they had. It was like they shared a soul, improved each other, completed one another. Alex didn’t want to think too hard about it. The thought of what he and Willie could have been was painful in innumerable ways.

He still didn’t voice those thoughts now, even though he knew it may be one of the only chances he had left. Instead, through a hitch in his voice, he said, “You’re leaving?”

Willie didn’t reply for a moment, a pregnant pause growing between them, pushing them apart. It stung, and Alex couldn’t feel anything.

But then Willie gathered himself and said, “There’s talk of a North Africa front.”

“Yes,” Alex replied, nodding like it all made perfect sense, like he didn’t feel as if he were going to die. “Yes, well, I totally understand, of course. Carry on.”

He ended it like a command, an order. It wasn’t because he wanted to be apart from Willie - no, he wanted to keep him close by forever - but he needed to grasp some semblance of control and giving orders, doing his job as CO let him do just that - be in control, understand what was happening.

“Thank you,” Willie replied, excruciatingly quiet, ducking his head.

He left the room and Alex in musty silence, the air heavy with revealed secrets and suffocating like gas. Alex’s mind was swimming, fogged with hopeless fantasies, weighed down by the knowledge that the one person who kept him going would soon be leaving him.

*

Alex had almost forgotten that Julie was there until he looked around and saw her watching him. He was dragged back down from his own mind, his own dredged up memories, and instead reminded himself that he had been telling her all that, not reliving it for no good reason. Perhaps he’d got a bit too caught up in it all, lost in his own head.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Willie was wonderful. A very fine soldier. I never found what became of him, though, after he left for North Africa. We exchanged letters for a while, but it was difficult – what with the top-secret work I was doing, we couldn’t have addresses being traced and whatnot. We soon fell out of touch, and then… well, I died.”

Julie reached out as if to take his hand, but then seemed to remember they couldn’t touch, so rested it in the space between them on the sofa. Alex smiled weakly, laid his own hand beside hers. He tried to avoid looking her in the eye – her expression radiated pity and it was the last thing he wanted to see.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” she said gently. “It must have been awful.”

“Luckily, a true soldier like me becomes adept at hiding his feelings,” he said, trying for light and joking but clearly missing his target. “Besides. I couldn’t worry my troops. Had to keep morale up, which was difficult enough in itself. It was… it was rather a lot to come to terms with.”

“What happened when he left?” Julie asked softly.

Alex sighed. “Well…”

*

Alex had been in his office just a few days later. He was staring down at an envelope, carefully sealed. In it was the blueprints for a new limpet mine, a prototype bomb that would perhaps revolutionise the war had it not been so unstable – Alex and Willie had been trying to create a version that was safer, easier to use, but so far had come up empty. They had been instructed to dispose of the bomb and its blueprints; the mission would be dropped.

The envelope was marked simply with the word ‘William’. That was what the operation was called, its codename. Alex had been the one to decide upon it, uncreatively naming it after the first thing he saw, which just so happened to be his lieutenant sat by his side. Willie was the only other one to know about Operation William and when he left it would just be Alex.

Alex had imagined many a time that the contents of the envelope were something entirely different, that the name on the front was to address someone rather than to hide something. In his dreams, there was a letter inside written in his own handwriting and it spilled every deep dark secret he was keeping. It would be addressed to Willie and for his eyes only. In his dreams, Willie would write his own letter in return, addressed to Alex.

He would never write that letter, he knew. It could get him killed.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a knock at his office door.

“Come,” he called, tucking the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket.

The door opened and Willie let himself in, shutting it behind him, standing to attention.

“Ah, Willie,” Alex greeted, glad to see him as usual. “At ease, at ease. I was just thinking about you, actually. How’s the emergency lockdown coming?”

“Very good, sir,” Willie returned, smiling sweetly. “Most items have been squared away, as per the order.”

“Excellent,” Alex returned, beaming. He moved to stand behind his desk, closer to Willie but with a barrier between them. As he tried to speak, Willie began too. “I see–”

“I’ve come to tell you that–”

Both laughed, nerves buzzing between them. Alex knew what his were about – he could only guess and hope as to why Willie seemed a little on edge. The space between them felt charged with expectation, though what it was for Alex didn’t know.

“Sorry,” he said, returning Willie’s genuine but faltering smile, “you first, Lieutenant.”

There was a pause. Uncomfortable, excruciatingly anticipatory. The last remains of Willie’s smile crumbled and he swallowed before he said those few words that would tear down the last of Alex’s resolve and ruin him forever, haunting every dream and nightmare and waking moment. The words that would echo in his head whenever there was silence. The words he would fall asleep thinking about every night from that day forward.

“I’m afraid I’m leaving you, sir… At eighteen-hundred hours this evening.”

The world stilled. Alex wasn’t sure his heart was beating anymore. The part of their shared soul that was Willie’s was torn away from him. He came up blank.

“So soon?” was what came out of his mouth, weak, desperate, small. He hated himself for it, so tried for light-heartedness and gestured to the shining new gun on Willie’s belt. “That would explain your new service revolver. I don’t suppose they sent one for me, did they?”

“Only for front-line personnel at this stage, sir,” Willie said, a light but forced smile on his face.

“Of course. Yes.”

“It’s North Africa, sir,” Willie said. There was something like hope in his voice – it felt like he was asking Alex not to be too upset. Be proud, he was asking. Be happy. For me. “I’ll be able to have a proper swing at Fritz!”

“You make sure you give them a bloody nose,” Alex joked.

He answered Willie’s silent plea for his blessing, his reassurance, his pride, and he tried hard to be positive. He attempted a half-hearted fake punch, throwing it in Willie’s direction and was delighted when Willie responded (if only subtly) as if he’d been struck. Willie was grinning, looking happy, looking excited. Alex had to try and be excited for him too.

But still he said, “I shall miss you, Willie.”

Willie’s face fell again. Alex half-hoped his meaning hadn’t been easy to decipher. He knew what he meant, he knew why he’d said it, but it was a stupid and dangerous thing to say – a stupid and dangerous thing to hope for. Willie swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing, and Alex couldn’t read his expression. Though he was fairly certain it was something similar to his own.

He had always known that Willie felt it too, this forbidden and electric thing between them, whatever it was. This shared soul that was now breaking in two, never to be repaired, never to be recreated. It was this moment that Alex realised he and Willie could never have what they wanted.

So he backtracked.

“By which I mean, of course, that we shall miss you. And I know the Wilson House XI will certainly miss your cover drive.”

Willie’s smile came back too slowly. Alex knew his lie hadn’t come quick enough. He knew the unspoken words and unwritten messages were still there between them, heavy and quaking and full of fear, sadness, silence, and things neither wanted to put a name too. They danced around it, though they wouldn’t have to for much longer. Just a few more hours and whatever they had would be shredded forever as Willie said goodbye.

“Thank you, sir,” Willie said. “Well… if that’s all?”

Alex collected himself, simply looked at Willie for a moment before making himself reply. “Yes.”

Willie nodded, took it as his cue to leave. He pulled the door open and was on his way out of the room.

There was so much Alex wanted to say, so much he wanted to do. He wanted to spend a hundred more sleepless nights with Willie, working on secret projects and perfecting weapons. He wanted a thousand more late night conversations spoken in metaphors and riddles, deciphering each other, growing closer, learning more about their relationship than was permitted. He wanted a million more moments just to look at Willie’s face, to dream of what he couldn’t have.

All he wanted was to speak this silent truth that hung between them like a noose – damn him if it killed them both.

He called him back. “I say, Willie?”

Willie turned faster than lightning, hand rested on the doorknob but eyes trained on Alex like his face was all he ever wanted to see.

He tried to say all he wanted to, but knew he could never. It appeared he just had time for one last metaphor, a final riddle, one last waltz around their dire and doomed reality.

“It’s a bally shame we won’t get to finish the operation together,” he said.

Judging by the look on Willie’s face, the message was received loud and clear. Willie offered a smile, genuine but bittersweet. And without a word, he left the room.

Alex took the little envelope out of his pocket again, stared down at it. He had wanted to bury Operation William alongside Willie – they had both worked so hard but for nothing and it seemed only right they should rid the world of this failure together. But Alex would have to do it alone.

If only he could write that imaginary letter now, he thought. There was so much he could say, but not enough words in the English language to say it. There weren’t words to describe the abject loss he found himself steeped in, the gaping hole that had opened in his chest, the weeping wound that would never quite heal.

That night, alone, he went into the garden with the blueprints and the prototype bomb and he buried them both. With it, he buried all memory and evidence of himself and Willie, all their hard work, all they had built and experienced together.

He bottled those emotions to never let them out.

*

“He left that night,” Alex said to Julie, “six o’clock on the dot. The rest of our crew saw him off, waving from the doorway, but I stayed in my office. I told them I had paperwork to do.”

“Did you get to say goodbye?” Julie asked.

Alex sighed. “That conversation… well, that was our goodbye. The rest of the house was in chaos so I didn’t have another chance to speak with him alone, everyone needed either my assistance or his.”

Julie’s eyes were brimming with tears; Alex didn’t look at her, or his own eyes would have watered too. “So that was it? That was the last you saw of him?”

“Sort of. I watched him leave from my office window. He… he gave me one last wave from the gate then disappeared, off on his own adventure. Without me.”

“Don’t you wonder what happened to him?” Julie asked, shuffling closer to Alex on the sofa.

“All the time,” Alex breathed. “I looked for his name in every newspaper and every message I received after we lost contact but I never heard of him again.”

“Would you like me to Google him?” Julie suggested. She had explained this whole ‘Googling’ thing to him a while ago and from Alex’s understanding she simply had to type Willie’s name into the little search bar and all his information would come up in an instant. It was quite remarkable, really, and perhaps it would give him that last little bit of closure. And yet…

“No,” he said, “no, thank you, Julie. It’s quite alright. I… I have this version in my head of who he became and I shouldn’t like to spoil it. I shouldn’t like to taint what memory I have left of him, should his life have turned sour.”

Julie smiled softly. “What’s the image in your head like?”

Alex cleared his throat. “Well… I suppose I like to imagine that he was the best soldier out there on the North Africa front. He rose to a position of command – that was where he thrived, really, but good Lord was he good behind a gun. He was well-respected and kind and his men adored him. And I pray that he survived the war, that he made a living for himself, that he got everything he could have ever wanted in life. Really, I suppose… I suppose I just imagine him to be happy. That’s all I could have ever wanted for him. And if I were to find out he were not happy, well… no, I quite like the Willie I remember.”

Julie left a pause before she spoke again. Alex could see the cogs turning in her mind, could see her wondering if she should say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. He knew what was coming the moment she opened her mouth.

“Did you love him, Alex?”

Alex stood, crossed the room and stood by the window. His hands clasped behind his back, swagger stick gripped tightly, he looked outside, eyes trained on the gate. How many times had he stood here during the war and after, waiting for what he had lost to return, hoping in vain that by some miracle he could be granted his happiness? How many times had he wished for what he could not have? How many times had he replayed those final moments in his head, watching Willie wave goodbye?

It happened again as he stood there. It was as if a cloud came over him, throwing him back decades, putting him right back where he started. Willie stood by the gate, thick coat donned, hat atop his head, his bag slung over his shoulder. He waved up at Alex, and Alex smiled back.

“Yes,” he said at last, so quietly that he thought Julie may not have heard him. A great weight was lifted from his shoulders, decades of repression undermined in that one admission of his true feelings. It wasn’t enough – it never would be because he’d never said it to Willie – but acceptance was a start.

Slow as death, Willie – Alex’s version of him – ceased his waving and walked through the gate, disappearing into the darkness to where Alex would never follow. And for the first time after reliving that agonising memory, Alex let himself smile.

[paradox-psyc-hoe-sis]

Your Energy

Klaus hargreeves x reader, Diego hargreeves x reader (platonic)

Description: You and diego have been friends for a while now, and he finally agrees to you meeting his family. Klaus, in particular, takes a liking to you - but how will they react when they find out you have powers?

Word count: 1.9k

(There's no warnings other than swearing and this tiny tiny tiny moment in the second part that is NOTHING like smut, but I guess it could be implied? Idk, you'll know what I'm on about when you read it)

• Okay.

• You are one of the 43, but Reginald couldn't get you.

• Your power was being able control energy, and that included spiritual energy.

• This meant that you could see people's souls and auras, dead or alive.

• You and Klaus met quite strangely, to say the least. You were one of Diego's close friends, and after years of knowing each other, he finally let you meet his family.

• It was a warm summer's afternoon when you and Diego arrived at the Umbrella Academy. Just as Diego was about to open the main doors, you both heard bellowing screams coming from inside.

• Silently, you both shared a confused glance before proceeding to walk through the doors.

• Standing before you in the main hall was a very large man, who seemed to have somebody on his shoulders. They were seemingly fighting, the larger of the men trying to get the other off his shoulders.

• "Uhh, Diego, does this happen all the time?"

• Before he could answer, the broad shouldered man threw his opponent from his shoulders and directly into you, sending you flying backwards.

• In this case, you'd be able to stop yourself from falling and float in mid air, controlling your gravitational energy. However, this came as such a surprise that you didn't have time to save yourself.

• You were sent back through the open doors, and onto the empty street. The person who had been launched into you laid half on top of you, half next to you.

• Not a second went by before you used your powers to lift the man up in the air. Getting up from the cold pavement, you dusted yourself off.

• "What the fuck is going on?" He asked, in quite a calm tone.

• Diego jogged through the doors, running over to you.

• "I could ask you the same thing." He scolded, standing in front of you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he asked if you were okay.

• "I'm fine," you responded, "just hurt my back a bit." You looked up at him with a small smile. Carefully, you lowered Diego's brother down until he was back on his two feet.

• You only just realised that your summer dress had ridden up slightly, and you blushed as both Diego and his brother watched you pull it down.

• "Y/n, this is Klaus." Diego muttered under his breath. Smiling, you turned to him and stuck out your hand.

• "It's wonderful to meet you, Klaus. My name's y/n, but you can just call me y/n/n!"

• Instead of shaking your hand, he bent down slightly and placed a chaste kiss on one of your knuckles.

• "It's my pleasure." He replied, a small smirk on his face. Only then did you notice somebody standing behind Klaus; he wore a black hoodie and had his arms crossed, yet wore a bemused expression.

• Instead of introducing yourself to him, you shot a small smile his way. You wanted to wait until you got into the mansion to properly get to know everyone.

• When he saw you smiled at him, he seemed confused, and looked behind him as if to see if anyone else was stood near him. Contently, you turned back to Diego.

• "Can we go inside?" You politely asked, and Diego stuck out his arm for you to hold. "Be my guest."

• Once you, Diego, Klaus and the mysterious man got back into the house, Diego called for everyone to come to the living room.

• Slowly, everyone trickled into the common area, the last being a 13 year old boy. Once Diego noticed the last of his siblings enter the room, he closed the door behind him.

• "Everyone, this is y/n." You smiled, looking at everyone in the room, hearing them all say hello. One by one, they all went around and introduced themselves, until you got back to Klaus.

• "Y/n/n and I have already met." Klaus proudly admitted to group. Next to him, the man wearing the black hoodie spoke. "God, Klaus. Don't act so love sick."

• He looked both irritated yet amused, which made Klaus turn to him and roll his eyes. Laughing, you stuck out your hand.

• "I don't believe I've introduced myself," you replied, "it's lovely to meet you."

• You felt everyone's eyes on you, burning into your skin. The boy in the black hoodie didn't shake your hand, but merely looked at you, a stunned expression plastering his face. Meekly, you took your hand back and fiddled with the hem of your skirt.

• "Who are you talking to?" Allison asked, not really understanding what was happening.

• "Ben." Klaus answered for you, wearing the same shocked expression as everyone else in the room. The only person who wasn't surprised was Diego.

• He perched on the end of a sofa. "Y/n's one of us, but our prick of a father couldn't adopt her." He looked almost proud and nodded towards you, as if to let you carry on.

• "Oh, right." You added. You were talking directly to Allison, but everyone listened intently.

• "Yeah, I can control energy. It's more complex than it seems, really. I can control all main types of energy like light, sound, gravity, the like. But I can also control spiritual and emotional energy. So if I really wanted to, I could change any of your emotions."

• "Spiritual energy..." five repeated. "That makes more sense."

• Now you were the confused one, furrowing your brows. "What do you mean?" You asked five, sitting down on the chair next to you.

• "What I mean," he started, "is that Ben's dead."

• The air lay thick among you all, as you turned to Klaus and Ben.

• "I'm...so sorry." You quietly spoke, avoiding eye contact.

• "Hey, don't worry about it." Ben said at last, smiling at you. "I've grown bored of only being able to talk to this moron."

• "Hey!" Klaus exclaimed as you laughed. Everyone else was silent as you, Klaus and Ben had your own conversation.

• "This is so weird." Luther whispered to Allison, who nodded in agreement.

• "Why don't we all go and get some lunch?" Diego offered, ending the awkwardness between you all.

• "Sounds good to me!" You replied, grabbing your bag. And with that, all of you were making your way out of the living room, off to Dennys.

☆☆☆☆☆

• All 8 of you were sat in a large booth, you sandwiched directly between Klaus and Ben. The waitress came around and took everyone's orders, and once she left, Diego hopped out of his seat at the end of the booth.

• "I'm going to the bathroom, if the food comes before I'm back and any of you even think about eating me fries, I'll cut you." You were very much used to his knife threats, so didn't dare going near his food. As soon as Diego was out of earshot, everyone bombarded you with questions.

• "Are you and Diego dating?" Allison asked, eyes wide. "How did you two meet?" Added Luther. "Where do you live?" Five questioned, kind of creepily. "Are you single?" Inquisioned Klaus, quiet enough that only you heard him.

• "Jesus christ, guys. I live a few blocks away from Diego, which is how we met. I was at target, and was about to get the last bag of doritos, when we both reached for them. Finally, no, Diego and I aren't dating. However we do have lots of sleepovers."

• Happy with how you answered the questions, everyone turned to each other to star their own conversations. You leaned in to klaus, and very quietly whispered in his ear.

• "And yes, I'm single."

• You weren't going to skip around the fact that you found Klaus attractive; his messy hair, dark eyes and cheekbones chiseled by the Gods did something to you.

• Diego returned, sitting back on the end of the booth, just as two waitresses walked over with arms full of plates and cups.

• You only started eating once everyone had gotten their food; you ordered a bowl of fries and a strawberry milkshake, your favourite. The restaurant hummed with chatter as the people around you laughed and quietly spoke to each other.

• "So Vanya, Diego told me you play the violin, right?" She nodded, taking a sip of her cola.

• "Yeah, I play in an orchestra." She added.

• "That's really cool! I played the flute when I was a kid, but now I-"

• As you spoke, you felt a warm hand on your thigh. Klaus's hand was soft, his slender fingers slowly inching their way up your leg, sliding underneath the skirt of your dress.

• "Now I play the drums." You finished, taking a sip of your milkshake. Before you could swallow, you felt Klaus's fingers get dangerously close to your underwear. You choked on your drink, coughing like it would save your life.

• Klaus removed his hand as Luther passed you a red napkin. "Thank you." You uttered, still trying not to cough up your strawberry milkshake.

• "You better get used to this, there's no escape now you've met him." Ben advised, a smug grin lining his face.

• "You can say that again."

☆☆☆☆☆

• Roughly a week had passed since you met Diego's family, and you couldn't stop thinking about it.

• After you all went to dennys, Allison suggested that a game of bowling would be fun. Spoiler alert: Luther broke the mechanism at the back of the bowling alley by bowling the ball too hard.

• You were sat in bed in your apartment, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Realising it was just past midnight, you turned your light off, switched off your phone, and laid down.

• After a few minutes of trying to get to sleep, you heard the window open behind you, and the sound of someone crawling through it. Not in the mood to deal with an intruder, you used your powers to slam them against your bedroom wall. With your other hand, you turned on your light switch and found Klaus pressed up against your wall.

• "For shits sake, what are you doing?" You asked, letting him go. Ben stood next to him, leaning again the wall.

• "Go on, Klaus. Tell y/n why you've broken into her home at midnight, despite me warning you not to."

• Klaus was silent for a second, his tired eyes staring in to yours. He wore the same outfit from last week, looking like he came straight from the mansion.

• "Uh, y/n, would you like to go out with me?"

• He actually seemed pretty nervous, despite how he had been acting at Denny's.

• "...now?" You asked, looking at the clock.

• "Not now, but maybe tomorrow? Diego told me you have a day off and I was thinking maybe we could..." he took a deep breath, and looked down at the floor. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

• He made his way back to the window, but you managed to convince him to stay.

• "Klaus, of course I'd like to go out with you."

• You spoke in a gently tone, not wanting to startle him.

• "Plus, if you want to, you could sleep over here?" You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

• "I'll only stay if you give me a makeover!"

• "Deal."

• That night was filled with a lot of sad movies, you painting Klaus's nails bright pink, and Ben rolling his eyes about 400 times.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

I finally finished the next chapter of Theurgist. I don't know why I was struggling so hard to finish it. I literally only needed one conversation to finish it. Either way! Here we go!

Theurgist

Chapter Six: The Trouble of Secrets

-dragonswithjetpacks

Read here on Ao3.

“Is that it? Down there?” Ferelith peered over the edge of the cliff, shouting behind her as the roaring of the waterfall drowned out her voice. “Not much of a sanctuary is it?”

The ruined stone nestled into the grove below were nothing but rocks to her as she searched the area for anything note-worthy. From what she gathered, it was an area designated to the druids and a sanctioned place for their ritual. Other than that, everything else seemed a makeshift bandaid toward any attempt to reconstruct the architecture of the original temple that once existed. The stonework that remained standing was impressive in itself. But it seemed overshadowed by the poor craftsmanship of the woodwork, similar to what the tiefling camp was built around. With a disappointed huff, she pulled herself away.

“Let’s take a look at the rest of the camp. I’d like to hear a few more things about the druids before we head down there.”

“You don’t think we should introduce ourselves?” Gale crossed his arms, examining her closely. “The tieflings mentioned a healer was among them.”

“Did they?” she raised her brow. “I believe anyone with potential was said to be missing.”

“Ah, but there was a brief word about an apprentice.”

“I’m not interested in a druid apprentice,” she almost snarled, a wrinkle forming on her nose.

“We’re all in need of assistance, here,” he became stern with a lowered brow. “I can’t imagine putting off this kind of information. What sort of vendetta do you have?”

“I don’t,” she said quickly with a shrug to hide her hesitance. “I simply feel this is a problem more complicated that requires further assistance. Far from what an apprentice could provide.”

“And you think we’ll find something different with the rumors of refugees?”

“I think the tieflings will be desperate enough to help in any way they can. Rather than throw ourselves at the mercy of those running everyone out of the grove, why don’t we lend an ear to the needy?”

“She might be right,” Astarion pulled at his belt. “People in desperation are rather chatty.”

“Or we could stop wasting time. We have the location we need marked on the map. Let us be done with this place,” Lae’zel added her piece.

Ferelith had not trusted a single word of information she had received thus far. Every possibility for a cure to her brain problem seemed ironically far-fetched. Given her circumstances were unusual, she did not know why the suggestion of an obscure solution seemed so unlikely. Still, the idea of a gith camp made her uneasy and the thought of a druid healer made her sick.

“I want to at least speak with Zevlor, the tiefling’s leader, once more,” she stepped past her comrades. “I’d like to get a better idea of what we’re walking into down there.”

The focus was originally meant for striding back through the camp. Instead, it was directed toward to small orange eyes that caused her to pause. They belonged to a tiefling boy, not much older than the ones training on the platform above. Behind him was a poorly made table filled with an array of what she could only imagine were crafted items.

“Going so soon?” he grinned. “I couldn’t help but overhear your troubles. I might have something that could help.”

“I doubt that,” she scoffed.

“Hang on, lady,” he held out his hands. “Hold out your hand. Let me show you something.”

The small red hands of the child were quick, she had to admit. But still, she could tell it was the sleight of his hands that made the ring appear from thin air. Between his fingers was a single tarnished ring.

“Go on. Take it. It’s lucky.”

Ferelith humored him, taking it into her grasp. Between two fingers, she held up to her eye-level and began to wonder what sort of nonsense she might find in it.

“Call it,” he nodded, holding up a coin. “Heads? Or tails?”

“Heads,” she answered firmly.

The coin was flipped into the air, landing square into the center of his palm. The coin sat face-up.

“Heads it is,” he said confidently. “See? That’s the kind of luck you need. And you can get it with one of my lucky rings. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Real cheap, too. Interested?”

“These runes are terrible,” she said, looking down at the ring with hardly any interest in the coin at all. “They’re gibberish.”

“Hey! Not so loud,” he hissed at her, grabbing at her hands to pull them back down.

Ferelith dodged his desperate attempts, stepping backward and holding the ring up further.

“This… looks like a smiley face,” she squinted.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. “You caught me. They’re not lucky rings. I’m just… trying to earn money for my family. My father left and my mother… she’s so sick.”

He was lying. She was certain of it. Some children would line up just outside the alleyway across her shop. That alleyway was the same she would use to navigate quickly within the lower district of Baldur’s Gate. It was a quick shortcut, an access point, and a good source of information. There were often she would leave her window open, listening to the shouts of some poor swindled soul calling out to catch a thief. The alleys were swarming with urchins and pickpockets. She knew their games. To avoid their wrath, she would bring them sweets or simply a loaf of bread to feed them for the night. It kept her in their favor, but she always knew what to look for.

“I wish I had better things to sell than… trinkets. But it’s all I have.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, sticking her bottom lip out with large eyes to mimic the child. For a moment, he thought it was empathy. But he was quickly corrected by a jesting grin as the corner of her mouth turned upward.

“I’m not buying it, kid,” she laughed.

“I, uh… don’t know what you mean.”

“This is a Tinker’s Trash… and a clumsy one at that.”

“You know that really hurts. I’m running an honest- wait. Okay, what’s a Tinker’s Trash?”

“It’s when a scammer offers the target a ‘magic’ object-”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded eagerly.

“-then rigs a game to gain the target’s trust to sell them trash.”

“Interesting,” he paused for a moment, “And I promise this isn’t a Tinker’s Trash scam.”

“Then what kind of scam is it?”

“Look, I swear. These rings are the real deal. I’m not running a scam.”

“Alright,” she looked down at the ring with the scratched fake runes.

The children in Baldur’s Gate were clever, much like the little fiend before her. But not all children were so lucky. The desperation of the camp reminded her of the harsh ways of living within the underbelly of large cities. There wasn’t always a place for children to go. Which meant even if the tieflings ever made it, some of the orphaned children wouldn’t last a second in the dirty streets of the lower district.

“Let’s see what else you have,” she nodded.

“You’re paying for that one, aren’t you?”

Ferelith grinned wickedly. “Consider this your first word of advice: don’t let the target hold the product for too long. Or else the swindler will be swindled. It’s a free sample, now.”

“I’m not- you know what… it’s fine. You’ll feel way more confident once you’ve seen the rest of my stock.”

The trinkets scattered about the table were arranged quite nicely considering it was all literal garbage. One ring she picked up was covered in ants. She turned it over in her hand. Then picked up another ring. The child next to her was excitedly describing their properties and some came with stories of how they came into his possession. Children were typically creatures Ferelith did not gain any joy from. This brat in particular, however, brought a cheeky grin to her face. She purchased three of the rings.

“You bought something,” he said looking down at the coins she placed in his hand. “Most everybody says it looks like junk and moves on.”

“What can I say? I like collecting junk,” she shrugged, hiding the hint of the smile.

“Well, it’s a pleasure doing business with you. If you have any further need, you know where I’ll be. Take care!”

Just before she turned, she caught the quick wink to another tiefling who lingered off to the side. He appeared very nervous and simply gave a slight wave as their eyes met. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she approached the others near the edge of the cliff. Astarion had a rather irritated look upon his face from what she could gather. Then again, the expression had not left from the moment they entered the camp. Ferelith did the best she could to avoid him but found it impossible as he quickly hovered over her.

“You’re joking right?” his voice was harsh in her ear.

“What is it, now?” she said, sliding one of the rings with rubbish runes onto her finger.

“You’re just going to let them rob you?”

“They didn’t rob me,” she rolled her eyes.

“You bought actual garbage with gold.”

“What would you have me do?” she seemed rather interested in his response.

“They’re children. You could easily take it back. It might teach them a lesson.”

“And what lesson is that?” her head turned, her nostrils flaring with a cold stare. “That the strong can take what they want? That shouldn’t lessen the idea that the weak can survive.”

“The strong take what they want because they’ve earned that right,” he lowered his brow.

“We were all weak, once,” she rolled another ring around the palm of her hand. “Luck is what granted us the opportunity to become stronger. The only thing the strong have properly earned is the gratitude to have made the right choice and boasting rights.”

“Luck?” he appeared baffled by her statement. “That has nothing to do with it, darling. It’s all about dedication to gain power. A proper tool of strength.”

“Strength means nothing if you don’t know how to use that power,” she retorted. “And that is maintained by learning to avoid weakness. Besides… there is a chance the brat might come in handy.”

“I can’t see how a vile devil spawn with an eye for trash could be of use.”

“Don’t be so cross,” she mocked him with a false look of defeat. “I got something for you, too.”

The ring flipped up with a toss of her thumb. And he caught it, looking down and seeing the same thing he saw before. A piece of metal scrapped together.

“Wonderful,” he looked at it. “What does it do?”

“It makes you really invisible,” she grinned, walking back toward the entrance of the grotto.

“I don’t need invisibility.”

“You sure?” she tilted her head. “I believe I recall a bottle of acid smashed on the back of you during the battle at the gate. You were quite stealthy then, weren’t you?”

“I hope the money you spent on this just to insult me was worth it,” he grumbled behind her, tucking the trinket into his pocket as he listened to her chuckle.

“I believe it was,” she glanced over her shoulder with a suggestive wink.

***************************************

Even after a day combing through the camp, Ferelith had found no healer. Plenty of leads that pointed her to one, but not a single healer in her current sights. Not one worth the risk, at any rate. All she had discovered was a camp full of unresolved tension with a burnt-out leader reader to snuff out his opponent with a sack of coin. Tempting as it may have been, she still considered the resolve to be attainable and wanted to avoid any further conflict that might jeopardize her chance of receiving a cure. Even with that setting as the main course for thought, there was still something juicier that caught the attention of her hunger named curiosity. It was the man she had met in the grove. The one who had dismissed her so quickly for assuming he had taken a pact as she had. Her thoughts fluttered back to the image of the cambion she saw, her wings stretched out to show her true form in all its beauty. Though the sight of it was but a glimpse, Ferelith was certain of what she had witnessed in his mind.

Slinging her pack off her shoulder and tossing it to the ground, she turned with the intention to approach him. He met her gaze as she grew near with a welcoming smile. He had been waiting all evening and expected she was eager to speak with him.

“Salutations,” he greeted her politely.

“Blade of the Frontiers,” she held out a hand, and he grasped it gently.

“Living legend, in the flesh,” he boasted with a good shake. “Slayer of specters. Killer of kobolds. The pride of Baldur’s Gate.”

“So they say,” she shook her head teasingly as he let go of her.

“Ah, so you’ve heard the stories?”

“I have,” her smile grew. “The wonderful tales that they are.”

“All true, I might add. Won’t be long before they’re telling new tales. Mind flayers, flying ships, dragon attacks- the legend grows!”

“Mind flayers and dragons are quite the stretch from kobolds,” she crossed her arms. “I assume you have an idea of how to handle this, then?”

“There’s an old saying I just made up,” he tossed his hand carelessly. “To fell a dragon, you must chop off its head.”

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “So... you have no idea.”

“Hold on,” he held up a hand. “These goblins are organized. It’s no hamhead pulling the strings. We slither through their camp and off their leaders, quick as crickets.”

“Take out the ones pulling the strings and the puppets have no one to follow. Not a bad plan, but I never imagined goblins would be the type to fall in line. Are you sure they’re as organized as you say?”

“Positive,” he sounded firm. “I’ve learned at least that much while defending the camp.”

“You said you were waiting for Halsin,” she stated. “Why risk your life for the tieflings?”

“Did you see those kids back at the grove? They should be chasing frogs, climbing trees. Not training for battles they can’t win. Those people look at me and they see a hero. Imagine how bad they’d feel if they were wrong.”

Dark thoughts weaved their way into her mind as she saw the selfish side of the pride of a hero. The downfall of the tieflings meant damage to his reputation. Then again, something about what he said was true. If it wasn’t, she would not be wearing a fake magic ring on her finger. And she would be a liar if she said she felt any different about them.

“It is an unfortunate situation.”

“I disagree,” he said firmly. “Fortune has brought us to their aid.”

Ferelith turned her head, eyeing him with distinct suspicion at the tone in his voice. It brought her back around to the sole purpose of why she had a desire to speak with him. But it also had made her question what he had seen when they crossed memories. If she had found the cambion, what had he discovered within her memories?

“Your eye,” she stated lightly while trying to sway the subject. “… it’s a bit unusual.”

“Now, now” he held out a hand to keep her at bay. “I always save the best stories for my closest friends and my cruelest enemies. Get to be one of those, and I’ll spill the whole jug.”

Her posture softened, but the intensity of her gaze never left.

“You get that, right? Spill the whole jug? Ugh- guess I’ll toss that one into the heap.”

Ferelith had already seen enough to know that there was something else to suspect of Wyll. This game he was playing by being coy was enough to keep her interest, but not enough to prevent her from becoming impatient. Her eyes were sharp and she leaned forward a bit with a knowing stare. She could see the grooves carved into his eye, much like stone. She had seen something like it before. Not recently, but during her time in Neverwinter, she had witnessed two colleagues exchanging them before setting off on a journey.

“It looks like a sending stone.”

Wyll threw himself into a fit of laughter. “A what now? Goodness, but it’s just a bit of rock- nothing so special, I assure you.”

The lifting spirits in his voice would have thrown anyone else off course. But Ferelith was keen to notice his jaw clench at the mention of the magic stone. He knew she was far too cunning to outsmart. She narrowed her eyes at his lies, a sign that she knew something of his secret. She would hold it… for now.

“If you say so,” she smiled.

It sounded far more sinister than it should. And he watched as her black hair swirled around her shoulder as she whipped around to leave him to his own bidding. His brow lowered as he glared at her back, watching as if he were about to see some demon rip from her spine. Just as she had seen what lie beneath his thoughts, he saw deep into her. It was a tall dark shadow with his hands placed upon her shoulders. He loomed over her, hovering like a heavy reminder of whatever deal they had made. Ferelith was never shy to admit she was a warlock. Yet he did note that there had been no mention of what her patron was. Or what sort of power she received.

Ferelith had reason to be concerned with what Wyll had seen. If she was correct in her assumption that they had exchanged knowledge of their patrons, and if the angered outburst had truly come from a darker place within, then she knew her passenger was still on board. It put her to ease, but the troubled thoughts remained as to why he remained silent. So silent, in fact, that she could not even feel him burrowing into the depths of her thoughts. Then, there was an idea that the worm in her had was so tangible, so heavy, that maybe his projected form was simply too light in comparison. The sudden realization was so profound that she felt the need to make note of it. To write it down along with all the other sort of information she gathered that day.

Rummaging through her bag she found the ink and quill she had been keeping. And with a sigh, she pulled out her books, one carefully at a time. Among them was a red book. She looked at it curiously. She did not remember this book. As she opened the pages, she noticed they were blank. She leaned forward to smell them. The book was new. And the outside smelled of leather and sweet cherry wood. It brought back a memory. And she knew it should have been there before, but it wasn't. This was a gift.

Her hand ran across the leather as she remembered the last face she saw before she was kidnapped. But then something occurred to her... what if it wasn't the last face. What if there were more memories that she was missing? She couldn't even remember how she was taken. All she could recall was stone. The cold numbing feeling through her head. And the blackness surrounding her vision. If she was receiving the gift that night, then she must have been taken on her way home. That was the only explanation from what she could gather.

She searched further into the back of her head, looking for the voice that usually appeared as a potential source for answers. It remained silent. Her gaze fell up to the sky, feeling a bit remorseful at the temporary loss of her inner companion. Still, she had the journal. And she was relieved she had something to remind her of herself. Her gaze shifting down, she wondered how her other companions had been captured. She had seen brief memories of them. But what if they, too, had part of their memory removed as she did. Her eyes fell onto Astarion and her heart jumped for a moment. It appeared he was feeling sentimental as well. The attraction she had felt for him reared its ugly head once again. He sat back in the grass, his legs kicked out as he looked into the sky. She wondered what it was that intrigued his thoughts. She could use the tadpole. But if anything was going to keep her patron at bay, it would be the exploitation of their newly arrived tag along. Instead, she stood up, tucking the journal into her pocket before making her way to the elf.

"It's quite a sight," he said as he felt her approach.

He did not turn his eyes away from the sky. And she noticed the pleased expression he wore. It suited him, but she felt it was out of character considering how smug his previous smirks had been.

"The stars, I mean," he clarified, finally meeting her gaze. "I could take or leave your chin."

He caught the hint of a smile, an indication he had picked up the teasing tone which matched that of her own during previous conversations. She hid it well and even glanced over her shoulder to confirm that Lae’zel was still too busy sharpening her sword to eavesdrop. The light from the fire reflected off her face and he could see the highlight of her cheekbones. As she turned back to face him, he held his tongue. He kept the sight of her for a moment before looking back up.

"Am I bothering you?"

"No," he said softly. "Just thinking... Reflecting on what tomorrow might bring. When we arrive at this... gith creche."

The use of his enunciation was unnecessary, though she still felt her fingers twitch at her side. She rubbed her fingertips against her thumb to hide the subtle notion, a reminder that what was tangible was far more real than what a voice could provide. His words felt fabricated. Yet, the way his mouth moved when he spoke was still so very enticing.

"Will we find out how to bring the worm under control? Will this little adventure of ours be over?"

"I imagine that is likely" she directed rather casually.

Astarion's face dropped as he drew his attention back to her face. It seemed as though she was not taunting him this time. He began to question her motive. Whatever she had back in Baldur’s Gate must have been far more suitable than whatever he had to offer. Why would she stay? Why would she risk her life more than she already had? What was it that she wanted to return to?

"A pity..." he frowned with a nod of endearment. "A great pity."

He sighed, sitting up to push his hands off the ground and onto his feet. He dusted them off onto his pants and she took the moment to admire his jagged profile while he remained occupied. As jagged as it may be, there were still features that brought softness to his face. For one, his eyes that he could make rather large at any given moment. And the way his hair curled perfectly around his pointed ears. A man so prominent, so smug, so proud... did not seem the type to have such playful curls. She acted as if nothing was humorous about them at all, however, when he looked her in the eyes again.

"I hate to disappoint you," she stated in a rush, "but I doubt you'd miss me that much."

"Of course I would," he proclaimed with his eyes fixated on hers. "You've been to the Hells and back! Survived the crash. Survived everything that's followed. I'm not easily impressed by people. But you're stronger than I gave you credit for."

"I didn't know I appeared to be so weak," she lowered her brow. "I've always been renowned to be rather impressive."

Ferelith brushed her hair from the side of her neck, placing her beauty further into the light of the fire when she turned her head. Her sullen eyes, high cheeks, pointed nose, pursed lips... they all illuminated before him. There was a dark presence to her, one he could not name. But the feeling of it alone was welcoming to him. He glared at her temple, wondering if he could tap into her thoughts without her noticing. But he was not willing to risk it. Instead, he found the nerves that ran through her skull... the pounding of her heart. He followed the sound to her neck, tense from their conversation... She was impressive, indeed.

"And aren't you just," he found himself muttering.

Beautifully frustrated with a thumping rhythm sounding before him as his own personal concerto. It made him wander away from camp. Away to places where he could take her beneath the trees under the cover of shadows. It was more than just taking her blood. It was taking her... all of her...

"Are you alright?"

Her voice brought him back in front of her. In front of the blasted campfire.

"Hmm?" he hummed as he regained himself. "Oh, uh, I was leagues away."

"You're... staring..." she was stuck between question and concern.

There was no point in telling lies any longer. He was, in fact, staring. Though... the reasons were a bit muddled, even in his own mind.

"Was I? I just..." he held his breath, still unsure of his intentions but knowing the hunger was now committed. "I just need to get some... air. Clear my head."

"That's not strange at all…"

There was an urge to dispute her rebuttal, but he stopped himself from saying another word. He would hate to end this moment poorly. One so beautiful as she looked at him from down her nose, her chin held upright as she smirked with amusement as she had cornered him into an awkward circumstance. She was enjoying this. Seeing him struggle. He made note of it as he stepped slightly backward, ready to leave before he endangered himself any further.

"I'll see you later, then," he bowed slightly. "I'm sure of it. Sleep tight."

"Right," she nodded. "Enjoy your air, Astarion."

"Yes," he mumbled under his breath. "My air..."