#which i fear will mean bumping it down to a less than full time position :/ but we shall see!!

[birdingbutch]

what if you 🫵 thought you found 🧭 your way out 🥾 of a soul 👻 sucking 🍭 job 🧑‍🏫 but ‼️ the place 🏘️ you applied for said 🗣️ "after careful deliberation 🧐 the search 🔎 committee has reevaluated 🧮 the needs 🤲 of the department 📚 and regrets 🤭 to inform you 🫵 that the search 🔎 has been cancelled ❌

[cdroloisms]

idk why but i imagined vegas 2.0 as two soccer moms (the politics bois) trying to outdo each other while their sons are dragged into it (green bois) in a rlly fvcked way. e.g.

maybe big q reconsidering dream's usefulness by saying sam's enough as protection and has other things to offer to the team as well. wilbur steps in by suggesting a duel between sam and dream then, to prove it then. maybe while it happens, wilbur whispers to quackity a list of what is still physically broken abt dream post prison (so many unhealed bones, barely healed muscle, he can barely stomach food so he had like 1 steak in the past few days, etc.) and of course, he mentions dream's most powerful asset, the revive book :)

-🐇

LMAOO

this is hilarious and also accurate as hell ,, thank you anon because the image of c!wilbur and c!quackity as PTA moms is completely sending me. this prompt (as most vt2 related things are) was really fun !! it also kinda ran away from me, which is why this ended up being almost 6k words instead of my usual 1-2k for asks, but i hope you enjoy it regardless :]

tws: implied torture/abuse, death, violence, blood, injuries, conditioning, dehumanization, panic attacks, emotional distress, trauma, unhealthy relationships (so many unhealthy relationships), smoking, dark contents, dark themes, vt2 au is always really dark so definitely proceed with caution !! dark portrayals of c!quackity, c!sam, c!wilbur, and c!dream

It starts, as many things do nowadays, with a board meeting - which seems to be as much of a sign as any that everything is going to go to shit. Board meetings for Quackity, much like Wilbur’s stupid group therapy sessions, are just a thinly veiled attempt for the two to fight for control of pretty much everything - ranging from the casino schedules to the laws still being written for Las Nevadas to what food to stock in the vending machines. As Sam is still sitting on his false throne of moral superiority and therefore less inclined to indulge himself in the same blatant corruption that characterizes their discussions, and Dream - more than anything - knows his place (which hardly gives him any position to wrangle for power among the likes of Wilbur and Quackity), the fights for control more or less remain restricted between the two. More often than not, they devolve into proving their superiority over the other by using their control of Dream (which naturally never means anything remotely good for him as a consequence) so when Quackity strolls over, all tight-lipped smiles and a cigarette held between clenched fingers, Dream really doesn’t feel anything other than dread.

Still, orders by Quackity are still orders - Dream knows this fact better than he knows that he’s alive and breathing, better than the fact that he’s out of the prison, better than he knows his own goddamn name - and Dream is far too well-trained to ever consider trying to rebel. So when the time comes - 7:30 pm, sharp - Dream is in his chair, spine straight and head alert like a goddamn dog, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long for the others to arrive. Sam comes over first, leveling him with a heavy, distrustful stare as he sits down in the chair across from Dream, the expression nearly enough for Dream to roll his eyes if it weren’t for the fear that rockets through him, still, at the sight of the Warden so close to him. Sam has made it more than clear from the very beginning that he has no trust at all for Dream, that if he had his way then Dream would be locked up for the rest of eternity in a labyrinth of blackstone and obsidian, forever guarded by his ever-present supervision. Dream feels his ears burning with heat as he dips his eyes low to the surface of the table, wanting no more than to curl up and hide under the scrutiny of the Warden’s glare.

Quackity enters next, throwing open the door of the conference room loud enough to make Dream jump out of his seat, looking at him with an upturned corner of his lip when he comes back to himself enough to notice. Dream stifles a shudder at his visible good mood, all-too-aware of what that usually meant for him in the cell, stiffening further with a growing ringing to his ears as Sam and Quackity talk and Quackity sweeps past his side to get to his seat at the head of the table, carelessly brushing his fingers along the back of Dream’s neck in a way that makes him freeze, stock-still, in his chair - feeling his fingertips ease themselves over the ridge present there from a thick band of scar tissue, a deep, jagged thing that had been carved from the blunter back edge of Quackity’s axe when he had lost his temper and let the thing slam against the back of his neck, hard enough that it probably would’ve paralyzed him completely if it weren’t for Sam’s use of almost a full chest of regens. Quackity remains over him for a few more seconds, leaning over his chair to talk to Sam as he runs a light, possessive hand over the topmost bumps of Dream’s spine, before settling over into his chair, watching him with a small smirk as he keeps a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table.

Dream hates the prickling shame and terror that keeps his muscles tense as he stares at the table’s surface, still feeling the ghost of fingers tracing over skin and bone along the back of his neck, keeps his burning eyes trained on the surface of solid wood as he tries to steady his breaths. It’s all he can do to press down his flinch when Quackity, with a frustrated yell, slams his fist against the table a few minutes later, rage simmering underneath his words as he speaks.

“Where the hell is Wilbur?” His glare slides across the room, landing on Dream, making him shrink back in his seat, heart thudding in his ears. Quackity doesn’t stop staring at him even as he pulls a cigarette and lighter from his pants pocket, lighting it and bringing it to his lips and letting the silver-grey threads of smoke fill the room and press against the inside of Dream’s lungs. “It’s ten minutes til 8 - I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

Sam digs his fingers into his temples, already looking exhausted. “If you want, Q, we can always start without him and catch him up later. Depends on you.”

“No, then I’ll have to repeat myself and it’ll be pointless and ugh,” Quackity makes a vaguely frustrated noise as he finally turns his eyes over to Sam, making Dream’s shoulders shudder as he finally finds the air to take a breath, “We’ll just have to wait. Fucking idiot. I knew I shouldn’t have worked with any of these fuckers.”

In true Wilbur fashion, it isn’t until fifteen minutes later when the taller man finally makes an appearance, the entire time tense as hell as Quackity takes slow, steady drags of his cigarette and taps his fingers impatiently against the table’s surface. He offers one to Sam, who goes on to decline, making a short quip telling Quackity to watch his health for the future that promptly falls flat. Dream thinks he’s a fucking hypocrite, considering his whole deal with weednip or whatever Ant has on him, but doesn’t voice the thoughts as he sinks down in his chair, wishing more than anything to disappear. Against the fabric of his shirt, the right side of his chest itches, and he presses his palm against the place where he knows there is a small, irregular grid of pockmarked scars from when Quackity had taken smoke breaks in the middle of sessions.

“There you all are,” Wilbur smiles as he slides into the room, a covered metal tray held in his hands as he kicks the door closed and slides the tray onto the table with an awful screech. “I’m sorry for being late,” he continues, sounding not very sorry at all, “but I made some food to make up for it!”

He takes off the cover with a flourish; underneath, sunny yellow squares, nearly blindly bright, look up blankly under the conference room’s overly harsh lighting. They smell sugary and vaguely sour, stinging his nose slightly, and seem to be coated with a fine dusting of powdered sugar.

“Lemon bars!” Wilbur grins, just left of sincere, “they’re gluten-free!”

“God,” Quackity laughs, sounding slightly incredulous, shaking his head. Dream’s gut rolls at the sound, Wilbur’s smile growing wider, even more dangerous, at the tone. It’s familiar, the way the two of them challenge each other, and in a rare moment of solidarity Dream watches from the corner of his eyes as Sam’s shoulders hunch as well. The two of them always bring trouble, even normally, but when they’re in this mood? Actively challenging each other, toeing the line, trying to find the limits and push them just because they can? Dream shivers in his seat, grip tightening on his own arms; this, he knows, is when they are at their most dangerous - and he has the scars to prove it.

“Gluten-free, huh? Really leaning into the whole ‘PTA mom’ schtick today, aren’t you?” Quackity smirks. “Should I call you Linda from now on?”

“I don’t know, Quackity, I was just thinking that I would make a little healthier treat for all of us, you know?” Wilbur brushes off the remark easily, taking a seat and immediately kicking his feet up onto the table. “If you want it, of course. I would hardly want to get in the way of your professionalism, Mr. President- do you have one of those? Or are you going for a more authoritarian approach”

“Fighting words from someone who rigged an election as President,” Quackity drawls, “and couldn’t even win it, might I add. “

“Oh, Big Q! You fail to understand, I wasn’t criticizing you at all,” Wilbur smiles, jagged, “we agree, I believe, on the failures of democracy. Unless you’ve forgotten our conversation, already?”

“Of course not,” Quackity snorts, and Dream doesn’t miss how his gaze shifts towards the side of the room, landing on Dream and making him curl further in his seat. “I’ll save you from me trying to pick your brain, this time, but don’t worry. You make yourself…rather hard to forget.”

Wilbur claps, seeming satisfied with this round of verbal sparring, and the sharp sound of his hands meeting together nearly has Dream jumping in his seat. “So! Lemon bars- does anyone want any?”

Dream is keenly aware of two pairs of eyes landing on him, Wilbur and Quackity watching for his reaction with bated breath and narrowed eyes. Panic crawls up his throat; he knows the purpose behind their stares, knows that he’s once again become the object of one of their power struggles. Quackity’s orders rattle in his brain, his thoughts a messy jumble of pins all knocked loose from his time in the prison, hopelessly unorganized and running on little more than instinct. Wilbur is expecting him to eat, to give into his sweet pastries and sweeter words; the lesson not to eat, move, think without permission, hammered into him between chunks of potato and battered ribs and blood gathered in the crevices of his skin, keeps his hands at his sides instead of reaching towards the pastries still set in the middle of the table. Even with Quackity at the opposite side of the room, Dream swears that he can still feel the pressure of a hand against the back of his neck, pressing just hard enough to make itself known from the feeling of fingers pressing into either side of his spine - he doesn’t even quite feel himself shaking his head, only really realizes what he’s done when he hears Wilbur sigh in frustration and meets Quackity’s satisfied gaze.

“I’ll take one,” Sam says, sounding exhausted, eyes flitting from Wilbur to Quackity to Dream with an increasingly long-suffering expression. His face twists around the first bite of the bright yellow pastry, nose scrunching as he puts it down, missing a half-moon bite along one corner, and drags his fingers over the table to ease off the remnants of powdered sugar. Wilbur watches him, seeming amused, and Quackity rolls his eyes as he pulls a binder out of his inventory.

“Now that everyone is finally here,” he starts, directing a particularly dead-eyed stare at Wilbur, “we can finally get on with the meeting. I was thinking we could go over the budget, today, if that’s alright with the rest of you.”

It sounds innocent enough - which is the first sign of many that this meeting, whatever it is, is going to be anything but pleasant. The grin that steadily grows on Quackity’s face does nothing to assuage Dream’s anxieties, only pushing them higher as the man flips open the binder and messes with it for a few seconds longer before seemingly finding what he’s looking for.

“I think we all know that until Sam finishes with the bank, funds around here are going to be a little bit tight,” Quackity begins, waiting for all of them to nod before continuing, “And we really need to save wherever we can. I recounted the budget yesterday, just to make sure that we’re all on track, and- well,”

Quackity points to a circled series of red numbers that Dream doesn’t understand but can assume mean little good for them. Sam makes a low, considering noise, sounding strangely concerned, and Wilbur actually seems to close his mouth and lean forward in curiosity.

“We have a deficit,” Quackity continues when they’ve all settled back into their seats, “and we’ll get it all back once Sam gets the bank up and running, but for now our funds are...limited. I don’t want to stop progress on Las Nevadas, of course, we really don’t have time to waste. So I thought we’d have a meeting today to discuss the budget and eliminate any expenses that we might find-” Quackity gestures with a smooth twirl of his wrist, “expendable.”

Sam hums. “Do you have anything in mind, Quackity?”

“A few,” Quackity flips to the next page, where he’s seemingly jotted a few notes - different things that they can put off for the moment, it seems, and the money that would be saved for forgoing them temporarily. Dream reads down the list quickly, stilling at the last item.

“Quackity,” Sam sounds twenty times more tired already when he speaks, tone flat and a little irritated. “Why is Dream on the list?”

Quackity shrugs. “Hear me out, now- most of our money right now is going into living expenses for the four of us. Having more people here, until everything becomes more sustainable, is a huge drain on our resources. I’m just listing all our options.”

“So what do you want to do?” Sam huffs. “Throw him back in Pandora?”

Quackity shakes his head.

“Wilbur does have the revive book knowledge, you know,” he says, and Dream’s blood runs cold. He can’t run, can’t move; he’s stuck in his seat, heart hammering faster in his chest as the other three hardly spare him a second glance. Sam purses his lips, a considering expression flashing over his face, as Quackity presses on. “Seriously- listen, Sam. There’s nothing that Dream is really offering, at the moment, that the rest of us can’t handle. Wilbur has the revive book, you can act as security to take out any threats - really, we shouldn’t be pissing anyone off until everything officially opens, and we can always retrieve him then when we need him. He’ll be out of the way, which means he won’t be able to start any fucking trouble,” Quackity laughs, short. “It’s a win-win.”

“I don’t know, Quackity,” Sam says, the words slow, but the tone is familiar enough for Dream to know that he’s already mostly given in. “It’s a risk, isn’t it? None of us but Dream have really used the revive book, before.”

Wilbur doesn’t even look at him when he chirps a reply. “That won’t be a problem, Sam. I’d be very happy to test it out, if you want.”

Quackity leans forward, and Dream nearly gags; he’s preening in his spot, eyes dancing as he smiles up at Sam. “Anything else you can think of?”

“I don’t know,” Sam trails off, and Dream looks down, only barely staving off the panic squeezing around his lungs and tears burning in his eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t envisioned before, nothing he hasn’t expected, but this- he feels like such a fool, for hoping- “If we get ambushed, Q, I really don’t know if gear is going to be enough. You remember what Technoblade did last time.”

Quackity huffs, sounding annoyed, but nods to concede the point. “That is...fair. But then again, we don’t exactly know how good Dream is either, do we?” Quackity finally leans over to look at him, and Dream feels himself choke on his own breath at the dangerous gleam in Quackity’s eyes, all-too-familiar in their scrutiny, looking at him the same way they had pinned him to the floor of his obsidian-walled hell. “Anything to say, Dream?”

“I-” The words shake on Dream’s tongue, and he only barely manages a dry swallow as he struggles through the rest of his sentence, shrinking back from the heavy weight of three pairs of eyes fixed on his own, “I can be useful, s-” he only barely manages to bite down the word, a new wave of shame making him shrink back further past the fear. Quackity’s lip twitches upward.

Wilbur twirls a pencil in one hand, looking spectacularly bored; Dream’s chest shrieks with a harsh spike of envy at his composure. “How about you prove it?” His eyes are laughing when Dream gets a good look at them, amusement clear at the idea. “Put on a show?”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“You want to know if Sam can serve as an adequate replacement for Dream’s combat prowess, no?” Wilbur leans back in his chair as he talks, still focused on spinning his pencil over and between his fingers, “Why doesn’t he prove it? Let them duel, one on one. If Sam kills Dream, then you’re right, we’re done, and we can all move on with our days. If Dream wins, then he’s proved his worth, and we can figure out the rest of the budget after. What do you think?”

Quackity’s lips press together, seeming displeased, but he doesn’t say anything in return. Sam, ever practical, drums his fingers against the table.

“That sounds...fair,” Sam purses his lips. “How would we judge this? Equal gear?”

Wilbur only smiles wider as he shakes his head. “I was thinking we would make it a little more accurate to reality, if Dream’s services were truly to be needed. Sam, you can keep your own gear, and Dream should use his own. I guess on your end we can fight until you yield, but for him…”

The words are left unsaid, but Dream flexes his hands underneath the table as he catches onto the implications. For him, it’s a fight to the death.

Sam shrugs. “That works for me. Dream?”

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? “Okay.”

“Wonderful!” Wilbur claps, bringing his hands to his chest and looking thoroughly thrilled at the prospects of the potential duel. Quackity glares at Dream but doesn’t say a word, and Dream hunches into himself, nearly folding himself in half as he ducks as far as he can down his seat. Sam pulls out his sword, flipping it around and testing its weight, and Dream doesn’t quite manage to suppress his full-body shudder at the sight. “Let’s get started, then.”

They move out in a roughly single-file line out of the conference room, Wilbur making idle chatter as Sam continues to examine his armor and weapons as they walk. They settle into an open space in the still-unfinished casino that Wilbur looks around for a second and then deems appropriate for the duel. Sam sets down an enderchest to gather his necessary materials, and Dream settles in front of it himself afterwards, shifting the lid open with shaking hands as he tries to work through his inventory.

He’s started the process of building up his gear again in his spare time, but he’s not had the time to finish gathering netherite for both himself and Wilbur - Wilbur meets his eyes with a sly wink before equipping the set of netherite armor that Dream had crafted for him, and Dream stifles a desperate snarl. He doesn’t even have the other set (still a gleaming blue from unplated diamond) enchanted, outside of a Sharpness book that he had slapped onto a diamond axe. He gathers the rest of his supplies with careful hands, trying to press down the increasing trembling of his limbs from his growing panic, flexing his arm around the weight of a shield once again and pocketing steaks and golden apples from his hoard.

He has no potions, no good weapons, not even a properly enchanted crossbow to offer the slightest bit of an advantage. Dream lets his eyes flick up to where Sam is waiting at the opposite side of the room, standing up straight with enchanted netherite covering him head to toe and a familiar axe slung over his shoulder, and tries not to break down right then and there. It’s too familiar, too reminiscent of obsidian walls and netherite pressed against his ribs and demands that he behave, and despite the glittering white walls and high ceiling and cold night air he swears he could fall just from the memories alone. Drowning within them, he distantly remembers a duel long-past under a bright blue sky, Sam laughing under a swirl of potion particles on the grass surrounding the Community House lake, and wonders which of the memories hurt more.

“Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream stills in his place, slamming the lid of the enderchest shut as his heart hammers in his ears. Quackity watches him intently, expression twisted in disappointment, and some beaten, instinctual part of him whines uncomfortably at the sight. “Hurry up.”

Dream nods, because of course he does, and stands with the results of his mad scramble to gather anything that could be useful in the duel to come - a few gapples, steaks, a sword, a bow lacking any enchantments at all, and an axe and shield. It’s a rather pathetic ensemble, but it’ll be enough. It’ll have to be enough.

“Ready?” Wilbur takes place as referee, standing off to the side with a smile on his face as Dream stands across from Sam, holding his axe with a white-knuckled grip as the Warden - expression unreadable through the shadow of his helmet and the mask fixed over his face - squares his own stance in preparation for the fight. “Good luck.”

Wilbur’s arm cuts a line in the air as it drops, and the Warden explodes into action, lumbering forward as he raises his axe over his head to bring it down. Dream tumbles in the opposite direction, letting a long held back, battle-trained part of himself take over as he rights himself back on his feet, swinging up his shield to catch on the downward arc of Warden’s Hammer, frantically pressing back the dregs of fear and panic staining the corners of his vision black as he moves.

The Warden hits slow but hits hard, too big and bulky to really avoid any quick attacks but too well-armored to be easily defeated despite that. He’s a classic tank - Dream skitters out of the way of another hit as he reaches for memories of him that won’t leave him gasping, information on his opponent that didn’t come from within the prison and all its horrors.

He’d dueled Sam before, he knows; it wasn’t the same, as Sam was trying out a Turtle Master potion and intent on proving the superiority of Resistance IV against Dream’s own combat prowess. He’d failed, then; Dream forcefully steadies another breath as the sound of the Warden’s armor clanking against the ground almost sends him into another panic. He’ll have to fail now, too.

Fortunately, he’s been allowed food to heal - without it, this fight would probably be near impossible. As it is, even without the potion, the principles of this duel are the same. Dream swings up his axe, catching the blade hurling towards him in the crook where the head meets the handle just long enough to pull himself out of the way and let the Warden’s weapon fall uselessly to the ground. Dream raises his head in the second he has, tracing his gaze over the Warden’s armor in search for places to exploit. Even the best defenses aren’t perfect. All he needs to do is survive for long enough to chip through it.

A fumbled dodge leads to the Warden’s blade skimming past his skin, carving a thin red line in the skin of his upper arm. He hisses as he dives out of the way of the next blow, the twinges of pain from the area almost enough to make his vision unfocused, almost enough to send him tumbling head-first into the part of him screaming submit submit submit if you don’t fight back they won’t hurt you more. He grits his teeth as he swings forward, knocking away the axe coming towards him with his axe long enough to push forward with his shield and knock the Warden further away from him. He can’t afford to flinch, can’t afford to let fear take control of his movements as it has so many times before. The keening desperation running through his veins is familiar, but desperation can fall both ways, can make him fight or flee - and there’s only one real option that will end with him getting out of this alive.

Dream stands and forces himself to meet the next swing hurling towards him dead on, raising his shield to catch the blade and pushing forward past the shuddering shock in his left arm from the force of the blow. His own blade arcs downward in the next second, scraping against the Warden’s netherite armor with a metallic screech. He manages to get in two more blows before the Warden’s next attack has him backing away to dodge, shaking off his arm to get his shield ready for the next attack.

He has to stay on the offensive, keep pressing the Warden back and forcing the other to play defense. He’s still weak from the prison; in terms of brute strength, he’s no match from the Warden, not after months of starvation and torture stuck in a box with hardly enough room to stretch his legs. All he really has going for him is his speed and his experience, neither of which will do him any good if he teeters over the edge into the panic attack he’s been trying to hold off the entire time. Dream runs forward, not giving himself more than a second to breathe as he rushes the Warden once again, switching weapons mid-leap to a sword that will allow for quicker blows in the time that he has the Warden off-balance enough to attack freely. He scores a series of glancing hits on the Warden, none doing any major damage but altogether enough to make the Warden back off, wary, with a gasping note of pain, and Dream shakes his head to force himself to focus before running forward once more.

The Warden pulls out a shield of his own, and Dream switches back to the axe and swings it squarely into the shield, then twists himself around to the Warden’s unprotected back to catch him with another heavy blow that leaves him reeling in the second he takes to recover. He’s clearly untrained with a shield, his left arm clumsy as he tries to block Dream’s blows, and Dream uses the opportunity to score another few solid hits to the Warden’s sides and legs, getting a good blow with the blunt side of his axe into the back of one of his knees, leaving the warden limping when he pulls away.

Dream has hardly come off unscathed in the fight - he wheezes out a heavy breath through his teeth, chest aching from a hit that had broken one of his ribs. The exertion and anxiety still pressing at the back of his throat has left him light-headed, and he bites through a crisp, almost sickeningly-sweet bite of golden apple to close a wound bleeding sluggishly on his side. Neither of them can go on for much longer; the Warden’s grip tightens on his axe, and Dream swallows past the shudder that arises from the sight.

Once again, he raises his axe and runs into the fight, parrying the coming strike and twisting out of the way to strike at a joint of the Warden’s armor with the flat of his blade. The Warden’s arm raises, and Dream bites off a yelp of alarm as the handle of his axe is levied against his unarmored side, knocking him off-balance and falling back onto the ground, too disoriented to catch himself. He lands on his left arm, and his vision goes white as it gives out with a sharp crack.

Through half-lidded eyes, he can make out the Warden stalking closer, axe raised and ready to end the fight - end him. His chest shakes in a pathetic wheeze for breath, arm completely useless from where it’s screaming in pain underneath him. He needs to move, now, if he wants to survive this - fear swells forward, unhindered as his focus is broken by the vice grip the pain has on his skull - he’s shaking, now, the terror so familiar he can taste it - salt and iron and sticky-sweet health potions against the backs of his teeth-

The Warden raises his axe.

No.

Dream raises his sword just in time to catch the blade hurtling towards his neck, uses his foot to kick against the Warden’s grip on the handle. The axe clatters out of his grip, falls forward - Dream rolls away, breathing harshly around the pain threatening to make him black out. Unarmed, the Warden takes a second to grab a sword from his inventory while Dream forces himself back to his feet and kicks the axe as far away as he can.

He’s so flooded with panic he’s choking on it, broken arm hanging limply by his side as he charges forward, sword in hand. He won’t die, not after all this time, not after all this effort - he throws himself at the Warden, batters him with jabs and thrusts that force the other man to back away and parry, snarling wordlessly as he brings his sword to slash forward again and again.

His attacks are messy, uncoordinated, but the Warden is tired and disoriented from the loss of his weapon - he flinches back as Dream hits him in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, only barely matching his blows as he continues to push forward. Any hits that he scores on Dream are brushed off with a growl of pain and his sword moving even faster in his fury, and it’s not very long at all before he’s knocked flat on his back with a sweep of Dream’s legs, gasping for air as Dream pins him to the ground with a blade pressed against his neck.

Dream meets his wide eyes with his own, lips curled back in the same desperate rage that had moved him forwards despite the black creeping into the corners of his eyes and the lancing pain tying its strings around his neck and leaving him gasping for air. The sword in his hand bears threads of blood along its edge, pressing deeper into the Warden’s neck and drawing crimson up to the surface - a thousand fearful, angry thoughts swell up to the front of his skull in a singular, white-hot point. It is the Warden underneath his feet, at the end of his blade, cowering beneath him as he had cowered before - the Warden, the cause of his pain, the reason behind the ache in his gut and the stinging pains in his limbs and the piercing agony from his arm and chest. It would be so easy to push just a little harder, to press the sweet blue blade down and down and down until the Warden is gone and the Warden is dead and the Warden can’t hurt him anymore-

“Down, Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream backs off immediately, losing his grip on his sword as the command has him dragged back by the neck like an invisible leash and collar pulling him away. Sam settles back in a sitting position, still wide-eyed, wincing as he moves and bringing a golden apple from his inventory to heal the worst of his injuries.

“Eat,” Quackity commands again, and Dream only barely manages a stiff nod through the nausea and dread curling around his chest as the adrenaline begins to fade away, fumbling with the golden apple he finds in his inventory and nibbling at it to tide off the worst of the pain.

“Bravo, bravo,” Wilbur grins from the side, clapping slowly as he walks back into the middle of their makeshift arena - he’s taken his armor off again, but it doesn’t make the sight of him any less intimidating. “What a show! We should do that more often, what do you think?”

No, Dream almost screams, I can’t- but Quackity beats him to it, glaring at Wilbur with an incredulous expression.

“We don’t have the time to waste on your fucking ‘shows,’” he snaps, crossing his arms as he swings his gaze over to Dream. “Fine. You’ve proved yourself. Now hurry up - we have to clean up all of this shit and then figure out the rest of this fucking budget.”

Dream pulls himself to his feet, watching from the side as the Warden does the same.

“Make yourself useful and clean off all your fucking blood from the floor,” Quackity meets his eyes with a vicious glare, waiting until he stammers his way through an agreement before turning to the other two in the room. “Sam, Wilbur - with me. I want to get this money issue figured out tonight.”

Dream watches them go as he shuffles to the cleaning closet, feeling a shudder crawl up his spine once they’re out of sight. Make yourself useful, Quackity’s voice rings in his head, and Dream bites his lip, only stopping when he accidentally breaks through skin and the taste of blood floods his tongue.

He has a feeling that those words are going to haunt him for a long, long time.

[queerdiaz]

Eddie falling asleep with his head in Buck's lap or on his thigh as maybe Buck's looking down at him-? I don't know take it from pls. there

A/N: I know you completely forgotten about this prompt but I'm still sorry it's taken me so long lol.

That being said, thank you so much for the prompt anyways :)

ao3 version here

----

"Are you okay?" Buck asked as Eddie wiggled ever so slightly in his seat for what felt like the millionth time. 

"I'm fine." Eddie answered also for the millionth time. 

The blond rolled his eyes. This was getting out of hand. 

"Eddie." He gave his best friend, who was stubbornly staring ahead and pretending to watch the cartoon that Christopher had enthusiastically picked, a pointed look before sofly kicking his ankle.��

The other man jerked and swivelled his head to meet Buck's gaze. "Hey, what was that for?"

"Eds, you're hurting." 

Eddie huffed a quick, "I'm fine." 

Before he could protest Christopher chimed in from his current spot on the floor against the couch that he moved to earlier after being tired of bumping into his dad whenever they moved at the same time. "Daaaaad." He started to say before letting out an exasperated sigh that made him seem like an actual teenager and not just a pre-teen. "You're hurt."

Eddie opened his mouth to protest but then closed it before letting out a sigh of defeat. "My shoulder is just aching a little from sitting on the couch for too long. It's not that big of a deal."

Both Buck and Chris shared a long-suffering look, used to the older Diaz's stubbornness but still a little exasperated from having to deal with it more frequently the past few weeks. Although, they'd didn't complained because as long as Eddie was still alive that was all that mattered. 

"Eds," Buck began to tell him in a soft voice, "do you need to lay down?"

It was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm fine." He repeated with emphasis. "I've been in that damn bed enough these past few weeks to last a lifetime."

"Eddie." Buck told him sternly, knowing that if Eddie was showing discomfort and talking about his shoulder bothering him then it must've really been hurting him and he didn't want his best friend to exasperate the wound and hurt even more.

"Buck." Eddie mocked.

"Donkey!" Christopher exclaimed, breaking the tension. 

The two men blinked at each other, looked at the ten year old who started to giggle, then looked back at each other before starting to laugh as well. 

After a few moments of laughter, Buck let out a soft sigh. "Eddie, I'm serious. If you need to, I can help you to bed."

His best friend gave him a fond smile which wasn't until recently that Buck had realized the full effect it had on him. "I know. And thank you for caring, like you always do. But it's almost Chris' bedtime anyways and I want to spend as much time with you guys out here as possible."

Buck sighed, always ending up giving in to Eddie. It had taken his best friend getting shot for him to realize exactly why he had that effect on Buck. "I know you do." He said ever so softly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so overbearing. It's just..." He paused. 

"We worry about you." Christopher finished for him, patting his father's leg as he gave him a serious look. 

Eddie smiled down at his son. "I don't want you to worry, Mijo. That's my job."

"But dad, we do worry. It's what family does."

Eddie's smile brightened. "Well when you put it that way..." He then began to tickle his son, who's giggles echoed happily throughout the living room. 

However, the older Diaz could only tickle for a second or so before wincing in pain, although he did a pretty good job of hiding it. But Buck could tell how much his best friend was hurting. He always could. 

"Okay, that's it." Buck announced, moving closer to the end of the couch until his left side hit the arm. He then patted his thigh. "Come on."

Eddie's eyes widened ever so slightly, making Buck realize the innuendos that motion caused. 

He then cleared his throat. "Lay your head on my lap." 

Yeah that didn't sound quite better either. 

Buck then quickly added. "So you can finish the movie with me and Chris and be at least somewhat more comfortable."

Eddie gave him that small yet fond smile once more, eyes slightly widened as he looked at him in what seemed to be in awe. 

The blond shifted in his seat. "What?"

His best friend cleared his throat. "Nothing." His eyes then fell toward Buck's lap before travelling back to meet his gaze. "Are you sure?"

Buck rolled his eyes before patting his thigh again. "Of course. Come on, we're missing all the good parts."

Eddie's smile widened as he proceeded to lay down on the couch, his back against the cushions as his head tilted slightly to see the movie. 

Trying to help him be as comfortable as possible, Buck went to delicately rest his arm around Eddie's side so his bad shoulder could have more support. 

They surprisingly got settled in comfortable positions rather quickly as Christopher gave them a bright smile before turning his attention back on the tv and proceeding to rewind the little bit that they missed.

They watched the cartoon in a peaceful silence besides the laughter coming from all three of them at different points. It didn't take long for Buck to subconsciously begin to to rub small, soothing circles on Eddie's arm with one hand and softly run his fingers through Eddie's hair in the other. 

His best friend hitched a breath at first at the touch, which made Buck about to stop his small movements. But before he could, Eddie sunk further in the blond's hold, and let out a moan of contentment. 

"Hmmm. That's nice." He muttered, shifting his head ever so slightly so he could softly rub his nose against Buck's thigh, like a cat who was enjoying a head rub. 

And wow, okay. This was new. 

Though Buck could add it up to the list of small yet new and slightly alarming - but in a good way - things that Eddie had done since coming home from the hospital.

For a man who had gotten shot in broad daylight and almost… died, Eddie had surprisingly been... lighter in a way.

Even while he was struggling with dealing with having to only use one arm and needing other's help since Eddie always had a hard time asking for help. But at least with Buck he had been more open about it, more willing to tell the blond what he needed. Even though there were still plenty of times where Buck had to guess and not be told Eddie's needs, like just a few minutes prior. 

But, whenever Eddie would ask Buck for help and the blond immediately said "Of course" or when Buck gave him exactly what he needed at the moment without being asked, no matter what Eddie would always give him that fond smile. 

Buck had noticed it before that fateful day, but there was something about those fond looks that sorta...grew afterwards. A certain openness that always took his breath away. 

And then of course there were those lingering touches that Eddie had given him countless of times as well. 

Sure, Buck had been helping him with his PT exercises so of course they'd be touching a lot. But it wasn't just then. Like whenever Buck would hand Eddie something and their fingers would graze each other. Or whenever Eddie needed to walk pass Buck and his hand would press on his back for a moment. It was used to be where the touch would only last a milisecond but now it'd just linger there for a few secondw too long. In fact, whenever they'd accidentally touch - and that had been happening a lot in these past few weeks - Eddie would always just… linger there. And whenever he'd finally move away, he didn't look bashful or embarrassed or anything like that. No. He'd just give Buck this lingering, secretive smile that always made his stomach flutter, before going back to what he was doing and acting like he didn't just almost give Buck a heart attack with all of the palpitations that he caused. 

However, Buck would just try to tell himself that he was just overreacting and that it was just because his feelings for his best friend had been present more than ever and hard to keep in since the incident. That Eddie had always acted like that because they were best friends and close and that was what they did. Nothing changed except Buck temporarily moving in to help out which made everything seem more intimate than it really was. 

That was it. Nothing less. Nothing more. 

Well...besides the fact that Eddie had apparently put Buck in his will as Christopher's guardian if something were to happen to him. A fact that Eddie had kept to himself for a year. Something that Buck may or may not still be reeling from during these past few weeks. Especially as he and the Diaz boys had fallen into this somewhat domestic bubble that Buck kept trying to convince himself that it was just temporary as Eddie recovered. 

And it worked. For the most part. 

However, it had been more and more difficult for Buck to convince himself of it when it came to moments like his current one. 

With the way Eddie didn't second guess to lay on Buck's lap after getting the okay and proceeding to sink further into the touch. Eddie's little moans and noises of contentment as Buck continued his gentle movements. 

And...did Eddie's lips just gently graze the skin on Buck's thigh where his shorts rode up?

That...that had to be a mistake right? 

Because, sure, there had been moments here and there where it really felt like they were gonna kiss before one or both of them pulled away. But, again, this was all mostly likely in Buck's head. 

Right?

Daring to look down at Eddie, he noticed how his eyes were now closed as his breathing had gotten more even. It seemed like Eddie had fallen asleep, looking more peaceful than Buck had seen him in a long time. 

His heart was beating loudly in his chest, as his stomach tightened while every fiber in his being lightened up like they were on fire. Buck hitched a breath. He couldn't take it. His love for his best friend encompassed him. 

Every night he had nightmares of that day. Of the absolutely devastating fear of losing Eddie. Buck had never been more terrified in his life. But it were moments like this current one where Buck thanked the universe with everything he had that Eddie was here. That he was alive and breathing. That even after getting shot and dealing with the traumatizing struggle of his recovery, Eddie still seemed lighter. More open and sure of himself in a certain vulnerability that Buck had never seen on him before. Like a certain puzzle piece had clicked. And even when there were days where Eddie had been frustrated and angry and just flat out stubborn with his recovery, that lightness had still somehow been there, keeping him grounded. 

Eddie was alive. Eddie was getting better. And as he did, Buck was going to continue to be with him as much as possible. 

And even though his recovery was going to take a long time between the physical therapy and his therapy for his PTSD, and it was still gonna be a long and hard road, there were still moments where Eddie was happy. Happier than Buck had seen him in a long time even. 

Moments like these where it was just Eddie, Buck, and Christopher, being together. 

And Buck? Buck could live in these moments forever. As long as he had Eddie and Christopher then he'd be okay. 

At that thought he looked away from the sleeping man in his lap to check on Chris. The kid was now laying on the soft carpet, head on one of the couch pillows, now fast asleep just like his dad. 

His two Diaz boys. Who had both gone through so much more than anyone should in a lifetime and now were both sleeping happily, with small smiles both on their faces. 

Buck's heart clenched in his chest.

Now this? This was what pure happiness felt like. 

He then looked back down at the soft expression on Eddie's face as his best friend slept soundly. 

Buck couldn't take it anymore. 

Sure this was a very bad idea, but his heart felt like it was going to rip out of his chest. His love for the best friend he'll ever have was just too much. 

And so, in a moment of weakness, Buck leaned his head down and kissed Eddie's forehead, lingering there for a few seconds or so before whispering in a hushed tone, "I love you."

Eddie's head shifted ever so slightly which made Buck immediately rip his hand away. 

His best friend's eyes slowly fluttered open before meeting his gaze. 

And there it was. That fond look yet again. But this time it was brighter than Buck had ever seen it before.

Eddie smiled up at him, "I love you too."

And just like that Buck finally knew what that missing puzzle piece Eddie had seemed to find. Because he was now feeling it too as everything fell into place.

Not being able to contain himself anymore, Buck leaned down and placed a small yet emotional-filled kiss on Eddie's lips. His best friend returned the kiss with as much vigor. 

After Buck lifted his head up ever so slightly, he placed his forehead against Eddie's as they smiled softly at each other. 

Yeah, he could get used to this.

[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Revelations 

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (ohohoho we’re so hot on it now, just wait until the end of this one)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has left comments, screamed in reblog tags, and just encouraged me to create this story. I have never felt so much love for a fic in the time I’ve been writing.

This chapter reveals a lot, and it’s a little longer than the rest, but it’s for good reason- the end of this is one of my favorite things I’ve written.

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        Reiner’s apartment truly wasn’t much. You thought he’d been joking, perhaps was even being humble, but the small studio apartment was quite dismal. The walls were stark white, a few faded posters peeling off the wall from neglect, a couple of medals and trophies lining a small bookshelf that was bursting with paperbacks and notebooks. A simple bed with a royal blue comforter and overstuffed pillows, the most compact L-shaped couch in front of a tv, and a corner dominated by a desk with two monitors and stacks of documents, manila envelopes, and crates of papers crammed below.

        A kitchenet that looked hardly used was tucked away in another corner, the entryway to a small bathroom right near it.

        There was truly nothing worth looking twice at, save a handful of framed photos scattered around. 

        You’d taken it all in rather hurriedly, still out of breath from practically running through snowy alleyways, the developing snowstorm covering the land like fresh linen. There was a window near his bed, which you gravitated toward after kicking off your damp boots by the door. Not much a view, either. Just more desolate, brick buildings and a sorry looking street below.

        He told you once that he didn’t grow up with much, and it unfortunately seemed like despite joining the ranks of the military, he was still left with close to nothing.

        “What are we here for?”

        He was busy toiling with the thermostat, thick fingers mashing against the heat button to try to warm the small box of an apartment.

        “You won’t like it,” he grumbled, golden eyes glancing over to you with a tinge of regret painting his brow.

        “Then why bring me?”

        “Because you need to see it.”

        You tucked your hands under your arms, the chill of the winter’s day finally settling into your bones.

        You watched keenly as he shrugged off his snow laden jacket, hanging it by the door before promptly locking it. He seemed as out of breath as you were, nose red from the cold, hands shaking as he fumbled with his phone. You bit the inside of your cheek with impatience, a small flame of ire licking its way into your chest.

        Bringing you out here could get you killed. He knew that, right? Of course he did, but he did it anyways. Surely this matter of seemingly great importance could’ve been fetched by one of his comrades. You hadn’t quite considered the danger leaving the headquarters could bring upon you until you were dashing through the streets, the heavy paw of Reiner’s hand squeezing around your wrist. At one point in time, he’d shoved you back down another corridor, shielding you with the size of his body as particular caravan of cars turned down the roadway. He seemed to fear any pair of government eyes spying you.

        He always was so careless.

        He was busy texting someone, still standing idle, lip worried between his teeth.

        Must be the girl you ran into that’s giving him a headache. He probably thought he could slip out and back again without a soul noticing, without anyone giving him grievance, but that bright eyed little cousin of his had ruined that. She’d been so excited to see him; he probably hadn’t been to see his family quite a while, seeing that he was on guard duty after his last mission. 

        How many days had it been since you’d been here? You’d honestly lost track of time, your world feeling like it had been caught in a slow turn of molasses. A few seconds could feel like hours, days felt like minutes, every heartbeat felt like it could be your last. You tried to add it all up in your head, eyes closing as you replayed all the events that led to you standing in Reiner Braun’s home in Marley.

        A week and a half, you surmised. But it could be a little more, a little less. You think you would have kept your eyes on the sun a little more acutely, seeing that you’d missed it rise and fall for at least two days when you were bound in that cell.

        “Are you alright?”

        For a moment, you thought you had spoken the words. You were thinking them, but he asked you instead.

        “That’s a loaded question,” you looked back down to the street, catching the sight of a line of what appeared to be school children marching in tandem down the sidewalk, snow in their hair and happiness on their faces, “but for the moment, I’m okay.”

        Reiner pulled his lips to the side, considering your words. Maybe it hadn’t dawned on him that you couldn’t have been in any state of ease since you’d been promptly abducted and plopped down in this new world to navigate.

        “Are you alright?” You encored, observing how his worried thumbs were still fast against the screen.

        “Have I ever been?”

        You made at face at that reply, corners of your mouth turning down while your shoulders shrugged. Fair enough. 

        Though, for the first time, a bit of pity crept into your mind. Reiner didn’t really ask for this life, did he? He was doing whatever he could to get by, fallen rather inelegantly into the position of being sent to Paradis, and was now being handed you to watch over, presumably without his full consent. You were both pawns in this world, kings and rooks dominating the board and playing you both for fools.

        Being a Scout hadn’t been your intention, either. You’d once had other dreams: college, a career, a family, but you’d been grandfathered into the role by your government working parents, and cemented into it when they’d died. You had nothing else to do, so you served. You served your country, your friends, but you also served yourself, using the role to keep your life afloat, even if it sometimes meant spilling the lifeblood of others, even if it meant sacrificing aspirations and settling. Though, you would admit that some rather beautiful things managed to bloom from the barren soil. Regrettably, those had all been left behind, washed away by tides you couldn’t control.

        “I’m sorry,” Reiner grunted, sinking into the cushions of the couch, “she—she already opened her mouth. I’ve gotten Annie to settle things at HQ, but I imagine Chief is still furious.”

        “Is it such a bad thing to take me out here? I mean, you could easily stop me if I tried to run away.” 

        “Could I?”

        You debated his question. While you were quite nimble, you’d be like a rat in a maze trying to find a way out of this god forsaken place.

        “If I let you,” you reasoned, a tinge of humor behind your words.

        He smiled, all warm and soft, full lips parting. The realization that you hadn’t seen him smile in years pummeled into your chest like a heavy hand stealing from your lungs. It made the sorrow that much more palpable.

        “For the record, Zeke is more upset I didn’t ask permission. He’s hellbent on his authority.”

        “So I’ve noticed.”

        You also pinpointed something else of note, a picture glinting on his nightstand catching your attention.

        It resembled the same one you’d seen on Zeke’s desk, only now you could make out the faces. Reiner didn’t pay you any mind as you reached for the framed memory, plucking it from its home, dust from the back of it staining your fingers. 

        A red booth housed five familiar faces, all grinning over half-drank pints of beer. Their arms were interlocked around each other’s shoulders, all the men young and handsome, Reiner and Bertholdt even more youthful than when they’d first walked through the doors of the Scout Office. Then there was Zeke seated next to Porco, the latter in that green jacket you’d seen him in earlier. But your eyes were set on a face you’d never thought you’d see again, a face that possessed the very recesses of your mind, only appearing late at night when you’d see it in corners, catch it lingering behind your eyelids. He was attractive, appeared personable, messy dark hair and distinct brow that matched the boy next to him.

        “Reiner…” you whispered, still unmoving from your spot between the bed and the window pane, “who is this?”

        He peered over his shoulder, any hint of a smile now vanished like etchings being erased from a page.

        “You don’t recognize him?”

        Him, a photo full of faces, and he knew who you were asking about. He’d probably stared too long at the ghost himself. You wondered if he ever placed the frame down at night to sleep better; you would have, if you’d killed someone you cared about.

        “You know I do.”

        Reiner held his hand out, long arm stretched across the back of the couch. You finally talked your feet into moving, shuffling across the hardwood as you placed the offending item into his upturned palm. 

        Then, you sat next to him, your knees bumping together as you tried to analyze the emotions stirring within. You couldn’t quite place any of them—Regret? Fear? Curiosity? Sadness? But they were quelled when Reiner placed his hand on your twitching thigh, pressing that anxiousness away for a moment.

        “Marcel Galliard, Porco’s older brother.”

        Your lips parted, both of your attentions centered on the souvenir held between you.

        “It was his birthday, and we hadn’t had the chance to celebrate mine and Zeke’s yet either, so we all went out for drinks. I unfortunately don’t remember much from that night, but I remember being…happy, content.”

        “Why’d you do it?” you asked it a little quickly, “why would you…save me, not him?”

        “I told you, some things I don’t have a choice about.”

        “But you—you could’ve said he killed me and got away, right? You did have a choice.”

        You saw how his jaw clenched, muscles in his cheek flexing.

        “I don’t know.” Agony lined his voice, the words soft, hushed.

        That situation was something you both thought about far too often than you’d like to admit, a late-night mulling that never led to conversation.

        “I’m sorry.” You took the photo away, placed it face down on the coffee table.

        “Don’t be. We can’t change the past,” he said solemnly. 

        You could, however, lament it. Which is something you did perhaps too often.

━━━─── • ───━━━

         Reiner wasn’t ready for what was to come. He knew he never would be, which is why he threw precaution to the wind and decided to lay his cards on the table now. 

         He had to pick a side. Even if these wars didn’t truly concern him, even if the fate of countries ultimately didn’t matter to his conscious, you did—you mattered, he mattered, and he had to start thinking about things on a smaller scale. 

         He wanted to go back to Paradis. He practically yearned to go back in time, to return to a place where being Eldian didn’t matter, where his status didn’t matter, where he could remake himself into something new. If it hadn’t been for his binds connecting him to Marley, he could’ve actually seen hope instead of sorrow on the horizon. He could never seem to cut the vines, could never actually get away from the people controlling his life. 

         But now, now he saw an out, and it was with you. When this cataclysm first happened, all he wanted was for you to be dead, for you to go away and leave him and his miseries alone to rot and wither. Being with you, however, reminded him of a life he could have. He just had to make it happen, he had to start molding his own clay, had to keep bearing the weight of the world like the weary Atlas until he could find a way to make it turn in his favor.

         He was tired of wishing for death.

         Which is why he had to bring you here and why he would handle the consequences that were waiting in the distance. 

         You might not be very helpful to Marley, but he could be of use to Paradis.

         “I believe you,” he hadn’t noticed he was still touching you, fingers gripping onto your leg like a lifeline, “about Zeke. I believe you because I—we, Pieck, Annie, Bertie—we know he’s up to something beyond what he tells us and the generals. He is working with someone in Paradis. We don’t know who, but we do think we know what for.”

         “Oh my god…oh my god. Why didn’t you—”

         “You think I can just fucking say that when anyone could be outside my door listening?” 

         “I thought you said I wouldn’t like what you have to show me.” 

         He noticed how your shoulders relaxed, like you’d been holding in tension for far too long.

         “That’s not…I have something else for you.”

         He didn’t move just yet, not quite ready to actually set this all in motion.

         This all hinged on you. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you quite well; of course, that was the you of four years ago. The you he had next to him now was older, scarred, burdened, but he still felt that same magnetic pull to you that he could never explain. He was just a moon consigned to orbit you, to be connected to you even when neither of you desired the attachment.

         He knew you were going to be upset, livid; his skin was already prickled at the thought of how you would possibly punch him if when you read what he had to give.

         At least you always looked pretty when you were angry.

         He could still remember how Jean had cowered undeath his desk when you’d stomped into the office after discovering he’d used the branch’s own money to play in a high-stakes poker game while undercover. He’d been fishing for information on the elites, found himself tipsy, and then found himself on the receiving end of your fury. The only thing that stopped your yelling was Erwin, who, for personal reasons, didn’t want any fuss made over government money being gambled away.

         Erwin. He’d never cared for how close you were to him.

         Reiner finally stood, expecting you to sit and wait, but you were following him like a shadow, small hand wrapped around his forearm as he moved to his computer. When he sat down, that hand moved up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing into his muscle with encouragement. It didn’t really put him at ease.

         He turned the desktop on, the monitor flashing to life. He typed in his password quickly, then went searching for that folder he’d kept hidden away so he’d never bother to look at it again. 

         “Hand me one of those,” he nodded his head in the direction of a small container of flash drives on the other side of his desk. You plucked one out of its resting spot and went ahead and placed it into the port on the computer. He knew you wouldn’t question why had so many on hand—you both knew how it all worked, you both kept important documents that had to be shuffled around digitally.

         Familiar names lined the inside of the folder, ones he’d once tried to forget. He heard you suck in a quick breath and took a moment to look up at you. Your brow was set, tongue obviously caught between your teeth to keep yourself from saying anything. 

         This was his job. He was in charge of keeping tabs on The Scouts, he was the one who fed Marley all the information they could. Well, almost all of it. 

         “These are files I never gave over. They’re yours now. I never gave Marley everything they wanted I…I thought I was protecting you. There’s also a few files on Zeke that Pieck created in here, too.” 

         You both watched as he copied the folder over to the flash drive, one by one the names and dates slowly dropping into a new safe place for them.

         He touched your waist, signaling you to step back. He rolled his chair out, ducking under the desk for a split moment to gather a box of the printed documents he had actually handed over; the action was a mistake. 

         You were leaned over him in an instant, hand clutching and moving the mouse so quickly it scraped against the desk. He attempted to reach up and stop you, but he paused—there were still bruises on your wrist, on your fingers, faded watercolors of surviving pain. He’d gripped your hand, your wrists, all day, why hadn’t you stopped him?

         He already knew which file you opened; he didn’t need to look. But he did anyways, moving the crate to the side and sitting back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest. His poor heart felt like it was going to burst.

         Marco Bott’s face filled part of the screen, all sweet and freckled like he remembered. Those kind eyes were looking straight at him, judging him. Reiner was just waiting, he knew what was said in there, he wrote it all, still recalled how puffy his eyes were when he did it, how much he regretted it.

         There was a pregnant pause, one so heavy he felt like he was being crushed.

         This all hinged on you. He needed you to help him, needed you to help you.

         “I fucking knew it.”

         He was already flinching, shrinking. He watched the screen scroll, the black letters and white spaces all a blur.

         “Threat eliminated by gunfire, killed by organized crime members after…” you hesitated, eyes dancing as you reread the words, “after his gear was removed to ensure death.”

         He was on his feet before you could hit him, backing away from your clenched fists, chair rolling to be forgotten in the corner.

         “What. Did. You. Do?” 

         Each word came with a step toward him. He was running out of space, nearly tripping over the edge of the couch as you encroached upon him.

         “What did you do?” Your voice was getting louder, pain written across your face like he’d just stabbed you. “You told me there was no fucking truth about Marco!”

         “There isn’t! Marco’s dead, there’s no changing—”

         “There’s no changing the past,” you mocked his words, venom dripping from your tongue.

━━━─── • ───━━━

         Your blood was boiling, wrath itching between your fingers. 

         You were going to kill him. You were going to wind your fists around his neck and watch the life drain slowly from his eyes like he fucking deserved.

         You couldn’t believe you’d let you guard down, that you’d started to trust him. You always knew something had gone awry the night Marco died. He’d been slaughtered, ransacked with bullet holes across his body. It was like he had been dropped into the line of fire, dangled out like a piece of meat to be eaten alive.

         And he didn’t have his gear, that’s what stumped everyone looking into the mess of it all. It was like he had walked in unprepared, like a boy on a suicide mission walking straight to his death. Thirty-six bullets and even more empty, splattered holes littered had riddled his corpse. Jean had fallen to his knees. Connie didn’t speak for a week. Sasha didn’t eat for days.

         Because of Reiner’s decision, that man suffered, you all mourned, and you felt like you most of all had let him down. Marco had been your protégé, you’d taught him everything he knew, and that was the first mission he was allowed to go on after his training. You’d been tailing a rather violent gang, found their hideout, and were infiltrating for arrests and to see what was inside. Marco had been paired with Reiner and Bertholdt to lead the first wave of infiltration, while you and the rest waited for the signal to rush the back doors to the run-down ranch not far out of the city of Trost. They’d been up ahead by the barn that was sandwiched between stables.

         But your signal turned to sounds of gunfire. You could still hear it echoing in your ears as you approached Reiner. The sounds of metal clicking, of repeated blasts from automatic weapons ringing across the hillsides like single note windchimes in a raging storm.

         “Tell me why.”

         Your fingers were digging into his shirt before you could stop yourself, the threads of the worn Henley threatening to rip from your nails sinking into it. You could actually feel his heart beat against his chest, a frightened bird trying to flee his ribcage.

         When he didn’t speak right away, your anger flared, made you shove him back against the wall with all your might. It made your arms hurt, like you’d just slammed your hands against brick, a sharp pain that made you hiss.

         “He overheard us—”

         “Overheard what?”

         You could tell he was getting a little infuriated as well, nostrils flaring as he looked down his nose at you. It must look funny, you pressing him against the wall of his own apartment. Reiner was nearly twice your size—he was bigger than most people, and he towered over you like a looming threat.

         “Let me fucking finish,” he took a deep breath, eyes nearly glazing over, “He overheard Bertie and I talking about how we should relay the details of that gang, of organized crime in general, to Marley. We—we hadn’t had time to talk alone since we’d been prepping that shit for days. We didn’t know Marco followed us around to that side of the rooftop.”

         “That’s it? He heard you whispering little secrets and you killed him for it?”

         One of the buttons near the neckline of his shirt popped as your knuckles dug deeper into the fabric.

         “He literally heard us say that we needed to find a time to call General Magath of Marley. If he lived and told someone that—,” his breath caught for a moment when one of your nails started to pierce his skin, “it would have compromised our entire mission. We’d been there for three years, and he could’ve ruined it all.”

         You were at your breaking point. You could feel that terrible heat that comes with sadness creeping up your neck, snaking around to your cheeks. If you weren’t careful, you were going to cry. All this time, all this time spent wondering why, and this was why he had to die?

         Killing wasn’t unusual in your life. It was part of the job, something you’d unfortunately had to do on a few occasions. You knew those strangers who ate your bullets or your knife had families, that they were people too, but most of them were monsters, thieves, rapists, threats to the corrupted balance of the governmental structure. But Marco…he was like family, and finding his limp, almost unrecognizable body had sent even the most hardened veterans into despair. Levi took off from work the next day; the only time he had ever missed a day on the job.

         “Tell me how!” You truly didn’t mean to scream it, but the emotions raging in your stomach, your chest, it all ached too much. 

         “Be quiet, I have neighbors—”

         “I don’t give a fuck about your god damn neighbors, Reiner!”

         He finally moved then, his once idle hand now jerking up to your face to fiercely hold your cheeks beneath his fingers. You tried to smack his hand away, your own fingers digging and tugging at his wrist.

         “Letme-go!” Your words were jumbled, your open mouth allowing his fingers to press your cheeks in between your teeth.

         “You have to be fucking quiet,” he hissed, a whole new light shining in his eyes, a familiar rage you had seen when you’d fought against him the day Paradis was invaded. The reality of how large he was sunk in again; he looked like a vengeful god peering down at you, all hot-blooded and incensed.

         You thought for a moment he wouldn’t hurt you, but then you remembered he already had. He had the inclination to be just as cruel as you could be.

         His fingers stayed firm against your cheeks, holding you like he was daring you to speak again. 

         “Tellmehow,” you managed to spit out, wincing when he took the leverage he had on your face and used it to shove you back. You stumbled, banging into the side of the couch as you rubbed at the sore flesh of your mouth.

         But he was unmoving, back straight against the wall, a statue built on the foundation of wrath and agony, waiting to crack and fall onto you if you made the wrong move.

         “We knew their guards were patrolling. Bertholdt covered his mouth while I stripped him of his equipment, of his guns, and I pushed him off the roof and into their sight.”

         He said it so calmly that it made you sick. But that was a reality he had to live with every day, wasn’t it? He had to replay in his mind over and over again that he had done such a vile thing, he had to justify it else it would eat him alive.

         Your tears were hot, but contained, your lashes blinking them aside as you just stared at him. You opened your mouth to scream at him, you were so ready to spew hatred and let it burn him, but he was quicker than you. 

         With one step, he was on you, your hair wrapped in his fast as he wrenched your head to the side, smarting your scalp to silence you.

         “Marco’s dead, and I’m sorry for it. You fucking screaming will do nothing but have the assholes who live below me calling the authorities and you’ll find yourself in a much worse prison than before.”

         You didn’t like how he was right. Still, you glared up at him, brows pinched together in pain.

         It felt like you’d merged into him, those rapid hearts within your chests suddenly beating as one with the same suffering, the same torment. You both had to live with the poor reality of your lives; you were killers, you were monsters too. 

         You were too close to him, could smell the heat of his skin, could feel his breath against your sore cheeks. Your hands were flat against his chest, trapped between you, his arm an anchor as it tugged at the roots of your hair, keeping your face turned towards his.

         You couldn’t help but look at him, there was nowhere else to focus, only on him. It was like you could see the pages of a book open across his face, wretchedness and anguish painted in broad strokes in the fair wrinkles around his eyes, in the curve of his brow. It was beauty and pain bleeding together, the amber color of his eyes swirling as he searched your own face like he was looking for something. What would he find hidden behind your own grief?

         “I hate you,” you whispered, breath long gone.

         “I know.”

         “And I’ll never forgive you.”

         It was like he was moving closer, the time you were losing now completely stopped, frozen between your bodies.

         “Don’t want forgiveness,” he caught your whisper and gave it back, “just judgement.”

         His lips met yours with a bruising fervor. 

         The hand in your hair flexed, pulled you closer, made you gasp as your hands slid up his chest. Your fingers found his rumbling throat, and in the back of your mind, you recalled how just moments ago you were waiting to snatch the life from his neck. You felt his pulse beating beneath your thumb, a war drum beating hot and fast in his veins. Your mouth was moving against his, eyes closed, suddenly greedy and hungry; for what, you didn’t know. All you did know was that this felt so wrong, like you’d taken a misstep and landed right into the lion’s lap, but that it also felt like absolution, like he was devouring your sins and taking them for his own.

         Your mouth slanted for him, a hum resounding from both your throats as you fell into this new, strange rhythm. You’d thought about it before, kissing him like this, feeling those plush lips against yours, angry and hot and needy. You cherished the taste of him, like a dark, rich wine filling up your mouth, spilling over and enveloping your senses. Your tongue tempted him to open his lips, to let you in. There was no hesitation. 

         His other hand found your hip, fingers mean and pulling you impossibly closer. Your palms drifted up from his neck, found his face, thumbs smoothing over cheekbones. You could feel the soft hairs of his cheeks, his chin, sweeping against your skin. It all felt too good, like you were getting lost, delirium taking over. Nothing else mattered anymore, just the gratification of tasting his emotions, of taking his groans into your mouth and echoing them back. You pressed harder into him, kept your tongue tangled with his, noses brushing as you found new beats to your rhythm. 

         It was wicked, sinful, something your heart was pleading for and your mind screaming out against. But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t stop. It was as if you kissed for as long as you’d known each other. Every year passed by, every regret, every sharp turn of your tongues against one another, all the hurt and longing, placed into one moment of your bodies finding one another.

         When the heat began to die, you were both still stroking the flames, deep, languid kisses turned into smaller presses of your lips against one another. It was intoxicating and you felt so drunk, so, so drunk off of him.

         There was a stillness between you, like the gentle sigh and breaths of the world as it awoke to the morning sun when you finally stopped. A lulling peacefulness lingered in the wake of what you’d done.

         His hands were still on your body, in your hair, looser now. Yours were still on his face when your eyes fluttered open.

         “I’m sorry,” he murmured, lips plump, wet.

          “I know.”

Next Chapter

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 11: Rumors

AN:  Ahhh yes...we’ve passed the discovery bump...now...relationship building.

Why not start off with a bang :P  That in my defense, I feel like kind of makes perfect sense, considering animosity with past peers and what their arrangement might look like to outsides...especially outsiders with animosity... O.o

Also, yes, Hange eventually will be incorporated, just give me a bit, I’m slowly incorporating people XD

Characters:  Levi, Vampire!Fem!Reader, Petra, Eld, Gunther, Oluo, Erwin (Mentioned), Various Background Characters

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language, Mentions of Sexual Acts, Vicious? Rumors (Couldn’t pick the right word for it, settled with Vicious)

Word Count:  5320

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Reader’s POV*

While the one on one training with Levi had not been at all what you were expecting when he pretty much ordered you to do it, it ended up being the most profitable training you'd had in a while.  For one, you had someone you could actually spar with, and despite his current status as undefeated among everyone else, he was taking his losses in your matches in stride.  If he lost, he would at least have some critiques in techniques, or what move would have worked better in such and such position.

He seemed to be approaching with the logic of 'just because you have superior strength and speed, doesn't mean you're good,' and was focused on refining talent into skill.

As well as improve and refine his own abilities, perhaps.  What better way than to repeatedly take on you, with your natural talents?  He'd managed to pin you a few times already.  You had the raw strength and speed, but his abilities weren't that far behind, and he had the skill.  He just needed a bit more knowledge on how to fight a vampire despite his disadvantages, and he'd probably be set.

Right now, the two of you were in the middle of a spar, hands flying in a quick back and forth of action and reaction, trying to get in a hit just to be parried, then trying to make that parry work to your advantage.  A punch in towards the chest resulting in the arm getting pushed aside, just for that hand to grab at the arm that had pushed it, to pull and try to throw them off balance, a foot coming in to try and sweep the feet at the same time, resulting in a side step, moving behind to try and put them in a choke hold, just to have them duck under the arm and go for a quick jab between the ribs, abandoned when an elbow came flying through the air to crash where their head was at, the attacking arm raising instead in defense.

These kinds of quick and fluid movements were what made up most of your sparring session, both of you constantly trying to catch the other off guard and gain the upper hand, raw talent with some tempered skill against a skill forged in fire.  Your heart pounded, excitement running unbridled in your veins now that you could have this spar without prying eyes, without having to hide the full extent of what you could do.  Of course, this also let Levi get a better look at the extent of your abilities, but you didn’t pay that part much mind.

Your eyes caught something that wasn’t so much of an opening as it was an opportunity, something you could exploit as a vampire.  Feeding off the thrill coursing through you, you took the opportunity, forcing your arm with your strength past his guard so your hand could grasp the front of his shirt, your other arm grasping somewhere that was much easier to reach as you went low.  Levi realized what was about to happen and tried to shift his weight, to make it more difficult, or perhaps twist himself out of your grip, but you were already lifting him in a throw over your shoulder, taking care to make sure he landed on his back and not his head before you whipped around and attempted to pin him, your knee on his gut, a hand on his chest, your other hand pulled back ready for a finishing strike if this had been real.

Levi froze up underneath you, staring up at you with a hard glint in his eyes that didn’t match his usual defeat.  There was even a spark of fear you hadn’t seen yet during these spars, and he seemed to tense like he was ready for a real life or death struggle.

You were confused for a few moments, breathing coming a little shallower than normal--yes, even a vampire could get tired, the stamina wasn’t limitless--as you held his gaze, trying to figure out what was wrong, the hand raised for ‘attack’ having dropped on instinct to show less of a threat.

Your emotions.  They were unbridled right now, all over the place, and channeled directly to the fight.  Which meant he wasn’t just holding your gaze because he was staring you down.  He had frozen because of your eyes.

You looked away, releasing him and backing up, feeling a rush of shame for giving him a scare like that, that you’d let yourself go that much that you weren’t even keeping control of your appearance.  Maybe during the fight he could forget, even for a moment, but when he was pinned with your eyes glowing red and locked on yours, it was a harsh and alarming reminder of what you really were.

“Sorry,” you murmured, a hand rising to your cheek as you kept your face turned away, waiting until you had a firm hold of yourself again and you were certain that there wouldn’t be so much as a red glint in your eyes when you did face him again.

You really hoped this little slip of yours wasn’t going to cost some of the trust that the two of you seemed to be building between each other with these training sessions.  Maybe not trust specifically, maybe more of rapport, but at the same time, there was far more trust that went into this than you’d realized.  These moments where you beat him, where you had him pinned...the two of you were alone in the woods, if something happened, no one would know, no one would be able to intervene.  And when he lost, for those few moments, he was at your mercy.  He might not be able to do anything if you lost control or simply decided to bite him one of these days.  Yet he continued to carry on the lessons despite that possibility and the level of risk in having these training sessions be private.  Then again, if they weren’t private, you couldn’t exactly train as much as you could now.

“I thought you had control over your bloodlust?” Levi asked sharply as he got to his feet behind you, notes of that distrust you used to hear from him creeping back into his voice.  You hadn’t heard it in a while, since the start of this training, so hearing them creep back in now…

“That wasn’t bloodlust,” you murmured, rubbing softly at your eyes and wishing you had a mirror to make sure the red was gone from them.

“When your eyes are red--” Levi started to argue, but you cut him off, turning to face him again since you were certain you had a clamp on your emotions again.

“That doesn’t just mean bloodlust.  It happens for multiple reasons,” you corrected him, fighting to keep your voice from anger or impatience.  You could understand the confusion, the only times he’d seen your eyes red had been in moments of bloodlust.  Never the other moments.  “Sometimes emotions running rampant can trigger it.  Especially in the middle of a fight, because a vampire’s instincts are already riled in a fight.  I could do it on command, I suppose, if I felt threatened or wanted to threaten--like when a cat’s hackles rise.  It’s not...just bloodlust,” you finished in a murmur, looking away again.

Still, even if it had been a misunderstanding you’d just given Levi quite the scare in that moment.  He might have thought you were a second away from actually ripping his throat out or something similar.

As a way to make it up to him, you decided to take the position of teacher for a moment, while you were both letting the mood cool from that spark towards danger a few moments ago.

"Listen, when you're fighting a vampire, it's not about strength and speed, it's about leverage and making each shot count," you started to say, pushing hair out of your face as you explained semi-nervously in lieu of an apology for giving him a scare like that.  "I'm far from the strongest vampire out there.  Even your strength and speed is only going to get you closer to even footing with them, you'll still have to be smart about it.  Get them off their feet, stun them, go in for what would normally be a kill shot if you're close enough and they're not expecting it.  Even if you know it won't kill them permanently and they'll come back, it will put them down long enough to escape...or find something to properly kill them with."

You didn't know why you decided to suddenly make this a lesson about killing vampires, but here you were, information running out of you like water from the spout.

"And if you're in a really bad spot, and they've already got their teeth in you...make them choke up.  Got for the throat.  Especially right here…" you touched a spot on your upper throat that made you feel strange just touching it with a bit of pressure, and then a little lower, closer to the base of the throat, where some pressure made you feel like you might throw up.  "Or here.  At the very least, it should get their fangs out of you.  But with a vampire, it's all about fighting smarter, not harder--like when you fight someone much larger than yourself."

Levi studied you for a moment, the on guard position he'd been holding draining from his body as he slowly relaxed in front of you, nodding to himself as he made his way back to the center of the clearing that acted as your starting position.

"We're not here to train me.  We're here for you.  Keep a hold of yourself and I won't have to do anything," Levi said, falling into an at the ready stance, hands up in front of him as he waited for you to approach so you could resume your training.

The other half of your personal training with Levi happened the same way every day.  Namely, he had you run the same maneuver at the exact same pace over and over and over again, until it all became muscle memory--pace included.  The theory was that if the pace could be ingrained into your muscle memory, then you wouldn't accidentally execute it too quickly for the gear to keep up when you acted on instinct in the field.  And, just so your abilities could still come into play and help with your execution, the first thing you did with every maneuver was figure out how fast you could pull it off without breaking the gear.  After that, you walked it back a step or two in speed so you didn't strain the gear and wear it out too quickly, but you were still able to pull off the maneuver with startling speed.

While those practices were much of the same, with you doing it over and over under Levi’s supervision and occasionally learning a new move from him at the start so that he was still teaching you, they were arguably more exhaustive than the morning training--at least mentally.  Levi didn't have to do much except observe, so he didn't look remotely bothered while you would look exhausted when you entered the mess hall to eat afterwards.

Since you two would come from the same place, and would usually enter when almost everyone else had received their food, you would end up in the line together, though Levi’s tray always wound up looking different from yours.  Because he was an officer, plus he was actually eating the food while you were strategically picking things you could pawn off on the horses or birds and squirrels later.

"Are you even going to eat half of that?" Levi asked critically.  You both knew you didn't need to eat, so the rations were kind of wasted on you, but you needed to keep up appearances, and what you did eat would help with cravings.

"Most of it is bribes for the horses.  Namely yours.  I think he likes me now, but he might feel betrayed if I don't give him a treat with everyone else," you teased him with a soft smile on your face, tossing an apple up into the air before putting it back where it belonged.

Levi rolled his eyes.  "Stop bribing my horse, he's going to get fat," Levi grumbled, pushing on with his tray.

It was nice that you could tease and joke with him now, even if it was just the brief, lighthearted stuff.  He really was making an effort to be more accepting with you.  When you weren't dragging the vampire stuff front and center, you could almost say he was comfortable around you.

Of course, until something reminded him what you were, or you talked about it, and he was on edge again.  He was going to need much more time to come to terms with the vampire side of you.  There was too much about it that made him uncomfortable and ill at ease.  That wasn’t something he would be able to get over just by spending more time around you--that was going to take some time and reflection of his own.

As you followed behind Levi in the line up, you spaced out slightly, listening in on some of the conversations going on around the mess hall, ranging from sore muscles from training today, to an upcoming shipment of fresh supplies, to how bad the food tasted.  And then, through all the meaningless chit-chat, something caught your attention.

“...definitely sleeping with Captain Levi.”

You paused, centering in on that one conversation, a bad pit in your stomach.

“Are you kidding me?  Captain Levi’s hardly the type.”

“I’m sorry, do you know anything about him?  Nobody really does, other than his irritable attitude and his reputation.  For all you know, he is the type.  And I’ll bet he is.  There’s no way she’s climbed the ranks that fast unless she’s climbed on someone’s dick along the way, I don’t care how skilled she is.”

“That’s foul.”

“It’s true!  There’s advancing because of your skill, and then there’s going from a fresh recruit to part of the elite squad in a couple days, to private lessons with Captain Levi not long after.  We’ve just gotten placed in Squads and barely started training with the squads.  And it’s a position they literally made up so she could be in Levi squad.  That’s beyond favoritism.  I’ll bet you when they come out of those woods every morning all sweaty and flushed and tired, it’s after she’s given him a good fuck to get on his good side.”

“Maybe they’re just sparring--hand to hand lessons…” someone else suggested weakly.

“If it was a spar they could do it on the training grounds like everyone else.  What they’re doing they have to hide.  They get up so early so no one will see what they’re up to, and I’ll bet that means they’re out there for hours.  It’s gotta be one hell of a blowjob she gives, that’s for sure.”

“Hey--what’s that look for?”

You snapped yourself out of the revolted and disturbed focus you’d found yourself in at Levi’s more immediate sounding voice trying to get your attention, eyes focusing on him as, for a moment, you found yourself at a loss of words for what to say to him after hearing...that.

And he had no clue.  Because besides the people /in/ that conversation, you’d been the only one to hear it.

He looked concerned, maybe even worried, his mind probably coming up with a bunch of worst-case-scenarios for what you felt or heard that gave you whatever expression you currently had.

You shook your head, sliding your tray to the side to get him to keep moving or else risk their trays crashing into each other with the contents spilling everywhere.  “I heard something I did not want to hear.  Just keep going,” you said dismissively, trying to brush it off as someone having a roll in the hay in the stables or a quickie in the supply closet--whatever kept him from even getting a hint of what you actually heard.

If it was just your reputation they were trashing, maybe you wouldn’t mind so much--you knew it wasn’t true, that it was as far from the truth as they could get.  What made it really worry you was how it also dug at Levi’s reputation.  Maybe he wouldn’t care, but maybe he would.  You hoped if the rumor reached the rest of Levi’s squad, that they wouldn’t believe it.  They knew Levi better than most people here, surely they’d know it wasn’t true?  But you could also see how that was a rumor that would burn like fire through the ranks.

Behind Levi’s back as he continued down through the line, that worried look lingered in your eyes, wondering if you should do something about the rumor, or just leave it alone.  Normally you would just leave it alone, but this one seemed...insidious to you.  Or at least, you didn’t like the thought of people spreading it further, even if you knew the people that mattered knew better, or might know better.

You ended up breaking away from the line before Levi did, heading for the table that the squad usually sat at and trying to shake off the concerns and worries eating at you in the back of your mind, giving them a shy smile as you took the seat next to Petra.

“So, newbie--private training with the Captain, already?  Someone moves fast,” Oluo said conspiratorially before you could even sit down.

Had they already heard that damn rumor?  Was it already making its way through the ranks and you just hadn’t heard it yet?

“Oluo, don’t be an ass,” Petra scolded him in answer.  “And she’s not much of a newbie anymore.”

“She’s a newbie until she’s been out on a few expeditions, Petra,” Gunther commented.

“Whatever--you’re really getting private lessons with the Captain?  Two a day, from what I hear?” Oluo asked, cutting past the debate over whether or not you were a newbie.

“It would explain where you disappear to in the mornings and just before dinner,” Eld added quietly from where he usually just observed these back and forths between you, Eld, and Petra.

“None of us get one on one training with Captain Levi,” Oluo stressed, leaning forward in his seat.  “How’d you do it?”

At that moment, Levi appeared at the head of the table, setting down his tray with an agitated sigh.  “She needs someone to kick her ass into the dirt every now and then,” Levi said simply in answer to the debate bouncing around you.

Petra turned to look at you with a slightly apologetic look on her face.  “You are pretty infuriating to spar with.”

“So I’ve been told,” you answered, feeling yourself start to relax again as the conversation started to drift into what you considered safer waters.

“Sometimes, I swear you’re letting us win,” Gunther added, clearly agreeing with Petra on that matter.

“Because she is,” Levi said bluntly from the head of the table.  You gave him a sharp look that clearly asked why the fuck was he outing you, but he didn’t even glance in your direction as the rest of the table fell awkwardly silent.  “It’s why she trains with me in the mornings--she needs a tougher opponent.”

You blushed, feeling the attention shifting to you.  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” you muttered under your breath, worried it might come off as Levi suggesting the other four weren’t good enough to spar with her, that they weren’t at her level, that she needed someone who actually presented a challenge.

All of those could be taken rather insultingly, considering you were apparently still new enough to be considered a newbie by most of the squad.

Levi held your gaze from across the table.  “How about next time you spar with them, you don’t hold back and let them see for themselves.”

“Put that effort into sparring with your comrades, and they might learn something.”

The first thing he’d ever tried to teach you, back when he’d first encountered you.

You nodded, deciding not to question his judgement on this.  He knew the other members of the squad better than you did.  And not he was aware of your secret and could properly assess risks.  You were going to trust his judgement on this one, despite your own confusion or reservations.

“Yes, sir,” you said with a nod, turning back to the food in front of you with a slightly thoughtful frown.

*Levi’s POV*

After shooing Y/N away from taking care of the horses like she usually did, Levi was spending some much needed time with his horse, brushing down the black steed’s coat and gently rubbing his neck, forehead, and muzzle--whichever he could reach.

“You’re putting on a bit of weight,” Levi remarked lowly, eyes roaming over his horse’s frame.  “If she’s going to give you so many treats, she could at least make sure you get the exercise to keep from gaining the weight…”

The horse just snorted and tossed his head, settling back down when Levi gave him a disapproving look before Levi continued brushing him, taking a moment to let the sound of the horses moving around and nickering softly in the stables soothe him away from the bustle of the Scout’s headquarters.

The stable door opened, and Levi glanced out the stall to see who it was, half expecting it to be Y/N again and for him to have to shoo her away again so he could have quiet time with his horse.

It was Petra, actually, and she went right by the stall that her horse was kept in and made a beeline for where Levi was standing by the entrance to his horse’s stall.

“Captain, I need to talk to you about something,” she said seriously, a flush of nervousness coloring her cheeks as she came to a stop in front of him.  Levi’s eyebrows rose at her demeanor, but he didn’t say anything, intending for her to continue without further prompting from him.

“There’s a rumor that’s been going around…”

Levi snorted softly, turning back to his horse.  “You know I don’t give a damn about what’s going through the gossip chain for the week.”

“I know, and normally I wouldn’t say anything, but...this one’s pretty bad.  And it’s only getting more out of hand.  And I thought I should give you a warning before someone tries to do something about it.”

That caught his attention.  People throwing rumors around was one thing.  A nasty rumor that could stir people to action, though, that was something that he might want to give a bit of attention to.  And considering Petra was coming to him about it as a warning, it involved him.

“People have been saying that Y/N has been getting her promotions and placements by sleeping with superior officers...namely you, and that it's still going on right now.  Now, the rest of the squad and I don’t believe it, but there are some people who believe it’s true to the point they’re planning on bringing their concerns to Erwin,” Petra told him nervously, the slight shake in her voice getting worse when Levi’s expression darkened considerably.

That was quite an accusation.  And apparently one people were believing enough to try and take action about.  But to think some people would believe he was actually the type to be bought with sexual favors.

Well, actually, he was used to people thinking lowly of him, but this was a line he’d thought it was clear he wasn’t ever going to cross--either falling into the trap of accepting sexual favors in return for promotions, or exploiting someone in a lower position for them.  It was a filthy rumor, and Petra was right, this was one he preferred to have a heads up on so he could do something to shoot them down before they got any further.

This wasn’t a rumor that could be combated with words--no one was going to believe it no matter how insistent Y/N or he got, but maybe, at least for a little while, if it was more out in the open that they were just training, and it was for good reason, maybe it would help abate the rumors.

Maybe letting them go to Erwin was a good idea.  Erwin knew what was actually happening--hell, Levi gave him regular reports on her progress, since the man wanted to keep a close eye on his new asset while he decided how best to use her in the grand scheme of his goals.  Then again, Erwin might have to be forced to investigate anyway, considering the seriousness of the claims, even if they both knew it was just a nasty rumor that had gone too far.  And Levi and Y/N were spending plenty of time alone and out of the public eye where no one knew what could be happening--besides the three who knew exactly what was happening, but their witness wasn’t there, physically.

Petra was watching his reaction in tense anticipation, staring at him as his eyes roamed around at something only he could see, considering his options and how best to handle the situation.  He went back to his horse, giving the almost perfectly shining coat another few brushes before he answered.

“Thank you, Petra.  I’m sure if it does get to Erwin, he’ll know better--he knows what I’ve been training her on and when, so it shouldn’t be much of a problem.  But if it does become one, it’ll blow over,” Levi reassured her, exuding an outward demeanor of calm after deciding on a few minor moves to help dispel the rumors.

*Reader’s POV*

About a week after you had overheard the rumor in the mess hall, and well aware that the rumor was only getting worse, Levi called you into his office to discuss that very rumor.  Apparently, Petra had told him about it, including the lovely fact that there was a group that was going to go to Erwin to have him take action about it like it was possibly true.  Besides letting you know that he knew, the only thing Levi was requesting that they do in order to try and combat some of the rumors, was to move their just-before dinner training with the ODM gear onto the training field so there were witnesses that they were just training, and at least once in the upcoming days, the two of you were going to do your hand to hand training on the training field where there were witnesses to see that you actually did need to train with him for the sparring.

You would, of course, have to refrain from doing something openly vampiric, even though normally during your morning spars you could cut loose, but the two of you sparring and being rather evenly matched would probably be plenty of evidence to show that you had earned your spot on Levi’s squad (Even if the circumstances had been unique).

However, something about him going to these lengths sort of bugged you.  You understood how serious it would become once people took it to Erwin, but at the same time…

“Thank you, Captain Levi, but...you don’t have to do any of this for me just because of some rumors.  I don’t really care what they think of me,” you said hesitantly.  The only people that mattered were the ones that didn’t believe the rumors, from what you were aware.  It was mostly people who had some kind of a grudge against you from the training cadets or simply out of jealousy that were pushing it further than just a rumor and willing to actually believe you and Levi were the kind of people to be doing something like that.

“What makes you think I’m doing this for you?” he asked, possibly a little sharper than he’d intended.

He had a point, though.  This didn’t just hurt your reputation, it could hurt his credibility as well if it made it to the point of a legitimate investigation, whether the two of you were cleared or not.  No one would forget that there had been enough to question him, that he had still been investigated for accepting sexual favors, whether it had been true or not.  You were both in the same boat in this mess.  He didn’t seem like the kind of person to normally care about petty rumors, but this one was going too far.

“Okay then...but on one condition,” you said firmly, sitting up in your seat.  Levi leaned back, studying you for a moment, looking a little confused that you even had a condition for going along with trying to clear your names up even a little from these rumors.  “No matter how the spar goes, you have to be the one to win it when we’re in front of everyone.”

Levi stared you down for several long minutes, the silence almost getting painful as he seemed to be trying to read you, to glean why this was your condition, why you were so insistent about it.  Maybe he was also thinking back to how you’d thrown your first match with him even though you were about to win, and how that one had been in front of everyone...while you had never thrown a fight when it was just the two of you, and you’d even beaten him a few times.

“Why is it so important to you that you lose to me when we’re in front of everyone?” he finally asked.

“The same reason I threw the fight when we met.  You’re Humanity’s Strongest.  I know it might not even matter to you, but it does to me.  I don’t want that title, I don’t deserve it--I’m not even human.  You do--deserve the title, I mean.  I can’t take it, I refuse to, even if it’s bestowed by people who don’t know any better.”  You licked your lips, heaving a soft and somewhat tired sigh.  “That’s why you can’t let me win when it’s not just the two of us.  I can’t even risk the thought entering their minds that you’re not Humanity’s Strongest anymore, because that’s not true.  Not that they’d ever know.”

“I really don’t give a damn about whatever title they want to try and fit me with,” Levi said, his voice surprisingly not betraying anything about what he thought--not yet, anyway.

“But I do.  I hate to sound superficial, but it does matter to me that you stay the one they see as Humanity’s Strongest, and it doesn’t get passed on to me.  So that’s my condition.  You have to win the spar at the end.”

Levi nodded slowly, getting to his feet.  “All right, then.  I’ll win the spar,” he agreed, gesturing for the door.  “I’d invite you to have some tea with all this shit going on, but we probably shouldn’t be spending any more time by ourselves until this whole mess blows over.”

“Of course,” you said, getting to your feet and ready to leave.  You paused by the door, turning to look at him.  “And Captain…”

He looked up from where he was getting his jacket off the chair, looking at you expectantly.

“Thank you.  For training me, and...giving me a chance.  Despite everything,” you said, feeling awkwardness drip into your tone and a blush color your cheeks before you hurriedly left the room, shutting the door before you could see his reaction or he had the chance to answer with a snarky or sharp reply.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn​ @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus​ @sunny-flo​ @thirstyforsometea​ @hauntedhousecat​ @peaches-and-clouds​

Wings in the Dark Tags: @regalillegal​ @animeluver23​ @theshylittleelfgirl​ @queenthorin1​ @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse @subtlepjiminie​ @hakunamatatayqueen​​ @queenofcurse​ @linxiajei17​ @levisbebe @toni-jones​​​ @pinkberrymilktea​

[little-mad]

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 3

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Going through the portal from one dimension to another felt as simple as walking through a door. There was no flash of light, no weird tingly sensation all over Gavin’s body, no “welcome to a new dimension” announcement; Gavin could almost believe he was still back home...were it not for the fact that every single thing around him was mega sized.

Trees as tall as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and although he was looking down on them from Rael’s hip height, Gavin could still tell that even the wildflowers sticking out of the ground would be taller than him. He swore he even saw a chipmunk the size of a car scurrying up the side of a tree.

Suddenly, Gavin felt almost glad he was secured inside a cage. As much as he hated being confined, right now he didn’t feel like he could handle being out in the open, not with a bunch of big ass woodland creatures roaming about. Being attached to a big ass dude was bad enough.

Though he couldn’t see it from his current position, Gavin figured the portal they’d come through must have gone away, judging by the abrupt disappearance of the soft blue glow that the portal had been giving off a moment ago. “I’m officially closed off from the rest of humanity,” Gavin’s brain helpfully reminded him.

Glancing upward, Gavin caught Rael throwing him a brief look as if to ensure his captive was still there. The teal eyes examined him for only a moment before they returned to looking forward.

Gavin sighed. As intimidating as Rael was, he knew he couldn’t avoid talking to the guy forever. For one, he needed to ask his captor where exactly he was being taken, because in the middle of the woods hadn’t been what he’d been expecting. Gavin was admittedly not all that knowledgeable about alteon customs, but he was pretty sure they mostly lived in cities and towns.

Before Gavin even got the chance to mentally prepare himself for the prospect of addressing the alteon, he was bucked forward by the movement of the giant leg behind him.

Once again lying at the bottom of the cage, Gavin groaned. He was really beginning to sympathize with hamsters, lizards, and other handheld pets. Getting tossed around in a cage really sucked. Although, he figured most pets would be handled more carefully by their owners than Rael was currently handling him.

Every other step the aleton took jarred Gavin’s cage, meaning there was zero point in trying to stand up because he’d just be thrown to the floor again in an instant. Instead, he opted for sitting in the back with his arms wrapped around the iron bars for stability. It was still an unpleasant experience, but at least this way he could spare himself a few extra aches and pains.

About five minutes passed by and Rael continued to make his way silently through the forest. He clearly had no intention of striking up a conversation, which meant the task fell on Gavin. “Just picture him in his underwear,” he thought to himself, but then quickly realized that trick only worked on normal sized people. Picturing Rael in his underwear would only make Gavin feel both afraid and uncomfortable. “Okay…just imagine he’s not gigantic then.”

Gavin tilted his head back so he was looking up towards Rael’s face, however from the angle he was at, he could only really see the underside of the man’s jaw. “Yeeeah, kind of hard to imagine he’s not huge when I have to almost break my neck just to see his face.” After taking a deep, steadying breath, Gavin opened his mouth to speak.

-

Were Rael someone well learned in the magical arts, he could have easily teleported both himself and his human charge to the palace. However, as things were, he had no choice but to travel on foot through the woods that surrounded the city of Ostrad.

Rael didn’t necessarily mind a little hiking, but having to walk back to the city added on about an extra hour to the assignment he never wanted in the first place. He blew out an inaudible sigh, ignoring the way the cage hooked onto his belt repeatedly bumped against his thigh as he walked. At least the human had kept quiet so far, as long as it remained that way--

“Hey, uh--Rael?” The unexpected sound of the human’s voice nearly caused Rael to stop in his tracks. He paused for a moment but quickly recovered and continued making his way forward.

Rael flicked his eyes downwards for just a moment and saw that the human was looking up at him expectantly. Half because he didn’t want to end up running into anything, and half because he didn’t want to give the human the satisfaction of getting his attention, Rael quickly went back to looking forward. “What is it?” he responded reluctantly, making no effort to hide his irritation.

“Well--um, I was just wondering where we’re headed,” said the human nervously. Rael had been a little surprised when he found out that humans didn’t have high, squeaky little voices that fit their size. Instead, their voices were essentially normal, though much quieter than that of an alteon. This was something Rael was grateful for. While it would have been briefly amusing if the humans squeaked like mice, Rael had no doubt he would quickly tire of it.

“I’m delivering you to the Emperor at the palace,” Rael stated tersely. Surely the human could have deduced that on his own.

There was a pause, and Rael hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but evidently the human had other plans. “Right but uh--why didn’t we just...portal straight there?” he asked.

Rael rolled his eyes. He didn’t know whether it was all humans or just this one in particular, but there was certainly an air of obliviousness emanating from Gavin Stone. “The portal needs to be distant enough from civilization in the event intruders manage to slip through somehow,” Rael explained slowly, as though he were speaking to a child.

Honestly, the precaution of keeping portals isolated seemed as though it was more for the sake of protecting the humans that might come through than any alteons. Prior to departing for this assignment, Rael had been educated in all the ways humans could potentially bring harm to alteons. The list was quite short, and mostly involved large weapons of mass destruction, which were apparently not widely available in the human realm.

A thoughtful hum came from the caged human. “I guess that makes sense, though I can’t imagine any human intentionally trying to come here,” he commented. He seemed to be gaining some confidence in his speech and no longer stumbled over his words, much to Rael’s annoyance. The last thing he needed was for his captive to start getting talkative.

“Believe me, we don’t want humans here either,” Rael retorted. Perhaps he was speaking from his own opinion more so than that of the general population of his dimension, but he wasn’t about to tell Gavin Stone that.

-

Gavin narrowed his eyes at Rael’s comment. If he didn’t know any better, he might say that his captor wasn’t all too fond of humans. He had to wonder what the alteon’s past experience with humans had been. Was Gavin the first he’d met? Had he really made that bad of a first impression? “Oh yeah, I sprinted away from him full speed,” Gavin reminded himself.

People not liking him was not an unfamiliar thing for Gavin. Admittedly, he maybe didn’t have the best verbal filter, and had the unfortunate tendency to blurt out whatever popped into his head. He had been fired from his first job at a movie theater for accidentally calling his manager a “lazy dickwad” within said manager’s earshot. He had gotten sent to the principal’s office in third grade for letting it slip to another kid that Santa wasn’t real. And Gavin knew it was only a matter of time before he said something to Rael that really pissed off the giant.

If Gavin were smart, he would just keep his mouth shut. It was obviously what Rael would have preferred. The only problem was, Gavin wasn’t smart. Smart people became doctors, settled down with a sweet spouse, and moved into a fancy house in the suburbs. Smart people did not become thieves who stole from literal giants.

“So uh--are you like the Emperor’s delivery guy then?” Gavin asked. He didn’t really know where he was hoping the conversation would go or what he hoped to accomplish, but running his mouth felt familiar. If he stayed quiet he’d just end up wallowing in his own anxiety and fear.

Rael shot Gavin a quick, sharp look. “I am a member of the Imperial Guard, not a ‘delivery guy’,” he snipped, clearly not fond of Gavin’s insinuation.

Gavin didn’t really know what being in the “Imperial Guard” entailed, though he supposed it had a fancy enough name. Honestly, it kind of sounded like something out of Star Wars, though he wasn’t going to mention that to Rael considering the guy probably didn’t even know what a movie was.

“So did they specially choose--” Gavin’s sentence was interrupted midway through by an annoyed huff from Rael.

“There is no need for us to converse. So unless you have something crucial to say, I recommend you keep quiet,” the alteon stated coldly.

Despite Rael’s less than friendly tone, and the fact that it was a colossus of a man saying it, Gavin did not intend on keeping quiet. A familiar desire to be contrary was rising up in him. His mom had always called it his “urge to be a complete pain in the ass.”

Gavin didn’t necessarily want to intentionally piss off his captor, he didn’t want to make an enemy of the alteon. That would be stupid even for him. However, Gavin wasn’t about to roll over and behave like a good little boy. He was a criminal, following the rules was basically the antithesis of who he was. No, Gavin was going to talk to Rael whether the elf looking son of a bitch liked it or not.

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

[mymoonagedaydream]

stark! daughter reader and Bucky get into a motorcycle accident. Bucky runs over to the reader who’s laying on her back on the side of the road, injured.

Bubble Wrapped

Summary: Breaking free from your overprotective father felt really good, at least for the first few minutes

Pairing: Bucky x Stark daughter!y/n

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Language

---

For the daughter of a fucking avenger, you really didn’t get to have much fun.

The world knew Tony Stark as the self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist, but the side of him they never saw was the unreasonably strict and overprotective father, the one who barely let you set foot outside the compound without surveillance from a full secret service of bodyguards and a personal apache attack helicopter.

He made sure you stayed close to home job-wise too, arranging for you to begin work as an assistant to your mother as soon as you turned eighteen.

He even kept all the other residents of the compound under strict orders, that no circumstances warranted you getting mixed up in the dangerous side of their work, and that he’d completely ruin anyone who dared challenge him on that.

You lived in bubble wrap. 

You knew that your dad was doing what he thought was best for you, and he did everything he could to make up for your lack of freedom, but all you really wanted was a proper life.

Then Steve brought the newest avenger back to the compound.

You’d seen him in passing a few times, when you ate with Nat in the communal dining area or walked past one of your father’s many meetings, but you only properly met him after he’d been living in the compound for a few weeks.

While Tony was away on business, Pepper gave you a few days off work to relax and have free reign of the compound, during which time you bumped into the newest avenger fixing his motorbike in the parking lot and decided it’d be nice to properly introduce yourself .

‘Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m y/n.’

‘We haven’t, but I’ve heard lots about you.’ He flashed you a smile before standing up and sticking his hand out towards you. ‘Bucky.’

‘Nice to meet you.’

You shook his hand and gave him a polite nod, then taking a few steps past his bike, but stopping when he spoke again.

‘So what's the deal with your dad?’

‘Good question. Could you be more specific?’

He chuckled, pulling a dirty rag from his pocket and wiping the sweat off his forehead. ‘When I arrived, he sat me down and said you need to stay away from all the exciting stuff. You got brittle bones or something?’

‘Not as far as I know, unless they’ve deteriorated from lack of use.’

‘I’ve heard of that happening.’ You huffed slightly at his amused smile, giving him a face of complete resignation in return. ‘You should probably try having some fun.’

‘It’s on my to-do list.’

You headed back towards the door, smiling to yourself and finding that you were extremely intrigued by your father’s new team member. Just as you yanked it open, Bucky shouted after you.

‘I could take you for a ride?’ You spun round, looking back at him in slight shock. ‘On the bike, I mean.’

Your heart started thumping. You definitely wanted to, more than anything, but Christ if your dad ever found out he’d probably lock you in your bedroom until you were forty.

‘That’s a really, really bad idea.’

‘So is that a no?’

You felt a warm smile spread across your face and your legs started moving on their own, instinctively carrying you towards him as you battled the choice out in your mind.

‘Alright, but you can’t tell anyone. For both our sakes.’

‘Deal.’

He only had one helmet, which he gave to you, insisting that it’d take much more than a road accident to cause him any damage. Throwing his leg over the bike, he positioned himself right and gestured for you to hop on.

Your whole body was tingling with excitement as you settled yourself behind him, nervously running your hands over your thighs. As soon as he revved the engine your heart leapt out of your chest.

‘You’re gonna want to hold on, Stark.’ He called over his shoulder. ‘First time can be nerve wracking.’

The bike roared fully into life and he pulled away from the building, the sudden momentum prompting you to throw your arms around his waist and hold on as tight as you possibly could. 

You swivelled your head round, watching the compound disappear into the distance, ecstatic to finally be away from that place for a while.

Bucky sped down country lanes and back roads, laughing heartily at every squeal you let slip, purposefully gunning the bike a little harder after each one. 

You could feel each burst of fear and excitement and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you’d never felt more alive.

But it all changed in an instant.

A car pulled out from a hidden turning without checking the road, speeding right into your path.

Bucky quickly swerved and the motorcycle crashed down onto its side. 

He was thrown over the handlebars, landing with an almighty thud on the tarmac and rolling away a few metres. Your leg got trapped underneath the bike, both you and it sliding across the road so fast that the material of your trousers got ripped away and you felt the rough road surface scraping against your bare leg.

The car immediately sped off, leaving you and Bucky sprawled out in the middle of nowhere, both lucky to be alive.

Even with the unholy amount of adrenaline your brain was producing, you still felt an intense, stabbing pain grow from your trapped leg. It worsened with every deep breath you gulped in, until it became almost unbearable.

Battling through shock and confusion, you lifted your head slightly to try and figure out where Bucky was, spotting him lumbering back onto his feet a few metres away. He sprinted over to you and yanked the bike away like it weighed nothing, relieving some of the pain in your leg, before dropping to his knees.

‘Fuck, are you hurt?’

You shifted slightly and groaned in pain. ‘I think my leg is broken.’

‘Alright, don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.’

You tried to keep control of your breathing as he spoke down the phone, but you weren’t able to stop intense panic and fear rising in your chest. 

Bucky must’ve seen how scared you were, because while the two of you were waiting for help to arrive, he lay down himself on the road next to you. He held your hand and reassured you that everything was going to be alright. 

He made what would otherwise have been the most terrifying ten minutes of your life completely bearable.

Once you arrived at the hospital, you were taken for x-rays, which showed that you’d only sustained a stable fracture. Your doctor kept passive-aggressively reiterating how lucky you’d been, stating that she rarely saw such minor injuries from severe motorcycle accidents, especially ones that happened at such speed.  

You noticed she didn’t bother lecturing Bucky, even though he was the one not wearing a helmet. Then again, he’d somehow come out of it with no injuries whatsoever and had taken to shooting intense daggers at anyone who even tried to approach him, so she was probably just too intimidated to attempt it.

Fully casted and drugged up, you made your way back to the compound with Bucky, where you explained everything to your mother. Thankfully, she’d always been much less strict, and she agreed that Tony could never know what’d happened. She even helped you devise a very detailed story about how you’d fallen down the stairs while tipsy. Genius.

The evening came around and you found yourself alone in the living room, disappointed at how quickly the morphine they’d given you at the hospital was wearing off. 

Just as you were about to hoist yourself up and raid your father’s liquor cabinet, Bucky shuffled into the room, looking extremely sheepish.

The rest of the avengers weren’t usually allowed into your parents’ private quarters, but with Tony still away and Pepper working all night, he probably figured he was safe for a quick visit.

‘I just came to make sure you’re alright.’

‘Yeah I’m all good, thanks Bucky.’ You glanced over to your monstrosity of a cast and chucked. ‘Well, apart from that thing.’

‘I’m really sorry. Should’ve just stayed away, like your dad said.’

‘No, it wasn’t your fault. That driver was an asshole.’ He nodded, a slight smile spreading across his face. ‘I’m still really glad I said yes. Up until things went sideways, I was having the best time of my life.’

That seemed to cheer him up. His expression evolved into a wide grin and he took a few steps towards you, scanning his eyes over your face.

‘Maybe next time, we should go smaller. Whack-a-mole or something.’

‘Next time?’

‘Yeah. Unless Tony finds out what happened and murders me.’

You bit your lip, trying your best to suppress a giddy grin. 

‘Sounds like a plan.’

---

[faithbetryin]

Five Hargreeves X Reader | 5

(from my Wattpad: @FaithBeLovly)

Part 5

Pairing: Five Hargreeves X Reader

Word Count: 2,229

Thunder cracks through the sky, a bolt of lightning illuminating the room. Your eyes flash open, your body jumping a bit from the loud booming outside. You feel yourself getting anxious, the loud sounds making you feel stuck to your bed. You don't want to move. It was like you couldn't, even if you wanted to. You started to get hot under the sheets, but couldn't find it in your body to take them off. You open your mouth to speak, but another crash of thunder cuts you off. You barely manage to squeak his name in a whisper, but then you try again, hoping even the smallest sound would wake the sleeping Number 5 on the floor. He looked so peaceful, sleeping so soundly and curled up in his blanket. You felt bad trying to wake him up, but the fear... You needed his help. You needed him.

"F-Five...?" You say, feeling worried he won't hear you. "Five..!" You whisper loudly, deeply relieved to see his eyes flutter open. You grip onto the sheets anxiously. His eyes look around for a moment before discovering you looking at him. He lifts his upper body up a bit before saying quietly,

"Why are you awake?" You don't answer. You were embarrassed to be this afraid of just a stupid thunderstorm, but it triggered something in you. You still couldn't move. You feel the pace of your breathing increase as another flash of lightning brightens his face. He then puts two and two together, realizing that the storm must be triggering your anxiety. He immediately gets up from the floor and kneels down next to the bed. He notices how hard you're gripping the sheets and puts his hand on top of yours.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong? Nerves acting up again?" You nod and start to feel your eyes get watery, feeling both embarrassed that he's seeing you like this and emotional that someone cares about you like Five does. He taps the top of your hand with his thumb a few times as if he was determining what to do.

"I can't m-move," you say quietly to him. His brows show concern, and then he stood up, walking over to the other side of the bed and crawling in with you. You don't move, relying on your hearing to listen for his movements. He slides closer to you and you feel your heart beating harder against your chest. He leans over you a bit and slides his arm under your back, turning you over and pulling you into his chest. He groans as he pulls you over, smiling down at you widely. "Alright," He says as he maneuvers your body so you're facing him now, held close to his chest. "There."

You find yourself feeling safer already, especially with his comforting touch. You snuggle against his chest as you get more comfortable. He rests his chin on the top of your head. Another thunderous boom disturbs the night sky, making you jump a little again, even though you should've known it was coming from the flash of lightning. Five grips onto you a bit, letting you know he's got you. You spend a long time in silence, just enjoying the soothing sound of his heart beating against your ear and the warmth of his body. You peer up at him a bit, even though you couldn't see much from under his chin.

"Five?" You whisper. His eyes were closed and he was breathing quietly and slowly, his body accumulated to the new position, ready to drift back to sleep. He doesn't answer for a while, but eventually gives you a delayed "Hm..?" You nuzzle his chest and gently hold onto the fabric of his white collared shirt.

"Thank you..." You say quietly. He sighs comfortably and then pulls away a bit to look down at you. His eyes explore your face, a slight smile inching from his lips. He didn't get told thank you. He's gone through hell trying to save his siblings from the end of the world, from each other. He's worked his life in a job he didn't get one thank you for, despite being their most elite assassin. No one thanked him. They just gave him crap about the means he would go to to make sure his family was safe. For screwing up the jump. As if he wanted to disappear for decades. To hear someone give him gratitude, it was... nice.

"You're welcome..." He says softly. Your eyes were locked onto his through the dark, and you didn't want to pull your gaze away. You liked him. Really liked him. You wanted to tell him, but you couldn't. He was so perfectly intimidating. You could barely keep your cool in a thunderstorm. How would you tell Five that you liked him?

"You know," Five starts, his hand rubbing your back gently, "In all those years, I thought I didn't need anybody, that I was too good for anyone else. Didn't need any help, any advice..." He thinks about how he directly disobeyed his father, and ended up stuck in an apocalypse because of it. Because he was so confident in his own abilities. "But... I was alone." You look at him, listening to how his voice spoke so genuine. "I found my siblings' dead bodies and then drank my sorrows away with a mannequin." You kept listening, even if that part was concerning. "Now that I'm back, I'm not alone. I'm surrounded by idiots, sure, but... You knocked at my front door."

"And now I don't feel  alone anymore."

You open your eyes and stretch your legs a little bit from under the sheets. You think about last night and find yourself smiling in Five's pillow. You turn over, but... Five was no where to be found. Just an empty space on the bed next to you. You yawn and sit up, wondering where he's gone now. Just as you start to stand up, a blue vortex opens up in front of you with Five now stumbling in front of you. He was holding a full cup of coffee in his hands, which was now a little less than full as some slipped out of the side of it from the jump.

"Whoops," he says, pushing the coffee mug in your hands. You take it now that you have no choice, considering it's already in your hands. "Rise and shine!" He says loudly, warping to the other side of the room. He pulls another school jacket out of his closet and pulls it around his shoulders. Someone clearly has a lot of energy today. You use the coffee mug to warm your hands as you watch him warp around.

"Hey to you too," you say. He then opens the door and bounces his antsy body up in down. You blink at him, only causing him to sigh and then lunge his arms towards you, pulling you up off the bed. You handle the coffee cup quickly, preventing it from spilling. "What is going on with you?" You ask, looking back and forth between him and the coffee cup. He marches you down the hallway by your arm.

"I've had a stressful morning and I don't want to be here any longer than I have to." You make a face out of confusion, attempting to take a sip of the coffee as you walk. He blinks you down the stairs, now causing the coffee cup to be only half full as it spills onto the floor.

"Hey-" You struggle, trying to get him to slow down for just a second. "You could at least warn me," He ignores your complaining and makes his way to the doors of the academy.

Luther then stands in front of it. "Oh no you don't, you're not going anywhere Numero Five."

"Oh yeah?" Five challenges, his eyes widening like he was insane, his smile quite wide and pissed off. He grips onto your arm as he bops his body up and down, preparing to jump. Klaus yells as he jumps at Five, and you pull out of his grasp, jumping out of the way while Five blinks a few feet from where Klaus was. He stomps his way over to Luther, pointing his finger up at the brute. Klaus lands on the hardwood floor with a thud and a slide.

"Klaus? Really? That's the best defense you got?" he asks Luther. Luther stands his ground at the door as Diego and Allison grab onto Five, holding him tight and lifting him as Five kicks and struggles in their arms. "HEY! GET YOUR GRUBBY FINGERS OFF OF ME-" You watch as you sip what's left of your coffee. This must be a normal sibling thing around here. Diego and Allison help each other pull Five into the living room. He struggles and elbows Diego in the stomach, causing him to wheeze and let go. Allison keeps fighting to keep Five contained. She then says over his struggling,

"I heard a rumor, that you went limp." Luther walks over to the living room to join Allison and a defeated Diego on the floor. Klaus gets up and takes the mug out of your hands, taking a big sip. You make a disgusted look just as he does when he says,

"Blagh, this isn't tequila." He puts it back into your hands and walks in zig zags to the join the others. You follow and watch as Five's body literally goes limp. He looks at you with HELP ME written all over his face. Allison then drags his limp body to the couch and sets him down onto the couch. His body falls over and Luther pushes him back up with his finger.

"So what's going on?" You ask blatantly. Klaus looks at you and shrugs.

"Five is being very sneaky is what's going on, right Five?" Diego gets up eventually and bumps shoulders with Luther as he walks by, sitting on the other side of  the couch next to Five.

"Low blow, little brother, low blow." He says to Five, poking him in the cheek. Klaus and Diego laugh at how he couldn't do anything. Klaus keeps poking Five after Diego does until Diego gives him an irritated look, clearly not finding it amusing anymore. You kinda felt bad for Five.

Allison fixes Five's hair, putting it back into place for him with careful hands. Five tries to talk, but no one could understand him with his jaw and tongue all loosey goosey.

"Aw, Allison. Now he can't tell us anything," Luther says, frowning. Five laughs evilly, but it was mostly slurred gurgling. Diego shakes his head at Allison.

"Nice."

Allison pops the back of his head with her hand for that comment. Diego's body reacts as he's hit and lets out a "oww!" Luther sits on the coffee table in front of Five, the coffee table creaking loudly. Everyone's eyes widen, expecting it to break. Luther makes a face and rolls his eyes as he ignores what he knows they're all thinking in his head about how he was too big to sit on the table.

"Ooo! Maybe I can translate for him. I'm all sluggish all the time, I practically speak drunk." No one opposes the idea, but no one finds it anything but stupid either. Luther sighs and goes back to interrogating Five.

"Five, we all happened to notice that you have been acting a bit, uhh-"

"Insane." Diego butts in, looking at Five with clear resentment after the elbow to the gut.

"Uhm, I was going to say unusual, lately. And we think you are hiding something from us." You watch with everyone else, now just as interested as they are. You didn't think Five was being weird- well up until this morning.

"Iiii ammnnnottslhidingg annyyyythiiiinnnnnggghh Lutwerrrr," Five utters. Klaus sits next to him on the couch.

"Okay, he says he's not hiding anything, but I think he's bluffing," Klaus explains.

"No shit," Diego says, shaking his head in annoyance.

"Then care to explain this?" Luther asks, pulling a photograph of their dad out of his coat pocket. Five closes his eyes and groans,

"Schhhhhhhhliitt."

"Shit. He just said shit. Little potty mouthed, sneaking, thieving, RAT, Five!" Everyone looks at Klaus and then refocuses on Five. You have no idea who the man was in the picture or anything about what's going on.

"Allison, how long will this affect him? Will it wear off?" Luther asks, turning to her.

"Yeah, he'll be able to move again if I leave the area, but how can we trust that he won't teleport away?"

"Ittthhh'ss nawwwwt theleporthinnnngggggghh," Five couldn't help but correct others even when no one could understand him.

"You're right, it's best that we keep him contained." Luther says with a serious look, getting ideas as he zones out.

"What is with you and locking your siblings up?" Diego asks, scoffing and standing up as he walks away from the couch and comes back to say his piece. "He can just poof away anywhere we put him." You didn't like the way things were turning out. They clearly didn't trust Five at all. But you had no place here to make a choice.

"Not everywhere." Vanya says, looking at them from the wide entryway of the living room.

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Let The Little Ones Sleep!

Master List 

Luka still remembered the day Juleka had pointed out the words to him. He was trying to play a chord on his small guitar when she had stopped him to point out the thing on his upper arm. He was around six years old when he took a good look at them. They were foreign and unfamiliar, written in another language that he did not recognize. 

He had gone to his mother, questioning her about the strange words on his upper arm.

“Those are the first words your soulmate will say to you.” His mother told him. The song he always heard, no felt, changing it’s tune to become less energetic and more soft.

“But I don't understand them, what do they say?” He asked. 

"Now where is the fun in me telling you that. Those words are written in English, which means that is the language your soulmate speaks. If you learn English then you can find out what it means and be able to talk to your soulmate when you do meet them." His mother explained. And the energeticness was back.

"How am I gonna learn English?" He questioned. 

"I will teach you! You and Juleka!" His mother proudly announced.

"Okay!" 

And that was how his lessons started. For the next 5 years his mother taught him and his sister English. And by the time he was 11 he was fluent in it. 

He now knew what the words on his upper arm said, and he could not be more confused. “I’ll go wake them up.” Wake who up? Why couldn’t his words be simple like Juleka’s? 

Speaking of Juleka’s words that brought on a new question, why were his words on his upper arm while Juleka’s were on her hand? And this time both him and Juleka went to ask their mother. Well, it was more like he asked and Juleka waited patiently behind him for the answer. 

“Such curious children you two are, never change. The place where the words are, is the first place your soulmate will touch you.” Her song turning slightly amused.

Curiosity peaked, Juleka spoke up, “Where are your words mom?” What are your words?” 

Their bright and energetic mother seemed to shrink at the questions. Her song turning sad and muted.

“Well my children, some people are born without soulmates. And I am one of those people.” 

“Oh.” Juleka mumbled at her answer. Her song turning slightly guilty before perking up again at her mother’s next words.

“There is nothing to be guilty of Juleka, it isn’t you fault I have no soulmate now is it?” Juleka shook her head, “ Exactly, but I don’t need a soulmate to be happy because I have you wonderful children. Now I think there are two wonderful children who need to do their homework. Hmm.” 

“Going right now mom.” Luka grabbed Juleka and started dragging her to their room so he could help her with math. Juleka didn’t protest. 

When he was fourteen and Juleka was twelve he got his first look into how exactly the bond worked. Not that at that moment he knew. 

Juleka had come home from her first day at collège a nervous, lovesick mess. He didn’t even need to listen to her song to know that. She had gone on and on about this one girl who was in her math, science, and English class, her eyes practically hearts. 

However when Luka asked if Juleka had talked to this mysterious girl, he got a stuttered out no. 

And this exact story played out for two more weeks. Juleka would gush something about Rose, he had finally found out her name, but had never gotten the courage to talk to her. It always ended with a sad Juleka and his only way of cheering her up was to play the happy, energetic song of their mother. 

It seemed that this would be her love life from now on, with Juleka too scared to do anything about her crush. But, thankfully, he was wrong about Juleka’s love life. 

Because on one fateful day when he went to pick her up he witnessed something magical. 

Juleka was walking down the steps towards him when what he could only describe as a ball of pink happiness and energy bounded up to her. She called out, “Hey your Juleka right?” and both Couffaines froze. 

But that didn’t stop the ball of pink positivity. She went right up to Juleka and grabbed her hand to shake it, and he could see the blush that was currently gracing her cheeks. He walked closer to the pair just in time to hear Juleka stutter out a, “Y-yeah that’s me.” 

If it was possible Rose’s smile got even wider at those words but before she could say anything was when it happened. Rose had to suddenly take a step back as bright purple and pink lights emerged from both their hands. Hovering in the air just long enough to create a heart shape before disappearing. All those around, including Luka and the two newfound soulmates, could only stare. 

“Wow you’re my soulmate!” Rose finally exclaimed, breaking the silence. 

“Oh I-I guess I am." Juleka mumbled. But Rose didn’t hear her, as she started pulling her away talking so fast that Juleka couldn’t understand her. Yet despite that being with her just felt right, so when she turned to lock eyes with her brother, she shook her head. That day Luka went home alone as Juleka got to know her soulmate. 

And that was his first and only look at how a soulbond worked. While it was definitely memorable and something he would never forget, soulmates were not his priority. 

As seen by his crush on Marinette, who was definitely not his soulmate. But despite knowing they could never be together, his heart always hoped. And when she did get together with her soulmate, he couldn’t be happier, because one of his best friends was happy. Even if the pairing was unexpected, he honestly had no idea that Marinette and Kagami would be soulmates but their songs work well together so he should’ve expected it.

However lately he had been feeling weird. The songs that he heard from every person became so much louder than usual, he could hear every mood change, every spark of surprise, happiness, sadness, fear from all those around him. It was starting to get overwhelming and he didn’t know why. This had never happened before. 

It all reached a high when he got introduced to one Damian Wayne, who was staying at Chloe’s father’s hotel and Chloe had to show around Paris. Well sorta introduced. He was having a major headache that doubled when he got inside the hotel and Chloe only said a quick Damian meet Luka, Luka meet Damian, before taking off with Damian to show him something he couldn’t recall. 

He went to their usual room in the hotel they would hang out in, closed all the blinds, and took a nap, hoping that his headache would go away with sleep. 

He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right. He woke up but his headache still hadn’t fully gone away, yet it was still much better than it had been before. He grabbed a water bottle from the secret fridge and slowly drank from it as he waited for his friends to return. 

He didn’t have to wait long as soon the door to the room burst open and in walked his friends, including Damian. Suddenly his headache came back full force but he didn’t let it show. The last thing he needed was his friends worrying about him while they were trying to have fun with Damian. 

Time quickly passed and it was hard for him to keep up with everything that was going on, but as the day got later, one by one his friends started falling asleep. Until it was only him and Damian awake. Neither wanted to start the conversation, so for a solid hour awkward silence flooded the room. 

It seemed that Damian was starting to get tired of the silence as he moved to go past Luka to the others. However, what he said as he was about to pass Luka almost had him frozen, almost. "I'll go wake them up." In English, the exact words that were on his upper arm.

Luka's eyes widened in shock from three things. The first was that this guy was his soulmate. The second was that the major headache he had been having was probably the result of his soulmate being here and that must have interfered with his ability to hear people’s songs. The third was that Damian was about to evoke the wrath of his friends when they're woken up from their sleep. Not wanting to have another incident like that occur again he stepped into Damian’s path. 

“No, let the little ones sleep.” Right as he said those words Damian moved to push past him, touching his upper arm in the process. However the second Damian did bump into him he seemed to come to his own conclusion as he suddenly jumped back right as blue and green burst from where they touched. Just like he remembered from all those years ago the colors hovered in the air for a minute, just long enough to create a heart before disappearing. 

The others seemed to remain undisturbed in their sleep as Luka and Damian stared at each other with wide eyes. Finally Damian got the courage to speak up. 

-

Damian really didn’t know what to think. The words “let the little ones sleep” had haunted him for his whole life. In the league having a soulmate meant having a weakness, and having any weaknesses would get him killed. So he had it drilled into his head from birth that the second he met his soulmate he was to kill them immediately. 

Of course he really didn’t want to, the stories his mother told him in secret of how special soulmates were wanted him to meet his and not kill them. But not killing his soulmate would be seen as a betrayal to the league, which would lead to serious consequences. 

So he kept quiet about his soulmate, even when he was permanently sent to live with his father. The only reason they knew was because he had been working out in the batcave with a tank top on and Dick had seen the words on his upper arm. And Dick being Dick proceeded to tell the whole family about what he had discovered. Which resulted in a lot of teasing about his soulmate and what their first words to him would be. 

After a while the teasing died down and he honestly forgot that he had a soulmate. He had more important things to prioritize anyways. Like how he was in Paris to oversee if there was any damage left from when the magical terrorist Hawkmoth had been defeated a few months ago. His father had wanted to come to but he had things he needed to take care of in Gotham so he was there alone. Which wasn’t that bad in his opinion, it meant he could get more done, especially since his siblings weren’t here. 

Unfortunately his father had contacted the mayor of Paris and asked him to make sure that he ‘didn’t get in any trouble’. And so the mayor had his daughter follow show him around Paris. 

She also had her friends tag along with her on their tour of Paris but there was one friend in particular that he couldn’t get off his mind. Luka, Bourgeois had introduced him as, he didn’t look well and it seemed she knew that as she didn’t push for handshakes or proper greetings like she did with her other friends. 

Luka had walked off to what was apparently their hangout room as Bourgeois and all of her other friends left the hotel and gave him a tour of Paris. It didn't take nearly as long as he thought it would since they skipped over big tourist attractions and took him to what they called "local treasures". But the weirdest part was that he could get his mind off if Luka, and that frustrated him to no end. He barely knew the guy so why was he so infatuated with him.

They returned to the hotel to find Luka looked a little better, but that didn't stop his friends and him from worrying. There seemed to be several conversations going at once and Damian couldn’t keep up with all of them, so he tried his best to keep up with a few. However, something he noticed was that despite Luka keeping a smile on his face and nodding along to whatever conversation he was a part of, all the others including him would constantly cast him worried glances that he seemed to not notice. 

As the day turned to night, one by one, more of the group fell asleep. Soon it was only him and Luka left awake and neither stepped up to break the awkward silence. It irritated Damian to no end, even though he liked silence, he did not like this type of silence. But it seemed that neither him nor Luka was going to be talking anytime soon, an hour had already passed, so he decided that it would be best to wake up one of his friends. His best bet would probably be the optimistic one, Marinette.

Unfortunately in his thinking he had reverted back to English when he said, "I'll go wake them up." Instead of in French so Luka could understand. Out of the corner of his eye he was pretty sure he saw Luka's eyes widen in what appeared to be shock, but he wasn’t too sure. 

However a second later Luka tried to block his path also saying in English, “No, let the little ones sleep.” The exact words on his upper arm. 

His mind registered this discovery and he realized that must have been why Luka’s eyes had widened. However his body was already in the motion of walking and did not register that piece of information so he ended up bumping into Luka. Specifically his upper arm with Luka’s upper arm. The realization caused him to jump back in shock right as blue and green lights emerged from both their upper arms and formed a heart in between them.

They both stared at each other with wide eyes in complete silence before he finally got the courage to speak up. “I-” Curse his luck or thank it, Bourgeois interrupted him before he could get a sentence out.

“Ooooh are you guys soulmates?” She questioned, seeming much more awake than she should. 

“What’s going on?” Marinette asked with a yawn, her eyes fighting to stay open.

“It seems that Mr. Frowny Face and blueberry boy are soulmates.” Alix spoke up from her spot on the couch.

“Wow, didn't see that coming.” Nino said sarcastically as he slid Alix twenty euros. 

Almost everyone slid Alix and Bourgeois various amounts of money, the only ones that didn’t were the ones that didn’t take the bet. Aka those who knew better than to bet with Alix. As Kim slid his thirty euros he grumbled something along the lines of “Stupid time traveling bunny seeing the future” but Damian was more shocked at the fact they betted on him and Luka being soulmates. Despite only having one interaction before this. Luka, on the other hand, seemed much more calm and only shook his head at their antics. 

“Would you prefer if we gave you boys some privacy?” Marinette, the only one besides Kagami that didn’t bet asked. 

Damian and Luka exchanged a glance before Luka answered, “That would be nice.”

Marinette and Kagami dragged the others out of the room, with Marinette instructing Kim to pick up Rose and bring her to wherever they were going since she didn’t want to wake the girl up. Something about her being the baby of the group and how the baby is always allowed to sleep. No one objected to that so he assumed that was normal, or maybe no one objected because of Juleka giving everyone death glares.

Once everyone had left Damian turned to Luka, “So we’re soulmates.” He stated.

“We are.” Luka replied. Both stayed silent once again, Damian wasn’t good with talking about this kinda stuff and Luka was just as clueless about what to do. 

“How long are you going to be in Paris?” Luka asked, his fingers silently twitching and he wished now more than ever that he could play his guitar to relieve some of the stress he felt. He did not think that talking to your soulmate was supposed to be this stressful. 

“Another week,” He instantly answered, but at seeing the slight frown on his soulmate’s face he quickly added, “But I can always ask my father for more time. I am sure he would understand.”

“That would be nice but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Damian was about to reply but he stopped himself for a second to think, he would never hear the end of it from his siblings if he asked for Luka to come back to Gotham with him. Plus Gotham was not the best place to bring one’s newfound soulmate. His mind decided he replied, “No I want to get to know you.” 

Luka tried and failed to hide his smile at his soulmate’s words. That is until he came to a quick realization, “I don’t know your full name, we haven’t even had a proper introduction.”

Damian was surprised by that as well, he went back through their interactions and realized that Luka was right. Then he realized that he never got the full names of any of Bourgeois’s friends. He had been referring to them all by their first names...he couldn’t ever let his family find out about that. 

Breaking him out of his thought process was Luka sticking his hand out to him as he properly introduced himself, “Luka Couffaine.” 

Damian took his hand and shook it as he introduced himself, “Damian Wayne.”

“Wait Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? The billionaire?” Luka stared at him curiously. 

“Yes.” Damian hesitantly answered. 

“No wonder Chloe’s been acting so weird, a billionaire’s kid is staying at the hotel.” 

“HEY I DON’T ACT WEIRD!” Someone, definitely Chloe, shouted from the other side of the door. 

“Have they been listening this whole time?” Damian questioned Luka, he seemed more likely to know. 

“Probably,” He answered as he walked over and opened the door. All of the friends that had previously left the room to give them privacy fell when the door opened, most of them having the decency to look a little guilty for eavesdropping. Luka fondly smiled at them before turning back to him and stating, “Welcome to your week, or longer, in Paris.” 

Damian, strangely, found himself smiling back at him. “Can’t wait.” 

Alix, the first to have gotten up, looked between the soulmates who were currently staring at each other with lovesick grins and fake gagged, “Great another lovey dovey couple.” Juleka and Rose both threw pillows at her, while the others laughed. Yeah, Damian didn’t think it would be so bad.

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So this is my last contribution to the trope tussle! I hope everyone enjoyed the 3 fics I put out! Hopefully for the next event I will be able to post more works because school will be less of a pain! 

[weasleydream]

Operation swan song

Here is my participation for @hp-imagines-07​ writing challenge! Once again congrats love 💜  My prompts were “I don’t care!” “But I do!” and “Is it that bad?” “Yes.” (I’ve taken a bit of liberty and changed them a bit but they are still here... for the little story I had completely forgotten them and I had to put them at the last moment) 

TW: mention of torture 

As usual feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

(Also I’ve recently reached the 500 followers and I’ve organized a writing challenge that you can find here! Plz don’t let it flop 😂 )

Masterlist 

(gif not mine) 

Everyone is different, everyone acts different. Some people cry while some others laugh, some run while others walk. Some use their head while others use their fists. I liked to think I was the kind of person that was like Remus when I was the complete opposite. He was the head and I was the fists. I was as reckless as Sirius and as impulsive as James, but with a heart as big as Remus’ and a love and an admiration for my friends as unconditional as Peter’s. The only priority I had ever had was to make sure this little group I called my family was safe, whether it was from Filch or a Death Eater. You attacked them, you attacked me; that was something I had made clear since the end of the first period of our first year at Hogwarts. Maybe I wasn’t very convincing at the time - James still used to laugh when remembering the time I had threatened a fourth year who had made fun of Remus, only because with one push from the boy I had ended on the floor - but I had never been afraid to defend them and they had never been afraid to defend me. 

And now that school was definitely over for us, now that we were adults, now that James and Lily were going to be parents, the mission I had decided to complete had taken more sense than ever. In my mind, if someone had to take all the responsibilities for James, Lily and the baby they were awaiting, for Remus, Sirius and Peter, then I would do it without hesitation. I would give my life for all of them, as much as I knew they would do the same for me. And now that the war was here, now that the prophecy had designated James, Lily and the baby as targets for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I felt more than ever the need to make sure they were safe. Everyone knew this, everyone including Albus Dumbledore. 

_ _ _ 

“Professor Dumbledore, as much as I’m happy to be back here, I believe you didn’t ask me to come only to propose to me some acid pops, am I right?” 

Dumbledore folded his hands on the parchment that was spread out on the desk. His blue eyes were fixing a point on the paper, and he fixed the spot a few seconds before clearing his throat and eventually looking at me. 

“You’re right, miss Y/L/N. It is for a way more grave matter that you’re here today. You probably know the Order is in a delicate position.”

“A delicate position? With all due respect, we’re being killed one by one. I don’t call this a delicate position, I call this being near from the end.”

Dumbledore sighed, a sadness all but habitual emanating from him. 

“I know that, miss Y/L/N, and I believe you would do anything to prevent the Order from reaching its end, right?” I stayed silent, because we both knew the answer and I was beginning to understand where the conversation was going. “You want to protect your friends and their family, right?”

“What if you got to the point?” 

“I need to stay one step ahead of Voldemort, and I need you to help me with that.”

“How- what- how could I help with that?” I stuttered, truly taken aback with what Dumbledore was implying. “Don’t tell me- do you want me to infiltrate the enemies’ camp?”

“That is not exactly what I want. I need you to spy on them, they must not know about you.” 

Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes were almost burning holes in my forehead as I was looking down, trying to process all that it meant. I had the unpleasant sensation that every word had been carefully chosen and that the old man knew that by insisting on my devotion for my friends, he would ensure that my answer would be positive. But spying on the Death Eaters? Even for me, it was a lot. More than a dangerous move, it was a suicidal mission, and if the thought of dying to protect baby Potter wasn’t scaring me that much, thinking that I would have to leave my friends and more especially Remus was making my heart ache painfully. 

“Is that your plan?” I whispered. “The only thing you’ve come up with to save us all?”

“Who said it is my only idea? And this is not a plan, miss Y/L/N, only a proposition. You don’t have any obligation.” His eyes still on me, Dumbledore slowly raised his hands to fold them underneath his chin. Somewhere behind him, his phoenix moved.

“A plan, a proposition, I don’t care what we call this. You need someone to send among the enemies and you want me to do it, that’s the same thing.” 

“Will you do this, yes or no?”

“Of course I’ll do it.” I muttered before leaving the office with the sensation I had just been manipulated.

It was late at night and the corridors of the school were empty. There were probably a few students out of their dorm - Merlin knew only a few years ago I was part of them - but I didn’t see anyone, and I took the occasion to wander in this familiar place. I stopped in front of a window on the second floor that was overlooking the entrance courtyard. A girl and a boy were sitting next to each other on a bench. They looked like they were looking at the stars. Suddenly, the boy got up and grabbed the girl’s hand and they began to dance to an unheard music, maybe the music of their hearts, I thought bitterly as I looked away. 

Maybe it was the weight of the upcoming mission that would very probably kill me, maybe I was just being sensitive because I was alone in the dark, but I was regretting the days I would be in this girl’s shoes and Remus would be in the boy’s. How many nights had we spent here, on that same bench, looking at the same stars? Our thing wasn’t to dance but to share stories, legends or gossip. We would stay here for hours, only coming back to the dorm when the sky took a delicate orange shade. And we would never talk about these nights, greeting the other in the morning in the same way we did with our friends, we would avoid questions and the other’s eyes for the day before doing exactly the same a few days later. 

I had always thought I would have a lifetime to figure out what my feelings for him were, but only now did I realize my lifetime was desperately short. 

_ _ _

Lily opened the door carefully before smiling broadly. 

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming!”

She stepped aside to let me in. As soon as the door was closed, she threw her arms around me. When she let go of me, my eyes fell on her barely visible bump and a whiff of courage invaded me. 

“How is the baby?” I asked. 

Lily’s eyes brightened and she began to babble on about how she wasn’t sick anymore, how James was adorable with her (“But still an idiot.” she stated with a little smirk), and how cute was that little stuffed stag she had found. We were now sitting in the small kitchen, the both of us holding a welcomed cup of tea. We were in January, the air was freezing, the sky was always so dark yet Lily and James’ little house was still so warm it made you feel like home. To be fair, it felt like it was also ours as Sirius, Remus and I used to spend a lot of time here. Peter was a bit less with us, he was working on a personal project which, in my opinion, had something to do with the Order. He seemed more invested than before, and we were all glad to see he had finally been able to fight his fear. 

“Y/N, listen, I didn’t want to tell you but… The boys are worried about you, and I am too. We all agree on the fact that you’ve acted strange last week and- well, you know you can tell us everything, right?”

Lily’s eyes were so full of worry that I felt guilty for making her feel such a negative emotion. 

“Lily, don’t make a big deal out of it, it’s no good for the baby. I swear everything is okay.” I smiled, an expression that looked everything but convincing, which I realized as soon as Lily frowned. 

“Now I know something is definitely wrong.”

“No, really, I told you-”

“Hello there!”

James entered the kitchen, his smile widening when his eyes caught mine. 

“Hey Y/N/N, I didn’t know you were coming!”

I smiled broadly and got up before wrapping my arms around him. When he joined Lily to kiss her, Sirius and Remus appeared at the door, the both of them greeting me in the same way James had done. When Remus’ hands touched my back, the memory of us on this courtyard came back and I shivered. Quickly stepping back, I pretended to be cold and ended up in Remus’ sweater. James had insisted for Lily to stay with us in the living room and had brought more tea, and now we were all squeezed on the two couches, sharing not really pleasant news. 

“Lily, Y/N, did you know about the rumour that’s going about the Order?” suddenly asked Sirius. 

James looked up, and I felt Remus tensing next to me. 

“What rumour?” asked Lily, genuinely confused as to why the three boys looked so grave. 

“It says that Dumbledore would have given a suicidal mission to a member of the Order.” declared James. “As it seems, it would be a spying mission. Not even undercover.”

“I don’t know who has agreed to do this, but they must be crazy.” muttered Sirius. “There’s no way they are coming back.”

“For me, things are different now,” said James while placing his hands on Lily’s little bump, “but even a few months ago I wouldn’t have done something like this.”

“But why not undercover?” asked Lily. “I mean we already have a few members infiltrated, but why not another?”

“I guess that’s because the infiltrated members of the Order aren’t close enough to You-Know-Who.” Remus spoke up. He was frowning and absent-mindedly playing with the end of his shirt’s sleeve. “A spy would be able to hear the most confidential things. If they aren’t killed before, of course.”

I shifted uncomfortably. Of course they were talking about me without knowing it, but the way they were bringing this up was making me realize how insane I had been to accept this. But the worst was that seeing Lily in such a state of worry without knowing for who she was scared, hearing Sirius mumbling that the poor guy would be a hero, yes, but a dead one and James adding he wouldn’t like to be in their shoes, seeing Remus sighing and closing his eyes as if he was already mourning, all of this made me wonder how they would react. 

“Y/N, are you feeling well?”

Sirius’ voice almost made me jump, and I realized all of my friends were now looking at me. I felt my blood becoming ice in my veins while my heart was beating way quicker than it should. 

“Yes- yes, don’t worry.” 

My shaky voice didn’t convince anyone, of course it didn’t, and it only made them suspicious. 

“Y/N,” began slowly Remus, his eyes not leaving mine, “would you happen to know who is going on that mission?”

As soon as the last word left his mouth, I saw in Remus’ eyes that himself had read the answer in mine. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes, usually so clear, were darkening more and more as the realization of what it meant was sinking into him. 

“Y/N?” asked Lily, her voice sounding so far from me I almost missed it. 

“I am. I am going on that mission.” 

The heaviest silence I had ever heard took place, and it stayed here for so long that I began to wonder if I had turned deaf. I was now looking down, I didn’t want to bear Remus’ gaze nor did I want to know how the others were reacting. After what felt like hours, a sob crashed the silence and Lily left her place to throw herself on me. Her tears were soaking my sweater and her hands clenching its back. 

“You can’t do that!” she cried out. “You’ll be killed! You can’t!”

Her hair was all over my face and I couldn’t see the boys, but I had felt Remus leaving the couch. 

“Why the hell did you do that?” exploded Sirius. 

Lily jumped and James put his hands on her shoulders before pulling her in a comforting embrace. If his face was closed, Sirius’ was expressing so many things at the same time that I couldn’t put my finger on what he was really thinking. Anger, fear, disbelief? If he was probably feeling all of this, all I could see was that he was furious. 

“Are you crazy? Y/N, you will be killed! Killed, you get that? Did you even think about it?”

His voice thundered, making me feel the urge to disappear. 

“Sirius-”

“I knew you were ready to do anything to end this fucking war but this? You’ll never get out of this!”

“I don’t care that much!”

“But I do!”

“Sirius, please-”

“We go to Hogwarts, now. I need a word or two with-”

“I did it for you! Is it that bad?”

Obviously none of them were ready to hear this. Lily stopped crying after something that sounded like a squeal and Sirius stopped dead in his track, his hands having almost reached his jacket. The both of them along with James were looking at me with round eyes, and only at this moment did I realize the door was open and Remus wasn’t here anymore. 

“What the hell does that mean?” murmured James. “Yes it is that bad! We don’t-”

“The Order is losing, James!” I exclaimed, desperate to prove my point. “We need more informations, Remus was right, infiltration isn’t enough!”

“But why you? Y/N, the Order has members stronger than you, trained Aurors! Why did Dumbledore ask you to sacrifice yourself?” 

“Stop talking like I was already dead. Can’t you consider the fact that maybe I’ll get out of this alive?”

In fact, I wasn’t considering it either. I just didn’t want to admit that if Dumbledore had asked me, it was because he knew I would be easy to manipulate. Suddenly realizing I was standing in the middle of the living-room, I sunk back on the couch and put my hands on my face. 

“Listen…” I began, my voice trembling. “You know as well as I do that we’re losing. James, Lily, you are threatened! I can’t let anything happen to you or your baby, not now that you’re reaching the happiness you’ve always wanted. And the both of you, this little baby, Sirius, Remus and Peter, you are my family, I love you all so much and- and I can’t let anything harm my family.”

I looked up to see that Lily had tears streaming down her face. I smiled at her, a very little smile that broke my heart as much as it seemed to break hers. 

“I’m sorry Lily, really.”

“I know.” she nodded quickly before wiping her tears away. “You should go and see Remus.”

With the feeling that my knees were going to give up on me, I got up and crossed the living room under the weight of my friends’ eyes. I pushed the door that was already half open and stepped outside, the freezing air making me almost gasp as I looked for Remus. 

“Remus?”

My eyes weren’t tricking me… Remus was nowhere to be seen. 

“Remus!” I screamed. 

Sirius stormed out, closely followed by James and Lily. 

“Where is he? Where did he go?” I cried out, completely panicked as the worst scenarios were playing in my head. 

“Calm down Y/N/N, I’m sure he’s okay.” said James. 

He nodded toward Sirius who disappeared without a word in a soft pop that disturbed the silence of the night. 

“Come on Y/N, let’s get inside before we freeze on the spot.” murmured Lily, both her hands on my shoulders. 

I sighed to give myself an impression of composure and nodded, following the couple inside. My thoughts were all about Remus. What the hell was he doing? And what the hell was he thinking? James and Lily made a point of making me stop thinking about him and asked me about my meeting with Dumbledore. 

“He knows how to do, this old bastard.” muttered James. “I can’t believe you fell for this.”

“I know…” I sighed. “I know but he isn’t completely wrong either. Maybe I’ll be able to catch the information that will save us all.” I added with a bitter chuckle. 

The door opened suddenly, and Sirius’ silhouette appeared. As it seemed he was alone, and he cut our questions short by lifting his hand. 

“He’s outside.”

I immediately got up and stormed out of the house. Remus was sitting on the low wall at the end of the garden, giving his back to me. I slowly approached, my feet making the snow screech and my breath forming a small cloud in front of my face. My eyes were humid and at this point, I didn’t know if it was really because of the cold. However, I saw Remus’ hand moving and patting the wall next to him after a short hesitation. I joined him and we sat in silence. An air stream colder than the others made me shiver. 

“Are you still cold?” asked Remus with a quiet voice. 

I nodded and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. 

“Come here.”

I moved closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder, already feeling his warmth radiating between us. The time seemed to have stopped, it was just the both of us and the snow. My mind was haunted by so many thoughts I couldn’t think straight, and all I was conscious of was Remus’ presence next to me. 

“What did I do to end up with such foolish friends?” he finally asked quietly. 

“We aren’t foolish,” I murmured, not wanting to break the little world around us. “We just love each other.”

“So that’s why you accepted? Because you love us?”

I lifted my head and met Remus’ eyes. They were full of pain and of worry, and how I hated seeing those eyes! I looked away, unable to face what I was imposing him. 

“Y/N, please, look at me.”

His hand found my chin and I faced him again. 

“You are my family.” I whispered, and as a single tear was rolling down my cheek, I leaned in his touch. “I love you all too much to let anything happen to you. I- Remus, I love you.”

Remus smiled, a tiny smile that made my heart flutter. I was feeling like a teenager who is breathless because she’s madly in love with a boy. 

“I’ve been to Hogwarts.” he suddenly muttered. “I wanted to make Dumbledore change his mind, but this- well, he refused.”

“I won’t change my mind either.”

Remus grabbed my hand and kept his head down, his eyes locked on our hands. 

“I know that. I just… I don’t know. I asked him to let me go with you-”

“You what?” I exclaimed, my heart suddenly racing in my ribcage. “No! Remus, no! I won’t let you! If I have to tie you myself-”

“He refused.” 

It was a simple statement, but I sighed and closed my eyes, relieved. Another silence took place only to be disturbed by a rumbling coming from the depths of my stomach and a chuckle coming from Remus’ mouth. 

“We should get inside and give you something to eat.”

I precipitately jumped off the wall and rushed toward the door, extremely ashamed as I had just realized I had confessed my feelings and Remus had just ignored them. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

He grabbed my wrist, pulled me against him and crashed his lips on mine. 

“I love you too.” he whispered against my mouth, and at the moment I was so happy I forgot every kind of threat. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

To say the last three days had been weird would be an understatement. Lily had insisted that I shouldn’t stay at my place and Sirius, Remus and I had ended up staying at the Potter’s. We still hadn’t any new of Peter which, more than worrying me, was also saddening me. The atmosphere was tense, it felt like all of us, me included, were already mourning my death. Of course, it wasn’t my friends’ intention, they had done everything to hide their worry, each in their own way. Lily, who had never really been able to cook, had made the most delicious plates I had ever eaten, even better than James’ mother’s, which I had had the chance to try a few years ago. James and Sirius had spent their time looking for informations in files stolen from the Order which had resulted in them not saying anything for hours before resuming their discoveries during the meals. Remus had shared his time between helping them and staying with me, holding my hand or chatting about anything not Order-related. 

We had also received Dumbledore’s visit, who had given me all the instruction for my mission. Except the fact that he was there for what would probably kill me, it was quite funny to see the almost exaggerated glares he had received from everyone, but especially from Sirius and Remus. 

And now, here I was, standing in the living-room, a backpack at my feet and holding back my tears as I was ready to leave. Remus was waiting outside but the others were here, and the first one to come to me - or jump in my arms - was Lily. She tightened me against her and was trying her best to contain her sobs. 

“Promise you’ll do everything to come back, Y/N, do you promise?”

“Of course Lily. I’ll try, I swear I’ll try.”

She nodded and stepped back, sniffling. James nodded toward me before looking away, trying to hide his fear and sadness. Far from being offended, I nodded back. 

“I count on you to take care of them Prongs, yeah?”

He nodded again. 

“Only if you take care of yourself.”

It was my turn to nod.

I had thought Sirius would have the same reaction as James but he proved me wrong when he pulled me in a strong embrace, a bone-crushing hug we had never shared before. 

“You better come back.” he muttered, his voice muffled by my hair. “There will be no place for mistakes. We can’t lose you.” he added in such a small voice that it broke my heart. 

The lump in my throat prevented me from saying anything but we didn’t even need words. At the moment, I could feel their love for me, and I knew deep down that I couldn’t give up on this. I knew I would come back because we still had so much to live all together… 

A whole new courage flooded in my veins and I smiled at them before grabbing my bag and getting out. Remus was sitting on the same wall as the last time and I joined him. This time, he lost no time and pulled me against him. 

“I suppose they have already told you you better come back?”

“It was pretty clear.” I let out a watery chuckle. 

“So I’ll just tell you I love you.”

Remus rested his forehead against mine and we both closed our eyes, enjoying this proximity. Then we shared a passionate kiss, a kiss that held so many emotions it was overwhelming. It was a kiss that meant I love you, I’m scared and See you soon. It was a kiss that meant Goodbye but also a kiss that meant Hello because at this very moment, I felt like I was re-discovering Remus, as if I was seeing and feeling a whole new part of him, and I knew he was feeling the same. 

“Useless to say I don’t want you out of here, right?” I murmured against Remus’ lips. 

“It would put you in danger. No, I’ll stay here, but know that everyday my eyes won’t leave the door. I’ll be waiting for you.”

I grabbed my bag which I had left on the floor and sighed. 

“Guess this is it…” I said. “Time to go.”

“Y/N, please, make sure this is not your swan song.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

It wasn’t my first mission for the Order. I had already fought against so many Death Eaters I had lost count, and I had two infiltration missions under my belt. But I had never been that close to him, to the wizard that was killing my friends one by one and threatening my family. And never in my life had I even suspected such an army. The enemies were everywhere, they were young or old, men or women. Everytime I turned my head, I saw new faces, new enemies, and it was the scariest thing I had ever experienced. Yet I was doing quite well; in fact I had barely been spotted and the few Death Eaters that had found out about me were now dead. For three months, I had managed to stay alive. However, the more the weeks passed, the more I had wondered if that was worth it. I hadn’t heard anything, absolutely anything that an infiltrated member of the Order wouldn’t have heard. 

I knew they were suspicious, all of them knew they were spied on and that was probably why they were being extremely careful when they talked. That’s why, after three months, I began considering the idea that I could try and get in one of their reunion places. However, I had made a promise to Remus, to Sirius, James and Lily, and I wanted to do my best to keep it. I didn’t want to put my life in danger more than necessary and it felt like a suicide to try such a thing. 

What decided me was a conversation that I overheard between two Death Eaters one night, at the corner of a street in the heart of London. 

“-in Malfoy’s manor tomorrow.” said the first. “As it seems, it’s pretty important.”

“More important than interrogating the Auror we’ve had last week?” asked the second. “What can be more important than that?”

“I’ve heard it’s the prophecy.” My heart almost stopped beating. As far as I knew, there was only one prophecy that could interest Voldemort. “The Dark Lord wants to decide on a plan to eradicate this threat.”

Then the Death Eaters disappeared, leaving me trembling in the street. A plan. To eradicate a threat. Which happened to be James and Lily’s baby. There was no way I would let that happen. I had now two choices: going back to Godric’s Hollow and warn them but miss the plan, or staying here and listening to what would be said. Apparating was too dangerous, anyone could follow me and that would threaten my friends. Suddenly, I realized that after all the time that had passed, Lily’s bump was bigger by now, and imagining her taking care of her child, James always fussing over her, Remus and Sirius and maybe even Peter with them made me take my decision. 

_ _ _ 

I thought the plan was good. Not perfect, obviously, but good enough so that it wouldn’t end up with me being killed. Now, after having dodged dozens of green flashes of light blasting toward me, I was forced to admit that I had screwed up. 

I was hiding behind a statue in the corridor, trying to catch my breath as the Death Eaters were getting closer and closer. 

“Find her! She’s Dumbledore's spy, I want her alive!”

Voldemort’s voice thundered and the screams in the manor doubled in intensity. Apparating was impossible and I had to reach the front door to try and maybe - just maybe - hide long enough to leave this hell. 

Suddenly, and that caught me completely off guards, my wand escaped the grip of my hand. I gasped, slowly realizing what it meant, and turned my head only to gasp once more, this time because I couldn’t believe it. 

“Peter?” I whimpered. 

Peter was here, in front of me, one of his hands holding my wand and his own wand pointed on me. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” he squealed before looking above his shoulder, obviously terrified. 

“You- you- Peter, we thought you were- I don’t understand…” I stuttered, unable to process that he was a traitor. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here? You’re complicating everything!” he lamented. 

Then I understood and I felt the urge to strangle him, to kill him because he had betrayed us, his friends. I was going to jump toward him when I felt a burning sensation in my back and everything became black. 

 _ _ _ 

“Crucio.”

The first thing I felt when gaining back consciousness was agony. It wasn’t even pain anymore, it was a fire in every bone of my body, magma flooding in my veins. It was the urge to rip my skin off and to end it as soon as possible. It was torture. 

“Will you tell us who you are?”

I didn’t answer, and the agony came back. 

“Are you from the Order?”

No answer. Agony. 

“Did Dumbledore send you?”

Nothing. Agony. 

“What informations have you already transmitted?”

Agony. 

“Do you know the Potters?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Agony. 

“Where are they hiding?”

Agony. 

“How did you get in the manor?”

Agony. 

“Y/N, I’m going to help you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Peter didn’t listen. I didn’t know what was happening. No one was here except us. He did something and suddenly the ropes around me were on the floor. He tried to grab my arm and I shifted. I fell on the floor. 

“Don’t touch me- you traitor, don’t-” I hissed. 

Peter ignored me. He half carried me. We arrived outside and it was dark. Then the world became black and coloured again and we weren’t in front of the manor anymore. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

One last world I didn’t understand, then black.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The old man’s eyes were sad, their usually piercing blue was now shining with contained tears. The young woman in front of him wasn’t containing her tears. She was sobbing in the arms of her husband who was trembling. Then the two other men. One of them fell on his knees, his hands in his hair as if he wanted to yank them out. “Y/N, please, make sure this is not your swan song.” he had said. The other was frozen, his fists so tight his knuckles were white. 

The old man left. A few seconds of shock, then the four of them disappeared. 

Remus couldn’t care less if a muggle saw him. He crossed the barrier and arrived in the hall of St-Mungo’s. Not bothering to ask where she was, he rushed in the stairs and gained her level. 

“Where is she? Y/N? Y/N, where are you?” he screamed. 

Three nurses arrived, begging him to calm down. Remus ignored them and asked where she was. Once, twice. The nurses eventually gave up and indicated a room. 

Sirius was just behind him, James and Lily were still in the stairs, but Remus didn’t care. He had to make sure- he had to see her. This couldn’t be true, obviously Dumbledore was wrong… 

She was sitting on her bed. Her skin was almost as white as the sheets, except for the scars and bruises that seemed to cover her body. When Remus slammed the door open, her head snapped toward him and she smiled brightly, a beautiful smile Remus hadn’t seen in years. 

“Hello!” she said. “Who are you? I was thinking about the swans’ songs. Beautiful, don’t you think?”

Remus’ heart stopped beating, and his world crashed at his feet. 

Dumbledore was right. 

Y/N had lost her memory, and he had lost her. 

[what-is-your-plan-today]

What The Stark Spangled F**k?

Drabble- Fuck Off, Clown

Summary: It’s Halloween, and Jamie’s outfit isn’t quite to Steve’s liking. Warnings: Non- some bad language...some almost smut, but nothing major...and a Super Soldier with coulrophobia... A/N: So if you all remember in Phobias, Steve admits to Katie he has a fear of clowns. I do as well, so this came out of a little fun chat with my Evangers (you know who you are girls) as a further expansion on the incident referred to in The Devil Wears Nada. Takes place during the 5 years post Snap. Hope you enjoy!

October 2022

“All set?” Katie asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs as Steve walked back into the hall having loaded their bags into the car. They were heading off to Tony’s lake-house for a few days where he was throwing a bit of a Halloween party, nothing major but it was a chance for the kids to get dressed up in costumes and eat a load of candy whilst the adults could kick back and drink. Katie was looking forward to it for two reasons. Firstly, it was always nice to gather together with friends and family, well those of them that were left post snap-it made her feel normal, and she could push that persistent feeling of sadness that seemed to manifest on a daily basis, back down into the depth of her mind. And secondly, she was a little excited because she had no idea what Emmy or Jamie’s outfits were going to be. Emmy had asked a month or so ago if she could be in charge of getting the pair of them costumes and Katie had agreed, simply handing over her card when she wanted to order whatever it was off the internet. She’d even resisted the urge to check her statement to see what it was as Emmy had demanded she didn’t try and find out. Katie had a sneaking suspicion that Tony had also been involved in these costume choices, as the last time her brother had been over a few weeks ago, the pair of them had been huddled on the large arm chair, sniggering as they looked at something on Tony’s phone. With that in mind she was expecting Jamie to come down in some form of Iron Man or Captain America costume and she had every intention of filming Steve’s response.

“Yup. Locked and loaded.” Steve nodded, dropping a kiss to her cheek. As soon as the kids are ready we can go.”

“No rush.” Katie shrugged, looking at her watch as they walked into the kitchen. “We don’t need to be there for a few hours.” She wrinkled her nose and slapped at Steve’s hand as he went to peek under the foil wrapped plate on the side. He sharply withdrew it and grinned at her.

“Tell me that’s a pie.”

“Apple and pumpkin, but it’s for the party.”

Steve pouted and she laughed and jerked her head behind her “There’s another there as I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait.”

“You-” Steve pecked her lips “-are” another peck “-the best.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere Captain.” She smirked as his lips hovered over hers, before he deepened the kiss slightly, both his hands sliding down to give her ass a playful squeeze before he stepped back and walked over to his coveted prize. Steve peeled back the little cloth that was over the top and gave a little groan that was positively sinful as he inhaled the smell.

“Don’t eat that straight out of the pie dish.” Katie warned him as he made his way to the freezer for the ice cream, “I was gonna cut a few slices for the kids to munch on the way.”

“Then they can get their own.” Steve grumbled a little, but he grabbed a plate none the less.

“Oh yeah, where from?” Katie asked, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t know, don’t care…” Steve muttered as he cut himself a huge slice of the coveted pie. He ladled a generous amount of vanilla ice cream on top then carried it over to the breakfast bar, sitting down as Katie gathered the rest of the food items she had said she would bring which included a huge dish of Mac and Cheese that she’d coloured green with food colouring, spaghetti and meatballs that were supposed to be worms,  cinnamon and apple cookies in the shape of pumpkins and a batch of home-made raspberry and cherry gin which had been done using the raspberries and cherries from the brambles and trees in their small orchard at the bottom of the garden. She began packing it all into a hamper as Steve took the first bit of his pie and gave another groan.

“You know…” he swallowed, waving his fork at her as he gave her a playful grin “I think this pie is actually better than sex.”

Katie looked at him, arching her eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It’s a very close call.” He nodded.

“Well maybe I should make you a pie once a week instead of letting you get me on my back.” Katie looked at him, closing the lid on the basket and pushing it to one side, leaning over the breakfast bar.

“Ok, first off we have sex way more than once a week.” Steve pointed his fork at her “and second-“ his eyes glinted cheekily “-you’re not always on your back.”

“True.” Katie pursed her lips and reached for his fork, snatching it from his hand “But if you think I’m baking a pie more than once a week you’ve got another thing coming.” She used the fork to take a piece of the sweet treat along with a large blog of ice cream and shoved it in her mouth, closing her eyes. She moaned a little, ensuring that the noise that left her throat was as sinful as she could make it, before she opened her eyes and used her thumb to wipe at a little trickle of ice cream in the corner of her mouth. With her eyes locked on Steve she sucked her thumb clean and smirked a little at the familiar glint of dark in his eyes that he always got when he was turned on.

“You’re lucky you’re the other side of the breakfast bar.” He leaned forward a little, elbows resting on the marble surface, his voice a low timbre that sent those familiar sparks up Katie’s spine.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Katie asked innocently, ignoring the sudden flutter she’d felt between her legs at his tone.

“Because if you weren’t you be in my lap right now testing my theory.”

“Shame…” she nodded, looking around. “I mean it’s not like you could reach and drag me over it or anything.”

“Well I could…” Steve agreed “But there’s a piece of pie in the way. And it’s too good to waste.”

“You’re a jerk!” Katie shook her head as Steve laughed, before he leaned back in the stool and patted his right thigh

“C’mere pretty girl.”

Katie grinned, the sound of him calling her pretty girl always did things to her, as did the soft instruction to ‘come here’ in his Brooklyn accent. She rounded the bar and he reached out, easily pulling her onto his lap so she was perched sideways, legs hanging over the side of his right thigh as he curled his left arm around her waist, right gently resting on her thigh. Katie’s right arm slid round his neck and he titled his face to look at her.

“Just for the record you taste far better than any pie you make.” He grinned and Katie’s mouth fell open at his dirty comment.

“Steven Grant Rogers!” she snorted, slapping his shoulder slightly and he laughed, his hand on her thigh tightening its grip slightly, fingers curling round the toned muscles which were evident once again due to Katie having started training again. Steve actually kind of missed the softness that she’d had since having Jamie but he was damned if he was going to tell her that. As long as she was comfortable in her body that was fine by him. He leaned towards her slightly, his nose bumping hers a little as she gently trailed her hand over the nape of his neck, nails scratching just below his hair line above the collar of his black sweater.

“Love you.” He said gently, his lips brushing hers and she smiled, her fingers tanging in the hair at the back of his head.

“More than apple pie?” she teased and he chuckled.

“Infinitely Mrs Rogers.”

“More than Mac and Cheese?” Steve hesitated and Katie scoffed “Rude.” Before he laughed again and pressed his lips to hers.

“For the record I love you more than anything.” He smiled “Well, apart from the kids.”

“I’ll accept that exception.” Katie chuckled, he mouth finding his again. The kiss deepened, Katie letting out a soft sigh as his tongue brushed against hers, tasting the apple pie and Ice Cream he had been eating before. Steve’s hand skated up the outside of her thigh coming to rest on her hip, finger tips brushing the strip of skin where her top had ridden up slightly as her own hand fisted slightly in his hair. Completely lost in one another they almost missed the little footsteps coming down the stairs and the giggles in the hallway. Almost, that is. Steve’s tuned hearing heard it first and he pulled back, looking at Katie who grinned.

“Play your cards right we can finish this later.”

“At Tony’s?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged “Won’t be the first time we fucked in his spare room.”

Steve snorted at her and patted her ass as she hopped off his lap.

“Mom, Dad!” Emmy called “We’re ready for you to see us!”

“We heard!” Katie called back as Steve stood up, grabbing his plate of pie. He took another bite before he wandered into the hallway where he collided with Katie who had stopped dead just outside the door. Frowning he looked up and stopped dead.

A clown.

His 2 year old son was dressed as a fucking clown. And not just any clown, which would have been bad enough, but that bastard clown from IT. The film he refused time and time again to watch because of said bastard clown…which was now stood on the bottom step of the stairs holding a red balloon.

And suddenly, all he could see was that damned clown at Coney Island chasing him through the stalls, Bucky’s laughter echoing in his ears…and then that fucking mirror maze where he’d had the panic attack as he was surrounded by them.

The plate holding his precious pie slipped from his hand and dropped to the tiled floor, where it broke into 3 pieces, its contents splattering all over the grey slate.

“Woah, Dad…didn’t think it would be that scary!” Emmy grinned from behind Jamie as she stood in her outfit, which was a superb replica of the Wicked Witch of the West complete with full green face-paint and a broomstick.

Katie looked over her shoulder at Steve and she could see from his face that he was really struggling to keep it together. Trying not to laugh at the expression of sheer horror on his handsome features, she clamped her lips together and turned to Emmy.

“Your dad’s…” she took a deep breath, trying not to laugh “He’s scared of clowns.”

“Oh…” Emmy frowned “Uncle Tony said he would love it.”

“I bet he did.” Steve bit out a little harshly and Emmy looked at him.

“Are you mad?” she asked and seeing the look on her face Steve inwardly cursed his phobia and his damned brother in law.

“No, honey…” he shook his head “Not at all…you both look…” he trailed off.

“Daddy, look!” Jamie grinned, and he jumped off the bottom step “Balloon!”

He toddled over towards Steve who automatically took a few steps back and Jamie stopped in front of him, right by Katie’s side, a confused expression crossing his painted face. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, pal…I gotta…” Steve exhaled “I gotta put some stuff in the car so we can to go to Uncle Nee’s ok?”

“Kay…” Jamie said a little quietly.

Katie watched, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter as Steve went to move round Jamie, turning sideways so he could keep his eyes on him, before he pushed past Emmy and bolted up the stairs taking them 3 at a time.

The hallway was silent bar the sounds Lucky was making as he cleaned up the remnants of the pie on the floor, not wanting to miss a single crumb of his human food treasure.

“Em, why don’t you two take Lucky and go get in the car, we’ll be out in a little moment.”

“Ok. Come on Jay!” Em said. She grabbed his hand but Jamie, clearly now finding the reaction his dad had as amusing, turned to his mom and made a little growling noise at her. Katie gave a fake scream and jolted back, causing Jamie to cackle a little, tilting his head back in mirth before he toddled after his sister.

As soon as they were out of sight and earshot Katie started to laugh. She laughed so hard that she had to retreat to the kitchen to sit at a chair. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach, trying to gather her breath as the tears poured down her face. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the image of Steve fighting the urge to punt his own son into another room out of her head.

Eventually she managed to sort herself out enough to grab her phone and swiped over to the number she wanted.

“Hey Kiddo.” Tony greeted

“Tony, you…” she started to laugh again “You better be able to run fast because Steve…he’s…”

Tony chuckled “he liked the costume then…”

“Tony he freaked.” She laughed “Like, seriously…poor Steve. I expected like a full Captain America outfit, not that!”

“Well, on this occasion the Spangles just weren’t enough”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“It’s been said.” He conceded “Did you get it on video?”

“No.” Katie sighed “I was going to but when I saw Pennywise on my damned stairs I knew what was gonna happen so…”

“Shame.” Tony sighed, “We could have played that back later. For science.”

At that point Katie looked up as Steve walked into the kitchen, glancing round.

“He’s not in here…” She chuckled and Steve glared at her, before he gestured to the phone.

“That Tony?”

She nodded.

He reached out and snatched the phone off her, “You’re a dead man.” He growled down the handset, and Katie could hear her brother’s roar of laughter before Steve hung up and tossed the phone down onto the table.

“Calm down!” Katie laughed, standing up “Steve, it’s just a costume.” “Katie, they freak me the hell out!” he shook his head “You don’t…” his hands dropped to his hips and his head dropped “Did you see his face when I backed away?”

“Oh, he’s fine!” Katie said, rubbing Steve’s arms “He couldn’t care less.” Steve took a deep breath and she looked at him “Do you want me to get him to change?”

Steve shook his head “No, he was so pleased with himself…plus, I don’t fancy that particular tantrum now do you?”

“Not really no.”

Steve shrugged “Then I guess I’m stuck with it. Come on, let’s get gone. Sooner we get there the sooner I can carry out my threat to kill your asshole brother.”

Steve grabbed the food hamper and headed out to the car with it, settling it onto the trunk of the car as Katie got into the passenger side. Once Steve finished his usual checks to ensure the door was locked, he climbed into the driver’s seat ant they set off.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah buddy?” Steve asked, glancing in the mirror automatically and once more was confronted by that fucking clown. He swallowed and turned his eyes to the front.

“No scared, daddy. I not real clown.”

Katie chuckled as Steve pulled out of the drive onto the road. “I know pal, but it’s Halloween. Everyone gets scared at some point.”

Jamie nodded, accepting his answer and turned to look out of the window. As they approached a junction, Steve checked the mirror again and then sighed, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna hafta drive.” He looked at Katie.

“What?”

“I can’t do it.” He shrugged “Every time I check the mirror, all I can see is…” “Are you being serious?” Katie looked at him.

“Absolutely.” Steve unclipped the seatbelt and climbed out of the car.

And right then Katie vowed that if Steve didn’t kill Tony, she was gonna.

[gamergirl929]

Everybody Is Shayna-Sexual (Shayna Baszler x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Shayna Baszler was cocky, confident, a woman who got whatever she wanted, when she wanted, WHOEVER she wanted when she wanted and at this moment, she wanted you. 

What she didn’t expect was for you to change her life entirely. 

Shayna Baszler, was confident, she was cocky, the woman strutting around backstage, demanding to be seen, which of course, she always was.  

It seemed as of late, that Shayna’s newest conquest wasn’t a title at all, far from it.  

“Hey.”  

Your brows quirk as you turn towards Shayna, the woman smirking, her hands jammed in her leather jacket’s pockets.  

“Hey.” You smile, swallowing hard when Shayna’s brown orbs rake down your front.  

Your cheeks flush when the woman takes a step closer.  

“I think it would be a shame for me not to mention how great you look tonight.” She smirks.  

Your brows arch as the woman leans back against a nearby wall, eyeing you intently, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.  

Unbeknownst to you, a tech is headed your way, the man’s voice making you jump.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you’re on in five.”  

Shayna sends him a glare, the man making a hasty escape moments after.  

Shayna pushes herself off the wall, strutting toward you, the woman leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“Good luck, I’ll be watching your match very…” Shayna pauses her fingertips brushing your forearm, the woman smirking when she sees goosebumps sprouting on your arm.

“Very closely.” She finishes, the woman grinning as you dumbly nod.

You point over your shoulder.

“I should…” You nod. “Yeah…”  

Shayna watches with a snort as you sprint in the direction of the ring, the Cage Fighter shaking her head.

                                                           ***

The second you step into the empty locker room, you’re guided back into a nearby wall, your eyes as wide as saucers when you see who it was that had put you in that position.

“Pretty good match.” Shayna smirks and you swallow hard.

“T-Th-Thanks.” You stammer The Queen of Spades smirk widening.  

“Why are you so nervous around me?” She asks, smirk splitting into a grin when your cheeks darken.

“I-I-I'm not.” You stutter.

The air is suddenly knocked from your lungs when you feel Shayna’s lips brush your jaw.

“Doesn’t seem that way...” Shayna hums, her nose running along your jawline, bumping against your ear as she whispers. “In fact, you seem tense.”  

You inhale sharply when Shayna’s lips part, the woman nipping at your ear lobe, her lips barely touching your flesh.  

Shayna wraps her arms around you, grinning when you noticeably shutter.  

“Maybe you’re not nervous, or tense... Maybe it’s something else?” She smirks, her eyes raking down your front.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding hard in your chest.  

“Wh-What do you mean...?” You ask, watching as a cocky smirk stretches across Shayna’s face.  

However, just as her lips part to speak, the door starts to creep open, giving Shayna the opportunity to make an escape, falling onto a nearby bench as you rest against the wall, your cheeks flushed, your disheveled state completely missed by Ruby Riott and Liv Morgan.  

You close your eyes, attempting to take a deep breath, completely missing the way that Shayna eyes you, the woman smirking.  

She had the effect on you that she’d been looking for.  

Now, she just had to go in for the kill.

Though, the more she thought about it, the more she realized you weren’t anything like the other women she’d been with before, far from it in fact.  

You were so different, that she didn’t think the relationship between the two of you would be ANYTHING like those before you, no, it was going to be something ENTIRELY different.  

                                                           ***

Shayna realized her feelings for you were different when you were cornered by Nia Jax backstage, the things she was feeling far more than the lust she was used to.  

Shayna makes her way hastily through the backstage area, following the sounds of shouting, that shouting enviably leading her to you, and by extension, Nia, Nia who currently has you pinned against a nearby wall.  

Nia lets you go seconds later, considering she’s busy attempting to pry Shayna Baszler’s arms from around her throat, though it’s to no avail.  

“Are you alright?” Shayna asks as she kneels down in front of you, Nia flat on the floor behind her, clutching her throat as she coughs.  

“Ye-Yeah.” You swallow hard, fear written on your face.  

Shayna snarls, helping you to your feet before she turns back towards Nia, the Samoan slowly moving to her feet.  

Brown orbs widen when suddenly, Nia falls to the backstage floor courtesy of a super kick to the head from your boot.  

Shayna turns towards you, the Cage Fighter smirking.  

“Impressive.”  

“Thanks.”  

                                                           ***

The dynamic between the two of you changed drastically after that, Shayna Baszler was no longer just the flirty, intimidating woman she was backstage, no, she was significantly softer, the woman smiling more around you, that smile far from the cocky one she portrayed on TV.  

Speak of the devil, a sweet covered Shayna Baszler flops down on a backstage crate beside you, the woman taking a deep breath.  

The woman turns to you with a small smile, unaware that she has a bit of blood trailing down her chin from a split lip.  

Shayna’s brows arch as you swipe her towel from around her neck, the woman’s cheeks flushing from more than exertion when you cup her cheek tenderly with one hand.  

Brown orbs dart around your face as you stick your tongue out in concentration, delicately wiping blood from Shayna’s chin.

“At least this time it’s YOUR blood on your face.” You tease, receiving no reply from the Queen of Spades, who can't’ seem to find words.  

You swallow hard, your eyes darting around the woman’s face as your thumb traces her bottom lip unconsciously.  

A loud noise pulls the two of you apart, the two of you bashfully turning away from one another, cheeks flushing red.  

You rub the back of your neck nervously, turning coyly towards her, your eyes locking with Shayna’s soft brown orbs.  

The second your eyes lock your heart flutters in your chest.  

Unbeknownst to you, Shayna’s does as well. 

                                                           ***

It wasn’t much of a surprise when yet again Nia made her presence known, the woman storming down to the ring as you secured a win over Lacey Evans.

The match you’d just had was grueling, beating a former #1 contender for the Smackdown Women’s Championship was far from easy, and now you had an angry Samoan making her way down to the ring.  

“Oh shit.”  

                                                           ***

The next time Shayna sees you, it’s in the trainer’s room, the trainer nursing your split lip, busted nose and black and blue eye.  

Shayna limps into the trainer’s room, nursing her own wounds as she makes her way towards you.

“I swear I’ll get her back for this.” She grimaces as she holds her ribs, brown orbs inspecting you closely, zeroing in on your swelling, bruised eye.  

The woman lets out a snarl, turning to head towards the door, without a doubt to go pick a fight with Nia, but you stop her, catching her wrist.  

“Stop, you’re worse off than I am, don’t go picking a fight when you’re injured.”  

Shayna growls, pulling her wrist out of your hold.  

“Don’t tell me what to do! You think I should just LET her hurt you and not do anything about it!?” She roars, your eyes widening at the complete look of ire on the woman’s face.  

“Just-

“No Y/N.” She growls. “I won’t let her get away with it.”  

You give her forearm a squeeze.  

“Please, stay...”  

Shayna takes a deep breath, turning towards you, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout tugging a her heart strings enough to get her to sit beside you on the trainer’s bed.  

“Fine.”  

                                                           ***

Shayna Baszler, was pissed.  

You weren’t even looking at her, and you knew it, the woman growling every time you winced or grimaced as the trainer did his best to stitch a gash that cut across your eyebrow.  

You let out a whine prompting Shayna to snarl.  

“Be careful.” She growls at the trainer who nods nervously.  

As the trainer works, you hear Shayna mumbling under her breath, unable to catch what she’s saying.  

Even as angry as Shayna was, she didn’t leave your side, the woman sitting right beside you as your eyebrow was stitched up, the woman’s hand on your forearm when the syringe full of numbing solution pierces your skin.  

The pain comes second, the feel of Shayna’s thumb running back and forth across your arm coming first.  

Shayna frowns at the wrinkle in your brow, the needle causing you obvious pain. 

“Easy.” Shayna snarls angrily at the trainer, the man swallowing hard.  

“I’m doing my best Ms. Baszler.”  

“Apparently your best isn’t-

Shayna goes silent when you grab her hand, giving it a squeeze, the Queen of Spades cheek’s flushing pink.  

“It’s alright.” You whisper, closing your eyes as the numbing takes hold.  

                                                           ***

Shayna remains silent for the remainder of the procedure, the woman watching intently as each stitch is made.  

The woman remains silent as she drives the two of you to your hotel, the woman focused entirely on the road.  

You fidget nervously in your seat, wondering what it was that had changed the dynamic between the two of you, the woman turning into the silent statue she was backstage when you weren’t around.  

You eventually get to the hotel, the Cage Fighter helping you to your room before she takes her leave, giving you a single nod before she disappears behind the closed door.  

You frown sadly, shuffling towards the bathroom.  

“What did I do wrong?”  

                                                           ***

Less than an hour passes before a hesitant knock sounds at your door, your brows furrowing as you shuffle to the locked door, tugging it open without even looking through the peephole.  

Your eyes widen when you realize the person behind the door was Shayna Baszler. She waits until you step to the side, the woman slipping into the room, the woman still entirely silent.  

The moment you turn around, your eyes widen, the crestfallen look on her face making you frown.  

“What’s wrong?” You ask as you make your way towards her, the woman avoiding eye contact.  

“I’m sorry I yelled at you in the trainer’s room... And I’m sorry I snapped at you...” She frowns. “I just...”  

Shayna’s eyes widen when you throw your arms around her, the woman stiffening within your arms.  

You’re about to pull back when Shayna’s arms slip around your middle, the woman giving you a gentle squeeze as she buries her nose in your neck.  

“I wasn’t angry at you.” She whispers. “I just want to tear Nia’s head off.” She growls and you snicker.  

“She isn’t worth it.”  

Shayna sighs, her nose brushing your neck.  

“But you are.”  

Your eyes widen as you pull back, your cheeks flushed as your Y/E/C orbs dart around her face.  

Shayna, much to your surprise, cups your cheeks, the woman scanning the recently stitched gash across your eyebrow.  

Boldly, she tilts her head back to press a kiss to the marred flesh, your eyes widening and cheeks flushing the second her lips touch your flesh.  

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” She frowns, your hands moving to cover hers.  

“You had your own issues to deal with...” You interlace your fingers with hers, the woman eyes fluttering shut as she rests her forehead against yours.  

“Still, I should’ve been there...”  

Your eyes flutter open, your eyes darting around the woman’s face, her brown orbs hidden behind her closed eyelids.  

It’s in that moment that you follow what your heart had been telling you all along, tilting your head back to press a kiss to Shayna’s lips.  

Shayna’s eyes flash open, the woman stiffening, forgetting ENTIRELY that she isn’t reciprocating.  

You pull back abruptly, your cheeks blood red.  

“I-I-I-I'm sorry I-

Shayna cuts you off midsentence, with her lips, lips that are softer than you could’ve ever possibly imagined.  

Shayna holds your waist in a way that contrasts her behavior immensely, her lips moving against yours in a tender and tantalizing dance that leaves you breathless.  

The two of you part, but not before Shayna closes the distance between you again, kissing you so soft it feels as if her lips aren’t even touching yours.  

Your eyes flutter open at roughly the same time, your Y/E/C orbs locking with Shayna’s soft brown orbs, eyes that sparkle with something you’d seen glimpses of before when looking into the woman’s eyes.  

“I’ve been wanting to do that...”  

“For a long time?” You finish, the woman grinning, her cheeks pink.  

“Ye-Yeah.”  

You smile grabbing Shayna by the front of her shirt and pulling her towards the bed.  

“Come on, let’s get to bed, I know you’re hurting too.” You give her a tug, the woman rolling her eyes.  

“I’m totally fi-OW!” Shayna winces when you give her a side a poke, the woman’s eyes narrowing.  

“Fine. Fine.” She grumbles as you pull her to the bed, the two of you sliding under the covers.  

You shuffle closer until your head makes contact with Shayna’s chest, the woman’s heart beating hard beneath your ear.  

You roll on your side, wrapping your arms around her, the woman beaming as she slips an arm around you.  

“I’m still tearing her head off next time I see her.” Shayna mumbles.  

You roll your eyes with a laugh.  

“Only if I get to help.”  

Shayna shrugs as she runs her fingers through your hair.  

“Maybe when I’m done with her.”

You scoff.  

“Who says YOU get retribution first?”  

Shayna smiles, watching as your eye lids flutter.

“How about the one who stays awake longest gets Nia first?” She smirks, the woman grinning when you growl.  

“That isn’t fair...” You pout, yawning as Shayna’s nails dig into your scalp.  

“Sleep Y/N...”  

You huff.  

“Fine, but I’ll get her second.” You yawn, your eyes fluttering shut.  

Shayna looks down at your sleeping face for a moment, grinning as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.  

“Of course, you will.”  

Shayna watches you sleep with a smile, the woman turning her head to kiss your temple.  

“Night Y/N.” She whispers, grinning when you sleepily reply.  

“Night Shay.”  

[kerra-and-company]

spiral

The first three months after Zhaitan’s defeat. (Or, the story of how the person widely considered “the best at emotions” was once absolutely horrible at managing her own.)

Warnings: depression, self-harm (in a very Kerra-specific way), feeling worthless, cognitive distortions (Kerra gets an idea into her head that is just...inaccurate)

Word count: 4466

I’ve been trying to work on this fic for a while, and it’s been really hard because Kerra’s my OC whose mental health issues are closest to my own. But it’s done now, and I’m sure it’s not perfect, but I’m proud of it, and it means a lot to me. So, here you go; hopefully this speaks to someone else, too.

(and @mystery-salad because forever ago you mentioned that you’d be interested in seeing this fic concept if I ever wrote it!)

It happened in the span of a single moment.

Trahearne had finally, finally joined the party. Rel had gotten his lute from who knows where and was taking song requests. Destiny’s Edge was talking and laughing, and she even saw Caithe smile. Everywhere Kerra looked, her friends and the rest of the Pact were drinking, chatting, relaxing, or dancing.

And, for once, no one was watching her.

So she tilted her head back, letting the sun and confetti (who brought confetti?) cover her face, giggling at the unfamiliar touch of colorful paper scraps. She spun around, arms outstretched and eyes closed and, miraculously, managing not to hit anyone.

It was pure, utter joy combined with I’m done, I did what I was made for, I’m done and I can just be me—

Kill the dragon.

Kerra stumbled. That couldn’t be right. Zhaitan was dead, and her Hunt was—

Kill the dragon, her mind insisted.

The world didn’t stop. It would have been easier if it had. Instead, the celebration continued, with laughter and Rel’s music as omnipresent noise.

It took everything in her not to scream.

****

The Pact wanted to lift her up on a pedestal for what she’d done. And she didn’t deserve it, so she had to leave.

She wrote notes to each of her friends and left them near their things, going mostly unnoticed as she slipped out of the party. Thank you for everything you’ve done, she said. I am going to where I can help the most, and that’s not here right now. I’ll come back.

I love you.

****

Her first stop was Caledon.

Cern was pleased to see her and told her stories of his new recruits taking down a particularly large troll in the swamps. Tatli and Cueyatl welcomed her into the Hazupl camp, and a few sylvari were there, too, talking to the hylek young. Llew gave her updates on Astorea—the defenses were holding, though Nightmare Court attacks had increased of late.

The only place she stayed overnight, though, was the Weeping Isle. Eona hugged her, congratulated her, and asked after Rel. She gave bare-bones information, took care of some wave riders, and fell asleep in the same guest room she’d taken earlier that year.

In her dreams, she walked a bloody battlefield, utterly alone. She saw so many dead faces, along with the living who mourned their losses. With each one she spotted, a memory flashed. Minei and Cio screaming and fighting to get back into the fortress on Claw Island. Ceera calling her “Commander of death.” Elli’s expression as she tore into the Risen marksman. Tybalt imploring her to trust him. Trahearne asking the Pale Tree for forgiveness as they closed the gate to Fort Trinity. The hate in Tiachren’s eyes slowly turning to fear as he died.

And above it all, the incessant drumbeat of this is your fault, your fault, your fault. You were Commander and this wasn’t what you were meant for and so every death is on your head and yours alone because you made a mistake. You pursued the wrong Hunt, and you will look at what you’ve done.

The land and the bodies went up in smoke, and she welcomed the flames even as she burned, too.

Come morning, Eona found Kerra’s bed neatly made and the Commander herself long gone.

****

In Kessex, the bandits put a price on her head.

In Sparkfly, the krait learned to flee from her on sight.

In Brisban, the Inquest cursed her as their labs exploded.

Sometimes, those she helped asked for her name. She began introducing herself as Lin. It felt…maybe not right, but right-adjacent, and it gave her a sense of distance.

Sometimes, they asked her to stay—an asuran krewe who appreciated her particular brand of dragon expertise, a rough-edged gladium who saw a kindred spirit, and a small human boy who watched her train the Claypool militia with wide eyes, to name a few.

She never stayed more than a few days. It tore her apart each time.

She slept less and less.

****

Felix worried more about her with every passing day.

Kerra could feel it, and she wished he wouldn’t, but she didn’t have the words to calm him.

“You can leave, dearheart, if this is too much,” she said once, softly. “You can leave if…if I’m too much.”

Not too much, never, Felix insisted, bumping his head into her thigh and letting out a deep purr. But you’re hurt. I want to help.

“You can’t.” It came out too sharp, and they both winced. “It’s…I’m not scratched, or stabbed, or corrupted. I didn’t break a bone.” I wish I had. I wish this pain was visible. I wish I had scars for all of them.

Some nights, she considered giving herself those scars.

That doesn’t make you not hurt, Felix insisted.

Kerra had nothing to say except but I deserve it, and she knew Felix wouldn’t want to hear that. So, she just pulled him onto her lap and against her chest, burying her face in his fur, eyes dry.

****

Her thoughts wouldn’t stop chasing each other in circles. Her Wyld Hunt pulsed at the back of her mind constantly, like the beginning of a headache.

Kill the dragon.

WHICH dragon? she’d scream back. It never answered, no matter how many times she asked.

But she could function on two hours of sleep a night. She could fight. She could help.

That’s all that mattered.

****

She stopped at the Black Citadel for provisions. She’d intended to avoid Rytlock, but one of his subordinates spotted her at a vendor’s stall and (as politely as possible) dragged her to his office.

“Commander!” Rytlock said, happily standing up and pushing his paperwork to the side. “Thought you were back at Fort Trinity.”

“I was,” Kerra said, just a little too shortly. “I’m on my way to Hoelbrak.” Not entirely false; she was indeed heading in that general direction.

“On foot?” Confusion. “You didn’t waypoint or take an airship?”

“I wanted to take the scenic route.” A small smirk, and, again, not entirely a lie.

“Fine by me.” Rytlock grinned, his smile very full of teeth. “Don’t suppose you’d care to help me take out a Flame Legion post before you leave?”

“I’d be happy to,” Kerra said, smiling back and inclining her head before turning on her heel and walking out the door. Felix followed close behind.

“Commander!” Rytlock shouted after her. He muttered something about “I was saying we’d go together,” but Kerra was halfway down the stairs by then and barely heard him.

The outpost was empty within three hours. Kerra was gone in four.

****

She’d stopped shielding her mind somewhere along the line. She couldn’t remember exactly when.

Emotions swirled through her, positive and negative and in-between. Most of them left, but their imprints remained.

She kept fighting. She kept killing, when necessary, and the pain grew and grew and grew. Her burden. Hers. Deserved, she thought.

She racked up invisible scars by the thousands.

****

As much as she told herself the pain was necessary, it also was exhausting—which is how she got her first serious injury since leaving Orr, forcibly bringing her spiral to a halt.

She was at Victor’s Point with a man named Gareth and his three children. Said children had performed some sort of ritual to summon a bear. The ritual instead managed to summon several dozen bears, and soon the homestead was overrun.

While Felix helped Gareth take down a particularly large bear, Kerra heard a scream from the nearby shed and whipped around, running as fast as her legs would carry her across the snow.

A child she hadn’t met yet, a small one with short white-blond hair, was cowering under a workbench. They held a pen in their right hand like a dagger, jabbing it in the direction of yet another bear trying to stick its head under the table. It growled at them, showcasing its set of sharp teeth.

Not wanting to risk hitting the child, Kerra unsheathed her dagger and leaped on top of the bear. But she’d underestimated its ferocity and overestimated her remaining strength, and it threw her off, slamming her into the stones of the nearby fireplace.

Holding her head, she tried to get up, but its claws gauged deep marks across her chest, and she dropped her dagger at the sudden spasm of pain. She scrambled backwards, shielding the child with her own body as they screamed. Felix roared somewhere in the distance.

She struggled to stay conscious as the bear reared up on its hind legs, trying to figure out if she could muster up enough energy to kick it in the stomach. But she didn’t have to.

A blue shield appeared around her—guardian magic, she thought deliriously. Logan? The mace that whacked the bear in the head was decidedly not Logan’s, though, and Logan wasn’t that tall, and his skin wasn’t that dark. But whoever this was, the child was safe.

“Hey, stay awake!” a voice called out urgently as her eyes slid shut. She heard a distinct crack in it and felt the owner’s concern for her. Funny, she thought in an unappreciated moment of irony, for them to care so much about someone they’ve never met.

****

Kerra must have dreamed, then, but all she remembered was what woke her up—yet another whisper of kill the dragondeep in the back of her mind.

She sat up with a jolt, nearly whacking her head on the beams above her.

Her savior was talking in hushed tones to Gareth nearby, but whatever they were saying was immediately drowned out by Felix, who meowed loudly and started purring at the top of his lungs. He gently butted his head against her shoulder. Thank you for staying. Don’t leave.

“I’m—” she coughed, clearing her throat and trying to ignore what felt like the worst headache of her life. “I’m okay, ‘Lix, I’m okay, I’m still here.” She gently laid a hand on his flank, and he turned his head and licked it with his rough tongue, making her laugh weakly and then wince as the action sent a flare of pain through her body.

“You sure you’re okay?” her mysterious savior said, approaching her bedside. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“I heal fast,” Kerra said, meeting their eyes. They were tall, but their face was young. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem,” the tall child said. “I’m Braham, he/him. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lin. She/her is fine. It’s nice to meet you, too.” A memory slotted into place, and she gasped, frantically looking around for her weapons. “Are the children all right? How long was I unconscious?”

“Easy!” Gareth said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture as he approached. “Yes, all the children are safe, and you were only out for about an hour or so.” He coughed meaningfully, and a snow-blond head peeked out from around his legs. “Mikkel is a bit shy, but he wanted me to thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mikkel,” Kerra said, her eyes softening as they met the child’s. “You were very brave, you know.”

The boy squeaked and hid again behind his father’s legs. Gareth just laughed. “I daresay he was! But that thanks comes from me as well, young one. We were lucky to have you with us today.”

“The thanks is appreciated, but unnecessary, Gareth,” Kerra replied, dipping her head a few inches. When she lifted it back up—slowly, struggling against the pounding in her head—she found Braham looking at her curiously. But he shook his head, seemingly dislodging whatever thought he’d had, and nodded.

“I’m glad you’re okay and that I could help, but I gotta get going,” he said, standing up.

“Where are you headed?” Kerra asked, leaning back slightly against the pillows.

“Hoelbrak,” Braham answered, frowning. “I need someone to help me defend my hometown, Craigstead—it’s been invaded by some group calling themselves the Molten Alliance. I figured asking Knut Whitebear was worth a shot.”

Kerra frowned, too, both at Braham’s words and at the implication of his tension and fear. “Who else did you ask?” And why didn’t you try Hoelbrak first?

“Tribune Brimstone. He didn’t believe me.”

“What didn’t he believe?”

Braham’s face closed, but she could feel his flare of anger; it wasn’t directed at her, though, not really. “With all due respect, sylvari, it’s not really your business—”

“I know Rytlock,” Kerra interrupted, ignoring Gareth’s shock and the way Mikkel’s eyes lit up. And though the last thing she wanted was to go back to Rytlock or any of her friends and hurt them again… “I can help; I’ve convinced him to get off his…behind…before. Let me help. What didn’t he believe? That your town was under attack?”

She could tell Braham wasn’t quite convinced that she was being honest, but he sighed and shrugged. “That, and the fact that my full name is Braham Eirsson. My mother—” He said the word with a disgust Kerra didn’t understand. “—is Eir Stegalkin.”

Kerra blinked. “Your mother is who?”

Braham crossed his arms. “You heard me.”

“No, I did, and I believe you—sorry. I just…” She trailed off, took a breath, and continued. “I know your mother, too, then. And I’m aware that I can’t move much at the moment, but if Whitebear doesn’t agree to help you, come back and find me. Either I’ll convince someone to help you, or I’ll do it myself.”

Surprise mixed with persistent disbelief and gratitude. “Okay, then. You’re an odd one, Lin.”

She laughed, dry and short, absorbing the flicker of pain that came with it. “So I’ve heard.” As he headed to the door, she added, “You better come back and at least let me know how things go, okay?”

It was Braham’s turn to laugh, though his was more sincere. He did a goofy half-bow-half-salute and said lightly, “You’ll be on my way, so sure thing, boss.”

****

Kerra wanted to leave. Gareth and his wife and his children were absolutely lovely, and she didn’t deserve any of it. But she was trapped in bed, healing. Careless.

She slept most of the time, waking up only to eat and pet Felix and thank Mikkel for bringing her water. Part of her wished she could just stay asleep, and part of her was absolutely desperate to move, to get out, to go anywhere but here where she was a burden and could do nothing. Always, constantly, back and forth.

I need to move.

You can’t.

I need to help.

You can’t do that, either.

I need to be worth something.

But you’re not.

I need you to shut up.

But I won’t.

I…I need my friends. And I need Trahearne and Caithe.

But you left them. They’re probably all angry with you.

You don’t know that.

And even if they’re not, you don’t deserve them.

…

Am I wrong?

****

On her fourth day at Victor’s Point, Kerra received a visitor.

Raised voices outside woke her. She rolled over to face the door, bringing her knees closer to her chest under the blankets.

“—asked you to state your business, sylvari.” Gareth’s voice. He was on edge and slightly angry.

“And I told you, I’m looking for Kerra. Is she here or not?”

Kerra’s eyes flew open in shock and recognition.

“There is no one by that name staying here,” Gareth replied. “I strongly suggest you try the next homestead.” A feeling of preparedness, as if his hand was on the hilt of his weapon.

Before she could think it through, Kerra called out, “Nisha?”

A brief scuffle and a shout, and the door banged open. Nisha’s clothes looked wrinkled, though still passably clean, and xe stood as tall as ever. And xe was scared and upset and relieved and so many other things that Kerra didn’t have the brainspace to work through.

Felix, however, didn’t have that problem. He leapt forward, and a very startled Nisha caught him in xyr arms. Xe stumbled backward into Gareth, who burst out laughing, animosity gone.

“Well, all right then! Lin, I see you know this person. Is it fine if I leave you two…” He glanced at a very loudly purring Felix, eyes twinkling. “Or you three to catch up?”

Nisha’s gaze caught hers and locked in, like the sight on one of xyr rifles.

Say yes.

Say no.

Say yes.

Say no. Say NO.

“Yes,” Kerra choked out, quiet but audible.

“Wonderful! I’ll be outside if you need me.” The door softly clicked shut behind him.

Silence for a few beats. Three, two, one.

Kerra took a deep breath and straightened, sitting up fully. “Hey,” she said tentatively.

Nisha gently set Felix down, a fierce edge in xyr eyes. Felix curled up next to the bed, eyes darting between the two.

“Hey?” Nisha repeated incredulously. “Hey?!”

Kerra flinched, and Nisha snapped xyr mouth shut with an audible click. When xe spoke next, xyr tone was flat. “Where have you been, exactly?”

“Helping people,” was all Kerra could say.

Nisha exhaled, frustration seeping off xem in waves. “My apologies. I should have phrased that better. Why did you leave Fort Trinity?”

“To help people,” Kerra repeated, helplessly.

“Why couldn’t you help people there?! I-I—” Nisha’s face twisted, though Kerra could see xem struggling to hide it. “You left us! And you didn’t say where you were going, not even to Trahearne or Caithe or my brother.” Xyr hand clenched into a fist, gripping and bunching up the fabric of xyr pants.

She had let them down. They were mad—at least Nisha was, and if xe was, probably everyone else was, too. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she started, “I’m s—”

“Do you have ANY idea how SCARED we were?!” Nisha shouted.

Kerra’s world screeched to a halt.

Wait. What?

“We could have lost you, and we would have had no way of knowing! You could have died, or disappeared, and none of us would have been able to do anything to stop it! We were terrified for you! And not because you’re not capable,” xe added hastily, brushing away tears on xyr own cheeks, and she’d made Nisha cry, she’d done that to xem, she’d hurt xem— “You are perhaps the best fighter I’ve ever met. That doesn’t mean you can’t die.”

Something cracked in Kerra’s heart.

“Why do you—what about all the people who died because of me?” she shouted back, her voice breaking. She threw herself out of bed and onto her feet, the blankets falling in a disorganized tangle behind her. “What about them?”

“What—we were fighting an Elder Dragon! People were going to die!” Both of Nisha’s fists were clenched now. “And I hate that, but it’s the truth! If you’re saying that you think we could have made it all the way to Zhaitan with no casualties—”

“No, no, I’m not, I—all their deaths are my fault!” Kerra’s tone made Felix’s ears flatten, and she ignored Nisha’s rush of utter shock. “I don’t understand why you’d want to find me!”

“Why in Tyria would they all be your fault?” Xyr brow furrowed, and xe took one step towards her. “I disagree with the basic principle, but even if the deaths were entirely on the Pact leadership, shouldn’t they also be Trahearne’s—”

“NO!”

“Why not?!”

“BECAUSE I WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE THE COMMANDER!”

The room went dead silent. Kerra abruptly realized she was breathing hard and sat down on the edge of her bed.

“I was given a Wyld Hunt to fight and kill a dragon, Nisha,” she said, staring down at her hands. “The Pale Mother and Caithe both told me that the dragon was Zhaitan, but it clearly wasn’t, because Zhaitan is dead, and my Wyld Hunt is very much still there. Which makes this the wrong path for me, and therefore every action I’ve taken that’s led to where we are, with so many dead, is my fault. I should have figured out I was targeting the wrong dragon, I should have done better, I should have…” She trailed off, overwhelmed.

Silence again. When Kerra looked up, she met Nisha’s eyes, staring directly into hers. Sadness. Anger. Frustration.

Xe cleared xyr throat twice before speaking. “You write your own future, Ker. You’re not beholden to that one.”

“But Mother told me—”

“Mothers can be WRONG!” The fabric of Nisha’s coat tore with a soft ripping sound. But just like with Braham, the anger wasn’t directed at Kerra.

“I was given this Hunt by the Dream!”

“Shoots and thorns!” Nisha yelled, xyr voice cracking. “Why are you so certain you chose wrong, that you made some sort of mistake? You can still complete your Hunt! You can go after all the dragons! And you know why you have that option?” Desperation. Determination. “Because of everything you’ve done, because you’re the Commander, whether or not your Mother and the Dream originally thought you should be! You took down Zhaitan! You proved that Elder Dragons can be defeated, and now you don’t have to fight them alone!”

Xe took a deep breath. “Yes, people died, and it’s horrible.” New tears pooled in xyr eyes. “I…I still miss Sieran. But their deaths are not all your fault, and you saved so many lives, too, and…and I brought these.”

Xe shrugged off xyr pack and fiddled around inside it, pulling out a stack of papers and dropping them on Kerra’s lap. She just blinked.

Nisha sighed, more out of frustration with xemself than with Kerra. “Can you just look at them, please?”

Kerra spread out the papers, making sure to catch a few stray sheets before they fell to the floor.

They were notes, every single one of them written in a different hand. In a quick scan, Kerra saw Caithe’s graceful but clear cursive, Elli’s “i's” dotted with little hearts, and Minei’s deliberately blocky print. She looked back up at Nisha.

“What…what are these?”

“It was Rel’s idea,” xe said, now looking anywhere but Kerra. She could feel xem trying to rein in xyr emotions, though it was a bit late for that. “You gave us all some, so he thought that, if I could find you, I should give you some from all of us.”

Words upon words upon words. Her eyes were drawn to them as if by a magnet.

From Demmi: Thanks for believing in me.

From Cio: You saw past the fire, and you’re one of the few.

From Trahearne: You are the reason I didn’t give up, little sister.

From Shashoo: Quaggan believes in you, Commander!

From Riel: You do good work, agent. Keep it up.

From Elli: Keep fighting, Kerry. You’re damn good at it.

From Minei: They’re not saying why we’re writing these, but you better come back so I can thank you in person.

From Caithe: You showed me new purpose, Valiant. Thank you.

From Rel: You’re my best friend, Ker, and I love you. Stay safe.

And there were more, from soldiers she’d talked to once or sparred with or comforted, and some from people she’d never met. They said thank you and you led us to victory and you saved me and you were a friend when I needed one and many, many variations.

Nisha coughed, and when xe spoke, xyr voice was thick. “I didn’t write one. I’m not a writer. But thank you, Kerra. You’re the third friend I’ve ever made, and I’m so glad I met you.”

“Can I hug you?” Kerra blurted, nearly cutting xem off. She didn’t expect xem to say yes, but she desperately hoped—and then the notes were being carefully placed on the desk, and Nisha was next to her on the bed with xyr arms around her, and Felix was purring loudly from his spot on the floor as he told her I love you, too.

Kerra hugged xem back tightly, hiding her face in xyr shoulder, and they stayed that way until both their shirts were soaked with tears.

****

An indeterminable amount of time later, Kerra pulled away, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I can’t do this on my own, you know,” she said, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards. I can’t go back alone. I won’t feel better if I’m alone. I need help, and I need my friends, and maybe that’s okay for me, too, just like it’s okay for everyone else. She met Nisha’s eyes. “Will you stay with me?”

“I just found you,” Nisha said, quiet but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kerra smiled in earnest, then. “Good. Because you can’t do this alone, either.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nisha said, eyebrows raising. Surprise. Indignance. Acceptance.

“Neither of us are okay,” Kerra said, thinking of Nisha shouting about mothers (and Nisha shouting at all, when xe always stayed so composed). “And we have other people—other friends, our siblings—but…” She felt her glow flare, warming her face. “I’ll help you, when you need it, and you’ll help me when I need it. That’s the deal.”

“I wasn’t aware we were making a deal.” Amusement. Warmth.

Kerra dipped her head slightly, never breaking eye contact. “We are.” Her smile grew. “You know,” she said cheekily, “you really shouldn’t question your Commander—”

“You are aware that I’m not technically part of the Pact, right?” Nisha interrupted.

It was barely even a joke, but it shattered whatever tension remained. Kerra burst into slightly broken (but still genuine) laughter, the calm after the storm. She felt Nisha’s happiness and saw xyr grin, and it pushed back the flood farther.

It was just enough. For the first time in weeks, she pulled up her shields, shutting the world’s emotions out. It was a relief and a letting go, and she almost started crying again, but Nisha’s presence held her together.

She was far from okay—the drumbeat of it’s all your fault and the Hunt’s repetition of kill the dragon were still very much there in her head. But people cared about her. She had proof of that, though she still didn’t understand it. She was important to them, so she had to keep herself safe.

Maybe someday she’d be able to do that just for herself.

For now, she’d take the help, and she’d start to heal. And when Braham came back, she’d leave, with Nisha.

But it was all right to stay here, just for now. She was safe, and she was loved.

And she felt like she was home.

[alexadru]

White Knight - In the dead of the night

It has been two days since what was now known as the Battle for Haven. An event which, unlike the Fall of Beacon, was kept under wraps from the general public, but it was by no means less important. 

Two days and the events that transpired were still fresh in the mind of one Weiss Schnee. Her fight against Vernal, against Hazel as well as her near death experience. The memory of her being impaled and the pain that followed was something she had not fully gotten over and yet it felt like a distant memory. Almost like it wasn't even real, but the thought had her lying awake in bed at this moment. It has been hours since everyone went to sleep and yet she still laid awake, the usually familiar sounds of Yang’s snores and Ruby’s occasional mid sleep chirps were now keeping her up after months of quiet at her home in Atlas.

That was a lie, of course. One she told herself to justify her current insomnia. The noises made by Ruby and Yang had nothing to do with the unease she was feeling, with how her mind and body refused to relax properly and fall asleep.

With a sigh, she quietly got out of bed, clad in her light blue nightgown, and tip toed outside the shared room without disturbing her roommates. The girl figured that maybe a glass of water from the kitchen and a few minutes of fresh air from the veranda would entice her eyelids to close eventually.

As she descended the stairs and entered the main living area, she was greeted with a surprising sight. On one of the red sofas laid the familiar figure of Jaune Arc, fast asleep. Briefly wondering why he wasn’t in his room, she quietly approached. 

Once next to him, she noticed his discarded weapon and armor on the floor, at least he had half the mind to sleep without them. She couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable it would have been.

It took little time for her to realize what was going on. He had been training late and was so exhausted he didn’t even make it to his bed. Instead, the blonde passed out on the sofa.

As to why on Remnant he was pushing himself so hard after they had just survived the hardest fight of their lives, she had no clue. Staring at the bunny image of his hoodie, Weiss couldn’t help but be confused by the boy in front of her. 

They had a tumultuous past at Beacon where he had been a constant annoyance for months with a perseverance unmatched by any suitors sent her way by her father. But then, the dance happened and all that changed. His advances stopped and it seemed that he had realized for the first time that he had been a pest to her. Not only that, he did a complete 180 and even asked Neptune to spend time with her. All for her sake.

Months later, after enduring the insincerity of the upper crust of Atlas, after finally standing up to her father and after surviving being a hostage to one of the most dangerous band of misfits on the continent, she had met him again.

He was different. A lot more subdued and quiet, the tragedy of Beacon forced him to grow and mature, just like her. However, that air of seriousness was something she didn’t dislike.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he started to shuffle, his body adjusted to a more comfortable position with his hoodie riding up on the sofa and exposing his torso. Despite being night time, some light entered the room through the windows and Weiss was drawn to the sight of his abdomen.

She blinked in surprise when she saw abs which were previously hidden by his cartoon themed hoodie. This... this wasn’t what she expected. She did not expect her eyes to stare straight at his abdominal muscles, nor did she expect them to be so defined. 

Without realizing, her hand hovered above his skin and, hesitantly, gave a feathery touch. Weiss had no idea what compelled her to act like this, but it was probably related to the unease she had been feeling all night. Yes, most definitely. She was totally not curious about Jaune's abs.

Slowly, she dragged her finger across his exposed body, feeling the slight bumps. He let out a soft groan which nearly froze her on the spot. Fingers left his skin as if it burned and she looked up to see if he had woken up. Mercifully, he was still asleep and Weiss released a breath.

At that point, the rational side of her mind told her that she should go get that glass of water and make her way back to her room. But her thoughts were still jumbled from her tiredness, unease and now an increasing curiosity for the boy in front of her. Against her better judgement, she went and poked his exposed abdomen again.

What started with a poke became more than two and fingers had become hands. The way she could feel the heat of his body under her palm was unlike anything else she had felt. Weiss had never had much physical contact during her life. She had shared hugs with Winter or her teammates, but this went beyond that. 

Before she realized, a few minutes later, she was straddling his lap with her hands carefully and eagerly roaming his abdominal region, enjoying the feel of his defined and strong musculature. Her cheeks burned as she continued to feel a warmth spread through her body. 

Weiss: "This is so wrong... what's wrong with me? What am I even doing?" She quietly asked no one in particular. 

Nevertheless, she got an answer. 

Jaune: "Yeah, I'd kind of like to know too." Weiss' blood froze as she slowly lifted her head and finally saw that the boy she was on top of had woken up.  

Jaune: "Weiss? ...what are you doing?"

He was looking at her, his blue eyes staring into her own, waiting for an explanation for the treatment she had been administering moments ago. 

The girl was at a loss and she felt panic build up inside of her. How was she going to explain this? 

Weiss: "This is a dream!" She blurted out.

Jaune: "A dream?" He began to rub his eyes with his palm to shake the tiredness. There was little success.

Weiss: "Y-yes! I am the manifestation of your deepest desire. I am here to fulfill all your p-pleasures with no exception." Involuntarily, her treacherous hands still roamed his abdomen.  

As Jaune blinked at her with bleary eyes, Weiss was screaming on the inside. Fulfill his pleasures!? What was wrong with her!? This was not damage control, it was the complete opposite!

Jaune: "I guess that makes sense." Came his tired response, his hand now covering a loud yawn. 

Watching him carefully, it was clear that he was still half asleep. How else would he buy her terrible reasoning? Wait… did he just say that it made sense for her to appear in his dreams? 

Thoughts began filling her head with possible scenarios in which she would appear in his dreams at night, some which had her cheeks turn red and make her look down where her hands laid on him. That was another mistake because she saw his chiseled torso again.

However, before she could say anything, the boy grabbed her shoulders with both hands, catching her off guard. Weiss was pulled against him, her body laying on top of his as she was held securely by his surprisingly large arms.

Weiss: "J-Jaune?" She muttered, unsure of what to make of his action. A bit of panic creeped up her spine. The girl didn't know if she should wait for him to say something or if she should break free and run to her room. Her mind picked the former.

The silence continued for a few minutes, before Jaune shuffled in his sleep again. This time he twisted on his side, bringing her small body with him, trapping her between him and the backrest of the sofa. It was a wonder how they both fit.

Weiss swallowed some saliva, feeling her heart thump in her neck. The closeness of their bodies was impossible to ignore at this point. The girl squirmed a bit in his hold, but to no avail. She was entirely pressed against his larger and sturdier figure with her chest squeezed against his. It was an uncomfortable sensation, unfamiliar and tense. 

Jaune: "You're… safe." Soft, delirious whispers came from his mouth, uttered from the depths of his subconscious. "...I'm glad."

When she heard those words, Weiss' mind put a stop to any other thought instantly. Urged by her feelings, she looked up to see his face. His words, full of emotion, called for her full attention.

Jaune: "So glad…" His tone got unstable as his voice began to crack, almost as if he was about to start crying. "...I didn't lose you too." Still under the impression that this was nothing but a dream, Jaune pulled 'dream' Weiss closer against him, like he was afraid that she would vanish if he didn't.   

The rawness of his mid sleep confession hit her like a hammer. 

In that moment it sank into her head just how close she had been to losing her life. To have her existence along with her feelings and dreams disappear in a single moment. An agonisingly long and cold moment.

The tenseness and unease she had been feeling was her subconscious trying to process that notion. That she had been fatally wounded and had been moments away from death.

All her training, studying and counselling couldn't have prepared her for the torrent of primal emotions that burst inside of her. 

Fear and terror of the likes which nearly crippled her On the spot.

In an instant, her hands snaked around Jaune's back and held onto him like a vice. Sharp nails dug into the material of his hoodie as the girl tried her best to hide herself from the world by burying herself against his chest. 

Weiss: "I'm here… I'm still here." She screamed the words in her mind from the top of her lungs, but on the outside they were barely even heard. 

Almost feeling her distress in his sleep, Jaune continued to hold her close and be that giant pillar she desperately needed in that moment. With slow motions, he rubbed her back with his hand, his fingers running through her snow white hair comfortingly, giving as much emotional support as he could.

It worked. 

Weiss relaxed slowly as she found comfort in his secure hold and the warmth of his body. Whereas before she felt unease from her position, now she practically melted in his arms. Her death grip lessened and now she simply returned his hug. It was an intimate embrace and it was everything that Weiss wanted in that moment.  

The exhaustion of the last few days hit Weiss hard and her eyelids grew heavy before she realized. She was finally lulled to sleep by the sound of Jaune's steady heartbeat.

[herewegobacktomoon]

I can’t keep up

This fanfic was inspired by a prompt left in the comments on , where theey asked me to write about a situation where Maya comes to Grey Sloan to go home together with Carina, but when she enters the office she finds her asleep on her desk after a long shift. I hope you’ll like it. Let me know what you think!

It was 7.30 pm and Maya had just finished her shift: it had been an endless day of work where they had to rescue an entire family whose house caught fire because of a gas leak, but putting it out had been way more difficult than they expected.

She was extremely tired, every part of her body was aching, except for her heart: it was beating fast, almost jumping out of her chest at the thought of finally being able to see Carina. On her way to the door, she tried to call Carina, so that she would have known where to wait her, but she didn't answer. She tried to call her again, two or three times, but there was no sign of Carina. Thinking that her girlfriend had probably got stuck in a long unexpected surgery, by the moment her shift should have been over at 6, she headed to Grey Sloan to see what was happening.

As soon as she stepped into the hospital, she bumped into Amelia Shepherd, who welcomed her all covered up, wearing two masks and a face shield to protect her, but with smiling eyes: “Hey Maya! How is it going? Have you come to rescue your girlfriend?” she said jokingly.

“Well, it's hard but everything's ok, luckily. What about you? Yes, I've come to look for her, she didn't answer my phone calls, so I thought she was in the middle of some kind of last-time surgery or stuff like that..” answered Maya smiling.

“Yes, we're all good, thanks! Ehm..Actually I haven't seen Carina for at least one hour, but she should be in her office. It has been a very tough day, above all for her...Go check on her, as you probably know, she doesn't talk too much about what she goes through...” Maya nodded in approval, now looking a bit concerned, thanking Amelia and heading straight to Carina's office.

As she entered the room, she said softly: “Hi bella, I've missed you. I tried to call you earlier but you didn't answer me. Is everything ok?”. After closing the door, she turned around, in order to be able to see Carina, and she couldn't help but smile. The Italian was all curled up, with her head on her desk, hiding between her arms, still with her scrub on: Maya could tell she had  fallen asleep at least an hour ago, as she didn't make a move at the sound of the door closing. She walked towards her, hesitating a little: she stared at her, with eyes full of love, thinking that Carina was the best thing that could have ever happened to her. Then she got closer and when she was right in front of her, she lowered to kiss her head, gently stroking it, but Carina didn't move.

Trying to wake her up without scaring her, Maya crouched, putting her hands on Carina's thighs, caressing them and looking up to her face: “Hey babe, wake up...are you ok?” she whispered. She didn't want to ruin her sleep, but she knew it wasn't good for her to sleep that way and in that office. After a few seconds, Carina slowly turned her head, struggling to open her eyes: as she saw Maya, she tried to put herself together, even though her movements were still a little bit delayed: “Oh my God, I'm sorry Bella, I was checking a patient's report and I must have fallen asleep. I'm sorry, I'm...” Carina anxiously stated, suddenly waken up by an as implacable as unexplained worry.

Maya smiled at her, pressing a soft kiss against her lips: “Don't worry bella, no problem for me. I've really enjoyed watching you while you were asleep. But tell me, how was your day?”

Carina grinned and added: “Well, you should have got me wake up as soon as you arrived! Anyway, I'm glad you're here. Today has been very tough...”

Before asking what happened, Maya focused her attention on her girlfriend's face: her cheeks were red, probably due to the pressure against the arms, but her eyes were red too, as if she had cried before falling asleep. She didn't want to ask too many questions, she would have preferred Carina to tell her about what had been going on, so she simply said: “Why? What happened?”.

Carina got up from her chair, taking Maya by the hand and leading her towards the couch she has in her office, and decided to sit down on it: the blond followed without saying a word. Tilting her head back, against the backrest of the couch, she replied. “I don't know, too many things going on: two surgeries, my brother, the pandemic itself... I can't keep up”.

Maya took her hand back in hers, and brought it to her mouth, in order to place a gentle kiss on it: “Oh babe, I'm sorry. Tell me everything, I'm here for you.”

Carina took a deep breath, then turned her head, looking at Maya, without saying a word. There was something between them which was new and inexplicable to both: their eyes could talk, no matter how many words they were thinking without being able to say them out loud. Their eyes could read them all. Indeed, Maya opened her arms, slowly twisting her body, so that Carina could come and rest against her chest, hidden in the warmth of her girlfriend's comforting hug, an offer she was only waiting for.

Now resting with her back pressing against her girlfriend's chest, she continued: “Today was really hard: as soon as I got here,there was an emergency with a woman in labour who needed to be operated, as her baby had been having trouble breathing and his heart had a very low pulse.<br /> We were able to get him out just in time, saving both the mama and the baby, but there were some complications with the woman so it lasted for about 4 hours.”

Carina sighed as if she could feel all the tension of that moment back in her body again: Maya noticed it, felt her stiffening, and started kissing her neck, then lowering to her shoulder and asked: “Wow, it must have been tough!! But you're an amazing doctor bella, you found the problem in time and this gave you the chance to save them!”. She would have liked to ask her about the second surgery, but she didn't know what had happened, so she didn't know what reactions her words could provoke, she didn't want to upset Carina, so she just waited for her to reply.

“Thank you bella, but I only did my job! Anyway, the second surgery didn't go as well as the first... I mean, both the baby and the mama were ok, actually there were even less complications than the previous surgery, but something dreadful happened. When the woman delivered the baby, by the moment she had been skipping her check-ups for the last 5 months, she didn't know her baby had a heart defect, and when she found it out, she decided to leave the baby at the hospital, she just didn't want that little girl any more...”. 

Her voice was broken and she titled her head back, now resting in the space between Maya's neck and shoulder, trying to keep all her tears inside. Without even seeing her eyes, Maya could tell she was about to cry: her breath was heavy and she was slowly sliding down the couch, as if she was trying to hide and disappear. In order to calm her and remind her she was not alone, Maya tightened her grip, took Carina's hands and started stroking them, moving then to her face, where she had arrived just in time to wipe the first tear Carina had shed.

“Oh babe, I'm so sorry you had to go through all this today. Sometimes, people just fear the worse: probably that woman was too afraid to face something like that. But it's not up to you, it's not your fault if she did what she did. You don't have to feel guilty. I know you don't show it too much, but I also know that you're the most sensitive person that exists in this world, even though you try to shut your feelings down, to avoid being disappointed. But this makes me love you even more.” said Maya warmly, delicately kissing  her girlfriend's red cheek, in the attempt of making her feel any better.

“I know, it's just that the thought of that little girl, left alone, even though she will probably find a family, really upsets me. I don't even know why...I'm not judging the woman's decision, I perfectly understand the fear, the worry and all, it's just that the idea of her being abandoned just because she isn't perfect makes me both angry and sad...it reminds me of...argh..” said Carina, before starting to cry again. 

Maya didn't get what she was talking about, but now it was not that important, she would have figured it out later: she made Carina turn around, now chest to chest, and hugged her without saying anything, every now and then lowering to kiss her girlfriend's head. She had always been that kind of person who trips up on her own words, never knowing what to say, but in that moment, it wouldn't have made any difference: Carina just needed her to be there, to be present, and she was trying her best to show it. Carina didn't move: she hid her head, pressing it on the blonde's chest, similarly to a kid who has just fallen down and got hurt. She just wanted to disappear in the warmth of Maya's body, pushing all her thoughts away. 

After some minutes in that position, all curled up, with Maya never loosening her grip and Carina feeling safer and safer between her arms, the latter tried to say something, with her voice still sounding broken: “I'm sorry bella, I don't know what happened to me... it's just that it reminds me of my childhood...”. She then wiped her tears, moving her hair away from her forehead, and placed a kiss on Maya's neck.

Her girlfriend, after pressing a light kiss against her nose, replied: “ You have nothing to apologize for. Hey, remember? I'm here for you, as you're here for me. It was you who taught me to talk about our problems. It's normal, things can get overwhelming for everyone, also for my very special and amazingly hot Italian doctor. What matters the most is that you don't have worries about reaching out for help. I love you Carina, and I want to stand by you, to laugh with you but also to help you when you need me to.”

Carina's heart skipped a beat: she was tired, her eyes teary, her hair a total mess, but her heart felt safe and knowing Maya was there for her made her calm down. “ I love you Maya. I don't know how you do this... you always arrive at the right time, using the right words and you make me feel better. It's incredible.” she said, hinting at a smile.

Maya giggled and raising her eyebrows, quite proudly, answered: “The secret is to never leave. And I'm not going anywhere without you.”

They both laughed at Maya's statement, and then cupped each other's faces: with all the tension created by the eye-contact they were making, they couldn't help but kissing, a long, gentle kiss which warmed them up.

A few minutes later, they were no longer lying, but sitting next to each other on the couch.

At first, Maya hesitated, but then she couldn't stop thinking about a word Carina had mentioned before breaking down, so she asked: “Hey, I was thinking about what you were saying before, and...I don't want to upset you, so if you don't want to talk about it, it's fine by me, but I was wondering...what did you mean when you said that the little girl reminded you of your childhood? Do you know people who have been through stuff like that? Or it's about you?”.

Carina knew that Maya would have asked about it, and probably she had tried to avoid that topic before just to wait that question, so that she had no excuses to keep it to herself. Without even acknowledging it, she started playing with her fingers and her rings, more in an insecure way than a nervous one, and Maya immediately noticed it, taking Carina's hands in hers, keeping on stroking them, gently rubbing her thumbs on them.

Carina looked at her wide blue loving eyes, and finally decided to open up: “When I was a little girl, back in Italy, and my parents divorced, my mum decided to come to the U.S. with Andrea, leaving me there with my dad. I know that she decided to bring him here with her instead of me because he was too little to handle my dad's problem, but I didn't use to see it that way... I've always had  that feeling that if I had been a better daughter, with better grades, with some plans in life, she would have probably brought me here too. But I wasn't as perfect as my little brother, and I've always felt as she had left me alone... I know it's stupid, I...”

Before she could finish, Maya immediately interrupted her: “It isn't stupid at all. It's your feelings Carina and they matter. I'm sure your mama didn't mean to leave you, or think of you as her “imperfect daughter”. Probably she made a wrong choice, but that doesn't mean that what you feel is stupid, let alone unimportant.” She then looked at the Italian who was carefully listening to her and added: “Hey come here, I want to show you something...”

Carina was caught by surprise, but she got closer to her, curious to see what she had in mind.

They stood up, Maya still holding Carina's hands: “Close your eyes.” she said, putting one of her girlfriend's hand right on her chest, so that it could feel her heartbeat. Then, she leaned to place on Carina's lips an endless kiss.

After taking a deep breath, recovering from that feeling, she asked: “What did you feel? The first thing that comes to your mind?”

The Italian hadn't got the point yet, but she replied with a smirk: “Well, your heart feels like you've just won your second gold medal, it's beating really fast.”

Maya couldn't help but giggle and said: “Not that you're wrong, but I just proved my point”.

Carina now looked even more confused: “ I don't think I'm following you.”

Maya continued: “We've just kissed, and I could tell it wasn't just me who enjoyed it, but still the first thing you noticed is how I reacted to it, instead of focusing on the emotions it provoked to you. What I am saying is that you care too much about other people, which is not bad at all, but you often forget yourself. You have to learn to listen to your heart first, to your feelings: I know that it was probably screaming my name and you didn't want to give me the satisfaction, but I need you to remember one thing. You are important, you matter, always.”

Carina smirked at such a self-confidence, which she knew was only an attempt from Maya to steal her a smile, but her eyes were now teary again, this time for joy, because Maya's words had truly moved her. 

“I don't know what to say, you amazes me every time. I couldn't be any luckier in life. I love you bella, I truly do” the Italian said warmly, pressing her forehead against Maya's.

It was 8.45 pm, they had spent more than one hour talking in that office so they decided it would be better to head home.

After picking up all her stuff, Carina walked towards the door, followed by Maya, who was looking forward to going home. Out of the blue, before stepping outside the office, the Italian turned around towards Maya and said: “Oh, anyway... I forgot to say that you, Captain, would have probably arrived second if our hearts had to compete... the gold medalist is Italian this time!”

Maya smirked, in the softest possible way, kissed her girlfriend and replied: “Well, if so... my honour to lose, then.”