#what really hurts is losing all the books i had stashed.. all my notes on them and quotes are gone....

[sochilll]

OKAY here we go my official A Good Girl's Guide to Murder the series review. It is very long.

Short spoiler free version: they flattened down most of the characters, made Andie much more palatable, and removed a lot of Pip's detective work. Overall it's not a very good murder mystery or adaptation, but I think it's a fun show on its own.

Okay now let's get into it.

(Extreme spoilers for both the show and the books below)

Pippa

They character assassinated my girl!!! They removed like all her defining traits!!! Where were the spreadsheets!!! Where were the backups and the secret backups and the third email back ups!!!!

Overall I think Emma Myers was a fantastic Pip. Her line deliveries were great and she definitely fit the way I'd imagined Pip in the books. The gripes I have are with the script. For example: the first interaction with Ravi. Yes that scene is supposed to be awkward and tense but she didn't even tell him she thought Sal was innocent! That's the reason he agrees to help her! Also I think the following him part was much weirder than just going to his house

Will get into this more below but Pip is barely doing any detective work....

Okay the decision to stop the project.... WHY. In the book she stops because her dog gets killed and she's terrified that the blackmailer will hurt her family. Or that they'll go after Ravi. Because THAT'S the essence of Pippa Fitz-Amobi! She is loyal! She cares about her friends and family more than anything. She ONLY stops because she's worried about them. When it's only HER life getting threatened she keeps it a secret so no one tries to stop her. And then also, Ravi forgives her because he figures out what happened to Barney and realizes the position she was in. In the show she just.... thinks Sal did it now? And Becca said she was selfish??? It makes Pip a lot more self centered that THOSE are the things that make her give up. And then also makes no sense why Ravi would immediately forgive her OR why she would continue after Barney gets killed later on??? Have a slight doubt and give up but your dog gets murdered and you don't bat an eye? Truly don't understand the thought process between changing the order of those two beats.

Why would Pip cut open the rabbits???? If it was Andie's drug stash she'd obviously have a way to get in without cutting it open and sewing it shut every time. Come on Pip is not that dumb 😭

Overall Pip is a lot less careful in the show. (Where are the gloves when they break into the Bell's??) They're constantly almost getting caught and giggling which gives the whole thing a much lighter tone. Maybe that's what they're going for but in the books you feel like Pip is actually in danger and it doesn't translate here. On that note: after the first note, Pip barely reacts to the threats at all. I LOVED the scene of her coming home from camping and seeing the note on the table but they just never brought that tension back.

Why did they give Pip a weird memory of Andie??? It (again) makes the whole thing more about Pip than Sal. Now it's about Pip's guilt because she told Sal where Andie was. It's supposed to be about Sal! The whole motive for her to research this is that Sal was kind to her. That she couldn't believe he'd do it. And that there were inconsistencies in the case. The show turns her motives into "he couldn't have done it because then I'm at fault too." Her obsession is supposed to come from knowing the truth, not making herself feel better.

Pip "I'd do anything for you" moment with Cara I WEEP!!!!! They are best friends!!!!!

Ravi

Ravi was simply not goofy enough ! He had a few really good moments but I missed so many of his little jokes

I know it's much harder without Pip's internal narration, but I feel like the show loses so much of Ravi's (and his parents') isolation. There's the brief scene of the graffiti at the beginning and the part where he won't go to the calamity with her (and even then Pip has to spell it out). But in the book the Singh's loneliness and isolation is so apparent. Ravi says they aren't even allowed to grieve because of what everyone thinks of Sal. It's fucking devastating and it just did not come through in the show

And the previous point manifests in Ravi taking a bit to trust her. He doesn't just hand over Sal's phone on day ONE!! And he never shows her his bedroom! There's a really good scene in the book where Pip steps into Andie's room and it's been perfectly preserved and she realizes the Singh's must have a room just like it. But that doesn't work when Ravi already showed her Sal's room.

Also Ravi would simply never sign off on "I'm gonna publicly challenge the blackmailer that murdered my dog to see if he tries to kill me" hello???? #notmyravi

Ravi just going "lol peace out" at the end HUH??? Also sorry but him finding the marshmallow and getting all sentimental was so dumb bro. Why did you add in this conflict just to solve it like THAT?

They also downplayed a lot of the racial elements. They give Ravi the one line about a brown guy breaking into a rich white guy's house (which is taken much more seriously in the book) but they remove Stanley Forbes and with him, the way Sal was treated by the media. Race is one of the main factors in the way the case was handled (also my theory that it's based on an actual case handled similarly comes from those very discussions). But they don't really acknowledge the fact that Sal's race was a factor in how the case was handled and the vitriol his family faced after in the show at all. (And then they added in the white savior line which was so....). Stanley openly states he thinks Sal is guilty because he's Indian and the show really doesn't touch on that aspect outside of Ravi's throwaway line.

Pip and Ravi

Oooooh the Pip and Ravi of it all.... I do care them

As much as I didn't like the initial interaction I did very much enjoy Pip showing up drunk in her cunty little star outfit that was so cute (also Ravi's mom being like "from a galaxy far far away?" Was so fucking funny)

SARGE!!!!!!! 💕💓💘❤️💞💝💗

He made her a nonalcoholic cocktail!!! And named it after her!!!!!

The romantic tension was very good. The bunny fluff in her hair... waaaaaahhhhg

Sobbing that Pip is so clearly standing on something when they kiss lmao

I like that we got to see the first kiss, very cute. But I am sad they removed the project presentation and the forehead thing ;_;

Andie and Sal

OKAY let's talk about Andie

I really didn't like starting on her. It gives away WAY too much - even though they never actually went through the alleged timeline and murder that Sal was assumed guilty for but still the head wound is such a huge clue to give as the opening scene.

Overall, I don't like how much presence Andie has. The whole thing is that the town is haunted by her absence, that it turns out people didn't really know her at all. And all that is kind of negated when she's showing up in flashbacks every five seconds. It doesn't feel like she's gone or mysterious.

Same with Sal, he's sort of supposed to be contained to the memories Pip has of him being nice to her and Ravi's grief for his brother. But he's also a mystery. The whole thing is that they don't really KNOW that Sal didn't kill Andie. There are times where he does look guilty. But again the flashbacks (especially the weirdly manipulated versions) kinda of ruin that. It's just so heavy handed on the "he's guilty or maybe not" front.

On that note I also don't like the ending they gave Sal and Andie. Sal never knew about her plan. They were fighting when they died and that sucks but it's true. They weren't having this epic love story. And either way, they're both dead, we shouldn't know what happened in that room. We shouldn't get to see it esp since it's Pip's POV and there's no way she'd ever know

Also curious why they decided to make Sal attack the cops??? The ONE thing Pip knows about him is that he's nice. The one thing every single person says is that he's exceptionally kind. In the book his interview is suspicious but he never gets violent. He's kind and they took that away from him and I don't fuck with it!!!

The Andie and Becca interaction..... whyyyyy did they do that? Andie blows her off. That's why Becca gets mad. Becca never knew she was planning to leave or about the head injury. All she knew was that she told her big sister she was assaulted and her sister didn't care. Andie said she should be grateful. That's why Becca got mad and shoved her. Becca was not overreacting or acting with intent to kill. If Andie hadn't already had a head injury she wouldn't have died from her sister shoving her. They changed it to make Andie nicer? I guess? Which brings me to...

Andie doesn't need to be a saint for her death to be tragic. They made all these changes to made her nicer (breaking it off w Elliot once she started dating Sal, the fake added scene of her and Sal planning to run away, her telling Becca the truth, no mention from her friends of how cruel she was to them) they softened her and contradicted the point the book was making. In the book Andie is put on a pedestal and Pip has to uncover that she was mean to her friends and horrible to her sister and cheated on Sal and blackmailed people and sold date rape drugs. But she was also abused and scared and wanted to protect her sister. Pip realizes Andie was real and complicated and nasty sometimes but her death was STILL a tragedy. It still matters who killed her. The movie sanitized that message right out and made her a way flatter character in the process ("You have cast her as your beautiful victim and willfully overlook the layers of her character, because they don't comfortably fit your narrative"!!!!!!)

The Pacing and Detective Work

On one hand I understand they have to cut things down for the show. But also did they??? The book isn't that long and they had like 5 hours. But most of my gripes aren't from stuff that got cut but stuff that was changed for no discernible reason

Everything happens so quickly (when Naomi dropped the alibi thing in episode ONE I was taken aback). Things are revealed so fast and yet Pip is like... so slow to put things together. Dan isn't even a suspect until the second to last episode. She never really suspects Max at all. Howie isn't even mentioned after their one conversation. She never considers any of the Wards. She's not really doing any detective work or making connections she's just waiting to find out a new piece of information. Which leads into the worst part:

Pip doesn't actually solve anything???? People just keep telling her stuff! She doesn't break into Naomi's FB and find out about Sal's alibi being real by studying the pictures, Naomi just gives her Max's secret insta and tells her the truth. She doesn't break into a guy's phone to get Howie's number, some guy just walks her over to him. She doesn't follow and blackmail Howie she just gives him $60 and he tells her shit??? She doesn't put in a request to view the transcript of Sal's interview, Dan just fucking shows it to her (also why is it on his phone????) All of her agency is gone. The only thing she does do is break into the Bell's house and even that was way less thorough than in the book

Elliot Ward and the Ending

I HATE how Elliot wasn't even a suspect. It pissed me off cause it was just for a shock value twist. I think it's a fuck you to the audience when the murder mystery ends with "it was this guy you had no idea was involved at all!" And they went out of their way to remove all the connections to him (the photo of Andie was found in his room, he lied about knowing her, she was openly at him) so they could pull a gotcha on the audience. It's cheap!!!

They also made Elliot a lot more sinister in the show. Not that he was a great guy in the book obv. But in the book he genuinely deluded himself into thinking he had Andie in the attic. Making her a conscious woman who knows she's been kidnapped + Elliot knowing before he even spoke to her that she wasn't Andie + him locking Pip in the attic too just makes him way less sympathetic. In the book he is a man who, yes, took advantage of his position as a teacher with a minor, but also who hurt her accidentally and tortured himself over that for years. He was driven so insane by guilt that he convinced himself he'd found her and she was still alive. Removing that flattens him completely to bad evil guy.

He also is relieved in the book when Pip confronts him because he wants it to be over. In the show he was much more whiny and tries to stop her

Also I don't like that him talking about Sal's death is relayed through a flashback from Isla. It's so distanced. He should be telling Pip.

They also way downplayed Elliot's relationship with Pip. She describes him as a tertiary father figure. He's always around and very involved with his daughters + Pip. But in the show he's in like 2 scenes which again makes the reveal less gut-wrenching for Pip.

Also the reveal with Becca was so.... Idk. In the book she comes off much more sad and like she's genuinely sorry she has to ("has to") kill Pip. More guilt ridden as well. She thought she caused the head injury. She thought everyone, including her parents, would think she killed Andie on purpose and she was scared. And she was scared that Pip would tell everyone that. And also BECCA DOESNT ACTUALLY DO IT. In the book she lets up. She can't kill Pip. That moment didn't happen in the show and it's such an important Becca moment esp considering book 2. In the show she came off much more criminal mastermind

Also small note but Pip thinking "she knows where to put you where they'll never find you" as Becca chokes her hits way harder than Becca going "that's where I put Andie. And where I have to put you" (paraphrasing I don't remember the exact line)

Random Details

Why did they hire a 9 year old to play like freshman year Pip 😭 she's supposed to be in high school with Andie in the flashback right? Why does she look SO small? Just style Emma Myers differently! (Also the way she interacts with Sal reads super young but if she's supposed to be that young why is she at the high school!)

Stop showing the Andie crying flashback stop it oh my god. They show it like 3 times just in one episode. STOP IT! Even if it was a good or important flashback you are overusing that fucking clip please

Why did they make Ant a popular dude instead of their friend?? My only guess is just simply so they'd have to hire less actors for the main group but I would've said to combine Zack and Connor. Ant's turning on Pip in book 2 (if they're even gonna renew it) hurts because he's her friend. And obv Connor has a whole thing going on in the second one but Zack is kinda the extra. I'm just confused on that choice

Why is the calamity party 1. A rave and 2. In a series of underground caves and tunnels?????? Hello??? Also how do they have electricity and overhead lights down there what's going on

Jesse? Cool as hell babey!!!! Lets go lesbians!!!! I actually love that they made her more of a character and she rescues Pip twice that's so fun I adore her

They replaced Chloe Burch with Nat da Silva. Not sure about that in general bc Nat's arc is sort of antithetical to being friends with Andie but I do get that Chloe and Emma aren't different enough to warrant devoting time to them separately when Nat is already there. But again, in the book they were never friends. Andie hated her (also Nat is supposed to have chopped all her hair off and have dark grungy makeup and an ankle monitor how dare you take this from me)

WHAT was up with the drama with Pip's dad??? Leave Victor out of this what was the point!! All u did was further erase her closeness with her family which is her wHOLE THING!!!

Second dad comment: they talk about her dead dad WAY more in the show than the book what was the reason for that? You cut the blackmailing of a drug dealer for that???

Actually laughing out loud at Pip slamming the breaks from 90 kph and literally not moving at all what the hell who filmed this

Pip *filming the most "I'm being held at gunpoint" ass video ever*: I was just joking yesterday. Do not ask me about this again.

They didn't act out the murder to see if it could've happened in the time frame :/

Also they just changed Jason Bell's job?? Why?

AND WHY WAS HE NEVER EVEN TALKED ABOUT??? HE WAS A MAIN SUSPECT AND THE SHOW BARELY EVER ACKNOWLEDGES HIM WHAT HELLO!!!!!

Overall the list of suspects is abysmal. One of the things I love about the book is how many suspects and trails there are so you can be finding stuff out along with Pip. It's not immediately obvious but it's also not out of left field. Pip has like 7 suspects in the book and she follows up on all of them. I get how that would take up a lot of time but in the show she seemingly had 0 suspects??? She never really thought it was anyone and didn't follow up any interviews with investigations. It didn't feel like you could've even made any predictions from the show because there were no leads.

Okay that's all go read A Good Girl's Guide to Murder and all subsequent books! <33333

[sjdsjdshadjs-archive]

my phone went through its flop era (Black Screen of Death) so i had to reset it to factory settings. im fine 😎. im killing myself 🙈

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

I just read your Riven fics and ommggg they are so good!! Idk if you are making a part three but I will definitely look out for it! I haven’t started the sly ones but I can’t wait!

Come back to me // part 2

Pairing: Riven x light!fairy

Breath caught in her throat, she felt her hands tremble as her eyes lingered on the envelope on her pillow. The handwriting is in the kind of black that speaks of nighttime dreaming. The letters are so typically Riven - messy and yet she could see the effort behind each and every word - To my Sunshine - .

It’s been a long time since he last wrote her a love note, far too long for her to truly remember what it said. She remembers how it made her feel - hopeful, elated, giddy. That’s all Riven needed to win her over - love notes he’d slip in her books whenever she wasn’t looking.

This time it felt different. The note brought anxiety, fear of what the envelope may hide inside. They barely speak nowadays and when they do, Riven is crude and too often she finds herself crying herself to sleep because of how convincing he is with his act. Sometimes she wonders if he’s acting at all or if that’s who he is with everyone but her and it makes her feel guilty. How can she still be questioning his loyalties?

Shaking her head, she releases a heavy sigh before her shaky fingers pry open the envelope. The paper inside is barely ink stained, a few words written for her aching heart.

“Still Your Asshole”

Chuckling, Y/N covers her mouth with an open palm, glancing at the door to make sure no one is nearby. It wasn’t a chuckle that seemed to stop as it turned into a cackle and that cackle turned into a sob. She didn’t know where the sobs came from, she just knew she couldn’t stop. As if the soul could bleed an ocean through the eyes, that was the enormity of her sobbing.

Screaming into her pillow, Y/N felt the rawness of her pain fully. It had revealed its ugly head and she couldn’t breathe. 

Riven may be hers but he isn’t. It takes a moment, a single mistake for him to be uncovered by Rosalind or Beatrix and he’d be taken from her. She’d never get to run her fingers through his brown hair, she’d never get to kiss his lips again or feel his hand in hers. He’d never tease her again, he’d never write her a new note or insist she needs him to teach her to fight. All of it would be gone in a blink of any eye and the severity of that realization choked the light out of her, even if for a little while.

She can’t always be the Sunshine. Clouds will eventually clear, but she needs the little bit of darkness and the sweetness it brings. Even if she’s in pain, even if the sadness threatens to suffocate her, she craves it. 

Riven makes her weak, he makes her vulnerable. She never dreamed she could care for a man like Riven, she certainly didn’t wish it, but she does. It’s more than caring for Riven, she’s way past that. Whatever wicked game he played to make her feel that way for him, it worked. She fell in love with Riven and now it’s consuming her.

Wiping her tears, she stashes the letter under her mattress before walking out in the sun. If she can’t be the light, she can at least get the warmth of another’s light.

She lays down on the damp grass, looking up at the sky. She looked at the sky like a man would look at a withered flower in which he no longer sees the beauty he plucked it for, thus destroying it.

This noble heart that beat only for the most tender of emotions had to be subjected to pain to learn the secret of life:

Love has to come at once, with thunder and lightning like a hurricane that wrecks havoc on your life, to shake you up and break the the heart like leaves off trees, to drag it into the abyss.

She’s in the abyss now.

“You can’t be here”, and then she hears his voice, pulling her away from the darkness. “Come on”, he whisper shouts as he takes her by the hands and helps her to her feet. 

She’s a little dizzy, disoriented by the sudden change in position. His eyes are on her, his face inches away and yet she feels like they’re a thousand miles apart. She doesn’t fight him as he drags her to the greenhouse, closing the door quickly so no one would see them.

“I got your note”, she’s the first one to speak. Riven turns to her with a small smile only for it to fall when he truly looks at her - puffy, red eyes and dry lips aren’t easily mistakable. 

He let out a slow controlled breath, “Is that why you cried?” Riven’s eyebrows furrow as he steps closer to her, his hands on his hips.

“I cried because I miss you!” She shouts, her fingers flickering alight and she knows she’s losing control. A shuddered breath passes her quivering lips, “I miss you and I’m worried about you and I hate you.” She says through gritted teeth and Riven can’t help but stumble back, confused.

“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, pointing his right index finger at himself, “What did I do?”

Scoffing, Y/N shakes her head. “YOU MADE ME LOVE YOU AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN HERE!” Covering her mouth, she turns away from him. She never told him that she loved him before and he never uttered anything close to it either. She feared looking at him and not have him say it back. After all, why would he?

“You love me?” Riven breathes out, still trying to collect himself. Crossing the distance between them, Riven wraps his arms around her. Pulling her back against his chest, he folds his hands over her abdomen. He’s holding on tightly, like she’s a dream he’s afraid to wake up from. 

“You love me?” He repeats in a whisper. Knitting her eyebrows together, she frowns and bites into the soft flesh of the inside of her bottom lip as his lips brush her earlobe.

“Yes”, she leans her head back on his shoulder, relaxing in his arms.

“Good.” Riven whispers and she snaps out of it, slapping his hands until he lets go. 

“Good?” She exclaims, her glare deadlier than a blade. 

“Yeah?” Riven chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

“I tell you I love you and all you have to say is good?” She deadpans, before throwing her hands in the air, “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah. It’s good, because I’ve been in love with you for about a year now and it’s good to know you finally feel the same way.” Riven shrugs, “But go on. I like it when you’re angry.”

Rolling her eyes, she playfully slaps his chest, “Don’t fucking do that to me!”

“Did you just say a swear word?” Riven’s eyes widen, a grin much wider making Y/N blush.

“You’re really going to nitpick at my language instead of kissing me now when we finally got a moment alone in months?” She raises an eyebrow, tapping her foot nervously.

“I’m actually running late”, Riven wets his lips and yet he doesn’t move away, but closer to Y/N. All he can taste is the cherry chapstick she wore the first time they kissed. That was on a constant loop inside his head.

“We could run?” Y/N tries, but Riven only shakes his head.

“I spent my whole life running. I can’t betray Sky like that. He’s my brother.” 

Struggling to inhale, Y/N whispers, “And what am I to you?”

“The love of my life.” Riven blurts out without a second thought as his hands cups her cheeks, “You’re the only reason why I’m never going to give up.”

“You’re saying all the right words and my heart still hurts”, she sniffles, hoping she doesn’t cry again. She’s had enough of crying for a lifetime.

“I wish I could make it better, I do.” Closing his eyes, Riven leans his forehead on hers, “I love you with all I am. With all I’ll ever be.” Drawing in a sharp inhale, he holds his breath for a moment to stop tears from forming. “If I were a better man, I’d have let you go.”

“Don’t be the better man”, she croaks, her fingers curling his hair at the back of his head. “Be the bad guy. Just be mine.” And she kissed him. With a devastating sweetness, an innocence - as if this were the first time. Strong fingers curved about her jaw and warmth seeped into her bones, her skin, her soul.

The lips held to hers, reassuringly alive. Riven had reassured her by the strength of his arms surrounding her and the steady wilderness in his chest, beat of a heart not her own. 

She was no longer alone in misery. Someone was there, keeping her warm, holding the memories at bay and dangers of the world could no longer get to her. Her lips softened; tentatively, she returned the kiss with all her heart.

Breaking the kiss, Riven’s arms leave her, the warmth going with him. She stumbles, catching her breath. 

Riven glances at his phone only to swear under his breath and she knows something’s happened.

“Listen to me”, Riven swallows thickly, “Stay with Stella and the rest tonight.”

“Why”, Y/N frowns, folding her arms across her chest.

“Don’t ask questions, please.” Pecking her lips, Riven takes a few steps back, “If you love me as much as you say you do, go now and stay with the girls. I’ll try to contact you as soon as I can.”

“Riven”, Y/N raises her voice, unnerved and anxious about his behavior. 

“Sunshine, please”, his voice softens and she nods, licking her lips. Before she can say a word, he manages a smile, “I’ll come back to you. I will.” 

And that’s when he leaves and Y/N does as he asked. But the nagging feeling inside her chest is relentless - something bad is happening and someone is going to get hurt.

Part 4 

[ladyfogg]

Let Me Comfort You

Let Me Comfort You

Fic Summary: After leaving your first date to chase a lead, Colin loses the chance to question their informant. Frustrated and feeling useless, Colin returns to your place hoping for some comfort. And you’re more than happy to provide it. Love Exists Masterpost. The Evans Fics Masterpost.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Colin Zabel/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Rough Sex, Oral (F receiving), Angst, Light Dom!Colin

Colin is in relatively good spirits when he gets to the meeting place. Your kisses are still on his mind and he hopes whatever work that needs to get done will happen quickly so he can get back to you.

As he pulls into a parking spot outside a local club, Mare climbs into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” she says. “Thanks for meeting me.” Her eyes take in his jacket and tie. “Did I interrupt something…again?”

“First date,” Colin admits.

Mare gives him a soft smile. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. She understands.”

Mare nods, turning her attention to the club. “Found out that one of our informants hasn’t been checking in. He’s said to frequent this club.”

“Let’s hope he still does.” Colin puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off, letting the heat run. The temperature has dropped significantly and all he can think about is your warm bed and body waiting for him.

Time slowly ticks by and while numerous people come and go, Mare doesn’t react so Colin assumes the informant hasn’t been seen. By now he knows Mare well enough to try not to push conversation, so they sit in silence. To his surprise, his partner is the one to speak next.

“How did the date go?” Mare asks.

He’s surprised by her interest and excited to talk about you. “A little rocky in the beginning. We were both nervous. But, after that…” He smiles, remembering how stunning you looked sitting across from him in the restaurant. “Um, yeah, after that, things went well.”

“You gonna see her again?”

Hopefully right after this if it doesn’t go too late…

Colin nods. “Definitely.”

Mare nods along with him. He can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking and how she feels about him getting closer to you. It’s strange to think these things, to want some kind of validation from your boss. But Mare has the energy about her and Colin is a people pleaser.

“You two really like each other,” Mare notes.

He smiles, though her words do sting a little. “Should I be insulted that you sound surprised?”

Mare smirks as she shrugs. “You can if you want to be. I didn’t mean it as an insult or anything. I’ve just never seen my girl take a liking to someone so fast.”

Colin feels his cheeks redden and he smiles. “That’s nice to hear.”

Mare looks him over, studying him like she does a piece of evidence or a suspect. “You two will be good together.”

Colin opens his mouth to thank her, but her expression hardens and she motions towards the club.

“That’s him!” she says, nodding towards the guy headed their way.

Colin barely has a chance to look at the informant before Mare is getting out of the car. The second the man sees her he turns around and books it.

“Shit!” Mare exclaims giving chase.

Colin swears and jumps out of the car himself. He takes off running after them, doing his best to catch up. The freezing night air steals his breath away but he pushes through it, weaving between cars. The informant does the same, trying to trip them up. Colin dodges around the cars on his left in an attempt to swing around and cut him off.

He’s gaining in the man but suddenly, the informant turns unexpectedly then barrels right into Colin, sending him flying back into a car. The next thing he knows, he’s on the ground, his palm on fire from scraping against the asphalt in his attempt to catch himself.

“Zabel?!”

“I’m fine! Keep going!” He barely gets the words out after having the wind knocked out of him.

He hears Mare’s footsteps run past as he takes a moment to catch his breath. By the time he pushes himself to his feet, Mare is coming his way, looking annoyed.

“Lost him,” she sighs heavily.

Colin feels the bile rise in his throat and anger courses through his veins. “Fuck! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Zabel.”

“But I had him!”

“Don’t beat yourself about it. If anything, I’m the one to blame. He ran when he recognized me.”

Her words don’t make Colin feel better. His already shaky confidence is shattered. Resting against the parked car, he yanks his tie off, using it to wrap his injured hand.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Colin says, terser than he means to. “So, what should we do now?”

“I’ll call it in. Let them know that he was spotted. At least this means he’s in the area. If they don’t find him on the streets, they’ll get him at his place. Someone will pick him up.”

“Should we do a quick drive around?”

“Nah. It’s late. You should head home.”

Mare walks with him to his car. Colin’s knee is killing him and his pants are covered in mud. What had started as such a great evening went downhill fast.

“Go home and get some rest,” Mare says as he eases himself into his car. “I’ll let you know when he’s picked up.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Colin sits in his car for a moment, watching Mare get into her SUV. A small part of him wants to just go home and wallow in his self-pity. But a larger, more vocal side tells him to go to your place. Picking up his phone, he pauses for a second of contemplation before shooting you a quick text to see if you’re still awake.

Awake and waiting ;) comes your response only seconds later.

He’s twitchy and fidgety the entire drive, his throbbing hand just reminding him of his latest failure. It seems like every time he’s finally going to prove himself, he only manages to prove himself wrong.

When he pulls up to your apartment, he doesn’t hesitate getting out of the car. This time the cold barely registers.

You’ve left the door unlocked so he lets himself in, making sure to lock it behind him. The warmth of your place makes him feel a tiny bit better. He calls your name when you don’t come to greet him.

“In here, Detective Zabel.”

Colin’s heart nearly stops when he walks into your room to find you lounging on your bed in the sexiest panties and bra he’s ever seen. The only source of light is the dimmed lamp on your nightstand. It’s just enough to cast everything in a warm yellow glow.

The second you see his muddy pants and his tie wrapped around his hand, you sit up, face etched with concern.

“What happened?” you ask, getting off the bed.

Colin looks down at his hand. “Oh, you know, doing big shot detective work.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Here, sit down. I think I have a first aid kit stashed somewhere around here.”

You gently lead him to the bed, having him sit before you rummage around your room. Colin kicks out of his shoes as he carefully takes off his coat and suit jacket. His body is already sore and he knows tomorrow he’s going to be in a lot of pain.

When you come back to his side, you gently take his hand in yours. He watches you delicately unwind the tie before examining the scrape on his palm. It doesn’t look as bad as he thought it was. You grab a wipe from your kit and clean out his wound.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Colin debates not saying anything, but one look in your eyes makes him sigh. “I let an informant get away.”

“I’m sure you didn’t let them get away.”

“No, I guess not,” Colin concedes, seeing your point. “But I didn’t stop him or catch him like I was supposed to.”

You fall silent as you finish cleaning his palm and put a Band-Aid on it. “Well,” you say in a quiet tone. “You tried and that’s all that matters. You guys will get him next time.”

Colin stares at you, eyes raking down your body, just casually sitting there in the underwear you planned to seduce him with. It sparked the fire inside his already antsy body. He cups your cheek and pulls you into a kiss. It’s harsher, with more tongue and teeth than he usually uses yet feels appropriate considering the storm of emotions inside of him.

Your mouth falls open in surprise and he takes advantage, licking deep inside as he crushes you against his chest.

There’s so much he knows he can’t do. So much of his job that he knows he’s not qualified for. He’s reminded of it every fucking day.

But this. You. Making you feel good. He knows that he can do. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s felt truly sure of himself.

Your hands come up to his shoulders and you push him back to break the kiss. “Colin, baby…”

You’re, breathless and hearing his name in that tone only fuels his lust.

“Please,” he whispers against your lips as he draws you closer. “Please, I just need…” He can’t finish his thought.

You study him for a moment, before running your hand through his hair, peppering him with kisses. “What do you need, baby?” you ask. “How can I help?”

Dominance washes over him and he gets his voice back. “Lay down on the bed.”

As you do as he says, he stands up and strips. Despite the heat of your room, he still feels chilled to the bone. All he can think about is getting his hands on you and making you moan. Planning ahead, he drops his wallet on the nightstand so the condoms will be just within reach when he needs them.

Naked, Colin kneels on the bed, eyes raking up and down your frame as he leans over you. He swoops down for a kiss, losing himself in the taste of your lips while his hand cups your breast, giving it an appreciative squeeze.

You gasp and shudder. “Your hands are freezing!”

“Then let me warm them up.”

He tugs the flimsy material down so your breast is exposed, fondling it just as roughly as he had a moment before. The heat of your skin sears into his palm and you gasp again, writhing underneath him until the temperatures balance out.

Colin doesn’t stop kissing you, drunk on your lips just as he has been every single time they touch his. You bury one hand in his hair and the other falls to his hip, urging him on with a gentle squeeze. His thumb rubs circles around your nipple before he breaks your kiss so he can take the bud in his mouth.

You bow your back when he does, pressing your breasts into his face even more. Colin moans, lavishing your nipple with constant attention until he decides the other has been ignored for far too long.

Both your hands cradle his head now, keeping him pressed against your chest until he decides he needs to taste more. He needs your legs over his shoulders and your thighs clamped over his ears. He needs you moaning his name as he makes you come undone.

Your panties are yanked down without much preamble or ceremony. As nice as they are, they only serve as an obstacle between Colin and what he wants. He’s rough when he throws your legs over his shoulders before tugging you down the bed towards him. With a strangled moan, he buries himself between your thighs.

God, you’re already wet. He tastes your arousal with a thorough swipe of his tongue, relishing in the notion that he’s the one who made you like this. He’s the one who has you moaning and squirming underneath him. Emboldened by your reaction, Colin sucks on your clit, grunting as you squeeze his head with your thighs. He can sense you clenching at nothing, feel your hips attempt to jerk upward for more friction. But he pins them down, doesn’t do what you’re silently begging for.

Instead, he keeps doing what he’s doing, alternating between sucking and flicking with his tongue. He’s just as warm as you are now, beads of sweat trickling down his neck and making your legs slip on his shoulders. He only holds you tighter.

When he finally eases two fingers into you, he receives a harsh hair pull for his efforts. It makes him grin, his cock pressing eagerly against the bed. He’s not ready yet, doesn’t want to stop pleasuring you for even a moment because it’s the surest of himself he’s been in years.

This time when you come, he feels your body clench around his fingers. He lets your pelvis rocks against his face and he loses all train of thought other than the feeling of you coming all around him.

The second you relax, he sits up, gasping for air and taking in the gorgeous sight of you, bra tucked under your breasts and legs spread wide.

He reaches for a condom before you even have a chance to catch your breath. You see him roll it on and wiggle out of your bra, tossing it somewhere off to the side.

Colin grabs your legs, wrapping them around his waist before pushing into you with one smooth thrust.

You throw your head back with a gasp, “Colin!”

With his hands on either side of your hips, he fucks into you. His eyes never leave your face, taking in every expression. The way your eyebrows knit together when you shut your eyes or how your teeth dig into your bottom lip…it’s intoxicating.

Your hands cling onto his arms, tugging as though you’re trying to pull him closer. He doesn’t follow through, not yet. He wants to keep watching.

You open your bleary eyes and he loses himself in them.

How did he get so fucking lucky to have someone like you look at him this way? To see him for who he is? Even though you don’t know. You don’t know what he did. If you did, he doubts you’d look at him the way you are now.

He kisses you harshly, pressing his body against yours and, grinding himself into your heat.

It’s his turn to moan your name, his lips unable to leave yours for more than a second.

“You feel so good,” he moans. “I love the way you squeeze me. It’s like you’ll never let go.”

One of your hands buries into his hair while the other reaches blindly for his hand. When you find it, you twine your fingers with his and he presses your joined hands to the bed.

His mouth seeks your throat and moves down until he finds your breasts again. harsh kisses turn to him sucking on the flesh, desperate to leave his mark on you.

He comes not long after, throwing his head back with a guttural moan. You twitch and spasm underneath him, coming again but he’s too lost in his own pleasure to notice until he collapses on top of you and feels the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Colin can’t help but hold you close, even though your bodies are pressing so tight makes it hard to catch his breath.

You stroke his cheek, looking at him with concern. “Tonight really got to you, didn’t it?” you pant.

Colin nods, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’m sorry. So sorry for—”

“Don’t apologize.” You take his face between your hands and force him to look at you. “You have nothing to apologize for. That was actually really hot.”

Colin gives a breathless laugh before pulling you into another kiss. This time he’s gentler, carefully easing out of you so he can slide onto the bed. His movements allow you to finally take a deep breath and you slowly exhale. With shaking hands, Colin rids himself of the condom. He’s not one to be so rough and he’s worried he’s overstepped. But then you curl against his side, your arm thrown over his chest and your face buried in his neck.

“Hope you weren’t planning on going anywhere,” you say through a yawn.

Colin yawns himself, running a hand through his hair before tucking it behind his head. His other arm pulls you in close.

“Why? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He can feel your smile against his skin before you place a gentle peck on his throat. “Get some sleep, babe. We can talk more about it tomorrow if you want, okay?”

“I’d like that.”

You fall asleep almost instantly, but Colin stays awake, gently running his hand up and down your arm. Even after fantastic sex and being in your arms, he only feels marginally better. That little anxious voice in his head won’t quiet down and it takes a long time before he’s able to fall asleep.

---

Series Taglist: @lejardinfleur @spidergirlmcu @anonymushhy @samsassinparvismagna​ @kitwalker64​ @tatestripedsweater​ @xmaximoffic​ @marshmallow--3​ @stellarbound​ @kais-messiahbaby​ @margaretboothsear​ @slightlyvicked​ @nia-s-not-so-secret-diary​ @liandav​ @billyhxrgrove​ @TheOriginalDoll87 @tatesimper​ @sanni333​ @spider-starry​

[mxvladdy]

That Diavolo angst was perfect. The best, most high quality cheese at the end. Domestic fluff galore. Decadence straight from the source of your hands.

Could we get some Diavolo fluff with an MC who ran away from home(of lamentation) that wants to spend the night at the castle because the brothers were being dismissive [in tsundere and sibling fun-poking ways] but it just kept reminding MC of their abusive home life in the most innocuous ways

i.e. Satan mocking the books they like for being "too whimsical/fanciful". Asmo making a few too many degrading comments on their skin/hair care or lack thereof (like, tell me the RIGHT way to do it then!  If I'm such a fuck up on my own). Mammon and Belphie.... being Mammon and Belphie.  Levi gate keeping them from devildom equivalent interests because they're "not a real fan if they don't [x]"

A/N: Awww you spoil me with compliments ~^.^~! I hope this is to your liking!

It was late and Diavolo was exhausted. Diavolo looks down at his over inundated schedule, black and red ink covering the pages, barely any of the original white pages could be seen now.  Squinting he chuckles at the elegant handwriting of his butler. He had quite literally penciled in two hours for sleep. A sweet gesture for the evening. It was unfortunate he had wasted half of that time going over in his last meeting of the night. 

The meeting was supposed to be just a brief update on the expansion of the kingdom out west. New trading routes with the colonies and lands not yet in his domain. But, as usual, the evening turned to his exchange program and he always had time to talk about his pet project, even if his schedule didn’t. Each of the brothers was adamant that the program was going well. Better than they had hoped in fact, they all warmed up to you much to his delight, even saying they were treating you like you were part of the family.

That should have been his first clue. He knew the brothers and how they acted with family. Perhaps it was because he was exhausted that the comment went over his head, perhaps it was his own ego telling him everything was going great. He brushed aside the remarks to conclude the meeting and get to his rooms without a second thought. Diavolo practically vibrating with excitement at the hot bath waiting for him. Maybe he could nab some chocolate from Barbatos’s secret stash too. With those sweet thoughts filling his head and his eyes buried in his agenda he overlooks you standing by his door. He skids to a stop only after almost knocking you off your feet with his massive bulk. “My apologies, I did not see you there.” He steadies you looking you over for any injuries. “Do you need something?” He forces an energetic smile onto his face to hide his exhaustion and slight irritation at yet another snag in his evening.

He watches you shuffle in place for a moment, eyes downcast. “Sorry-sorry, it’s silly, but could I stay with you for a bit? I don’t want to be at the house.” Your voice warbles, hands coming up to wipe at fresh tears. Diavolo’s hearts sink, his previous exhaustion taking a backseat to you.  

He beckons you into his room without a second thought. “What’s wrong? What happened?” You shake your head rubbing harder at your face, your skin getting more and more agitated. He purrs deep in his chest pulling you close on instinct to comfort you and for you to stop agitating your skin. You bury your face in his uniform.

“It’s stupid really, I don’t know why I’m upset.” You laugh. The weak sound getting caught on a wet hiccup. “I just can’t handle the teasing right now.” Anger begins to brew in his gut, the brothers, you were obviously talking about them. Had he been to lose with his leash? Did they lie to him?

He leads you to his favorite chair by the window and crouches next to you. “Explain, please? If I need to correct this I will.” He listens, letting you vent and get your frustration out. He never had siblings nor any real family to relate your experiences with like you did, but he understood the mounting weight of words. There was only so much one could take before even the strongest shoulders crumble. “I’m sorry they hurt you.” He reaches to squeeze your knee in reassurance. “I could have Barbatos explain the matter to them, if you allow it.”

You sniff and give him a watery smile. “Thank you but I have to express this myself- I just needed some time away from them.” You cover his large hand with both of yours and squeeze back. “Thanks for listening.” Diavolo rumbles warmly, eyes locking with your warm hands.

“Anytime mi giglio,” He leans back onto his heels. “If I’m honest, their little jabs are utter baseless garbage.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle wiping your nose with his gifted handkerchief. “You don’t think I’m some boring sentimental human?” He shakes his head letting out a dismissive snort. You are beautiful and if Asmo was too blinded by his own standards and routines then it was his loss. He loves the character and different textures of your body. He loves your permanent laugh lines and the way your skin by your eyes crinkle when you smile. The way your nose scrunches when you are happy just makes him glow when in your presence.

Even the tiny scars and marks on your skin told stories that his body never could be able to do. He envied the way human lives could be seen through their bodies, the stories their bodies tell with or without them knowing was amazing. Demons, with their smooth lines, tight hard skin, and hidden agendas couldn’t do that. The idea of “gate-keeping” as you called it was a completely new contempt to him, and sounded ridiculous too. It was counterintuitive to his whole program. If you enjoyed the programs and culture then why were the brothers chastising you over it? He makes a mental note to find time off to take you to enjoy some of the sights of his Devildom without the brother's judgment.

“No. You- you,” He waves his free hand in the air trying to find words that won’t embarrass him. “You are fascinating and so unashamed of your interests. The life you live is unlike any demon or fallen angel could ever comprehend. If they tease you on such trivial things then that speaks to a fault in their character, not yours.” He lets them hang in the air between you, not wanting the meaning to be lost in useless banter.

The silence between you was comfortable and Diavolo basked in it. Normally silence was always tense around him, everyone always waiting for a decree or punishment. Right now though there is none of that. “Wise words, where did you get them?” You move away to pat at your blotchy face, trying to wipe away the tear stains.

Diavolo huffs at the loss of your soft touch. “Little D.” He jokes, voice deadpan. You laugh turning to face him. “There we are!” He cracks a small grin already feeling your mood relax. Leaning in close he wipes away a stray tear. “Feeling a bit better?  Perhaps we can-” Your phone buzzes from your discarded bag making you jump apart. You rush over digging through the bag to grab the blasted device looking at the rapid-fire amount of texts and calls all come in at once. “The brothers?” Diavolo sighs cursing their interruption. He can see the long streams of text bubbles scroll by in the reflection of your damp eyes.

“Yeah.” You look up from your screen. “They are wondering where I am.” Diavolo grimaces not even trying to hide his feelings. You glance back at the phone with little interest, then shrug powering it off. “I think I can let them stew in it for a bit, don’t you? Mind if I crash here for the night?” The Devil perks up, gold eyes following the trajectory of your phone as you toss it. The decorative case disappearing into the cushions.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He claps his hands together in excitement. “Come! Read me one of the stories Satan found jejune. I think I have a few Devildom children's stories on a shelf somewhere to share too!” Diavolo gets up already deciding which room you will stay in for the evening. Perhaps if he plays his cards right you could stay the weekend.

[alostsock]

An exercise in futility.

Summary/Snippet: “Did you think it hadn’t been tried, Booker?” Booker blinks, slowly turning to face Nicky.

“What?”

“Did you really think it hadn’t been tried? That everything hadn’t been tried? Everything that woman did, every experiment she ran. None of it is new.”

TW: self-harm, medical experimentation (nothing graphic), body horror, self-hatred, suicidal ideation

This is based on a headcanon by @dearpatroclus which you can read here, so thank you to them! Thank you also to @socvrates for the amazing beta, and to @shaolinqueen for the brainstorming, and for the line “Maybe next time, habibi” because it crushed me and so I included it.

Everything below the cut.

Part 1: Booker

“Did you think it hadn’t been tried, Booker?” Booker blinks, slowly turning to face Nicky.

“What?”

“Did you really think it hadn’t been tried? That everything hadn’t been tried? Everything that woman did, every experiment she ran. None of it is new.”

“You’ve been… wait no, you haven’t been taken in the past 200 years, I would have known about it. Science has changed, Nicky. There’s so much that they can do now that they couldn’t do in the 1700s. You don’t know -”

Nicky says nothing. He turns to face Booker, his eyes dark.

“I would have known…” Booker tries again, losing steam when Nicky continues to look at him with a carefully blank face. His shoulders slump. “When were you taken? Where? Was it you? Was it Joe? Andy? Was it when I was in Shanghai in ‘89? Or  Rennes in ‘27? Why didn’t you tell -”

“We weren’t taken, Booker. Or at least, nothing you don’t know about.”

Booker straightens up again. “Well then how would you know - ?”

“I tried it.”

“What?”

“I tried it myself.”

Booker looks at him in confusion. “What do you mean you tried it yourself?”

“I did the research myself.”

Booker knows there’s something that Nicky isn’t saying (as there tends to be with Nicky, his words always hinting at depths he won’t say) but it’s just out of reach, his mind failing to put it together.

Nicky pushes himself up off of the porch step and heads back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

-----

Part 2: Nile

They’re in an apartment by the Bay of Naples when Nile finds them. It’s an old property, definitely older than Nile (as most things are), and the things scattered around the house show it. The pots are old, the fireplace is well-used, and some of the clothes that Joe pulls out of the closet look like they’re from the wrong century (they just might be).

It looks innocent enough, at first. In an alcove off of the living room there’s a tall bookshelf, full to bursting. Nile hesitates. They’ve told her time and time again that what’s theirs is hers now, but these old books, clearly well-worn and often looked through, feel personal. She leans closer, hesitant to touch anything. Some of them have titles still legible on the spines. Others are too worn to read, while others still don’t appear to have anything written on the spines at all.

There are a few worn classics in Italian, English, and French that Nile recognizes.

Boccaccio, Shakespeare, Hugo, Rabelais.

There are others in languages Nile can’t read.

Curious and vaguely emboldened, Nile pulls out one of the unmarked books.

The only things she really understands are the dates on some of the pages. There are a few drawings that might have been done by Joe, but most of the book is filled with what Nile recognizes as Nicky’s hand.

She thinks it’s in Latin. It might be in Italian, but she suspects it’s too old of a form for her to read with her limited skills. Flipping through a few more pages and unable to really make out anything meaningful, she carefully closes it and puts it back on the shelf, picking up another.

The next one is much the same.

The pictures, scarce though they are, seem scientific, medical. She knows that Nicky has a medical degree - possibly more than one. Maybe he wrote something and Joe did the drawings for him.

It isn’t until the fifth book that the language starts to tend toward a recent enough form that Nile can make some things out between her recently acquired Italian skills and the Spanish she learned in high school. Between that and the obvious progress over the tomes in methodicity and organization, Nile realizes what she’s looking at.

They’re records of experiments.

She feels dread building in her stomach as she sits heavily on the couch, unable to tear her eyes away. There are a few times she needs to pull out her phone to check a translation but it becomes very clear what the experiments were about: they were experiments on immortality.

Nicky experimented on someone - and given what she knows about the immortal… community, or lack thereof? It must have been Joe or Andy or Booker.

She sits in silence, trying to understand.

Kind Nicky, gentle Nicky, very-much-the-mom-friend Nicky, had it in him to cut out pieces of his friends. It doesn’t feel right. Didn’t doctors take an oath to “do no harm”? She supposes it didn’t stop Kozak, and she knows that anything that was done would heal instantly, but the idea of Nicky taking a blade to Joe or Andy or Booker willingly unsettles Nile deeply.

And based on the number of books here (and Nile is sure that, with the number of properties they have around the globe, this isn’t the only stash of them), Nicky did a lot.

The notes are meticulous, and even with the language barrier Nile gets a pretty good idea of the extent to which Nicky went. Even though they heal, it feels wrong.

She hears the padding of footsteps on the stairs and she can’t help but hope that it isn’t Nicky. She isn’t sure if she can face him just yet - if she can handle how much her perception of him has changed.

She lets out a breath of relief when she sees that it’s Joe. When he sees her sitting on the couch he immediately beams at her, and she feels guilt rush through her when his face drops as he notices the book on her lap.

She shouldn’t have looked.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he huffs out a breath before calling out “Tea?” and heading to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Nile doesn’t know if she can stomach tea.

---

When he comes back he places both teacups on the coffee table before carefully taking the book out of her hands, closing it, and putting it back on the shelf. She notices that he does it all without even looking down at the page. He keeps his gaze averted as if he can’t bear to look at it.

She’s speaking before she can stop herself. “Was it you?”

Joe freezes midway from the shelf to the couch.

“What?”

Nile gestures vaguely. “The… the book. Was it you?”

Joe frowns. “What? No… I mean… Nicky wrote it. He’s the one with the medical training, you know that.”

Nile blinks. “I mean… who did he… who did he experiment on. Was it you? I just… I can’t imagine he would, on you… and so much, too. Even on Andy, or Booker, I...”

Joe’s expression shutters. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment before hesitantly walking the rest of the way back to the couch and sitting down beside her.

He stares down at his own hands, fiddling with one of his rings. “Nicky never touched us.”

That does not make Nile feel better. She squeezes her hands together to stop them from shaking. If he wasn’t experimenting on immortals, then that only left… “He - he must have killed them.”

Joe whips his head around to face her. “What?”

“I… I know I didn’t understand everything, but some of the things he did, there’s no way they made it. He was just… just killing them. For the sake of what, science? Nicky? I never - ”

Joe cuts her off with a quick shake of his head, taking her hand in his.

“No.”

“Joe, have you read those? Even with my shitty Italian and no medical degree I can tell that -”

“No.”

Nile softens. She knows denial. Nicky’s been the love of his life for 900 years. “Joe…”

Joe clears his throat uncomfortably, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ve read them, Nile. I did the art… when I could handle it.” She waits, sensing he has more to say. “But… Nile… he didn’t hurt anybody else.” She opens her mouth, about to argue that it’s impossible when he continues, “The point was to test immortality, test how it can be… what it can do. If it can be harnessed. Testing mortals would have been pointless.”

“But you said he didn’t touch you. He clearly experimented on someone, Joe, he -”

“He refused to hurt anyone else.”

Nile blinks, confused, but Joe doesn’t say anything else. He lets go of her hand and goes back to playing with his rings, but Nile can see the anguish written all over his face. She reaches out a tentative hand to rest on his back, unsure how to comfort him, or even, really, what she’s comforting him for. 

“Joe…” But then, what he said seems to settle in her mind. “He didn’t hurt anyone else.” Joe nods, doesn’t look at her. “He didn’t hurt anyone else,” Nile continues. She thinks she’s going to be sick. “All of that… all of that, he did to himself?”

Joe doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to.

-----

Part 3: Joe

Joe loves and hates medical breakthroughs. He loves them because, having lived for so long, it’s such an amazing thing to see things that used to cause so much suffering no longer need to. He loves how many unfathomable things have become possible.

He hates them because every time something groundbreaking is published, Nicky gets a distant look in his eyes. Then come the days of scouring the literature, the planning, the hypothesizing. Nicky sinks into a dark hole that will only get darker, and Joe has to try to press food into his hands and drag his love to bed because if he didn’t, he knows Nicky wouldn’t stop to breathe.

What Joe hates most is that working himself to the bone is hardly the worst thing that Nicky will do to himself when he gets into it.

He hates that he knows that nothing he says will dissuade Nicky from desperately destroying himself.

He hates that all he can do is wait until he sees in Nicky’s eyes that it won’t work - until he sees that Nicky knows (however much he doesn’t want to admit it) that he’s tried everything, and that continuing is pointless.

He hates that even though, in the back of his mind, Nicky knows he’s done, he will continue regardless, doing the same thing over and over, still hoping for a different outcome. He hates that all he can do is pull the notebook out of Nicky’s trembling hands, press a kiss to his forehead, and brush back his sweaty hair before putting a hand under his elbow and helping him to his feet.

“Maybe next time, habibi. For now, sleep.”

-----

Part 4: Andy

Healing is exhausting. The human body (even the immortal one) needs fuel. It needs rest.

It isn’t meant to be taken apart over and over, no matter how seamlessly the skin grows back.

After she walks in to find Nicky focused over a piece of his own liver, a frenzied, desperate look in his eyes for the umpteenth time, his cheeks gaunt and his face pale, she realizes the best and worst part of the progression of humanity is science.

It’s not the first time he’s gotten like this, and she’s sure that it won’t be the last.

She knows that Nicky carries guilt. She knows that horrors from his first life still haunt him in his dreams, and that he still sees himself as responsible for the atrocities committed centuries ago at Jerusalem.

She suspects that, in everything that he does, a part of Nicky is still trying to atone - a part of him still sees himself as owing penance.

She suspects that, in the deepest part of his heart, Nicky hates himself a little

She suspects that this will never really change..

She knows that no amount of pleading, of Joe’s tears, of reminders that nothing has ever worked, will stop Nicky from desperately hoping that this time, this time he can pull something out of himself that will save the world.

She has offered, Joe has offered, every time Nicky is convinced that something is different, now - that humankind has what it needs, to make it work this time - to be the sample, to be the source.

Nicky took a scalpel to Andy’s skin once with a quivering hand before leaving to throw up.

“You’ve cut me in training before. You don’t need to keep hurting yourself.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s different.”

“How?”

“What if… what if it’s the last time and I did it on purpose?”

“What if it’s your last time?”

Nicky turns away without a word, but Andy hears the “it wouldn’t matter” all the same.

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 26 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Sickness is spreading in Alexandria, the reader searches for their lost love, and Negan meets the silent enemy.

Word Count: 4433

Warning: Swearing, Mentions of Blood

Song I Wrote To: “In This Shirt” by The Irrepressibles

Note: I am getting really excited about the final few parts of this! However, we have a bit to go! All official dialog is property of AMC and Skybound. 

-----

Negan really hated Beta and he hadn’t said more than three words since they crossed paths. 

After crossing into the Whisperer’s territory, Beta had fallen upon Negan quickly, disarming and blindfolding him. Negan wasn’t sure if the giant man was going to kill him, so he kept talking in hopes that the Beta would take him to the Alpha to decide his fate.

“Look, man, I have spent the last eight fuckin’ years locked up by your enemy,” Negan said. “I want them dead as much as you do, hell, probably even more. Their old leader fucked me up good once upon a time ago and I haven’t been in a very forgiving mindset since. You take me to your Alpha and I will spill every goddamn secret I know about those fuckers and beyond.”

“Too much noise,” Beta snarled at him.

“Right, you people are all about the whole vow of silence thing,” Negan said in a mock whisper. “I get it, it’s freaky as shit, but I get it.”

“I should just slit your throat and be done with it,” said Beta.

“Been there, done that,” Negan said. “It didn’t stick.” Even behind the blindfold Negan figured Beta was reaching for the knives on his belt. He wouldn’t blame him if he did want to kill him.

Negan had only been back in “I am Negan” mode for all of twelve hours and he had already started to hate himself for it. However, he had a job to do and this was the first step in doing so.

“The Alpha will decide your fate,” Beta said as the Whisperers who had hold of Negan pushed him forward. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Negan said. Beta whirled on him, ripping down the blindfold and Negan cringed at the sight of the man in the mask. Beta then shoved the cloth into Negan’s mouth tightly.

“Stop talking,” Beta ordered. Negan glared back at him and it was then that he could see what you must have seen as Beta stood above you with his hand on your throat. The thought of that, the thought of that monster’s hand on the person he loved, kept Negan on his feet and walking forward. He knew that you wanted to kill Beta, but Negan was starting to think that if you didn’t do it soon, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. 

Beta dragged him through the woods and when they came across the main camp, Negan relaxed further, slipped on a cocky smile, and started to plan. 

-------

You and Carol were walking through the woods, both of you scanning for your respective targets.

You knew that she was looking for the horde and you didn’t care. All you wanted was to find Negan and if walking aimlessly around offered you some sort of clue, then you were going to do it. Daryl had tried to accompany her that morning, but you had stepped in and offered to go instead. Daryl was clearly worried about her, but you knew that she didn’t want comfort, she just wanted to work and find Alpha. 

You were more than willing to give that to her. 

That morning as you were getting ready to head out, you had stumbled across one of your emergency packs. You had begun to stash them around the house in case you had to leave suddenly with Negan. All three were accounted for which told you that he hadn’t even bothered to find one before he left. This only proved your theory that something was wrong and that he didn’t just leave.

On top of everything else, Aaron was now in contact with one of Alpha’s people. They called her Gamma and you didn’t like that he was speaking to her. If you had it your way, Gamma would be bleeding at your feet and not playing “frenemy”. 

“I can see your wheels turning,” Carol said as you walked beside her. Your sword was swinging on your hip as her bow was level in her hand. 

“I don’t think they’ve stopped since the world ended,” you said with a sigh.  Carol nodded in agreement. “Can we be honest with each other, Peletier?” you asked. 

“Always,” Carol said, snorting as you used her last name, something you always did when you first met her. 

“I think we both know that we’re out here for different reasons,” you said. 

“You always were the smart one,” Carol said. She then stopped walking and turned to you. “Are you going to tell me to back down?”

“I won’t tell you to stop hunting Alpha as long as you don’t stop me from taking out Beta.”

“He’s in your crosshairs, huh?” she said, continuing to walk. 

“I don’t know why he’s gotten under my skin, Carol. I do know that that motherfucker is going to die by my hand even if I have to bite his damn jugular out.” 

“Okay, Rick,” Carol said with a knowing look. 

“Michonne told you that story too?”

“I think everyone’s heard it,” Carol said. 

“I miss him so much,” you sighed as you climbed over a fallen tree. 

“What do you think he’d do if he was here?” Carol asked. 

“I think he would have shot Alpha the second she showed up at Hilltop.”

“I agree,” Carol said. “I feel like we’re running around with our heads cut off without him in this war.” 

“Maybe we can learn something from the past. We won the last war, I don’t know why this one would be any different.”

“Negan wasn't evil,” Carol said. This stunned you for a moment and Carol caught onto it. “Surprised to hear me defend him?” 

“A bit,” you admitted. 

“You remember my husband?” 

“Ed?” you asked. “How could I forget?” Carol’s dead husband was an abusive asshole that deserved what he got. You remembered how Shane was ready to throttle him and you were willing to help. Lori was the one to calm the both of you down before you murdered him. However, you knew that Shane had always been right about him. 

“My husband didn’t care about me or our daughter. Ed was a horrible human being who preyed on the weak. Alpha is the same way. She doesn’t care who she hurts and she is willing to kill women, children, and anyone to get what she wants. Negan...he had a code. I don’t know if that makes up for all the things he did, but in my book, he’s a better person than Ed or Alpha.”

“I wish more people shared those thoughts,” you said. 

“I can tell that you love him,” she said. “I can see it on your face and in your eyes. He’s...I guess he’s your sanctuary.”

“Is it wrong that I feel guilty for that?”

“For loving him?” she asked and you nodded. “No, (Y/N), it’s not wrong. I also want you to know that it's okay, no matter who it is.” 

“Ezekiel said the same thing,” you said. Carol smiled at that. You didn’t know exactly what had happened between her and the King, but you knew they weren’t speaking as much and you figured they weren’t even together at all.

It wasn’t odd when parents broke up after the death of a child. You had seen it enough when you were a teacher. Carol was strong, but you did worry about Ezekiel. 

“What’s your opinion on him, Carol?” you asked after a moment. 

“On Negan?” she asked and you nodded. “Well, I am never going to forgive him for Glenn or Abraham, but I see that he’s changed. I know that he cared about Carl, and in his own way, respected Rick. I also know that he would never lay his hand on a child or a woman and if it came down to it, he would die for Judith. I think that regardless of what he’s done, at least we know he knows how to be a good man even if he hasn’t always been one.” 

Nodding, you tried to keep your emotions in check, but the tears came quickly. You hunched over, feeling a loss and Carol grabbed you into her arms. 

“I have no doubt he will come home to you,” she whispered. “Do not lose faith, my friend.” 

“I need him,” you choked out. 

“I know, honey,” Carol said. “I know.” 

—————-

You broke off from Carol not that long after her words of comfort. 

Needing to be alone, you began the trek towards Hilltop. You weren’t exactly sure what you were looking for, but perhaps if you saw it you would know. Carol had mentioned that she wasn’t just looking for Alpha, but the horde as well. Daryl had seen it when Alpha had taken him to the cliff edge. The Whisperers had the largest weapon you could ever imagine and if they decided to use it, you weren’t sure many would survive. 

However, you had your own weapon. That is if you could find him. Thinking back to the first day that you had spoken to Negan in his cell, Michonne had said that Alexandria could use him. Not just for a mental punching bag, but because he had run a community unchallenged for years. The Sanctuary, while it was a symbol of hate for Alexandria and the others, it was still proof that some people were born to be in power. Negan was the best shot you had at getting into Beta’s head. The only problem was that Negan may not want to help, not when he had come so far to become a better man.

“And now I’m the one wanting to make him relive that past life,” you muttered as you moved through the trees. 

“Talking to yourself? Never a good sign,” a voice said. You recognized it immediately, turning towards the young woman who stepped around a tree. Enid leaned against the trunk, her knife on her hip and a large button-up around her shoulders. You recognized it as one of Alden’s shirts. 

“I think a little insanity is healthy,” you offered, causing Enid to smile a bit. “How are you?” you asked. 

“I’m getting there,” she admitted. You hadn’t spoken to her much since the fair. Here and there you would check-in, but you had been caught in Negan for months. That guilty feeling returned. “What are you doing out here?” she asked. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you said. 

“I needed to get out before Alden wrapped me in plastic wrap.”

“He’s become a helicopter boyfriend?” you guessed, continuing to walk. Enid fell into step next to you. 

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” she grumbled. 

“Alden is just worried about you,” you said. “Rosita and Gabriel are doing the same with Siddiq.”

“Is he doing okay?”

“He’s been distracted with his daughter and I think that’s helping. Rosita says that he isn’t sleeping though,” you said. 

“Neither am I,” Enid said. “I can’t get the look of Tara’s face out of my head. Seeing her die and then what they did with her body…” You reached out and took her hand in yours.

“I am so sorry you had to see that,” you said. 

“I’ve seen people die before, but that… that wasn’t human, (Y/N),” Enid said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep without the nightmares.” 

“I wish I could do something to help you,” you said. 

“You are, you’re talking to me and you’re still looking for the Whisperers,” she said. “That’s why you’re out here, right?” You paused, trying not to fully lie. 

“Right,” you said, but Enid could see right through it. 

“Or are you looking for Negan?”

“Can’t I do both?” you asked. Enid shrugged. Negan was a rough subject with Enid. He had killed Glenn who had become like a father to Enid in some ways. He had taken care of her when she didn’t think anyone wanted her around. When he was taken away from her, Enid had taken over as caretaker for Maggie and you knew that Negan wasn’t winning any popularity contests with the young woman. 

“How do you know he’s actually changed?” Enid asked, surprising you. 

“Everyone keeps asking me that,” you said with a sigh. “I don’t think it’s something I can just explain. It’s something you have to see.” 

“Why do you think he’s changed?” Enid asked. 

“Because he had to and because he wanted to,” you said without a second of hesitation. “Negan wasn’t always who we met all those years ago.”

“I wonder what changed.”

“His wife died and the world ended,” you said. “Some people are built for this kind of world, others have to adapt and change with it in order to survive.” 

“So, you’re saying that the end of the world turned him into a killer?” 

“It’s turned us all into killers, Enid,” you reminded her. Enid was quiet for a moment before she continued. 

“Alden once told me a story about him,” she began. “Alden wasn’t always with Negan, he usually just stayed at the outposts, but one day Negan went to visit. They all went out in search of people or supplies and they found a small family. It was a husband, his wife, and their two teenagers. Twins, I think. Alden thought that Negan was going to recruit the man to be a Savior and take care of the teens and the wife.”

“Did he?” you asked. Enid shook her head. 

“Alden said that Negan...switched when he noticed something. It wasn’t until he got closer that he saw what Negan did. The wife was covered in bruises, the kids too. These weren’t the normal ones you would get from running from Walkers either.”

“He was beating them,” you concluded. 

“Negan gave the man one chance to admit what he had done. I guess the husband drew a gun on his family, threatening to kill them. Negan ordered Alden and some other Saviors to grab the kids and keep them safe as he dealt with the parents. The wife began to beg Negan for help and that’s when Negan tackled the husband, knocking him out cold.” 

“Did he kill him?” 

“He didn’t have to,” Enid said. “The son of a bitch had gotten bit and was going to turn and then turn his family. Some sort of sick ‘together forever’ type thing. Negan got the family into the Sanctuary and kept them safe. The mom died about a year later from a respiratory infection.”

“And the twins?”

“Alden doesn’t know. They were around fifteen or so. Maybe they left, maybe Negan got them set up somewhere else, I don’t know. I just know their names: Adam and Olivia. I like to think they made it and they’re out there somewhere.”

“Why did Alden tell you this?”

“I think he was trying to convince me that not everything the Saviors did was bad,” she said. “I think he’s still worried that I see him as an enemy, but I never did. At least not since he helped us win the war.” 

“I wish I could say the same about my own Savior,” you sighed. 

“Can’t you?” she asked. 

“Enid, we both know that Negan and Alden are two very different people with very different situations,” you said. 

“True, but that doesn’t mean Negan hasn’t done his fair share of good. Daryl told me about Judith, all the times he’s saved her. Maybe he’s not lost after all.”

“You sound like Carl,” you complimented. Enid gave you a small smile at that. 

“I know that he would be completely on board with you and Negan,” she said. “I also know that he would be by your side right now looking for him.” 

“Negan wouldn’t have left if Carl was still here,” you said. 

“Why are you so sure that he left?” 

“Are you suggesting somebody kidnapped my boyfriend?” you asked, raising your brows. 

“Stranger things have happened,” she offered. 

“Your wisdom is very… Greene,” you said. 

“Well, Maggie did help me see this world differently. I think we could all use a little Rhee/Greene wisdom right now.”

“If you find some,” you said. “Pass it along alright?”

“You got it,” Enid said. Bumping her shoulder with your own, you took a deep breath. 

“I can’t imagine what she would think about me right now, En,” you said. “I can’t imagine the betrayal she would feel.” 

“(Y/N), listen to me,” Enid said. “We spend too much time thinking about what others would think instead of just being in the moment with the people around us. I lost my best friends to Alpha and I lost a piece of myself, but I still have Alden. I still have that person who loves me unconditionally. I think that is more important right now.” 

“I can’t stop the guilt,” you whispered. 

“(Y/N), you’ve lost too much to feel guilty for loving someone,” she said. Enid then continued on, letting you absorb her words. The sheer fact that Enid was saying these things to you made you even more confused. It began to make you wonder if your friends were actually coming around to the idea of Negan being a part of the community or if they were just worried for your sanity. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know which was worse. 

--------

When you returned to Alexandria, you found that Siddiq and Dante were being overwhelmed. 

“What’s going on?” you asked as you walked into Rosita’s house. 

“I don’t know,” Siddiq said, “it looks like some kind of bug is going around.”

“Are you feelin’ okay, Doc?” you asked, reaching to feel his forehead, but he swatted your hand away. 

“I’m fine, but Ro is on bed rest for the time being. I’ve been trying to get her to sleep, but Coco is keepin�� her up as usual.”

“I will talk to her,” you said. “Go check on the rest of your patients before Dante passes out from exhaustion.” 

“Will do,” he said. 

“Hey, where’s Daryl? I didn’t see him when I came in,” you said. 

“I think he went out after Carol,” Siddiq said. With a roll of your eyes, you nodded. Of course, he did. 

As Siddiq went to go check on the others, you headed into Rosita’s room. “Alright, Ma’am, gimme the kid, I need baby time,” you said, reaching for the little girl. Rosita handed her to you without a question, sinking back into her pillows. 

She did look pale and tired and you knew that she knew she should be resting. However, she was trying to be supermom. You respected that, but you also needed your friend to sleep. Sitting down in the armchair by the bed, you held Coco close to your chest, gently rubbing her back. 

“Find him?” Rosita asked. 

“Not yet,” you whispered, resting your eyes. “I did run into Enid, though.”

“Is she doing any better than Siddiq?” she asked. 

“Not really,” you said. “She’s having nightmares.”

“So is he,” Rosita sighed. “I’m worried about him.”

“I know, I am too,” you said. Siddiq was always the voice of reason. He reminded you a lot of Herschel. It was no wonder that Carl saw the kindness in him as soon as he met him. 

“(Y/N), about Negan,” Rosita began, but you shook your head. 

“I can’t right now,” you said. “People have been giving their opinion on him since we got home from the fair and even more so now that he’s gone. I just need to sit here and hold your girl so you can get better. Please.”

“Okay,” Rosita whispered, curling into her side so she always had eyes on Coco.

“Rest, mama,” you said. “You need it and I got her.”

“Thanks,” Rosita whispered as her eyes fell closed.

“Any time, Ro,” you said as he pressed a kiss to Coco’s forehead and settled into the chair, propping your feet up on the bed. It didn’t take long for you to relax and for the little Espinosa to fall asleep. As you set there, you focused on the small breaths of the baby and wished for a miracle. 

---------

From gravedigger to pig hunter, Negan was not having a good day. 

He was especially missing you and following the skins around all day was starting to give him a headache. The only thing that was keeping him going was a trinket that was tucked into his pocket. It was something he had taken from your house the last time he had been there. It was a small marble that you kept on the mantle of your fireplace. You had told him that you had found it the first time you visited the Kingdom. It was black and white which reminded him of you and him. 

He wondered if you had even noticed it was missing. Though, he figured that you were beyond pissed right now and a missing marble wouldn’t exactly mean much. Rubbing his thumb over the smooth token, he continued to follow the asshole in front of him. 

He and Beta were butting heads at every chance they got. He knew that the bastard didn’t like him, but he didn’t really give a shit. He wasn’t there to make friends with him. He just wanted the damn Alpha. However, that was proving to be a bit of a problem. 

Beta was testing him and he hated every second of it. Beta, however, seemed to be enjoying himself as he tortured, tested, and talked down to Negan. The latter had been around assholes his entire life and while Beta was a dick, when it came to being scary, he didn’t even touch Rick Grimes. Although, at least Rick would actually talk to him. 

“I just don’t see the point in all of this,” Negan said as Beta led him through the dark woods. Beta just continued to ignore him. Negan had been playing Whisperer custodian all day and he was tired of it. Now, Beta had him wandering through the dark for some reason and Negan was already annoyed. 

“Clearly,” Negan continued, “we are not jivin'. And, you know, to be honest with you, I totally understand the position you're in. You gotta be, like, the tough guy and keep everybody in line. I mean, hell, you know, I had guys just like you to keep my shit tight. Alright, maybe not just like you.” 

Beta’s jaw clenched, but Negan went on. “Uh, hell, if I had some monster your size, things would've turned out different. For one, I wouldn’t be lacking as much Vitamin D.” Beta didn’t get the joke. “Look, whether you like me or not, I will be joinin' this team, so maybe we should find a way to get along, you know, and stop pissin' on each other's boots.”

“You will never be one of us,” Beta sneered, getting into Negan’s face. “You’re too loud, too weak, too full of ego.”

“Some people like my damn ego,” Negan offered. 

“You are a waste, and Alpha will see it.”

“So, cards on the table, then? Cool. I dig that. See, I'm not here for you. I am here for Alpha. So, you go ahead, and you throw your little tests at me and you scowl and throw me on the ground like a five-and-dime Frankenstein. I don't give a shit,” Negan shot back. “See, big man, I ain't goin' anywhere.” Beta stopped walking and properly faced his antagonizer.

“Finally, something we can both agree on. You won't be going anywhere,” Beta said as the growls of Walkers echoed around them. The Dead stumbled towards them and Negan, who was weaponless, only got more pissed.

“Wait a minute. Did you just make a Goddamn joke? I would be impressed if I wasn't so pissed off right now,” he said. Beta then shoved him back towards the Walkers as he faded into the shadows, leaving Negan to the Dead. With a grunt, Negan turned to face his rotting enemies. “Oh, you have got to be shittin' me.”

------

Negan was covered in blood and the smell of rotting flesh, but he was alive. 

And he was pissed. 

Negan had fought for years. He knew how to kill in all sorts of ways and he knew how to kill Walkers. However, being thrown into that small herd with nothing but his bare fists had nearly killed him. The only thing that kept him going was you. 

He thought back to the training sessions, you, Lydia, and he had done in the living room of your home. The hand-to-hand and weapons training was important, but then there was what Lydia had brought to the table. The number one thing that her mother had taught her was how to improvise in a dire situation. Anything could be a weapon and only you were the one capable of getting yourself away from death. 

Negan had ducked and pushed his way through the Walkers, dodging their teeth and hands the best he could. When he spotted the fallen branch on the ground, he had laughed and picked it up. It wasn’t Lucille, but it would do. As he faced down the Walkers in front of him, he grinned. 

“Lydia, give me strength,” he whispered as he swung. 

Now, as every Walker was in pieces and he was drenched in blood, he strutted back into camp. Just as Beta was explaining to Alpha that Negan was dead, he made his appearance. 

“I'm ready for my Goddamn skin suit!” he announced as he walked between Whisperers, the branch on his shoulder. “You best bring that extra-long tape measure on account of my humongous balls.” He spotted Alpha immediately. She was looking at him with curiosity and as much as he hated to admit it, Lydia had had that same look when she first met him. 

Approaching the Alpha, he dropped the makeshift weapon and dropped to his knee in front of her. Alpha looked at him as if he was prey, but he didn’t back down. 

“Hi, I'm Negan,” he said with a cocky grin. “We haven't formally met, but I sure as hell know who you are. And whether my reputation precedes me or not, I'm all in.” Alpha reached out and pulled a piece of flesh off his shoulder. “Whatever you want, whatever I got, it's yours.”

Alpha leaned forward then and placed a finger on her lips. “Shh,” she said and Negan just grinned back, knowing he had cast the line, all she had to do was bite.

TAGS: @lucillethings​ @cameronsails​ @stark-dreams​ @amaroho​ @thanossexual​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @boom-bunny​ @delusionalteenagewhispers​ @scootankle​ @ritajammer21​ @writteriguess​ @tea-atfive​ @jennydehavilland​ @waspyyy​ @yespleasejayhalstead​ @hoemadegrace​ @writingdeadangel​ @huffledor-able541​ @pulplorrd​ @felicisimor​ 

[brywrites]

Flight Risk IX

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IX: In which a profiler and a pilot try their best not to care, featuring an incredibly tacky hotel.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous |  Next )

----

The case closes. When it’s time to go home, Reid sees her leaning against the wall of the hangar with a book. Their eyes meet. He stops walking, frozen to the ground. And in response, she walks away and disappears into the jet. Neither of them knows what to say. She gives herself over to the sky, he loses himself in paperwork. The jet has never felt so big. Like there are miles between them instead of just mere feet.

Y/N thinks of Peter Pan. “The moment you doubt whether you can fly you cease for ever to be able to do it.” She doesn’t know what they are to each other anymore. Are they still friends? Were they ever at all? Was Arthur right all along? Maybe she simply is made for staying, not with her airplane heart. Hopelessly circling, never quite finding a place to land.

Reid has never had to do this before, to hurt someone in this way. He’s not sure how to reach out to her after putting this distance in place. And so he doesn’t. It doesn’t ease the loneliness. Only Garcia notices the change, when he stops talking about her.

“She told you how she felt, didn’t she?” Penelope asks, her cheerful smile deflating. Reid averts his gaze. The pained look on Garcia’s face mirrors the ache in his chest. “Oh, Reid,” she says. “Do you really still believe that you’re not allowed to be happy?”

“But you looked so happy together,” Yeeqin laments when Y/N tells her what happened. “I just don’t get it.” She and her girlfriend Saoirse offer to key his car, an offer Y/N promptly refuses. They’re both hurting enough as is. And besides, knowing Yeeqin she’d vandalize the wrong car and need someone to bail her out. After the “graffiti incident of 2014,” Y/N has no interest in doing so again.

And so they stay away. Things return to the way they always were – pilots and profilers. Two separate worlds on the same G550 jet. The only exchanges are simply pleasantries or requests from the team to the pilots, but they never come from Reid. Or announcements about takeoff and landing that almost always come from Captain Dobson. On the rare occasions when Y/N’s voice floods into the cabin, he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine that she’s speaking only to him. Sometimes when the agents disembark from the plane, she watches him go from the cockpit window and tries to remember what it was like when they sat so close.

He stops arriving early. She stops reading in the hangar if she’s not on the jet. They both pretend it’s normal. They both pretend it’s possible for them not to care. That it’s easy, that it doesn’t bother them one bit to be apart like this. That it wasn’t better before.

Y/N goes to dinner at Arthur and Malik’s house. Martin and Theresa are there and she runs around the yard with their older children, Carolyn and Benedict, and coos over baby Douglas. They share cocktails and swap stories and it feels so good to be surrounded by her own team, this makeshift family of aviators. She has movie nights in with Yeeqin and goes out with her and Saoirse anytime they invite her along and it’s so nice to be among friends. But then Martin looks at Theresa with all the love in the world and Saoirse falls asleep on Yeeqin’s shoulder in the cab on the way home and it’s acutely apparent to her that something is missing in her life.

Reid distracts himself with work and with books and tells himself that he’s always been just fine this way, with words and obligations instead of laughter over takeout or meetings at coffee shops. But then he discovers Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in his bottom desk drawer at work, the copy she’d loaned to him and he’d sworn he would remember to give back to her and suddenly he’s trying not to cry in the bullpen and he doesn’t quite know why.

She learns from Arthur, who knew him, that Spencer’s mentor has been killed. And she can see on their next case that he’s hurting. The sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion evident in his slumped posture makes her want to run to him and wrap him in a hug, hold him close like he held her that night on the couch. But she’s not supposed to care about him anymore.

He sees the way she looks back at him as she boards the jet that day, her eyes lingering on him for just a fraction too long, and he thinks that just maybe she’s going to say something to him. But she doesn’t and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Either way, Gideon’s death seems only to prove his theory – the people he loves get hurt.

When they come home from the bombing case in Indianapolis, he’s drained from a week of mourning and a grueling chess match with Rossi. As Reid stands in the hangar searching for his keys in his bag, he hears, “Doctor Reid,” and turns to see Captain Dobson standing a few feet away.

“Yes?” he asks.

The captain opens his mouth, falters, and then says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” The sentiment is confusing, as he already told Reid this as he boarded the plane three days earlier. But perhaps Dobson has forgotten the conversation. So he thanks the captain and continues on his way.

Y/N and Reid seek solace in their friends, in their books, in the places that make them feel safe. And they try so hard to convince their hearts that they don’t feel anything that they wonder if it was ever even real to begin with. And for a little while, they almost believe it.

But then comes Nashville.

---

“Did you see the picture Martin sent of baby Douglas in his pilot’s cap?” Y/N asks.

“I did,” Arthur says. “It was cute.”

“The cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” she insists. “I wish he could bring the kids by for a visit sometime, I’m sure they’d love to check out the jet. Do you remember being a kid and how they’d let you go visit the flight deck and see how a plane worked? And they’d give you those little plastic pilots wings?”

“Relics of a bygone era,” Arthur sighs. “I’m sure I still have a pair of PanAm Junior Pilot wings stashed in a box somewhere.” The millennium ushered in a new vision of aviation security and sharp pins and strangers in the cockpit simply aren’t considered protocol anymore. “How are we looking?”

Y/N glances at the altimeter and airspeed indicators. “Flying at 46,000 feet. Currently at Mach point nine. Should be about one hour and ten minutes to destination.”

“Let the cabin now we’ve reached out cruising altitude, will you?” Arthur asks. Typically it’s her job to shift the jet into cruise while Arthur makes the announcement, but she nods and takes the speaker.

“Good afternoon passengers, this is your co-pilot speaking. We’ve reached our cruising altitude of 46,000 feet. At this time please feel free to resume using electronic devices and move about the cabin. We expect to be landing in Nashville in about an hour. Skies are clear, should be smooth sailing ahead. In-flight refreshments will not be served, but you’re welcome to help yourselves to anything stocked in the galley.”

A part of her wonders if he thinks of her when he hears her voice. Not that it should matter anymore. Before she can lose herself in her own thoughts, Arthur asks, “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?”

“Lincoln,” she decides after a moment to think. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

Arthur says, “The Terminator,” without missing a beat. The captain is well-versed in cinema, which makes Double Feature one of his favorite in-flight games. The first movie must always be a question, and whoever can come up with the best films in response is declared the winner. Arthur almost always wins, and it’s a challenge to think up films they haven’t already used.

“What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?”

“Hannibal.”

“That’s terrible,” Arthur laughs.

“Dude, Where’s My Car?”

“Brokeback Mountain.”

“Oof, that’s gonna be a long and sad trek to retrieve it,” she sighs. “I’m not prepared for that kind of emotional devastation.” But the game does help to take her mind off of what she’s really feeling. She can lose herself in words and not in wishes. They land GEFF gently on the tarmac in Nashville and when they pull around to the hangar, she doesn’t look out the side window. Y/N stares straight ahead at the horizon. The sky fades from deep royal blue to soft pale periwinkle where the distant skyline rises up to meet it and she loves every single shade in between.

Once the team has departed, she and Arthur walk through the cabin tidying up and making note of anything that needs to be cleaned or restocked prior to takeoff. Arthur won Double Feature (“O Brother Where Art Thou?” “Soylent Green.” “Oh, that is incredibly twisted!”) so it’s her turn to clean the bathroom. Fortunately a short flight like this means it’s fairly clean to begin with. She wipes sanitizes the sink and toilet, empties the paper towel bag, makes sure there’s enough soap and toilet paper. Garbage is deposited in the trash can at the back of the hangar and they return to Geff to grab their own go-bags.

“Listen, Y/L/N,” Arthur says as they lock the cockpit door. “About the IRT job.”

“Arthur,” she cuts him off. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” When he looks as though he’s about to protest she adds, “Please. I just want to go to hotel and take a nap and watch whatever silly romcom is on pay per view.”

He nods and says nothing more. They catch a rideshare from the airport together and she stares out the window at the buildings and billboards that line the roads. She already knows what she’s going to do about the offer. She made her decision after her conversation with Spencer. The choice was clear. But she doesn’t want to discuss it yet. She’s not ready.

They step into the lobby of the Graduate Hotel and her mouth falls open. It’s hideous. There’s a fuzzy tapestry – a fuzzy tapestry of a woman with a hat against a pink background that appears to be made out of the same material as a shag rug. The lamps at the concierge desk have hot pink floral patterns on them. A neon installation that looks similar to a vintage gas station sign announces vacancies in bright green and red light. The armchairs are blue velvet and the hanging lights look like tulle skirts. There’s too much happening at once.

“This is the ugliest hotel I’ve ever seen,” she says.

“Well the more affordable ones were nearly full – evidently this is a big weekend for admitted students at Vanderbilt – they had to double up all of the rooms for the team. But the Bureau managed to get us a discount here,” Arthur replies as they stand at the desk waiting for someone to check them in.

“I suppose a bunch of special agents wouldn’t blend in well at a place like this,” she admits. Hopefully they solve the case quickly and she’s not stuck here too long. True to her word she spends the first night relaxing in her room. The bathroom is beautiful – black walls with gold accents and a glass shower. The room itself is another story. The carpet is a rainbow of jewel-toned diamonds in a quilt-like pattern. The walls are pink and white striped, a candelabra sits next to a pink television. White curtains with a vibrant floral pattern line the window and form a hanging behind the bed. The bed, mercifully, has the standard white blankets and white pillows, though there is hot pink chevron quilt draped over the end and an eerie portrait of Dolly Parton stares at her from above the headboard. Y/N shudders.

Penelope Garcia calls her that evening. She’s waiting to hear back from the team and could use some virtual company. “I don’t even know if you’d like this place,” Y/N tells her. “It’s so garishly tacky. Like a sorority girl and her antique-collecting grandmother chose items from their storage closet at random.”

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” Garcia says.

“Penelope, I am ever the optimist. I love quirky, whimsical adventures. But this is something else. The Dolly Parton painting keeps staring at me, I swear!”

“Let me look it up.” There is the sound of fingers frantically typing on a keyboard. “Oh come on now, the lobby is way cute! And the patio? I just – oh. Oh my. Oh those rooms. You’re right. That’s bad. That’s very bad.”

“I told you!”

“That went from cute to crikey very quickly,” she agrees. After takeout for dinner and watching Serendipity, Y/N falls asleep under the unnervingly watchful eye of Dolly. The next day is completely free, and she heads out to explore the city. Wherever she ends up, she tries to take advantage of the adventures available to her. Just blocks from the hotel she discovers Nashville’s Parthenon – a full-scale replica of the Greek temple which hides an art museum inside. She wanders the galleries and stands at the entrance staring up at the pillars holding the roof up. What would it be like to visit the real thing? She wonders how many times the IRT has gone to Greece before. Maybe they’ll end up in Athens sometime this year.

Café Coco is the cutest coffee shop she’s seen in any city, and she grabs tea and a scone before returning to Centennial Park. Beneath the barely blossoming trees she sits and reads Dandelion Wine. It’s beautifully written and full of longing. That longing seeps through the pages and she can feel it in her bones. Nostalgia for times past and places far behind and things that cannot be. Everything that Spencer said it would be. As she reads she tries to imagine which lines would have made him smile or elicited a wistful sigh. Are the parts she loves most the same as the parts he loves most?

Her phone buzzes with a text form Arthur to ask if she wants to get lunch together at the hotel bar, and she shoves the book and her longing back in her bag and walks over to meet him.They step from the tacky lobby into a bar that seems remarkably normal. String lights and chandeliers cast an inviting ambient glow over the wooden tables and chairs. Country music is playing over the speakers. But as they she and Arthur move closer towards an open table, she sees it. The stage.

“What is that?” she asks. There’s a bear, a pig, and a fox in a wig atop a stage that says Cross-Eyed Critters. Each holds an instrument. And it’s then that she realizes the music is coming from them. It’s an animatronic band. Their eyes and mouths move as they sing and their fabricated bodies turn and jerk with the beat. “What?” she asks again, completely dumbfounded. “What?”

Arthur too is speechless. Then he shakes his head and says, “It’s nothing a drink or two won’t make more palatable.” She snaps a photo on her phone and texts it to Garcia, who will surely get a kick out of it.

As they sit down, a voice announces a new song over the speakers. A slightly tipsy looking man in a pair of red cowboy boots comes to stand in front of the stage. He has a microphone. The animatronics begin to play the opening notes of a song, and then the man begins to sing. This is not just a bar with an animatronic band, it’s an animatronic karaoke bar. The man in the red boots belts out an uncomfortably off-key version of a Kenny Rogers song –“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away and know when to run!”– with just a little too much bravado.

“I think I’ll need that drink sooner rather than later,” Arthur admits begrudgingly. She has to laugh. This hotel, it seems is full of surprises. But the captain is right. When she receives a spiked cream soda and Arthur has a glass of bourbon and there’s a plate of tacos between them, it’s easier to tune out the karaoke band. She can just enjoy her drink and the light and the stories of Arthur’s first flights with the BAU that have her nearly in tears from laughing so hard. For someone who maintains such a serious demeanor most of the time, he knows how to tell a joke incredibly well. She’s always appreciated that about him.

“Y/N, there is something I wanted to talk with you about,” Arthur says. His tone changes and she knows the time for joking is over. “We need to discuss the IRT offer.” Before he can continue, her phone rings. She glances at the screen. It’s Penelope. Y/N sends it to voicemail. There will be time to discuss the disconcerting robot band later when she’s back in her room. Right now, she needs to focus on Arthur. She knows where this is going and he’s right. She can’t keep putting this off forever. She has to talk about this, and everything that it means.

“I’ve already made my decision,” she begins to say. But her phone begins to ring again, and her heart drops into her stomach. This isn’t about the picture. This is urgent. Arthur must realize it too. His eyes trail down to her phone and she hesitantly picks it up.

“It’s Garcia,” she tells him, before answering. “Hello?”

“Y/N, oh thank goodness you picked up.” The analyst’s voice is a little higher than usual, a little more strained. “It’s Reid. He’s in the hospital.”

[writingsbychlo]

put her together again (07)

word count; 6601

summary; mitch goes to take down the organisation responsible for your suffering.

notes; this is the final full part, and everything kinda’ comes to a conclusion now, so I hope you enjoy it!

warnings; reference to brainwashing, extreme violence, gore, reference to kidnapping, and death.

Mitch watched as you moved around the apartment slowly, you weren’t really doing anything, you were just opening and closing the cupboards, checking that everything had been put away just right, while the two of you waited for the salty and buttery treat you’d be sharing to finish popping in its pot on the stove.

You had been a little off during the last few days since your therapy appointment, not that he blamed you, and he hadn't left your side since. He was grateful to have spare clothes here, and that the two of you had shopped recently before the session, because while you didn’t let on to him about it, he could tell it was affecting you deeply. You hadn't left since he’d brought you home, letting you stay at his place the night of it, before bringing you back to your own home to be surrounded by the familiar things you knew and your comfortable bed, your blankets, and your books. 

You were quieter than usual, and he knew you were no longer angry at him, but you were still processing everything. Your therapist had explained to him that the barrier they kept hitting up against was because it had been such a traumatic event for you that your mind had suppressed it to protect you from it, but when you’d heard his voice, you’d trusted him enough to open it back up, and now as an adult, you were left to try and actually deal with it in the aftermath.

That gnawing feeling of guilt he’d had was beginning to slip away, each time you sought him out for comfort, and the continuous and rapidly familiarising feeling of your body pressed up to his as you clung to him for warmth and support, or the weight of your head on his shoulder as you watched TV or read together in the evenings was something too comfortable too quickly, something he was growing used to, his mind slipping away to imagine what else it could become, and he couldn't stop it. 

Every time you hugged him, arms snaking around his waist as you pressed your face into his chest, trying to hide your tears as you slowed your racing and erratic heart to match his, his mind wandered to what it would feel like to hold you that little bit together, what it would feel like to dip his head and kissed you when you pulled away, to let his lips say everything he couldn't with words, and comfort you more wholly. 

Every time you leant against him on the couch, your arm pressed up to his and your cheek resting on his shoulder when you were particularly tired, and how he longed to scoop you up, and when he dropped you onto your mattress gently and pulled the covers up around you at night, how much he longed to crawl into the other side with you. What he wouldn’t give to feel you roll over in your unconscious haze and seek him out, to press your to his chest, weight grounding him as he slept, chasing away the demons of the past that came to haunt him in nightmares.

Now, he was more than happy to sit at your kitchen table as long as you needed him to, just so that he could be there to help you chase away your demons, the ones that haunted you in your waking hours. He was keeping a secret now, though. One that he’d known about since the morning two days prior to now, when he’d checked his emails from his phone and noticed the message Irene had sent him, and he had to tell you, because if you woke up tomorrow morning and he wasn’t here, you’d panic and he’d hate himself even more.

“I have to tell you something.” 

He was picking at the hand towel in front of himself now, pulling at loose threads, and you only hummed in acknowledgement, snatching it away from him and shooting him a pointed but playful look as you did, silently berating him for ruining your favourite dish towel. You folded it up, using it to lift the man from the hob as you flicked off the flame and replaced the glass surface, not wanting to burn yourself on the handle as you moved to prepare the popcorn. 

“I have to go away.”

There was a loud clattering, metal on glass that made him wince as the sharp sound rattled within his skull, and you turned to face him, your eyes wide and lips a little parted. “What?”

“Just for a few days, but-”

“Jeez, Mitch, you should start with that. I thought you meant forever.” You huffed at the words, scowling at him now, and he grinned a little, shaking his head bashfully at his own dramatic error, and you turned away from him, peeling back the foil covering and avoiding the thick cloud of scalding steam that erupted from within. Kernels tipped out into the bowl, and he held his hand out to take it from you, letting you carry the drinks, as you moved slowly through the to the living room and the couch. 

The movie was already on pause, waiting and ready for you both, but you were still lingering on his words, patient as you anticipated him continuing, and he was still trying to work out just how to explain what it was he had to do, and where he was going, without wanting to set you off. 

“You’re going to the old camp, aren’t you?”

He couldn't help his relieved laugh, his gaze finding yours as he let out a deep breath, one he’d been holding in anxiously, and he could only nod his head. 

“Why you? Why do you have to go?” You were hurting more now, and his heart ached for you, his hand smoothing over the cushions to find yours, resting over the top and squeezing tightly. “Isn’t there anyone else? You can stay here, with me.”

“I have to go because I volunteered to go.” You were quiet now, lips pursed and an unreadable expression on your face, and yet, he knew exactly where your mind was at. Cupping your cheek carefully, he didn’t miss the way you leaned a little more firmly into his palm, your eyes fluttering closed for a second as you relished just as much in his touch as he did in yours. “I need to be there, to see it all done. I need to know that I’m protecting you, that it’s over. I need to see it with my own eyes, so that when I come home and tell you that you’re safe, I know it’s the whole truth.”

“Okay.” Your breath brushed over the skin of his wrist, sending a tingling feeling along his body that traced goosebumps up his arm, and he was glad he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, dropping his hand from your face when your eyes opened. It was a kind of silence that made him comfortable, the sort that made him feel like he was able to just drown in your presence, not needing anything more than to simply know that he wasn’t alone. 

It was odd, for a long while he had been alone, and it had all worked out just fine. But, maybe that was because he didn’t have anything else to compare it all to. After losing Katrina, he’d been left alone, suffering and wallowing in his pain, and while he’d healed enough to move on from it, that need for another person’s presence had begun to fade away. Yet, when you were forced onto his hands, he found that simply knowing another person was around was something that he craved, something he longed for. 

The familiar sounds of another person cooking in the kitchen while he drank his coffee at the table, or hearing someone else shuffling through the apartment while he was reading. The background noise of another person’s presence made everything seem just a little less lonely.

“Why don’t you stay at my place? I’ll be gone a little while. Two weeks, maybe three. You can stay there, where you know and trust, and it’s protected. How’s that sound?”

“I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.” You lifted a handful of popcorn to your mouth, mulling it over as you chewed, before shrugging, looking around your own apartment as you did. “When do you leave?”

He cringed, now, knowing he should have told you all of this sooner, but he cleared his throat and braved the confession anyway; “Tomorrow afternoon.”

You paused, the blank look on your face displaying it all, and you swallowed the last remnants of your mouthful. “You’d better help me pack tonight, then.”

“You got it, sweetheart. I’ll cook you breakfast tomorrow, before I go, to make up for telling you so last minute.”

“Yeah, you better.”

“Oh, does Mitch miss his girl already?” Stan cooed, dropping down into the seat beside him on the plane, and he didn’t bother to suppress the groan in his throat as he turned to look at the older man. 

“Why are you sitting next to me? This plane is empty, you could sit anywhere. Fuck off.” 

“If I sat anywhere else, I wouldn't get to tease you for staring longingly out of the window, would I?” Stan grinned, bringing a bottle of water to his lips and taking a sip, and Mitch simply rolled his eyes. 

“I was literally just watching them load the baggage hold, but okay.” 

Stan scoffed at him, but accepted the answer and he was left to stare out across the concrete lot, other planes moving up to the runways, and before his mentor had even spoken again, he could feel the shift in tension crackling in the air. The vehicle was humming to life now, the pilot and the flight assistant checking over everything and mumbling to one another, and the other plush leather seats scattered around the cabin were beginning to fill up.  

Irene’s heels clicked along the floor, and then another set, a woman he’d seen busying around the halls before when he’d been in for meetings, and he vaguely remembered her being a member of staff in the youth and minors department, and he offered her a polite nod of his head when their eyes met. The space was filling up now, and Stan was looking around too, people he didn’t recognise, other agents and soldiers, bags pushed under chairs that made him smirk as he imagined them trying to get them through the airport security, loaded in covertly with their belongings, nothing like the bag of clothes and cosmetics he had stashed away below the floors in the cargo. 

“It doesn’t really feel right, does it?”

He hummed, curiosity peeking over him as he looked at his superior, raising a brow. He wouldn't admit it, but as more and more unknown faces piled into the seats, he was grateful Stan had chosen to sit next to him. The devil you know, right? “What are you talking about?”

“This assignment. It’s different. Something feels off, I can’t really place it, but.. y’know?” He did know, he knew exactly what that feeling was and why he had a pit in the bottom of his stomach that made it feel as though a hole had been punched right through him. Cold, and twisted, and uncertain. 

“It’s because our normal assignments are reliable. Dare I say, easy. Easy because we know what we’re walking into. Stop a bad guy, save the world; blah, blah, blah.” He shrugged, choking back the lump in his throat as he thought all the way back to the first time he’d met you, on the battlefield, a year ago. “They aren’t bad people, Stan, we can’t hurt them. They’re just lost and broken, and they don’t know who they are. They’re good people, being controlled by someone bad.”

“I’ve read about her therapy sessions, you know. Heard the recordings. She’s sweet, she’s something special, and I don’t want to take that away from any of them. But, you know lives are going to be lost, right? On both sides. Some of them will be too far gone, Mitch.” The flooring under his feet jumped to life, lights along the panels flicking on, and he heard seatbelts clicking on along the seats, reaching for the straps himself to fasten it up, and he could only nod. “That’s just the way it is.”

“I know, but if she can be saved, then the rest can, too.”

Stan only huffed, but let it go, settling back into his seat. He watched, quietly, as the plane took up motion, the droning of the flight attendant in his ear letting him know the safety procedures that he was more than familiar with now, the same speech every time he boarded this plane to go away to an undisclosed location, and yet, even if it had been a year, h felt like he could still recite it by memory if he really thought about it. He didn’t think about it, though, he was too busy watching the grey of the runway fade away, the lurch in his stomach as the ground fell away, and the city was fading around him. 

High enough in the land faded into green, trees and rural wildlife, and he couldn't help but think about how much he knew you’d love to see it all, to adventure out, maybe go for a hike in the woods surrounding Stan’s cabins, explore the side of nature you’d never gotten to see. He hadn't thought about it before, how things he took for granted like a trip to the beach or the smell of pine as he wandered through the woods to find the perfect Christmas tree, he had experienced it all, and yet of your own mind in your newfound freedom, you’d never had it.

The landscape became clouds as the vessel peaked above, shadowed land became bright and warm, the sun’s rays now no longer obscured, and he slid the cover over the window shut, blocking it out, and not being blind to the way everybody else seemed to do that same. The idle chatter that had taken over quickly faded away into quiet, and he understood why. The lights dimmed, devices shut off, blankets and pillows pulled out, and he never failed to take amusement in the way that the biggest, baddest agents of the CIA managed to make the plane look like a thirteen-year-old’s slumber party.

They were government officials on their way out for an assignment, though, and there were lives to save. He didn’t have time for jet lag, none of them did, and so he followed suit, travel cushion he never failed to forget and a warmer jumper to stop him getting a chill, and then, he was letting himself drift off into sleep, a twelve-hour flight that would serve as his own build-up towards the events that were about to unfold. 

“It’s fucking spooky.” A shudder moved along Mitch’s body, his fingers twitching by his sides as he stared up at the building, feeling bile rise in his throat. Rundown and broken, and to an untrained eye, it would look like the structure was completely abandoned, but he knew better. The fresh snow was falsely smooth, upturned, and as he quietly kicked away a pile of it, he could see fresh truck tracks frozen into the ground underneath. Deep and wide enough that it was more like a bus, than a car, and they couldn't be much older than a day, still clear in the frozen mud enough to not even be older than a day. 

“They’re still here, we’re picking up noise from inside.” The whisper came from the man crouched down by his feet, a set up hidden within the shrubbery that they were hiding in, and as he looked around, he knew the other teams were out there, surrounding the area and waiting for their signal, but he couldn’t see any of them, and it was truly a feat to achieve. 

There was a shake in his hand as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, a little more bitter and with more of a kick than he was used to, a packet they'd all chipped in for at a gas station they’d passed on the way, the metal of his lighter cold in his pocket, but the smoke was enough to soothe him a little. 

Snow was crunching behind him now, Stan approaching the small group, a furrow between his brows and the scowl he was so used to wearing, but Mitch knew that for once, it had its place here. He hissed a little, distracted and having let hot ash fall to his skin, shaking it off and dropping the end of the stick down into the snow, the fizzling sound of it being put out was barely audible, and he turned his attention back to the target location. 

One large door sat before him, solid metal that was dented and worn, and they were just looking for a way around it. The element of surprise was their best bet, they were here to save lives, it wasn’t something he was used to, and so far, their plan consisted of what felt like a third-grade playtime fantasy. Sleeping gas was the best that they’d come up with so far, but in order to do that, they needed to get inside, and clear a path, enough for C-Team to enter with tanks to hook up to the airway systems.

Mitch, of course, found himself on the A-Team, as usual. 

The tech guy’s head lifted, a sudden jerking motion, and Mitch felt his heart freeze in his chest as he realised why. Their way in, the moment they’d been standing outside in the frozen Russian tundra for over four hours, the break in what was beginning to feel hopeless; the door opened. 

A big fur coat much like his own and some boots that Mitch wished he had, because he hadn't felt his toes since two o’clock and the night was now beginning to set in, but then again, it seemed that all of the waiting was coming to an end. He watched it happen, one slow movement as the camera’s on the screen of the computer he was watching all skipped a loop, missing a beat for just a second before replaying the footage they’d spent an entire day recording. Then, a single bullet, he couldn't even completely place where it came from, somewhere from his east but he wasn’t certain about that, before the man was dropping soundlessly and lifelessly into the snow. 

Deep red spread out into the white, and he cringed, hating the sight of blood and the way it felt to take a life, no matter how many times he had to do it. He may be a CIA operative, but deep down, Mitch was still just a guy who liked to sleep in on Sunday mornings with a warm bed and a girl who had a sweet smile, and to read in the library on free evenings, and to watch the way the glitter from fireworks would float down to the ground from the sky in that completely silent moment after they exploded.

After that came his time. Mitch was moving, Stan by his side as the two of them tumbled into step beside one another. 

It was darker inside than he expected, the lights dim and yellowed and he wasn’t surprised that you’d been so confused when trying to run all those years ago. They didn’t even know their way, but the sound of pounding feet was following them inside now, stomping down each corridor as the loading of gun magazines, the loading of bullets. B-Team was to clear the way and take the brunt of it, him and Stan and a selection of hand-picked agents were to find the kidnapped agents and keep them detained until they could be exported.

It all happened like a blur, the kind of startling and horrifying experience of finding rows after rows of beds in rooms field with women of all different ages. Some were older than he was, some had been suffering and captive for longer than he’d been alive, and some of them were just children, toddlers and babies young enough in their cribs that they’d be able to migrate back into society without any trouble, young enough that their parents may still be alive, that searches into the past might reunite families. 

Everything was going according to plan, until it hadn't been. Speakers overhead crackled, and he was standing alone in the middle of a room filled with babies, and children, but the doors to every other room were open, eyes of all ages peering at him as Stan and others also wandered the halls, searching for the stragglers. A voice he didn’t know, mumbles in Russian that sounded earlier familiar to words he’d heard you whisper to yourself in your sleep before breaking out in fitful screams, and his heart sank.

There was no light in their eyes, but it seemed even any peaks of interest or curiosity at their arrival fizzled out as they listened to their commands, and Mitch barely had enough time to leave the nursery and pull the door shut behind himself to protect the younger ones before his head was slamming back into the drywall behind him. Black spots flashed in his vision as he felt the crunching under his skull, dust falling away and getting stuck in his hair as his ears rang slightly, and he barely even got a grunt out before he was crying out as a fist slammed into his nose. 

His vision was blurry, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and he licked over his lips, hissing at the sting of the sensitive patch, a split lip, and he barely ducked the following punch. It was like a brothel, the halls that had been so clear and peaceful less than one minute ago were now teeming and overflowing with groups that were threatening to tear one another apart. 

He caught the next wrist, a sorry look on his face as he mumbled out an apology, a kid who couldn't be much older than sixteen, and he yanked her forwards, a handful of her hair in his fist, before he was jerking her downwards and bringing his knee up, a sickening crunch that knocked her out cold, and he lowered her down to the ground. A blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling across the floor, a curse on his lips, before he was being descended upon once again, and he huffed out a growl at the feeling of the pounding inside his skull. 

A foot was pinning down one hand, a stinging pain resonating up along his arm as his fingers were crushed under the heel of a boot, his head whipping to the side, staring up at the women who looked to be a little older than him, her eyes dead and empty as she stared down at him, no remorse or regret, but he did recognise that look. 

Now that he’d seen the way you could change, now that he knew the brightness in your look that was nothing like the way you’d been, he could picture it now. In this lady, in the other women, in the girl he’d had to knock unconscious. He could see it within them all, and it gave him a new sense of hope and encouragement. Snatching his other hand back before it could be detained too, he ignored the way a foot landed on his chest, pushing his breath from his lungs, and he gasped, fumbling for the gun strapped to his waist.

A warning shot, nothing that would cause permanent injury, but enough to be disabling, a bullet into the calf of the foot holding down his hand, as she crumpled to the ground, eerily silent as she fell, not even crying out in pain, but simply falling away. He followed suit to the woman who was threatening his breathing, and the second she dropped, he felt his head spin at the rush of oxygen that he was granted.

Rolling onto his knees, he was given a kick the ribs, and a scowl from one of those who he’d just shot, and he fixed them with a glare, barely managing to get to his feet before he was patting at his pockets, and letting out a quick breath of relief when he found what he was searching for. A packet of zip-ties, and he didn’t even bother to be cautious with them, tipping them out onto the floor and swiping for a handful. 

Using his one foot now, he sneered a little as he rolled his component onto her stomach, a knee on her spine to hold her down without crushing her, and her hands were pinned behind her back. He followed suit with the second one, and the one unconscious against the wall, and he kicked a handful over to the centre of the room, calling out his commands to detain them and bring no harm to a single girl there, his raspy voice barely making a sound as he spoke.

He closed his eyes, just for a second, trying to isolate the pain in his body so he knew where it was, before they were popping back open as his hand flew up to his throat. Once again, he couldn't breathe, the problem now at his neck instead of his chest, and he scrabbled to pick at the rope wrapped there. His nails raked at his skin, scratching roughly and pulling as much as he could as tears lined his eyes. 

Warmth met his back, that of another body as he felt himself edging towards consciousness once again. He threw himself backwards, feeling the collide of another person as he slammed them back into the wall, and the grip loosened enough for only a second before another seal of rope was finding its place, tightening again, and he tumbled down to his knees as the pressure became too much. He felt it for a second, the impact of his knees meeting the concrete so harshly was jolting along his body, but the lack of oxygen was beginning to make everything fade, and he choked for air, before hands were going loose and he had nothing else to fight with.

The ringing of a fired shot was far too close for comfort, and it was just shocking enough to make him cry out, giving him a burst of reality for a second longer. The sound followed by the tension fading away, and as the rope fell away he was left to breathe, curled up on the floor as he tried to take in his breaths, shaking a little as he did. Sticky and warm, his fingers were pressing into it, and he shifted, no energy in his body as he tried to move, but he was dragging himself away from the marks on the floor. 

He could barely see for the pounding in his head, pressure behind his eyes and he could breathe now, but was breathless for an entirely new reason. Limp fingers, lifeless eyes, staring back at him as he pressed his face into the concrete to try and cool himself down as blood raced through his veins to replace where it had been lost. Salt burned in his eyes as tears were formed, lids squeezing shut to release them and hide the sight from him. A hand on his shoulder rolled him over, and he was pulled up into a sitting position. As he became more lucid, he could feel the trickling along his arm, blood that didn’t belong to him was covering his arm, the side that he’d been laying on in the puddle, and he looked up, Stan’s wide eyes on him. 

“You killed her. I said we aren’t killing them.” He wheezed a little as he spoke, voice cracking and he winced at the feeling, raising the clean hand to rub at the bruising that he could already feel forming. 

“She was killing you. I saved your life. I told you that there would be loss on both sides, don’t look at me like it was an easy feat for me to kill her, Rapp.” Hurley offered him a hand now, pulling him to his feet as the fighting around them both seemed to die down, and to his sights, he couldn’t see any more death. A lot of blood, a lot of broken bones and bruises, but no more death. “I believe you have someone to go home to, I wasn’t planning to deliver you back to her in a body bag.”

It was true, his heart jumping in his chest just knowing you were waiting for him, and it would have broken him not to have been able to return to you, but that didn’t make it any easier to see or deal with. He crouched once again, brushing her eyes closed gently, sealing that gaze from the world, and he whispered an apology to her, before trying to take a calming breath. It didn't work, he knew he wouldn't really be calm until he was back home - with you - but it did help him to clear his head. 

The girls around him were escorted out, and he hadn't heard them arrive over the noise of the ruckus, but they were being loaded up by the busload now, and he stood in the doorway, watching as the building was emptied. The smell of petroleum was overwhelming, enough to make him gag, and he twisted his head, looking out over the corridors he’d exited as those who’d lost their lives were carried out on stretchers, real handcuffs on men and women in suits, watching as they were simply seated in the snow and the mud, awaiting further instructions. 

The building was drenched, top to bottom, and boxes of folders, laptops and computers, equipment and belongings were being carried out by the armful. He could feel the strain on his body, slumping down against the doorway, sitting against the floor, letting out a deep sigh. 

It took hours to finally strip it, and to clear everyone away, and at some point, he had mustered the energy to move from the building to step away. The crowds seemed to thin, hundreds of people fading away into tens, fading away into just a few, and then, Stan was sitting in the back of the last remaining car alongside his superiors and their driver, a lighter in his hand as he stared emptily at the building. 

His thumb was flicking over it idly, clicking it on and off as he steadied his heart, and he was left alone in this moment, to watch the pain literally burn to the ground, to see it go up in ashes and flames with his own two eyes. The flame was back, and he lifted it up to his face, a flicker of heat washing over his features, before he was stepping forwards, the short walk to get close enough to throw the little device, and the empty space was lit up with orange. 

A dark night sky, blue and black with specks of light from stars was drowned out with the glow of orange and yellow. It cured up, engulfing the building within only minutes, and he could already hear wood cracking from the inside and the shattering of glass as the heat became too much to withhold.

Mitch wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate amount of satisfaction, or whether it was a sadistic level of satisfaction that he got as he watched the building burn to the ground. Ashes floated in the air, some embers still glowing orange, and the snow around him was melting to leave the green grass free to break through, only to be drowned by sloppy and wet mud that coated his boots, as the heat almost scorched him, even from this far back. 

He didn’t need to see it crumble, he didn’t need to see the pile of ashes that was left when the building finally stopped with the inferno he’d made, he’d got everything he needed now. A quick march to the car, and he didn’t even bother to suppress the noise he let out as he finally got to sit down. The leather seats were warm, the heaters on, and the second his door had shut, they were driving away. Satisfaction and relief, his entire body sore and filled with pain as he tried to relax. The adrenaline ebbed away, he was left abandoned with the full-body ache and suffering from every injury. 

“What’s going to happen to them?”

“The soldiers, or the handlers?” Irene looked back from her seat up front, and Mitch shrugged a little, wanting the answer to both, and he rubbed at his eyes as he tried to focus on her, chase away the aches and exhaustion. 

“The soldiers will go into medical care, and then, we’ll work on a rehabilitation program. One we only know how to make, thanks to you.” His lips flicked up at the sides then, all the rail and error, successes and mistakes, he’d made with you brought around change for everyone else, and now, he knew they’d known just how to look after them all properly. “The handlers will spend the rest of their lives in solitary confinement under CIA supervision, they won’t be going to regular prisons. Too much risk, they need to be where they can be monitored by us permanently.”

He only nodded, feeling some form of relief spread through his body, before he was suppressing a yawn, and Irene chuckled as she turned back around in her seat.

“Get some rest, kid. I’ll wake you up for the plane.” 

He twisted his head to the side to look at the man who’d spoken, Hurley staring back at him with a blank face, but he could read the twitches, read the tone of his voice and the look in his eye that read ‘I’m proud of you’ and ‘we did good work today’. “Okay. Thanks.”

He twisted onto his side, forehead pressing to the window as he cupped his face with a single hand, trying not to let blood smear over his skin as he made an attempt to get comfortable, but at this point, he’d pretty much pass out in any kind of position.

You looked up at him as soon as the front door slammed shut, and he dropped his bag at his feet, watching as you relaxed, into the cushions from your startle once again, offering him a sweet smile and he let go of the breath he was holding in. 

He could see the concern on your face, the way your eyes swept over him, taking in every bruise and cut, from the marks on his neck to the swollen lip and black eye, and every bandage along his body, but he didn’t care. It had stripped him of all of his energy to even hold himself up in the elevator, barely having stumbled out of the car that dropped him off and he’d gotten out of medical before even getting his prescriptions, knowing he had medicines here that he could take, but he just needed to be with you. 

You folded the book in your lap closed, putting it away on the table and moving to get up to greet him, no words needed because the smile you were giving him said it all, and he grunted, low in his throat, accompanying it with a shake of his head. You stayed where you were, and he couldn't help his next actions. 

He didn’t want to pretend like he didn’t have feelings for you, he didn’t want to hold himself back, but he also didn’t want to overwhelm you. You were here to welcome him home, making it warm and inviting and cosy, something he longed to be in, instead of the cold and harsh environment he was so used to returning to after assignments, and all he wanted was to sweep you up, was to kiss you breathless as he tried to get himself out of the mindset he’d had and into the life he cherished with you, but he couldn't.

Instead, he granted himself one selfish simplicity, dropping his knees to the edge of the couch and ignoring the pain that flared up form his bruised kneecaps, before he was laying down, cheek in your lap as he pressed his face into your stomach, and he smiled at the giggle you let out as he did. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly as he snuggled into you closer, drawing in the mixed smell of his laundry detergent and the faint smell of your body wash, sensing it all over the clothes you wore but he knew this jumper belonged to him. You had been into his closet and plucked one out. 

He felt so happy he thought he may fall asleep, the kind of deep and restful sleep he hadn't had in almost two weeks since leaving you, but now, he could finally be at peace once again. 

“Y’ safe now, sweetheart. I promise you.”

“I’ve been safe ever since I came home with you, all that time ago, Mitch.” He turned to look up at you now, studying you carefully, and he hoped the lovestruck expression on his face wasn’t showing as obviously as he felt it would be, but then again, he wasn’t sure you’d be able to recognise or identify it even if it was. 

“You mean that?”

“Of course, I do. You’re my safe space.” He turned, hiding his face in your stomach as he held you again, not entirely sure how to express how he was feeling, but he simply gripped you tightly, fingers weaving into the jumper you wore, and he let out a whimper when your hand came down to weave into his hair, brushing the strands back out of his face carefully and ensuring that you didn’t touch any of his cuts and bruises. “Do you want me to do anything for you? Are you hungry? I can run you a bath, maybe?”

“I don’t want anything that I don’t already have.” He wasn’t sure if you even caught his words, they were muffled from his face pressed into you, but his stomach was soon rumbling, and you laughed gently at the sound, telling him you had absolutely processed what he’d said. “Okay, fine. Food would be good. How about we order in, instead? Then we don’t have to get up.”

“I can work with that.” He groaned when you moved, but you came back with his laptop, and he shifted to be able to see the screen as you placed it on his stomach, still not completely sure on how it all worked, and he was more than happy to take the reins. You were still playing with his hair, easing out knots and making him feel like every worry he’d ever had was slipping away, and he pulled his eyes away from the screen to look up at you.

“Just so you know, you’re my safe space, too.”

[kylopen]

Dating an ‘edgy’ girl

(House neutral)

Warnings: I have a tendency to swear

Read the Marauders era version here

Includes: Draco, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Fred, George and Neville.

I can’t add a “read more” thing for some reason I’ve tried many times so idk sorry

Draco:

* You both meet when he bumps into you in hogsmeade.

* He fully hits you with that “who the fuck do you think you a—“

* Then he slowly looks up to find a girl, drenched in black clothes.

* “You what?”

* Suddenly, he’s lowkey a bit intimidated.

* He tries not to let that show.

* “You... you heard me”

* “And who even are you?”

* He was shocked and embarrassed that someone like you didn’t know who he was.

* (You definitely knew who he was)

* After that first meeting he was beyond intrigued.

* He began to try the most stupid things to get your attention.

* This would include throwing things in your direction.

* Until one day, he hits you with a small pocket book, to which you replied with a swift punch to the stomach.

* Okay but why did that turn him on

* He would take on a nicer approach after that, sending you notes in the shape of things he knew you loved, like your favourite bird or flower.

* You were sure he was just messing with you.

* “What do you even want Malfoy?”

* He plucks up enough courage to finally say it

* “You”

* He loves your confidence and how unafraid you are to be yourself.

* You hit him with the “I’ll think about it” which leaves him stunned.

* Of course you actually wanted him too, you just wouldn’t give him what he wanted so easily.

* That’s pretty much how your whole relationship went

* You would try your hardest not to give Draco what he wanted so easily because honestly his little whines and groans when he doesn’t get what he wants are so cute.

* Some people expected your relationship, others didn’t.

* Lucius straight out doesn’t like you. Narcissa on the other hand, often likes to take you shopping or to tea, she loves how happy you make her son.

* Not to mention your similar taste in style.

Harry:

* “I made a friend today” Luna would tell harry.

* “That’s very nice Luna” Harry chalked it up to an imaginary person

* But then you joined them. A very real girl.

* A very beautiful girl.

* He automatically expected you to be rude, based on how you were dressed but as soon as you started conversing with Luna...

* Heart eyes.

* You spoke so kindly and you were so sweet.

* You ask for his name, despite knowing it already because he was probably sick of hearing “you’re Harry Potter!”

* And he knew it.

* That just made his little heart melt.

* You would be whining about potions being difficult when he whips out the:

* “I’m pretty good at potions... I can tutor you if you like”

* Hermione would roll her eyes knowing that he was only good because of the “half blood prince’s” book.

* You spend quite a few evenings in the gryffindor common room studying.

* You finally pass a potions exam, giving Harry a sweet kiss on the cheek, leaving behind a dark lipstick print.

* He honestly loved the mark you left.

* It was something he adored more when you finally start dating.

* Black/Purple/red lipstick stains everywhere.

* People really didn’t expect the chosen one to choose someone so... dark and edgy...

* People would try to convince Harry that maybe you weren’t the one for him.

* He’d get super mad at those comments.

* Fred and George would make constant sex jokes about the two of you.

* “Been tied up lately Harry?”

* “Rough night?”

* He’d look at you pleadingly but you’d just lean back with a big old smirk on your face.

* It was quite amusing to watch him get flustered over the thought of any of that stuff happening

* Remus was the one to tell you that Lily would have absolutely loved you.

* That meant the world to you and Harry.

Ron:

* You meet Ron when he is running down the hallway and smacks straight into you.

* You go into full rage and the poor boy just stands there.

* His lip quivers in fear and your face softens.

* “Sorry I’m just having a shit day and you spilt my sweets” you pout, pointing to the sweets scattered around the concrete floor.

* “I- I’m really sorry...”

* He gets a proper look at you

* And boy does he love what he sees.

* Like, you look so fucking awesome to him.

* “Maybe... I mean... if you want... I have a stash... back at my dorm... if you maybe wanted to come eat”

* He would be delighted to find out there’s a childish side under all those black clothes.

* He asks you out suddenly when you meet him looking good as fuck.

* Not that you normally didn’t look good but you had obviously put more effort into your daily look and he couldn’t help himself.

* When you started dating people were beyond shocked.

* Molly was fairly apprehensive when she first saw you walking with her son

* But then she saw the two of you interact with each other and realised it was perfect.

Hermione:

* you meet in the library.

* Some Slytherins knocked over her pile of books on purpose and you come to her aid.

* She doesn’t look up, too embarrassed to face whoever was helping her.

* When she finally faces her saviour her heart: thump thump thump.

* She’s instantly captivated.

* You notice her flustered movements and red tinted cheeks.

* UwU

* “Would you like something done about them? I have a few pranks up my sleeve” you ask

* “T-They’re not worth it anyways it’s fine”

* She takes the moment to scan you fully, the healed boots, the choker.

* Wow

* She stands abruptly, muttering a thank you before scurrying off.

* Not without a flirtatious comment from you “if you’re really thankful Granger, maybe you can eat lunch with me some time” you’d wink and she’d walk away faster.

* Naturally, Hermione was too nervous to even attempt to get you to eat with her

* So you took matters into your own hands, strolling over casually, sitting yourself down next to her.

* “Hey Granger” you’d smile and rest your head on your hand, admiring her flustered face.

* The others would look at the two of you questionably, unsure as to what’s going on.

* She would love hate how you managed to make her so flustered so easily.

* Your personalities blended so well, you would make sure Hermione doesn’t overwork herself and she would make sure you don’t take too much time off.

* When you both finally start dating Hermione would constantly be staring at you.

* Like I mean to the point you distract her from working.

* “Like what you see Granger?”

* “Oh shut up”

* “Make me”

* Her parents absolutely adore you, being muggle born you fit in very easily with her and her family.

Luna:

* you noticed Neville ask Ginny to the Yule Ball at dinner.

* you focus your attention the cute blonde beside them.

* And then you hear some of the other third year girls making comments and joking about Luna being too weird to be asked to go to the ball.

* Third years were only allowed to go if asked by an upperclassman.

* So you slid into the seat next to her.

* The girls quiet down for a moment and you take your chance to ask her.

* “Wanna be my date to the ball?”

* The other girls make comments on your dark outfit choices.

* “I would love to accompany you... but you don’t have to ask me just because Ginny is going”

* You notice the girls snicker and mention something about you both looking odd and “made for each other”

* Luna would hold your hand to stop you doing anything.

* Because honestly, she loved how different you both were. It just meant you could both be yourselves around each other.

* She wore a beautiful dress. It spilled to the floor around her feet, a gorgeous blue and around her neck, a peacock collar, feathers and all.

* Her hair was swept up into a bun, loose curls falling down around her neck and face

* Time stopped for the both of you.

* Your black dress with the long lace sleeves.

* You both couldn’t look more different yet so made for each other as you walk arm in arm into the hall.

* Xenophilius would be beyond happy when Luna would describe you too him.

* Seeing his daughters face light up was more than enough.

Fred:

* You meet Fred when he loses control of his broom during quidditch practice.

* He flew directly into you, falling on your body.

* “Fuuuuuck” you groan in pain, eyes screwed shut.

* Fred doesn’t even get off you because he’s just awestruck.

* Like how can someone look so edgy yet so cute at the same time?

* He finally snaps out of it and helps you up.

* You vomit.

* He panics.

* And that’s how he ended up staying in the hospital wing with you until curfew.

* You talked about anything and everything.

* “So... the Yule ball is coming up—“ he would start.

* “I have a date”

* “O-Oh yeah sure no I mean—“

* “And he hit me with a broom the first time we met” you wiggle your eyebrows.

* He leans back, trying to be all confident and chill only for the chair to give way.

* “You’re such a dork”

* “Says you. Trying to look all intimidating but you’re a little jelly bean” he would say as he boops your nose.

* “My soul is black okay. I’m like a kidney bean not a jelly bean” you would huff and he would just swoon.

* You both began dating. No one really asked, it just kind of happened.

* The fact that you get along with George is so amazing to him, it was important you did.

* He would watch lovingly as you interact with his brother.

* “What’re you staring at?” You’d try to be intimidating all the time but Fred would just laugh and ruffle your hair.

George:

* the first time he ever meets you was during Umbridge’s reign of terror.

* Him and George are talking to a first year who was hurt by her.

* You come storming round the corner.

* For a second he thought you were going to hit him.

* And then you turn to the kid.

* “Are you okay Vince?! What did she do to you?!”

* The boys don’t know what to say.

* “Is this your brother?” They ask worriedly

* You explain that you were put in charge of the first years of your house

* Umbridge comes out with her “naughty children deserve to be punished.”

* Before George can even open his mouth you’re storming over to Umbridge, your black heeled boots making you tower over her.

* “I’ll show you a fucking punishment” and before you can do anything else George grabs you and pulls you away

* But Man, his heart was pounding.

* You were so caring yet so aggressive at the same time.

* And he loved it.

* “Close your mouth mate you’re catching flies” Fred would joke.

* You tell them you need to get the boy back to your common room and George basically screams that he’ll accompany you.

* Of course you let him.

* He tries to ask you out before you enter your dorms but he fails to build up the confidence.

* So you plant a small kiss on his cheek.

* Heart eyes as he walked back to his own dorms, hand on the cheek you kissed the whole time accompanied by a cheesy, content grin.

Neville:

* he meets you when you join Dumbledores Army.

* Shy boi

* He cannot speak when you start a conversation with him about his patronus.

* “That’s cute” you would comment.

* But when he does open his mouth:

* “Y-Youre cute. WAIT THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT”

* You laugh and because of your slightly intimidating appearance he automatically assumes you’re laughing at how stupid he is.

* But you’re actually laughing at how simply adorable he is

* You’re the one to start every conversation because he’s always too nervous to.

* That is, until Seamus slips some truth serum he stole from Snape into his juice at breakfast.

* “Sit back and watch the show”

* Hermione would automatically go nuts when she found out and try to get him out of the hall before you arrive.

* But she was too late.

* “Hi guys!”

* “Y/N, good morning youre looking beautiful as always”

* Your face heats the fuck up. You didn’t expect that to come out of Nevilles mouth.

* “So Neville, how do you feel about Y/N?” The boys would ask.

* And that’s when the truth comes loose.

* He’s still a shy boy in your relationship, but as you both become more comfortable, he begins to act on his own.

* Like, hugging you first, to holding your hand first and so on.

* Everyone is honestly so supportive of Cutie Neville and his edgy girlfriend even though it was unexpected.

* And Nevilles grandmother? She LOVES you. Which melts his heart.

[inkwell1013]

Birds of a Feather

Pairing: Futaba & Yusuke (platonic)

Genre: Fluff and Angst, Oneshot

Inspired by: The fic Lasting Impressions by @codenamegeek​. I lowkey stole the idea of Yusuke and Futaba watching anime together and angst happening but took it in a slightly different direction.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Flashbacks, references to child abuse and disordered eating habits/unspecified eating disorders.

Summary: Futaba and Yusuke spend the night watching anime together, but Futaba makes a horrible mistake that effects Yusuke more than either of them expected and has to deal with the consequences.

Notes: This fic includes my hc about the Autism Squad (TM), which consists of Ren, Futaba, Yusuke and Makoto.

- - -

If you were to ask Futaba and Yusuke what they liked about each other, they wouldn’t be able to give you a real answer. On first appearances, they were as different as two people could be, but they shared a sense of kinship regardless.

The cumulation of their friendship was their weekly hang out sessions, where Futaba binged anime and ate snacks full of empty calories and Yusuke sketched quietly. They were both doing their own things, but at least they were doing it together.

“What do you wanna watch Inari?” asked Futaba, fetching another bag of snacks from the cupboard. Sojiro always kept little stashes of food around Le Blanc and their home. It made Futaba feel secure, knowing that the food kept there would always be available. She wouldn’t go hungry here.

“Can we watch Neo Featherman?” said Yusuke, pencil still in motion. “I find the actions scenes quite inspiring for anatomy practice.”

“Sure.” Futaba switched on the television and loaded the show. The familiar jingle burst from the speaker and Yusuke absentmindedly hummed along with the music. The title card flashed on screen: Death of a Condor.

“Wait, what’s going on?” he asked, looking up from his drawing. “Is Black Condor dead? I thought the feather of destiny made him invincible?”

“It does, but it was stolen by Purple Squirrel in episode eight,” explained Futaba. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Not really. I just watch it for the fight scenes.”

“And the cute boys.”

Yusuke blushed bright red. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Futaba giggled, throwing a bag of crisps at Yusuke, which smacked him square in the forehead. “Here,” she said. “Don’t forget to eat. You know what you’re like.”

“I was going to eat eventually,” he grumbled.

“Sure you were,” said Futaba, rolling her eyes. “Just remember to, okay? Sojiro will kill me if you collapse on the way home again.”

Yusuke nodded, his tongue still stuck out in concentration, as the pencil in his hand danced over the page. Futaba span back around in her chair. She was secretly pleased when she heard the sound of the bag being torn open, followed by a crunch.

What an achievement! She had gotten the starving artist to eat. The only other people who had succeeded at that herculean task were Sojiro and Ren.

She didn’t say anything though. Making a big deal about it would only upset him and he had a hard enough relationship with food as it was. Futaba was content to let him eat at his own pace and return to her show.

***

Futaba was furious. They couldn’t just wave away Black Condor’s death by bringing him back to life with Green Parakeet’s powers. Not only did it ruin the climax of the season, but it also made no sense lore wise. If Green Parakeet could bring people back to life, why didn’t she do that to save her lover in episode three? Futaba was going to write a deeply passionate blog post about it later that night.

“So… next episode?” she asked, spinning around in her chair.

Yusuke paused his sketching and nodded. “Just give me a moment,” he said. “I need to use the bathroom.” He stood up, leaving his sketchbook on Ren’s bed.

Once Yusuke’s footsteps had faded and she knew that he was gone, Futaba took a peek at Yusuke’s sketchbook. She couldn’t quell her curiosity, and who knew when she’d have this opportunity again. Yusuke was notoriously protective of his sketchbook – practically growling at anyone who so much as touched it.

The book was open at a sketch of a woman, done in careful, painstaking detail. Even with all the work Yusuke had put into it that evening, the piece still wasn’t quite finished. The woman was beautiful, with long dark hair and slender features. She looked like Yusuke; Futaba realised.

She turned the page, only to see another sketch of the same woman. Upon first glance, it looked identical to the previous sketch, but upon closer inspection she noticed a few slight differences. The nose and eyes were a different shape, and her hair seemed a deeper black.

There was another sketch on the next page. And the next. And the next. And the one after that. Each one was slightly different but still recognisable as the same person.

The door slammed open, and Futaba involuntarily jumped, tearing the fragile page in half.

“Futaba!” snapped Yusuke. “What the hell are you doing? You know you’re not supposed to touch that.”

His eyes fell upon the torn page and his mouth twitched halfway into a frown. Futaba dropped the sketchbook, which landed on the bed, with a thud.

“Inari I—"

Yusuke stared down at the ground, not wanting Futaba to see his expression. “Get out,” he said.

He couldn’t lose his temper with her. Not with Futaba, the girl who cried if people raised their voice at her, who jumped at every slam of the door, who was terrified of strangers, all because she had been hurt by someone who was supposed to love her, just like Yusuke had.

They were birds of a feather in that respect. They were two helpless fledglings who had been beaten and thrown from their nest before they were ready, doomed to suffer at the hand of fate.

He refused to do that to another person.

He refused to repeat history.

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Futaba.

“Please go. I need... I need you to go.” His voice broke, as he was barely holding back his angry tears. “I can’t… I don’t want to let myself be mad at you. Please, just give me some time alone.”

“Yusuke…”

“Please Futaba,” implored Yusuke. “Don’t force yourself to be around me while I’m like this.”

Futaba gave him one final worried look before slinking out the room, shutting the door behind her.

***

Futaba knocked on the door again fifteen minutes later, holding a plate of curry in her hands. After she had explained the situation, Sojiro served up a portion and told her to give it to Yusuke as a peace offering.

“Inari!” she called. “I come bearing gifts of curry.”

She received no response, and for a moment considered leaving the plate at the door for Yusuke to collect later. Then, the door slowly creaked open revealing the artist. He had been crying, she could tell. His eyes were bloodshot, and streaks of tears were left on his cheeks. He rubbed at his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Do you want it?” asked Futaba, offering out the curry. “You can say no.”

Yusuke looked a little apprehensive but nodded.

“Can I come in?” she added. Another nod.

They sat down on Ren’s bed, and Yusuke held the plate carefully in his hands, as if he were carrying a gift from a god.

“Are you okay?” asked Futaba. Yusuke set the plate down on his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he signed, hands trembling. “I can’t speak right now.”

Futaba had been teaching Yusuke and the rest of the Phantom Thieves sign language for a little while now. It was useful for giving commands in the metaverse and for when one of the party members went nonverbal, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially with four autistic party members.

Still, she knew that Yusuke wasn’t very fluent, and it would be difficult to carry a full conversation with him in sign. They would have to find another way to communicate. Then, she had an idea.

“Do you want to text?” she offered. Yusuke nodded, setting the curry on the desk and pulling out his phone. Futaba did the same.

Yusuke: I apologise.

Yusuke: It was wrong of me to snap at you like that.

Futaba glanced up at him, quickly typing in her response.

Futaba: I understand. You were upset.

Three dots hovered in place for a moment, as Yusuke typed.

Yusuke: Being upset is no excuse for how I acted. It was completely out of order.

Yusuke: It’s just hard.

Futaba: Do you want to talk about it?

Yusuke paused for a second.

Yusuke: Yes.

Yusuke: The painting downstairs is my mother. She died when I was young. I can’t quite remember her, no matter how hard I try. Her self-portrait, while beautiful, isn’t objective. No self portrait is.

Yusuke: I’ve been trying to piece her face together from the few bits I can remember but I can never get it right.

Yusuke: When I was younger, I tried to do the same thing, but I was caught.

There was a pause in the conversation and Futaba looked up. Yusuke’s eyes were watering. He looked like he was going to burst into tears all over again.

Yusuke: Madarame tore up every single sketch and burned them all in the fireplace. I cried for hours but he didn’t apologise. He wasn’t even sorry.

Futaba: That’s horrible! You did nothing wrong.

Yusuke: I’m sorry I yelled at you Futaba. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just when I saw that torn page, it was like I was back there again, having all my hard work destroyed.

Futaba: You were scared Yusuke. I understand.

She turned off her phone and fetched the curry from the table. “Here,” she said, passing it to Yusuke. “Crying takes it out of you.”

Yusuke accepted the offering, taking a bite of the curry. Futaba wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She eventually settled on sitting next to Yusuke and placing her hand on top of of his. He gave her a sceptical look, but made no move to pull away, taking another bite.

They were as different as two people could be, but they understood each other and that was enough.

[drowningbydegrees]

TITLE: Even in the Dark I Know You (Part 1 of 3) SHIP (if applicable): Geraskier PROMPT DAY: Four - Betrayal MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix WARNINGS: No archive warnings apply, but canon typical violence SUMMARY: 

The thing is, he’s seen Geralt in a bad way. Even the witcher can’t always avoid injury in his line of work, and so Jaskier has plenty of practice patching him up. But this is new, and it makes something awful and anxious twist in Jaskier’s stomach. 

A contract goes wrong leaving Geralt captive and stripped of most of his senses by the time Jaskier gets to him.

WORD COUNT: 2,142 AUTHOR’S NOTES: Written for @geraltwhumpweek Part two will cover the prompt for day five and part three for day six. Ultimately, it’s hurt/comfort, but the comfort is later.

AO3 Link 

“I can’t thank you enough.” By all accounts, the mage’s smile is kind. Her soft doe eyes paint a picture of good natured innocence as she meets Geralt’s gaze. If he’d been younger or more naive, he might have taken her at face value, but he hasn’t survived this long without recognizing that mages, just like the rest of humanity, are very rarely what they appear to be. He takes in the softened features of a face trapped in eternal youth, framed with golden hair that falls in waves, and wonders idly what the truth of her is. 

Whatever she’s playing at, his patience is running thin. Everything seems normal enough, from the absurdly ornate chandelier that lights up the library to the rug rolled out across the stone floor, but he’s still eager to be done with the contract and on his way. Geralt doesn’t smile. “The only thanks I need is payment so I can be on my way.” 

“Right to the point. Of course.” She gets up from the armchair she’s been lounging in, with an easy grace that might be as manufactured as the rest of her. It’s only when she glides closer, holding out a bag of coin, that Geralt realizes there’s a problem after all. 

He begins to reach out to take it, but freezes halfway there, finding he cannot so much as curl his fingers into a fist. Thinking perhaps it’s a matter of proximity, Geralt tries to put some distance between them, but his feet refuse to be any more cooperative. 

“It’s under the rug, my dear. Even if you could move, you won’t smudge the lines enough to escape.” Her voice never loses its warmth, might even sound like sympathy coming from anyone else. 

Geralt tries to demand an explanation, to growl out a threat, something. The only sound that passes his lips is a wheezed out breath. 

“I’m terribly sorry. I’d much rather you had been someone less upstanding so I could justify just killing you and being done with the whole debacle,” the mage explains, and it seems like a very strange line to draw. She doesn’t look all that sorry anyway when she finally stands within his line of vision. “But you see, there are two of us who know what I contracted you for and that is just… one too many.” 

Geralt can’t reply. He can’t even jerk his head away when her long, nimble fingers skim his cheek, cradling his jaw the way a lover might. “No hard feelings, I hope.” 

It’s the last thing Geralt hears before silence descends, oppressive in the finality of it. The witcher falls into darkness, and then there is nothing. He cannot so much as utter a complaint as she strips him of his armor and weapons. 

***

Lost in the dark and the quiet, without even his sense of smell to keep track of his surroundings, everything blurs together. There’s no telling what the mage claims his crime is, but it must be heinous if the way he finds himself dragged along is any indication. Every instinct demands that he fight back, but escape would be momentary at best, so he lets them take him away, instead focusing on breaking through whatever spell the mage cast. They traverse a long hallway Geralt hasn’t been down, and he presses against the thing holding him. For a moment it shudders and the darkness brightens from pitch black to the less impenetrable color of the night sky. It’s not much, but it’s progress, a suggestion he might break through. 

He’s running out of time, Geralt realizes as he trips over a downward step he cannot see. Taking a breath, he tries again, ignoring the guards’ rough treatment in favor of straining to see the steps he’s being led down. The world is still veiled, but it’s taken on an ashen cast. 

After so much silence, the water dripping off to his right is deafening. It’s slow, each droplet echoing against the stone floor of what he assumes is a dungeon. The sound is only important in that it is a beacon he can strain towards. 

And it’s progress. Sort of. Soon, the clanking of armored feet surrounding him reaches Geralt’s ears. There are at least a dozen guards blocking both the path ahead and behind. Geralt can pinpoint where they are though, and one bright, shining moment, that’s enough. Even with his senses skewed, Geralt of Rivia is a force to be reckoned with. 

He does not know what tale the mage spun about him but it must have been terrible, truly. Aside from wanton cruelty, it’s the only explanation for the way the guards respond when Geralt jerks out of the grip they have on him. As if they’d only been waiting for an excuse, they descend upon him. 

Whatever their intent, a dozen isn’t nearly enough. Geralt moves deftly now that he can hear them. Weaponless though he is, Geralt is really only as unarmed as a witcher can ever be. It’s second nature to duck away from a blade thrust in his direction, leveraging the momentum to kick one of the guards down the rest of the stairs. 

It’s not victory Geralt wants, but escape, so when outlines begin to form in his hazy vision, the witcher only uses his slowly recovering senses to steer clear of the guards. He races back up the steps, towards a nebulous light that must be the hallway of the palace proper. If he can just reach that... 

“Enough.” The mage’s voice is the last thing he hears before his senses are ripped from him once more. In the whiplash of it all, he doesn’t realize one of the guards is at his back until there’s a sword run through his side. 

“Fuck.” Is somehow far less satisfying when he can’t even hear himself say it. 

---

Jaskier cringes inwardly as he realizes how much of this rescue was dumb luck. It’s lucky that the horse he finally got around to acquiring meant seeing Roach in the stable or he’d have moved on after the first night. It’s lucky that Jaskier is charming enough that the mage pursued him. It’s lucky that said mage was fool enough to stash Geralt’s swords in her chambers. Most of all, it’s lucky that the lord she serves, the lord Jaskier gambled on pressing about all this, didn’t know what she’d done and was utterly appalled. Granted, the horror might have only been that it was that particular witcher and that this particular bard learned about the whole mess, but Jaskier cares very little about why it worked. Only that it did. 

The thing is, he’s seen Geralt in a bad way. Even the witcher can’t always avoid injury in his line of work, and so Jaskier has plenty of practice patching him up. But this is new, and it makes something awful and anxious twist in Jaskier’s stomach. Most of the wounds look to be healing, but Jaskier has seen enough to know how truly awful they must have been in the beginning to look like this now. The bruises are almost worse, even though they’ve begun to fade into a sickly green. 

Bad as Geralt looks, what’s truly alarming is something else entirely. The witcher doesn’t so much as glance in their direction when they descend the stairs. He continues to stare at nothing as they approach. Geralt doesn’t even seem to notice the loud clank of the dimeritium cuffs around the mage’s wrists, or the banging of metal against stone as the armor her escorts are wearing walk through the dungeon. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier says anyway as the guard unlocks the cell, but there’s no more reply to that then to anything else. Furious, the bard, turns on the mage. “What have you done to him?”

“It was only supposed to be for a few moments, long enough to bring him here, but he fought through it faster than I anticipated.” The mage shrugs as if it doesn’t even matter, and Jaskier wants nothing more than to strangle her. “I had to fix it.”

“What. Have. You. Done?” Jaskier bites out again, and only the fact that he doesn’t know has kept him from opening the cell already. There’s magic in this, and he doesn’t want to make it worse. 

“I had to muzzle his senses for a while. I was neutralizing a threat,” she says, as if her reason somehow excuses the horror she’s visited upon Geralt. “Relax. It’ll pass in time.” 

Jaskier sucks in a breath because he knows a thing or two about witchers. As keen as Geralt’s senses are, the loss of them must be devastating. Worse than that, if they all come back in a rush, it may well be agonizing. He can’t fix that, but he can at least make sure it doesn’t happen here. Satisfied that he’s not going to set off some trap or hurt Geralt inadvertently, Jaskier yanks open the door and steps inside. 

If Jaskier could have possibly missed Geralt’s hamstrung senses before, there’s no doing so now. The witcher doesn’t so much as twitch when the barred door creaks open. Jaskier drops to his knees on the dirty floor of the cell, but Geralt still stares straight ahead, clearly seeing nothing. Jaskier’s heart feels like it’s clutched in a blacksmith’s vice as he searches for a way to alert Geralt to his presence without startling the. There’s nothing for it though, so Jaskier sighs out a resigned breath and reaches out to touch Geralt’s shoulder. 

It’s not surprising in the slightest that Geralt’s immediate response is to go on the offensive, but Jaskier still lets out a rather undignified squeak when he finds himself on the receiving end of it. Even blind, Geralt has the capacity to be deadly, effortlessly pinning Jaskier on his back. Instinctively, Jaskier’s hand covers Geralt’s where it rests on his throat, trying to pry the witcher’s fingers free. Geralt is clearly restraining himself, even now, even when he must think Jaskier is the enemy, but better not to risk him changing his mind.

“No, leave him!” Jaskier insists when a heavy clanking from beyond the cell alerts him that the skittish guards mean to come to his aid. Fraught as the situation is, their interference would only complicate things further. While he doesn’t really fancy putting himself at the mercy of an angry, confused witcher, Jaskier cannot bear the idea of making things any worse for Geralt. 

It’s that act of compassion that pays off. Whatever state he’s in, Geralt is clever, and it doesn’t take him long to notice Jaskier isn’t fighting back. The pressure on Jaskier’s throat disappears as Geralt’s fingers stray to trace the line of his jaw instead. They linger at the hinge of it, Geralt’s brows scrunching in confusion. “Jaskier?”

At least like this Geralt can feel him nod, so Jaskier does, probably a little too enthusiastically. That should be the end of it, but of course nothing is ever just the end of anything where they’re concerned. Geralt shifts to let Jaskier up, but makes no move to get to his feet. 

“Idiot,” he mutters instead. “How the hell did you get yourself stuck down here.” 

“You know, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m not going to mention how rich that is coming from the person I’m here to rescue,” Jaskier grumbles, reaching to take Geralt’s hand in his. “Well, and because it takes all the joy out of proving you wrong when you can’t even hear me.” 

Geralt scowls when Jaskier’s fingers brush against his. “You have to get out of here.” 

“I am. With you,” Jaskier protests before remembering Geralt still can’t hear him. Geralt of course doesn’t move. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Jaskier casts about for something, anything to get his point across. Geralt won’t budge when Jaskier tries to yank him to his feet, and the bard is nearly desperate enough to enlist the help of the guards when he remembers they’d brought the witcher’s belongings with them. 

In the end, that’s what does it. Geralt might not understand Jaskier, but he recognizes the hilt of his sword immediately judging by the way his eyebrows climb. This time, when Jaskier tries to urge Geralt to stand, the witcher goes willingly, even if he sways a little when he gets there. 

“Right, good,” Jaskier murmurs, trying very hard not to see the vicious looking gash in Geralt’s side, or the dark, weary smudges under his eyes. The prospect of trying to lead the way back to the inn is a daunting one, but even though Geralt cannot see, Jaskier only lets the easy smile that graces his lips fall away once his back is turned. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

[katsukikitten]

Hi! I was wondering if you could could do bakugo with a depressed and self-harming s/o? Shes trying so hard not to do but it was one of those days that the urge was almost impossible to ignore? Sorry if its too dark, i just feel this very mood rn. Sorry to bother you and i love your work ❤️💕

This would never bother me love. Please feel free to message me should you need me. You have my full support and I will always help you to my best abilities.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'LL LOSE THE BATTLE. I KNOW YOU ARE STRONG YOU CAN DO THIS.

It sat on your shoulder, weighing down on your mind, body and soul. Wispy fingers digging into flesh as it peers over you too curious for it's own good.

It smiles a jagged tooth smile as it sees what has your heart and mind racing so erratically. It morphs all on it's own as you stare at the 34% written in blotchy red ink and it seems to whisper with a gravely voice.

*"Worthless."*

You twist at your skin on your forearms agitating old scars that burn to be reopened and picked over for the next few weeks. Your forearm reddens from the Indian burn you're giving yourself all the while your mind stays on a dark loop. Repeating things over and over as you try to understand this failing grade.

As you try to wrap your mind around how in the hell could this be your fifth one in a row.

You were going to fucking flunk, you were going to have to say good bye to your dreams, to all of your aspirations as a hero. You thought you might as well go back to the dorms and start packing now as you proved to yourself exactly what you've always known and exactly what it's always breathed down the nape of your neck.

*"Not good enough."*

The skin begins to bloom in blues and purples, much like a moody flower as you're absorbed in thought trying to break the cycle of it.

Trying to ignore the call of old burns on your ribs from your friends curling iron, trying so damn hard to not hear that the school is teaming with sharp objects to slice yourself with.

So absorbed really that you do not hear the bell dismissing school, only the rushing blood in your ears.

Oblivious to the burning eyes that watch your hand work, that have seen the scars in training but would never be shameless enough to ask.

He figured it out quickly, noticing with deft eyes the neatly set rows of dated scars, of their organization and as far as he knew you had never been captured.

A strong hand wraps around the wrist that has been twisting the past hour.

"Enough. It's just a grade. I'll help you study." All biting voice as his vice grip dies down. He has your backpack on what is normally his free shoulder. You blush furiously, feeling shame heat your cheeks as you hadn't realized you were being so obvious.

"Let's go Y/LN!" He shouts now from the door trying to keep the bite out of his voice.

He fails as the chair scrapes against the cold linoleum. He bites his lip waiting for you to fall into step.

The walk home is silent and awkward at best. Embarrassment creeps in reddish hues onto your cheeks as you think of who else may have seen you.

Who else noticed your unstable mind and insecure actions?

The thought has you subconsciously twisting again as thoughts swirl faster and faster as they think of what will relieve the tension.

Did you have any more razors? Surely one of the girls did, if not the corner store.

But did you have the extra cash?

As you rack your brain for either a hidden stash of instruments or cash it hits you. You had that lighter your stole ages ago. It only took 70 seconds for a burn to form. 70 agonizingly lovely seconds for your skin to warp and bubble until the pain was so numbing you felt your body go slack. Your brain finally giving you endorphins you so thoroughly craved.

And the best part about a burn is that it would hurt for weeks after, and especially so any time you introduced it to hear. Skin jaded from its previous encounter with unpleasantly warm.

Just as your nails begin to break skin a calloused hand has gripped your wrist once more. Hand slipping into yours while intertwining fingers in a bone crushing grip.

"Whatever it is you're thinking. You better not." Its a threat that actually scares you.

How had he read your mind? You swallow thickly while trying not to look any more suspicious under his exceptionaly watchful eye.

Once the two of you reach the dorm he squeezes your hand tightly, slipping your back onto your shoulder before growling in your ear.

"Whenever you feel...down you come to me." His voice is darker than you've ever heard before he lets go of your hand waltzing into the dorms.

Days pass with the single thought of painful released flooding your system.

Anytime you reached for your lighter you thought of burning red eyes.

Of the wraith that would be looming in them.

Of the disappointment.

You gulp down air as you try to fight it especially now that the inanimate object seems to have gained a voice.

A voice that echos what the wispy black beast that hangs onto your back screams in your ear.

*"Do it. Do it. DO IT!"*

It said it every time you were in the shower and around razor heads lying around, screeched when it saw the sharp edge of a broken tile in the bathroom. It yelled it during practice as you watched Todoroki's flame lick greedily at the ground, at the walls of the fake city.

Dancing in the sunlight as if it were a savior, calling out to be caressed as the paint beneath bubbled and warped.

Your fingers had reached out. Had begun to feel the heat.

Until you were so selfishly ripped away by strong hands and heated scarlet eyes.

Shoving you to continue the mission.

It took on new words now as you reached for your box in your closet. Taking down the black shoe box of sad poems and long forgotten notes from long forgotten friends.

And as you stare down at the scratched chrome rectangle, flopping open the top.

You still hear that magical sound of sloshing butane. Now you just have to hope the flint is still good. Hesitation seizes your muscles as your thumb rests on the steel wheel, is this really such a good idea?

Think of all of the people who abandoned you when they found out.

Think of the hurt shining in your parents eyes when they saw the scars littering your body, wondering what they did to make you so unhappy.

Think of how you only feel smaller when you do it.

You're about put it away, seal it back in its black converse labeled coffin when that wispy small thought you'd tried so hard to talk over is finally heard.

*"But think of how good it feels in the moment."*

With that your thumb comes fully down, the flint sparks igniting the soaked wick that now dances in the comfort of your room.

Singing its praises, asking you to come closer for a reward.

You listen, bringing your hand down slowly over the lit lighter, as the heat turns from pleasantly warm to Redding burn.

Closer still you push your palm until your skin is in the flame. Silently ticking by the seconds.

35 have passed as you're halfway there, the smell of skin is staring to waft onto the air as your skin has already become distorted, discolored as the flames lovingly leave your with a heated numbness.

At least for now.

A knock comes at the door, earning you a small yelp. Suddenly the fire has become hot, burning as you flick closed the top and drop the lighter.

"J..just a minute." You call out starring at your palm gripping at your wrist.

"Hurry up. We don't have much time to study before bed. Your retake is in two days." His voice comes out gruff starling you even more.

You hadn't asked for Bakugou's help, so why was the hot head barking on the other side of your door.

Shit.

This was getting worse by the second. With nothing to wrap your hand it you tell yourself you'll be able to hide it as you reach for the doorknob. Causing a pain to shoot from your hand all the way up to your shoulder as you force the fried nerves onto a cool surface. Twisting as you go.

Maybe it wasn't your best idea to use it on your dominate hand.

But what's done is done.

"We c...can go to the common room and study." You suggest but barges himself in anyway standing just inside your door as he thinks of the best way to avoid the landmine of clothes and books scatter across the hardwood.

"Too loud." He dismisses finding the perfect path to your desk.

The perfect path that has his boot toeing the lighter. Causing it to skid into his sight. He leans over to pick it up, feeling the warmth coming from it and finally placing the odd smell that lingers in your room.

He glares over his shoulder as your heart pounds in your throat, causing a lump to form as you see what you told yourself was going to be there.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Especially so with how neatly he sets down the test materials, stepping with precise foot steps before he stands in front of you.

Heated sugar begins to flood the room before a few uncontrolled pops ring our over his shoulders and forearms.

"What's this?" He asks calmly which scares you more than anything and when you cannot answer he notices you hiding your dominate hand.

"N..n..nothing Bakugou. I...I found it on campus and thought it looked cool. I wanted to..to keep it." You stumble with frayed nerves as you avoid his eyes, telling a half truth. You do collect odd things that you find. Thinking they bring you fortune and you did find the zippo on campus, just not this one.

He looks you over debating before he grits his teeth. Hand causing the lighter to explode.

"And then you lie to me." He comes out dark, rubbing you the wrong way as you think of all the other faces his match right now.

As you remember that they gave you their backs becoming nothing more than memories and empty promises immortalized on line paper that rots in a coffin made of a black converse box.

You cannot stop the tears as you fall to the floor. Crying loudly and openly, large droplets raining down onto your shirt and the hard wood floor.

Bakugou's own heart lodges in his throat as he stares down at you.

Per the usual fucking up how you're supposed to react.

This wasn't supportive like the internet had said. Nor was it loving.

Hell, if anything this was the exact opposite of what was advised to do. And here he stood losing his temper over something you clearly struggled with.

The worst part to him was that there was nothing he could do to change this, to alter how you feel. To stop you all together and force you into a different, more healthy coping mechanism.

No all he could was watch from the sidelines.

And Bakugou Katsuki was a starter.

He sighs sinking to his knees pulling you into him as you stain his pressed shirt. Dampen it until nothing else comes out and the numbness begins to set in.

All the while he smooths down your hair and let's his hand travel down your back in a loving warm touch. When he thinks you are done he pushes you away so he can stare into your gorgeous eyes and admits what he never thought he would.

"I can't fix this for you. I can't take it away. I cant fight it off. Kiss it away. Fuck it away. Or rip the urge from your body." He squeezes your shoulders tightly, "Only you can do that."

The two of you stay quiet as you realize the weight of his words.

"You're the only one strong enough to fight this. I can support you, I can be a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag whatever. But I can't fucking fix this for you." Another pop from his shoulders before he let's out a shaking sigh, "But I sure as fuck believe in you. You stopped once. You can stop again. As long as you keep getting back up Y/N it doesn't matter that you *ever* fell. So please....please let me help you. Let me be that shoulder, that punching back. That void you vent to."

More tears glisten in your eyes as he kisses your forehead, he pulls you back into another death grip hug, voice threatening to crack as he adds.

"Please let me help you kick this things ass."

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

I See You

Summary: Alex hasn’t been feeling quite herself, Dean is there to listen. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Alex, aka me (platonic)

Word Count: 1.5K+

Warnings: Language, angst, talks of anxiety 

THIS ONE COULD BE LEGIT TRIGGERING, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE AT ALL CONCERNED THAT IT MAY NOT BE SAFE FOR YOU.

Author’s Note: Hey guys, I’ve had a really rough couple of days, some of the darkest I have ever seen in myself, so I spit out these words to try and make some sense of my own feelings. It was cathartic and I feel like I’m getting to a place where I can be alright. This is a love letter to myself, so enjoy, or don’t, it is for me ultimately. I figured I would share to remind everyone that we are not alone in our struggles. Special thanks to @waywardbeanie​ without whom I would not have made it through this hump. Thanks for always being my champion, and of course the gratuitous Jensen photos. Also, this is completely unedited, just rough and raw feelings. xo Alex

The sounds of Dean’s boots hitting the tile of the bunker echoed down the hall as he made his way inside. The hunter wiped the grease from his hands as he stepped into the war room, his eyes going straight to his little brother in front of a computer in the library. 

“Hey, Sammy.” Sam hummed a noncommittal reply as Dean came up next to the table. “Still looking for another hunt.” 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Nothing out there right now. It’s almost eerily silent.” 

Dean nodded to himself. Times like these were rare, but he enjoyed them all the same. Sometimes it was nice to enjoy the silence for a little while. Only there was one thing nagging him today, or rather not nagging him. 

“Have you talked to Alex today?” Dean continued to work the oil out from his nails beds, his tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration. 

Sam furrowed his brow as he thought, his head cocking as the realization hit him. “No actually, now that you mention it. I haven’t even heard her rummaging around in the kitchen.” 

“She was weird when she went to bed last night. Quiet.” Dean commented. 

“Alex, quiet?”

“Yeah, when she’s upset.” Dean chewed on his bottom lip. “Except I figured she would just sleep it off. She usually does.” Which was true, Alex was rarely ever in a mood and when she was, like almost every girl he had ever met, all he had to do was feed her or put her to bed. The woman was basically a gremlin but with more complex thoughts. 

“Just because we haven’t seen her doesn’t mean anything. You know how much she loves getting lost in all these books.” Sam countered. The younger Winchester ran his fingers through his long brown locks and shrugged off Dean’s obvious worry. 

“Nope.” Dean shook his head. “Alex always brings me lunch when I’m working on Baby.” 

“Dude, she is not your mother.”

“I know that, Sammy.” Dean wasn’t sure what exactly Sam was trying to insinuate. Dean loved her cooking and if she wanted to make him food, why should he deny her that. Besides, Dean always made sure she ate with him, no matter how much she would insist that she had some other thing to do. “But come on, you said it yourself. This is not like her.” 

Dean turned on his heel and hopped down the steps towards their bedrooms. He took a pit stop in the kitchen to wash his hands before continuing down the hall to room twelve. He raised a fist and rapped his knuckles against the heavy wooden door. 

“Al,” he called, squinting his eyes as he listened for a response. After a moment of no response, he gritted his teeth. “Okay, I’m coming in.” The hunter turned the knob to the door and let himself in, pushing the door in hesitantly. 

Only one of her bedside lamps was on, casting a small orange glow in the corner of the room. There was an Alex sized lump in the center of the bed where she was mostly hidden under the covers. Dean could see the glow of her phone falling over her pillows. She didn’t even stir when the door creaked. 

“Really, no sarcastic remark about entering your room?” 

The woman who had lain hiding away in her room all day, sighed and locked her phone before sitting up. The covers fell to her waist and the chill of the bunker caused a shiver to run through her. She ran her fingers through her burgundy locks in an attempt to straighten out the rat’s nest that had settled there. 

Alex rubbed her eyes, “What’s up Dean?” 

He couldn’t help the frown on his face as he took in the distance look in her eye. “Al, are you okay?” 

She looked away from his gaze, and off towards the opposite corner of the room as she pulled her knees into her chest. Dean watched her for a moment, her hands rubbing up and down her bare arms. Even in the low light of the bedroom, Dean noticed the way her eyes began to water. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about it?” Dean sat down on the end of her bed, angling his body to face her. Alex shook her head, holding back the full-blown tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Okay, well can I just sit with you then?” 

The pair of them sat in silence before she could no longer take it. Dean had proved to her that he had no intention of leaving without getting her to talk. As much as she hated sharing the deepest secrets running around in her brain, she also knew talking some of it out would help the anxiety churning in her stomach. 

“I don’t know, Dean. I mean half the time I don’t even understand my triggers myself. I just get this… this anxiety bubble that settles in the pit of my stomach.” She gestured about with her hands. “And then my mind just tells me everything wrong with my life.” 

“Like?” 

The woman scoffed, “Oh you know the usual. You aren’t good enough, your friends only tolerate you, why do you even try.” Alex gripped her hair and tugged at the roots. “And you know what that’s not even the part that gets me. I can work around that.” 

“Then what has got you holed up in your room all day?” Dean gripped her wrist and forced her to let go of her hair. He could see her chewing on the inside of her cheek, contemplating her answer. 

“It’s just that I had gotten so used to being alone that it had become my new normal. And to be honest, I was okay with that, I had reconciled being alone forever. That’s the type of life we live as hunters.” Her voice had risen as her frustration had. Never before had she ever been this down, and it scared her more than anything. Before she could have at least pretended that she had everything under control, but now things were spiraling and she had nothing to grasp onto to keep from floating away. 

“I love you and Sam. You are my family. But being around people is draining me. You two bicker at every given opportunity and not mention are just loud men in general. Then there is Jack who is literally an infant, which you know I can not handle as I have told you multiple times I do not want kids. This place has become...like sensory overload, even on my best days. At the end of the day, I feel like I have no battery left and I can’t recharge overnight. I’ve been running on empty for too long and that has forced me to put up a mask for you two because I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t do it anymore.” She took a shuddering breath as the tears were breaking free. “I’m just tired, Dean.”

He nodded as he absorbed everything that she was telling him. If Dean knew one thing about Alex, it was that she didn’t let people into that dark side of her. She was always the first person to be there for everyone else in their moment of need and had the tendency to downplay her own struggles if it meant that the attention was not on her. There was nothing that made her more uncomfortable than the attention on her. He had to choose his words carefully. 

“Okay, first off, I know you think that you are this pro at putting up a front to hide the person you are inside, but I hate to break it to you, you aren’t. I can see right through that facade. I see when you are hurting and when you are genuinely happy. I see when you want to cry and when you are playful. I see you sweetheart, don’t ever doubt that.”

“Second, don’t ever believe you are better off alone. Just because you had gotten used to it doesn’t mean it is what you deserve. You are a strong, beautiful, and empathetic woman. The world deserves to have you out there. I know for me and Sam, our world has never been brighter than when you came crashing into our lives, literally.” They both chuckled at his reference to her being thrown into Dean at the hunt that brought them into each other’s lives. 

“And lastly, all you had to do was tell me. Take a car from the garage and go for a drive if that’s what you need. Spend all day in here mindlessly scrolling through the internet, or dissociating while watching the office for the millionth time. And if you just need me to sit quietly with you, I’ll be there. I know you only have so much in you, but sweetheart, having even only a little of you is worth so much more than none of you.” 

“Dean-” 

“You don’t have to say anything. Take your time, we will be here when you are ready. Just come back to us, okay?” Alex nodded, the tears flowing freely now. Dean reached over and brushed away a tear with his thumb. 

“Now that we have established that, I know you haven’t eaten all day. Are you hungry?” Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. 

“Mmm, I guess I could eat,” she sniffled. 

“That's what I thought. But what should we have…” Dean trailed off before leaning over the edge of the bed and plucking an orange box from underneath. “How about your not-so-secret stash of cheez-its?” 

Alex’s jaw dropped, having truly thought the boys had no clue about her stash under the bed. The boys always went through a box far too fast and she never got any so now she had learned to buy her own box for safekeeping. “Dean Winchester, you give me those back!” She squealed, the infectious grin on the hunter’s face enough to lighten her heart at that moment for a genuine smile to crack on her tear-stained face. She reached out to snatch the box away from him, only for Dean to pull it out of her reach. 

“I don’t think so, we are all out in the pantry and you’ve got my favorite flavor.” 

[evans713]

date night / chris evans

part two of busy morning

author's note: finally wrote the piece i promised @sweater-daddiesdumbdork love you💕

warnings: fluff, smutty undertones?, bad writing, not edited, i'm nervous about this one, don't know how good it turned out

fun fact: it takes me forever to choose the photo or gif because i want it to show the essence of each plot, okay not so fun, bye

Y/F/F means your favorite food, i wanted every one to have their own because it's a special moment

song: darling i do by landon pigg & lucy schwartz

Y/N blushed profusely as she left a howling Chris back at the kitchen. That man had no filter with her and as much as she loves it, she couldn't afford to get distracted. It did motivate her to work harder and faster to get back to her man and her good boy. 

She took the sticky note Chris wrote for her and stuck it at the bottom of her monitor. "Couldn't even thank him for breakfast." She muttered. 

"That kiss was thank you enough, doll." Chris' voice got closer to her.

Y/N saw him walking towards her with a glass and a jug of water. "One more dirty word coming from you and you can sleep by yourself tonight." She threatened. She was distracting her so much but she wasn't mad at him. Never.

Chris put his hands in innocence after placing the water near her desk. "I just need you wet- sorry, I meant hydrated." He laughed when Y/N's eyes widened. She took the first thing she saw, a pen, and chucked it at him as he tried making a swift exit.

"I'm not sleeping with you tonight!" She yelled after him. 

Chris could only laugh. It was so easy to get her riled up and shy at the same time. He hoped that after his purpose for that night, she comes around and lets him sleep with her. 

Taking advantage of her working most of the day, Chris started planning his surprise for the night. He went outside to the patio and thought of the possibilities. Both of them had set up a pergola and over time, they had hung plants. Since the surprise would most likely be at night, he instantly thought of what to do that she would love and added it to the list. 

It was going to be simple but he knew she liked simplicity. She had told him a million of times that all she ever wanted and needed was his heart. Of course he would love to offer her the universe. She only wanted him and he would always belong to her but a pinch of extra love wouldn't hurt.

Chris decided to get the stuff after preparing her some lunch. He knew she was so busy that she would most likely forget to eat. In the mean time he and Dodger cleaned up outside. Well he cleaned, the pup kept bringing him balls so Chris could throw them.

When he finished, he was drenched in sweat but satisfied. And it started to hit him was he was about to do. Should he call his mom, his siblings, your family? Was it the right time? He knew she wouldn't deny him. But today? What if she was still stressed about work? What if she only wanted to relax after?

"Should I do it, bubba?" The pup barked and Chris took that as a yes. He took his phone but his finger hovered over the contact number. Should he do it first and then let everybody know? Yes, he should do that. He didn't want to risk someone giving her hints. Because what if he chickened out at the last minute? Yeah, no. Her day wasn't even finished and if things didn't turn out okay, he didn't want the added pressure on her. Wow, no he was doubting if she would agree...

Chris felt his anxiety rocketing and Dodger felt that. The pup nuzzled his snout on his hands and licked.

"She loves you, you meatball. You'll do something nice so she can relax after a hard day and if the opportunity presents itself, you'll do it." Chris reaffirmed in a hushed whisper. He didn't want to risk her hearing him. "Thank you, buddy. Now let's eat something so we can get the stuff." He told Dodger.

Y/N started smelling something really good. She didn't know what time it was, didn't even had the time to check it but her stomach started protesting again. She would eat something soon. She would make the time. She hoped Chris would have some leftovers of whatever he was making.

Some more time passed and the smell got closer to her. Instinctively, she slipped her tongue to wet her lips. As she did so, she heard a groan from next to her. "Careful with that tongue, princess." 

"You are behaving awfully naughty today, Mr. Evans." Y/N retorted.

Chris laughed. "Your fault for being so sexy, baby."

"Now everything revolves around me?"

"Maybe not everything but my heart does." Chris smiled at her.

Y/N blushed. "Thank you for loving me, Chris." She whispered.

Chris set down the plate with food he brought to her and crouched in front of her, she noticed his damp hair and clean smell. "It's my pleasure, always." He promised and bent forward to kiss her. "I made you some tacos, real ones because I know you don't like the others." Both of them chuckled.

"It looks and smells so good, Chris. Thank you so much." It was her turn to close the gap between them. She tried making the kiss last without losing herself on him. "I love you, a few more hours and hopefully I'll be done."

"Don't pressure yourself for me, babygirl. I don't want you more stressed." Chris kissed her knee and stood up. He took her breakfast tray and kissed the top of her head. "I need to run some errands. I'm taking Dodger with me so he doesn't distract you and we'll be back in a couple of hours, okay?"

"Okay. Be safe. I love you."

"I love you too, doll."

/

Y/N finally finished. Edited and approved. Her shoulders slumped and she rested her forehead against the cool desk. She felt the tension slowly leaving her body and all she wanted was Chris to carry her to bed. 

But the house was quiet. She didn't think he and Dodger were back yet.

Getting up from her chair, she stretched her body and let out a big yawn. She took her plate, the glass and the empty jug to the kitchen. More yawns escaped her lips as she put everything in the dishwasher. Then went onto checking the garage and the lack of his car told her enough. She checked her phone.

'Hi, beautiful. 

We miss you.

We'll bring dinner home.

I love you, immensely.'

Y/N smiled at the text and took a screenshot of it, adding it to the album she created for texts from Chris she cherishes. Which reminded her to take the sticky note Chris wrote her in the morning with her to the bedroom. She took out a tin box from their dresser and carefully placed the note inside, smiling at the almost full box. She had lost count of how many boxes Chris has gotten her and that they had already filled up. Once Chris realised that she was keeping them, he promised her to get her more boxes and every time he saw one he'd think she might like, he got it. He also showed her his own stash that he kept in between the pages of his books.

She took her phone and typed her answer.

'I miss you too.

Drive safe.

I love you more.'

She put her phone aside and bribed herself to take a shower. Her bed looked so inviting but she wanted to get the work day's feeling off of her so she could fully relax. Inside, the bathroom, she had a similar conflict. Shower or bath. She settled for shower, she might fall asleep and drown. And Chris would be so mad at her if she died before him.

After the quick shower, she couldn't help it anymore. She was barely strong enough to take Chris' t-shirt that he had used to sleep the night before and pull it over her head. She towel-dried her hair one final time and she slipped underneath the bedsheets. She was out like a light the moment her head touched the pillow.

Chris was running around like crazy. It was later than he thought it would be but he had most of the stuff he needed. He was just missing the food but he could just have it delivered. Part of him hoped she was still busy. Not stressed, just busy so he could set everything up. But upon entering their bedroom, the sight broke his heart, making him smile sadly. At least she was resting.

Y/N was curled up in a ball, her head peeking from under the pile of sheets and blankets. She had most of her face buried on his pillow, clutching it as if she were clutching him.

He was about to step outside, not wanting to interrupt your sleep when Dodger slipped between his legs and jumped on the bed, going for Y/N's face.

"Dodge, no!" Chris whisper-shouted. He tried taking the pup away from her when he heard her giggles. 

"I missed you too, bubba." She said as she tried to get the pup under control. "I missed you too, love." She said to Chris.

"Sorry, baby. Didn't know he was going to do that." Chris winced when Y/N tried stifling a yawn. "Dodger, down. Let momma sleep." He got down and sat next to his legs.

"It's okay."

"Go back to sleep, angel. I'll let you know when dinner is ready."

"But-"

"No buts," Another yawned escaped her lips, the soft sound making him chuckle. "Y/N, please, get some more rest."

Y/N didn't have it in her to fight him for once. She nodded and reassumed her previous position. Chris kissed her temple and she was back asleep. He didn't like seeing her so tired but for once he could use it. 

Chris didn't waste more time and first took the twinkling lights he bought. There was a lot of lights but he wanted to make sure everything was perfect for her. It took him almost an hour but he hanged them over the pergola. He made sure they were working before moving onto the next task. 

Next, he moved their patio table to be in the centre of the pergola and left two chairs in front of each other before moving the rest of the furniture to the side. Then he took the box of red rose petals and sprinkled them over the table, being grateful that it wasn't windy. He knew how she didn't like flowers being cut so he got fallen petals from the florist downtown, glad to have found enough for the table and a small trail leading to it.

Almost show time. God, he was starting to get nervous. But he had to remind himself not to show it. She would see right through him and think there was something wrong. Yes, his face gave everything away and it got her concerned. 

He started the fire pit and turned the twinkling lights back on. He got the plates, glasses and cutlery they might need and set up the table. He grabbed the two candles he bought and lit them, making sure nothing was close enough to catch on fire. He really, really didn't want anything to go wrong tonight.

Everything was almost ready. He was only waiting for the food so he could go wake you up. He thought about changing his clothes but before he made up his mind, the doorbell rang followed by a bark.

"Bubba, shh." Chris went to the door and greeted the delivery man. They chatted for a bit while he made sure everything was delivered and then paid, thanking the man with a nice tip.

Chris stopped dead on his tracks as he had entered the kitchen. Y/N was standing on the doorway that led to the patio. She had a hand covering her mouth while she looked at everything he had done.

“I was thinking we could have a date night.” Chris’ voice sounded from behind her. She turned around and he noticed tears in her eyes. “You don’t like it?” He was starting to get nervous. Maybe his idea wasn’t as romantic as he had previously thought.

Y/N walked up to him, taking the food from his hands and placing it on the counter next to him before crashing her lips against his. Chris kissed her deeply and moaned at finally having her in his arms without restraints. "Like it? Are you serious?" She whispered against his lips, her eyes making sure to captivate his. "I love it. You are the most amazing man ever and I'm so lucky to have you."

"I'm so lucky to have you." Chris whispered and pecker her lips. 

"If I wasn't so hungry for food," She kissed his nose. "I'd be ravishing you."

"Darling, don't say things like that." Chris groaned. "You know they take me places."

"I'll take you to bed later, I promise." She winked and started taking the food out, being loyally followed by Dodger.

"You are tease, baby."

"I say the exact thing about you. You breathe and I want to jump you."

Chris laughed as they took Y/F/F and the wine outside. Y/N once more was transfixed with the set up of their date. She really didn't deserve her man. He was always so thoughtful. It was plain Chris. He was born and raised to be a gentleman.

He took the opportunity to set up the speakers with both their favorite songs and walked back to her. "Ready to eat?" He asked.

Y/N nodded and Chris helped her push her chair. "I can't believe you planned all this for me. How long did it take you?" She asked as she took her first bite, offering a small piece to the pup next to her.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." Chris winked, loving the blush slowly coating her cheeks. "I wanted to do something special for you after working so hard." He said, trying so hard to keep a normal expression on his face.

"Come on, Chris. You can't lie to me."

"I'm not." Now he was the one blushing. 

"I think you just want to get in my pants."

Chris let out a hearty laugh. "You got me."

Y/N dropped the subject. It was an incredibly sweet gesture and she knew there wasn't a malicious ulterior motive to his actions. 

Once they finished eating, Chris got up from his chair and offered his hand to her. "May I have a dance?" Dodger's head perked up but since there wasn't any more food involved, he ignored his humans.

She accepted his offer and stood up, coming to stand in front of him. Chris took his phone out and chose 'Darling I Do'. The song started and Y/N couldn't help but let out a loud laugh, making him join her. "Are you really trying to seduce me with a Shrek song?"

Chris laughed even harder. "It's a very good and very romantic song." He said as he pulled her closer to him.

"You are such an adorable dork." And he was, Y/N had mentioned liking the song the first time they watched the movie together and Chris had listened to it since then. 

Y/N closed her and rested her head where his heartbeat was beating frantically. Chris could even feel it and was trying so hard to get it back to normal.

"Y/N." Was he really going to do it? Was it the right moment yet? "Baby?"

"Everything okay? Your heart beat rate is starting to worry me." She whispered, her tone a tiny bit worried.

"Y-yes." He stuttered and cursed himself.

Y/N moved her head away so she could look at him better. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing." Chris groaned and closed his eyes. "Shit, okay." He gave a step back and saw the panicked look on his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.

"Chris?"

Chris took a deep breath and got on one knee. He took the ring from his pocket and looked up towards Y/N and saw his beautiful girl covering her mouth, her eyes gradually watering.

"Y/N," He started, willing his voice not to crack. "I have loved you for the longest time. I have loved you even before I knew I loved you. I'm thankful for you everyday. For getting the chance to show you how much you mean to me. I meant it, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You have shown me what being loved feels like. You have given me a home. And the best part is that you love me back. You have given me everything. And I'm still selfish enough to ask you for one more thing. Will you do me the honor of spending the rest of your life with me? I promise to do my best to make you happy." He finished

"You already make me happy," She started, willing herself to stop crying. "And there's nothing more I want than to spend the rest of my life with you." She was getting choked up. "Yes, Chris, I want to marry you." She said and cupped his cheeks, crashing her lips against his. She hoped her lips could support her words.

Chris stood up and pulled her even closer to him. Her lips tasted salty. Maybe it was her tears. Or maybe his. But it was perfect because she agreed. She accepted!

"I heard you right, right? You want to marry me?" He used the pads of his thumbs to wipe her tears away as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose.

"Yes, Chris. Nothing would make me happier than to be your wife." She promised.

"The ring! Here." He offered the ring and Y/N finally took a good look to it. And it was beautiful. The diamond reflected the twinkling lights from above them and was nestled carefully around tiny diamonds, sitting on an elegant and smooth band. It was perfect and it was them. "Do you like it?"

Y/N put up her hand so Chris could slip the ring on her fourth finger. "I love it, it's beautiful." She said, admiring the way it looked on her, especially because it was a part of Chris.

"I wanted something as beautiful as you."

"And I got something twice as beautiful, just like you."

"Soon-to-be Mrs. Evans, can't wait to marry your dorky self."

[lokislittlecorner]

!!!TRIGGER WARNING!!!

Why would you do that?

Please don't read this fanfiction if you're easily triggered!This piece just helps me to cope with my feelings and anxiety in general.I don't want anyone of you to feel bad.If you're struggling, you're always welcome to write to me personally. I'm happy to help.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of suicide and cutting, depression, anxiety, Good ending, fluff

Word count: 1700

Summary:

(Y/N) has been feeling terrible the last few days and as time goes on she slips even more into a hole of depression, one day she just wants to give up on everything already writing a letter for Loki...

Notes: Takes place a few years after New York Loki living in the Avengers tower so they could keep a better eye on him, so certain events didn't happen.

You were slowly pacing the floors of the Avengers tower, always looking at the ground scared to face anyone, scared to look anyone in the eyes. What if they judged you? Do they really like you, or do they just pretend to? Thoughts were once again racing through your brain banging on the walls of your head giving you a bad headache.

You knew you had your ups and downs but this time it was really bad and it didn't seem to get better, only worse. Loki knew that you struggled with bad thoughts and feelings from time to time but you tried to hide it from him, just so he wouldn't be worried about you.Sometimes you weren't even sure if he really loved you.

The bad thoughts just kept coming without any reason. You entered the big room with all those beautiful books which always seemed to bring comfort, tears began to creep up on you. You didn't even know why you were crying but you couldn't hold it back anymore.

The library was your safe place no one except for Loki would enter the beautiful place, you loved it when you two were just sitting there reading in silence, those were the times when your mind wasn't torturing you when the thoughts slowed down.

Loki was on a mission with Thor at the moment so you were alone with yourself. It's not that you didn't trust the other Avengers but you liked to keep certain things to yourself.

You wiped the tears away, with the back of your hand allowing to calm yourself, crying wouldn't bring you much now.

"I'm so pathetic" Another sigh escaped your lips as you placed yourself in one of the big comfy chairs, surrounded by big shelves. You picked up the book that you read at the moment "Tales and poems of Edgar Allan Poe" it was a wonderful arrangement of shorts that kept your mind from wandering, at least for a moment.

You sat in the library for hours not even noticing that the sun has vanished from the sky and the moon welcomed the night. I should go back to my room. You thought to yourself. Slowly you crawled out of the chair, putting the book away and heading back to your space.

It was dark in your room except for the moonlight shining through the window there was no sign of light. "So this is my life now huh?" Tears once again crept up on the edges of your eyes. "Alone in the dark"

A dangerous thought came to your mind.what if I would just end it all... You shook your head trying to get it out. No this wasn't an option.

but the pain would go away. No no no, again you shook your head.

He wouldn't even miss you. At that thought, you just... stopped. Maybe he really wouldn't miss you, maybe it really didn't matter what happened to you. The panic began growing in you, breathing became harder hands started shaking. Is this really all there is? Pain?

Your legs carried you into the bathroom that was included in your room, switching on the light you blinked a few times trying to adjust to the brighter surroundings. You rummage through your stuff on the search of something specific, your blades. The panic wouldn't leave you, your hands still shaking it made the searching definitely harder. Then you found it the little box where you kept the things you were after, hidden away from anyone but you. It's been a while. You opened the little chest, blades bandages, and tissues everything was there where you had left it.

This wasn't the first time you felt like this and also not the first time kneeling in your bathroom with the box in your hands, thinking about finally doing it, but the thought of leaving Loki alone hurt you and you couldn't bring yourself to actually do it. This time, however, was different, you didn't know why, maybe because he's been away for 2 weeks now? Or maybe because the pain wouldn't stop?

I should at least say goodbye. Carefully placing the box down on the ground as if something would break, you stood up making your way to the table in the middle of your room.

Normally this little paper stash was for your shopping or to-do list and now you would write your last words on it. The irony made you laugh a bit, nothing made sense anymore.

Hey

I don't know how to write this but I've got a few things I want you to know.

It's finally come to a point where I can't stand the pain anymore, all the sorrow that just won't go away and keeps a tight hold of me.

I love you, I always did and I know that this will hurt you but please try to understand.

I just can't it's too much.

I'm sorry for being so damn selfish, I never wanted to leave you but I can't.

I just can't do this anymore.

Please forgive me, I love you

(Y/N)

Tears fell on the thin paper beneath you.

This is it. You thought.

Back in the bright bathroom, you sat on the floor leaning your back against the tub, with the blade in your hand you stared at the wall in front of you. It seemed like hours when you heard a door and the blood froze in your veins.

"Shit!” Loki was back and you knew he wouldn't be really font of what you just wanted to do. With the speed of light, you hustled back into the main room snatching the paper off of the table. " Hey... how have you been my dear? " He arched a brow at your suspicious actions. "Good, really good. How was the mission?" You said that way to fast and he grew even more suspicious of you. "My dear is there something you might want to tell me?”

He made his way to you, he was covered in scratches from the fights he had to endure, a dark expression on his face. " No..." Your sight wandered back to the floor, hiding the letter behind your back. "What do you have there?” his voice made you jump a little, you felt like prey hunted down by a wild animal. You shook the head signalizing that you definitely not wanted to know him. A sigh escaped him " My love tell me what's wrong" again you shook your head. "Little one, you better hand over what you're hiding there or"

He leaned down to you his lips inches away from your ear you could even feel his breath against your skin "I have to take it from you" your heart sped up at the sound of his voice. "Please Loki, you don't want to know what it is" "Oh I definitely want to know what it is" and with that, he snatched the letter from you.

You tried to get it back but he was way too tall and you couldn't reach it if he didn't want you to reach it. He began to read and his face shifted to a worried expression pain written on it.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him especially when you saw tears well up at the wrinkle of his eyes. "(Y/N) why would you do that?" He threw the paper away. "Answer me!”

he raised his voice slightly you could hear that it was filled with panic.

" I can't do this anymore!" You screamed, tears beginning to stream down both your cheeks. "All the pain and - and the thoughts and I-I can't think straight a-a-anymore and no one can h-help me! He made a step forward and took you in his arms. You took a shaky breath smelling his scent of wood and rainy days. " I'm here with you why didn't you tell me? If I wouldn't have come earlier I would've found you here laying on the ground" This broke your heart, he was right he would have found you he would have seen how you laid there in your own blood lifeless and numb. "I'm sorry" you managed to say as you hugged him even tighter. His strong arms embracing you, his chin was resting on your head you could hear his heart and his it hammered against his chest you felt so bad to even think about doing it you could never do it not after you saw his face the pain in his expression it also hurt you.

"Promise me, Darling, that you're never thinking about doing it again" You felt how his arms tightened around you "Please" His voice was quiet and soft, medicine for your damaged soul. You nodded pressing your head against his chest, you could hear how his heartbeat slowed down and he relaxed. He softly pulled away, placing a little kiss on your forehead.

"I'm here and you can talk to me, darling. I don't want to lose you." His voice melted your heart, it made you feel much better, just to know he was there helped.

He let out a sigh "Let's cuddle up watch a movie and calm down" You gave him a small smile, nodding "I would love that"