#who have pointed out how uncomfortable it is to have a black police officer say lines like

[bronzewool]

I still love Across the Spider-Verse, but it seems like a missed opportunity to not have Spider-Gwen as the centrepiece for the "Canon Event"

Miguel is objectively wrong about Miles and upholding the status quo, when we see multiple examples of Spider-People not following all listed canon events in order to wear the mask. But his obsession with Miles' dad in particular feels contrived due to how Miles' universe does not have a Captain Stacy and needs to backtrack on itself and say, "Uh, no, we meant there needs to be a dead police captain in every canon event, regardless of who said captain is."

That's oddly specific?

I'm sorry, am I meant to feel bad that the multiverse itself said, "Fuck ACAB", because that's metal and Hobie's dream come true.

Gwen's entire character is tied to the Multiverse's canon event. Gwen dies in almost every universe, and she confirms this when talking to Miles. She is an anomaly. Gwen was not meant to get the spider bite, but she did, and ended up trading places with her universe's Peter Parker, who died in her place.

The first movie does not have time to dive into her inner turmoil over being flung into another universe and seeing multiple examples of her childhood best friend, alive, and the one to put on the mask. We dive more into her survivor's guilt in the second movie, but again we don't really have time to linger on how fucked up it must be for her to meet so many people with Peter's face, and knowing that there is a version of her in every universe who does not get a happy ending. Who always dies. She cannot find one multiverse where they're both alive, go to prom, and have a life together.

Gwen and Miles have so much in common, but for some reason, Miles as a anomaly is a bigger deal than Gwen as a anomaly.

[aheavenofhell]

Okay okay okay okay, I think it’s time to voice why the Aziraphale hate bothers me so much—and I know I shouldn’t take it personally but—

GODDAMMIT I WILL TAKE IT PERSONALLY!

The way some of the fandom is reacting to Aziraphale leaving is giving very much the same unwelcoming vibes I got trying to make queer friends when I first came out of the closet and church. I was at an impasse, because while yes, the church didn’t accept me and I had to leave it—

I didn’t get accepted there either.

I got long shit talks about Christianity and how Christian love is really just hate and etc etc and the thing is, the thing is—

They didn’t realize! You don’t realize! People who didn’t grow up devoutly religious don’t realize! When you are reared one way, born surrounded by people telling you one thing is the Ultimate Truth and if you question or disobey you LITERALLY GO TO HELL AND BURN FOREVER you end up with some not so good beliefs/choices! Because you, remember, whole-heartedly believe that anything else is eternal punishment.

And I’m not out here trying to justify everything Christians do or anything like that, that’s not my point. My point is that as a little girl I was taught Abraham was right for trying to kill Isaac, and the belief that he wasn’t was a secret I kept in my chest whenever I heard the story, because I was afraid of literal divine retribution.

All these things I was taught, all these things repeated over and over again in my ears over the course of most of my life, have had a huge impact on how I behave to this day, even if I don’t necessarily believe the same things anymore. Because you don’t just get to live in that kind of fear and anxiety and shame for that long and come out unscathed.

And it is very, very hard not to go back. I think a lot of people don’t realize this about escaping a certain belief system. It’s fucking hard not to revert back to what has, despite it’s inherent discomfort, become comfortable. To accept the fact that you spent the majority of your life dedicated to the wrong thing. Do you know how painful it is to realize that? The sense of purpose you lose?

So yeah. I understand Aziraphale’s decision. I understand being uncomfortable in the grey. I understand still believing there’s a way to be Good with the capital G. Probably above all that I understand wanting to fix things. Ha! That’s what I said as a police explorer at 14. There’s even a little news clip of me, somewhere on the web, saying just that. I want to change things from the inside, I told the local reporter. I want to be a good cop.

And it took me a little bit to realize that that wasn’t something I could take on. That my anger over the injustice happening at the hands of police officers would not be resolved by becoming a police officer that Doesn’t Do That. That I couldn’t right their wrongs just by simply being the good one.

I still believe in trying to do the right thing. I still believe there’s some universal rights and wrongs, albeit only a few. But I’ve learned, over a very slow period of time, to look into those grey areas. To abandon the black and white.

Aziraphale is on his way to figuring that out too. But man, that shit is hard.

[bangtan-in-black]

Fruits of my labour // ch2

“Are you really my appa?” Hyungsik asks excitedly, walking along with the man who had just collected him from his friend's house.

“I am son,” the man dressed in all black smiles at his son’s excitement.

“Wait! What about eomma?” Hyungsik asks as he tugs on the long black trench coat made of soft material.

“Eomma said we should spend some time together, just us. You ok with that buddy?”

Hyungsik hums and makes that face, the face he always makes when he’s in thought.

“Can we get some chicken? I always love the chicken eomma makes.” The young boy asks curiously.

“We can do whatever you want son.” Taehyung hums.

“Ohh can we go to the toy store then? I’ve only been to one once. I want to see all the toys, I don’t have many but I like to look at them.” Hyungsik exclaims happily.

“Of course, shall we go to the toy store first? That way you can play with your new toys while we wait for our food.” Taehyung suggests, prying Hyungsik’s small fingers off of his coat.

Instead he wraps his larger hands around Hyungsik's smaller ones.

“Wait appa, you don’t have to buy me anything. I’m okay with just going to look.” Hyungsik tries desperately to explain.

Taehyung ignores him.

“Nonsense, we’ll go to the biggest store I know, how does that sound? My son deserves to be spoiled.” Taehyung leans down and kisses his son's cheek.

“Appa.” Hyungsik blushes, happy to be there, with his dad.

“Ahhh!” Hyungsik shrieks but that slowly turns into laughter as Taehyung pulls him up into his arms.

“No son of mine should have to walk in such old uncomfortable shoes. Come we will get you some shoes as well.”

“Thank you appa but please don’t waste your money on me. Eomma says we always have to be responsible with money because we don’t have a lot.” Taehyung listens thoughtfully to his son.

“It’s ok son, I have more money then your mother. What’s the point if I don’t spoil my angel a little bit?”

“Ok, does that mean I get to pick?”

“Yes, my son can pick his own shoes.” Taehyung pinches his son's cheek. Hyungsik looks away, giggling happily. Taehyung gazed at his son, happiness overcomes him, happiness mixed with a fiery anger.

‘How dare she keep him away from me for so long?’

“What do you mean?! He doesn’t have a dad! I don’t even know who his dad is!” Your throat was raw from shouting at the woman standing in front of you.

“Please don’t shout in front of my son on his birthday.” The woman, Mrs Park quips.

“That’s really what’s important to you right now!? My son is missing!” Tears fall down your cheeks, your breathing harsh, your mind fading into a questioning haze.

What if you never found him again?

Who took him?

What are they doing to him?

You needed your baby back.

“Ma’am please calm down, come sit here.” A gentle voice and an accompanying hand leads you to the nearby couch.

“Can you tell me all that you remember from today ma’am? don’t spare a single detail.” The police officer orders, pulling out his notepad.

“Well we had breakfast, got dressed and then came here, we weren’t allowed in as we were told there was going to be too many people but Hyungsik was as he’s one of Jaesung’s best friends, we went to get ice cream at a nearby park and waited until it was time to come collect Hyungsik. That’s when I received a message from Mrs Park telling me she let my son go with some stranger.”

“Maam we’ll do everything we can to find him ok? But you really need to breathe now.” You nod rapidly at the officer's words but you can’t seem to bring yourself to calm down your breathing.

“Mrs Park, what does the man look like?” Another officer at the scene asks,

“Like a model, all I can tell you is he was wearing all black, his hair was black and he had eyes that could make you want to rip your clothes off in a second.” Mrs Park smiles, but it’s bitter and more like a sneer.

You couldn’t control yourself, you scream, a bloodcurdling and pained scream.

“Eomma, will he be ok? Will Hyung be ok?” Douhyun asks, his voice soft trying to remain calm, but everyone in the room could hear the tremble in his voice.

“What the hell are you doing!? Mrs park, you let him go off with some stranger!?” Yerum shouts, red in the face, but the teenager was equally as terrifying as if it were a police officer or a low level mob boss shouting.

“Kid you really need to calm down,” a third police officer approaches and tries to place his hands on Yerum’s shoulders in an attempt to calm his breathing. Yerum’s elbows fly back, landing on the officer's stomach.

The officer trips backwards a groan leaving his lips as his hands clasp where he had been struck.

Yerum didn’t seem to notice as he was still busy shouting at Mrs Park, who had also started shaking slightly, her eyes that were once dry as a bone were now tearing up.

“You better start crying you bitch,” Yerum spits the vilest insults and you can’t seem to do anything other than sit there and listen.

“My brother could be walking towards his death because of you so whatever you remember you better spit it out and do it with some decorum.” Yerum stutters on the last word as if he’s struggling to pronounce it, it slightly undercuts his menacing tone.

Mrs Park nods before glancing around at the room, she sees you have calmed down slightly but your chest was still moving rapidly. Her son Jaesung was sitting solemnly next to Douhyun who was crying buckets, they wanted their best friend back. And Yerum, as Mrs Park comes to make eye contact with Yerum, the officer he had knocked down had gotten back up and was watching the situation closely.

“I’ll start from the beginning.”

[mikeo56]

I think we can all agree recent years have been a golden era for opponents of free speech:

Riot cops will take a truncheon to your bonce if you hold a sign saying “Prince Andrew is a sweaty nonce”; counter-terrorism police will break down your door if you get too many likes posting “Free Palestine”; you can be banned from Facebook for sharing factual information (to protect the public from misinformation); tech CEOs who aren’t censoring enough can be arrested and forced into compliance; and a guy in Berlin was prosecuted for satirical use of a Swastika by Germans who are supporting another holocaust. Thankfully, these censorship rules don’t go too far…

For example, you can say racist things about immigrants and refugees and this means you have “genuine concerns”. You can tell a Jew who opposes genocide, they’re the “wrong type of Jew” and that is totally fine. Real racism is when you disagree with the establishment.

Thankfully, our hate speech laws are targeting the real racists: ethnic minorities who challenge the establishment, and anyone who thinks Palestinians count as human beings.

Nothing gets a white supremacist aroused faster than telling black and brown women they’re the real racists. Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that police arrested Marieh Hussein when she held up a sign at a protest, depicting Rishi Sunak and Suella Braverman as coconuts, just because their policies blasted brown people to pieces. Anti-genocide protesters are so unreasonable.

The people who hate cancel culture were fully supportive of Marieha’s arrest and wanted her to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This is because you have no right to offend people like us, you bastard fucking snowflake idiot cuntfaces, fuck you! Being offensive is only acceptable when we do it.

Normal Island News is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

One of Marieha’s most ridiculous defences was that she was using satire to highlight the hypocrisy of our politicians. All I can say is anyone who would resort to satire is a child who is incapable of articulating themselves in a grownup manner. Personally, I would ban all satire, unless it’s pro-government satire, of course. We should all learn to punch down, not up.

An Asian woman cannot depict Asian politicians as coconuts, but Asian politicians can tell Asians to fuck off back to where they came from. “How can they be racist when they’re criticising their own race?” is only an acceptable argument when you’re punching down.

Absolutely no one at the anti-genocide protests felt Marieha’s placard caused them “alarm or distress”, but days later, police saw the sign online and decided they should have felt alarm and distress. Clearly, everyone who saw the sign on the day was wrong. Therefore, Marieha needed to be punished to protect the people who weren’t alarmed or distressed.

You might not be able to get a police officer to visit your house when you’ve been burgled, but you can rest assured officers are focusing on the important stuff.

Metropolitan Police recently announced they have a dedicated thought police officer who trawls the internet to identify thought crimes. It appears the decision to arrest Marieha was made when attention was drawn to a photo on social media. It was at this point the thought police officer yelled: “Yes! I’ve caught my first thought criminal!” and eagerly arranged for Marieha to be dragged to Room 101. I’m unclear why she was ever allowed out. Due process is so unnecessary.

One of the more heart-warming aspects of this story is that Marieha was eight months pregnant when she was forced to stand trial, making the process extremely uncomfortable for her.

Marieha’s lawyer argued in court that anti-racists should have “the right to criticise members of their own race for pursuing racist policies”. How anyone can think politicians should be criticised for being racist is beyond me.

The prosecution could not present a single witness to testify they were alarmed or distressed by Marieha’s coconut sign. I’m unclear why they never asked me, because I, a white woman, would have gladly lectured ethnic minorities about their racist opposition to racism. This could have been my moment.

It’s a national disgrace that Marieha was acquitted of the Aggravated Public Order Offence (thought crime). Horrifyingly, the judge decided the thought crime was fine because it came under the “genre of political satire”. All I can say is anyone who appreciates political satire is a fucking weirdo who should be shunned by civilised society. What is wrong with these people?

Understandably, the thought police were devasted by the court verdict, A spokesperson said: “While we did not get the outcome we deserved, at least we vindictively made a mother suffer during the final stages of her pregnancy and put the health of her unborn baby in jeopardy. She will think twice about upsetting the establishment again, won’t she?”

[brownflower23]

Not My Father

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

*Mature Content Warning*

Summary: Reader gets arrested at a bar. Her boss comes to save her, but after months of frustration she doesn't get the response she expects. However, she receives much more than she can handle. 

"That pervert is lucky all I did was break his nose" You roll your eyes at officer idiot questioning you. Treating you as some sort of criminal, when in actuality you put the worst of criminals away. "Well we called your supervisor; you can take it up with him" The officer snickered, a lump instantly formed in your throat.

"You called who?" You yell at the dumbstruck officer in front of you, clearly not expecting your panicked response. Just after the words left your mouth, your boss crossed the barrier into the holding room. Your stomach instantly flipped, as if you had been caught by a parent as a child. Your eyes meeting his; he stared with the same scolding glare you were expecting. The same look you'd seen many times; it always gave you chills. However, you had never been the one sitting on this side of the table feeling its full force. He folded his arms tightly over his broad chest, eyes lingering at the cuffs connected to your wrist.

At that moment, you couldn't find words to defend what he was seeing, you could only imagine his thoughts. Your barely appropriate dress, your makeup, unlike anything he had seen at work. He finally peeled his eyes off of you, somehow that making you feel even worse.

"Please remove the cuffs, I can handle it from here. Thank you again for the call." Hotch finally spoke, but only to the officer, nodding to him. He returned the nod and quickly walked over removing your restraints.

"Thanks." You gripped at the idiot who arrested you, rolling your eyes at him again. Hotch shot you a warning glare, causing you to sigh while massaging your wrists. This night was utter bullshit. The officer finally left the room, you stood expecting to follow.

"Where do you think you're going?" His stern voice forcing your body to freeze, sending chills down your entire spine. "Um, I thought I was allowed to leave." You replied without looking directly at him, you didn't think you could handle it right now. "You have nothing to say for yourself?" Hotch scoffed.

"I'm sorry?" You questioned, failing to sound sincere. He doesn't respond this time, after an uncomfortable moment of silence you finally looked to meet his stare. He let out a frustrated sigh "Let's go. Before I change my mind." He cautions before leading us through the police station, again thanking the captain and same officer.

"Where is my car?" You ask once outside after you were returned your phone and I.D. "I'm guessing still at the bar you were picked up at, or by now at a towing company. You can deal with that in the morning, get in." He answers not stopping his strides toward the black SUV. You hurry to enter, afraid he might leave you here, the cool night air sending additional chills over your body, still buzzing from earlier.

The ride has an eerie silence, you had never made Hotch this mad at you, the feeling honestly made you want to hurl. You notice you aren't familiar with the street signs you were passing. "Can I ask where we are going?" You break the silence. "My place." He answers blankly, not removing his attention from the road. "Why?" You dare to question. "Because it is late, and you were picked up from a bar." He shot back gripping the steering wheel tighter, not seeming to give you another option.

After ten more agonizing minutes, he finally pulls into a parking garage. You quickly jump out of the car, following Hotch through a few hallways. You felt a wave of awkwardness once he finally stopped at the door. He quickly unlocked it and opened the door for you. You look at the open door, feeling like it was a threshold you shouldn't enter.

"Look I'm fine, I can call a cab to take me to my car." You insist, still not crossing the threshold. "No. You shouldn't be driving, you can stay here." He replied like it was an order. "We aren't at work." You spat not believing him. "Lower your voice, your yelling will wake others." He corrected you again, you noticing the clenching of his jaw. You groaned pushing past him into the apartment.

"Look I appreciate this but.." you start to continue your previous argument but his deep voice cuts you off. "You're correct agent, we are not at work. Meaning, that I did not have to leave my home in the middle of the night, coming to save you from being thrown in jail. You're lucky Jack is away or you would've been there until Monday." He chastised you again, but this time he was right. Although; still being a dick to you of all people.

"I didn't ask you to, I didn't even tell them I was an agent so don't try to make me feel guilty." You plead your case as he began to walk away. "I'm not trying to make you feel anything, maybe if you had more control of your actions you wouldn't be in this situation." He argues turning back in your direction. You finally noticed his different appearance, no jacket or tie, but jeans with an athletic shirt, his hair not styled but falling casually onto his face.

"I don't even want to be in this situation, I'll just go to my car." You huff turning back walking to the door. You just reached the handle, when a large hand came in your line of sight, pushing against the door.

"I'm not letting you leave like this. I don't know your mental state." You hear spoken close behind you. You spin on your heels, slightly taken back by how close your boss was to you. "I promise I'm fine. I wasn't drunk, and it's been hours." You roll your eyes again. "Obviously not, I have never seen you act like this." His voice was desperately trying to hide his frustration with you for the evening, you could see his chest rising against the fitted shirt.

"What? Not perfectly following your orders? Not everyone is perfect like you Hotch." You were yelling at this point, and you didn't care. You had never seen a person with more patience and composure than Hotch, but you finally broke him. "You allegedly assaulted someone at a bar drunk, get arrested, risk your career, the reputation of the BAU, and my credibility as Supervisor. You honestly think you should go back out right now?" He yelled back shocking you, feeling his minty breath fan across your face.

"You don't even know my side of the story!" You gasp at his assumptions. "How am I supposed to when you wouldn't tell me?" He hisses, still holding his same position, you had never seen such fire in his eyes.

"You are not my fucking father Hotch" You yell again, refusing to let him overpower you.

Your back hit the door with a thud, causing you to groan into his mouth. His hands gripping onto your hips roughly, pulling your bodies as close as possible. One of your hands latching his shoulder to steady yourself, while your other tugged at his soft hair.

"Then stop being a damn brat" He all out growls directly in your face, not missing a beat. Your not sure who moves first, you honestly think it was instantaneous, but before you blinked your mouths clash desperately, hands frantically grasping onto wherever you could reach first.

You purposely tugged harder, retrieving a groan from him, hearing it igniting a hunger in you. His lips slightly parted, so you took advantage sliding your tongue over his, still determined not to be overpowered.

Your control is short-lived, as he shifts his leg up, making you gasp at the contact, your head craning against the cold door. Even on your tiptoes, you couldn't relieve the pressure, perching you upon his thick thigh, causing your dress to bunch leaving only your damp underwear as a barrier.

"Did you think after your little game, I'd let you control me, sweetheart?" He huffs against your ear, in an even deeper tone than he usually held. You had never been affected by a pet name, but just coming from him made your walls clench, further agonizing you. You finally open your eyes, batting up at his dark eyes innocently. "I don't know what you mean" you smirk. You felt a low chuckle in his chest, and then you were swiftly moved, flipping you to face the door.

"I'm having a hard time believing that y/n. You've spent months purposely teasing and frustrating me. This..." he pauses his sentence, using his foot to spread your ankles, gripping your wrist together. "Is exactly what you wanted correct?" He completes the question as a whisper against your ear, making you shutter against him. You weren't giving in that easy.

"I honestly didn't think you had it in you...old man." You further push him, knowing your slight age difference being one of the things you regularly tease him about. He groans lowly at your words, pushing you harder against the door. "I still remember exactly how to handle a brat like you"

He punctuates the end of his sentence by effortlessly ripping your thin underwear from under your skirt, throwing the torn fabric to the floor. You shook at the cool air hitting your core, finally noticing how wet you were. His fingers brush over your center, gently spreading your arousal. You bite your lip to keep in the moans your body desperately want to release.

"Then why are you so wet for me sweetheart, hum?" Hotch hums in your ear, pushing his thick finger slowly into your pussy. You don't bother trying to hold in your moans this time, overwhelmed by the feeling of your muscles clenching around this finger, attempting to take it as deep as possible.

As if a single finger wasn't enough, he added a second stretching you delightfully. You scratch against his hand, as if some sort of plea, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop as you could feel the pleasure building in your stomach. "Something wrong?" He coos arrogantly, watching your face morphing, as your pants of pleasure increase.

"Nothing" You manage to smart back without it sounding completely of a moan. By this point, you drenched his fingers, coating them entirely, letting him fuck his fingers into you as fast as he pleased. You hear a faint growl come deep from Hotch's chest, almost sounding frustrated. "Don't you lie to me; If you are not honest you don't get what you want sweetheart" "And what do I want?" You laugh through a heavy breath.

He shifts an unoccupied finger up to graze your clit every time his fingers plunge into you, making you gasp against the cold door. He leans down to your neck, tickling your skin with his beard. "To be fucked like you wish those boys you entertain would fuck you." Hearing your boss talk like that sends you spiraling, throwing your head back onto his chest to support you as your legs began to feel weak. Just as you clench around his fingers he retracts them, leaving you dripping down your thigh, craving satisfaction.

"What the fuck?" You yell spinning quickly to face him, he catches you by the neck placing you against the door again. Your breath caught, you felt like you didn't have a voice with his large hand around your throat. The way he was staring at you, like his prey. It made your knees weak.

He lifts his other hand between your bodies, you could see his middle fingers glistening. He keeps his eyes nailed to yours, you still trying to calm your pathetic pants. Your mouth gapes as you watch him take the fingers in his mouth, he groans out twirling his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment savoring your taste. You were fucked.

He removes his fingers slowly, still watching you staring at him with big doe eyes. Then wiping the edge of his mouth with his hand. "Watch it, sweetheart. I'm not sure if you haven't caught on... but I always give the orders. You will not cum until I allow." You whimper loudly at his declaration, you had never had a man command you like this, but you couldn't deny the effect it was having on your body.

"I'll do what you say." You whisper, barely audible, looking away from his eyes. Loosening his hand on your neck, using it to make you look back up to him. A faint smirk now played at the corner of his lips. "What was that?" He lightly chuckles. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"I said I'll do what you say. Happy?" You return the smirk. "Hmm, honestly I thought you'd be harder to break. I think you're just trying to get what you want." He informs you, moving his face closer to yours. You shrug your shoulders innocently. "Is it working?" You breathe against his lips before gripping onto his shirt pulling him flush against you.

His mouth explores yours again; it's without a doubt the best kiss of your life. He was so skilled in his movements, and how he taunted you with his hands without actually pleasuring you. Maybe you had been dealing with boys before.

Hotch gripping into your hips, lifting you slightly before walking your bodies away from the door. You hardly notice he was moving you until your legs hit the back of a couch. He instantly spun you around making you a bit dizzy, folding you at the waist over the couch.

You couldn't help the smirk that grew on your face hearing the chime of his belt buckle, you were getting exactly what you wanted. "I wouldn't gloat so quickly y/n" Hotch warns. You try to look back to observe but cannot move from him keeping a hand on your neck, pushing your chest into the oversized cushion.

"And I shouldn't because?" You entertain his warning. "Because this" is the only answer he provides, and you then feel the pressure. That of him forcing his cock in you with a single plunge, burying himself to your brim, ripping through any defiance left in you.

"Aaron!" You scream out his first name, gasping for the air he just knocked from your stomach. He was massive, stretching you uncomfortably, you didn't have to see it to know you had never taken a cock this big. You were also sinfully a sucker for pain.

"Fuck" he groans above you, surly your tightness was affecting him also. You knew that he rammed into you purposely, not wanting you to be able to conform to his size before punishing you.

He made the single motion again, burying himself again and stopping, making you cry out again. "What's wrong sweetheart? A brat like you can take it right?" His breathing is labored now, one hand still tightly holding you down, the other now roughly gripping your hip. He repeats the same hard single thrust, you can feel tears building at your lashes. The way he filled you was overwhelming.

"Please" you beg, squirming under him. You weren't sure what you were begging for at this point, you just needed him. Every time he stills you could feel his cock pulsing deep in you, not delivering enough pleasure to relieve you, but only to further drive you mad.

"Oh, now you want to do what you're told huh? Now you beg like a pathetic whore." He responds with another snap of his hips. You couldn't take much more, you felt as if you could combust at any second. "Aaron I can't..please" you cry, feeling the tears stream over your face, he had finally broken you.

"Go ahead baby, call me what you really want. Go ahead." He groans, pulling your head back by a fist full of your hair. He didn't have to say it, you knew exactly what he meant, and he knew you wanted it. So you let everything out, all the months of frustration boiling over.

"Daddy, please...I'm yours...please" You wish you could've recorded the sound that escaped Aaron at that moment, a loud groan mixed with a needy whine. Matched by feeling his cock twitch inside you, struggling to stay composed hearing that name.

He throws his hips into you again, but this time it follows with another quick thrust, over and over, filling the room with a slapping noise and your moans. He keeps your hair pulled back, making your body hold the arch for him to angle deeper, brushing your g spot with each hard thrust.

"Yes yes yes, don't stop" You scream, him finally giving you what you needed. "Can you take it, baby? You're so damn tight" He grunts, you weren't going to last with him calling you baby. "Yes, daddy, harder please" you plea, wanting him to ruin you. He grants your wish, fucking you harder, you gasping feeling it all the way in your stomach. You would certainly be bruised tomorrow, but the pain would be worth it.

"Fuck daddy. So good... so fucking deep." You cry, feeling your body begin to tingle, your legs shaking against him. He groans feeling you tightening "Cum for daddy sweetheart." He encourages through his heavy breaths, and that's all it takes to make your body snap. He slows his motions slightly letting you ride out your orgasm, your walls still fluttering around his thick cock.

He releases your head, you not having the energy to stay upright you letting it hang down against the couch. "Shit that's was amazing" You whisper, causing him to chuckle and slowly begin to move into you again. Your eyes flash open realizing he still hadn't finished.

"Aaron I can't" you whine, your body couldn't possibly take more of this. "Oh I'm not finished, and neither are you" He growls in your ear, you couldn't help but moan out at his tone. "I can't take anymore" You whine again, only fueling him. He releases the hand that was holding you, now gripping onto both of your hips harshly, definitely leaving a mark. There was no reason to restrain you anymore, he knew you were his.

Hotch returns to the same pace he held previously, causing your eyes to roll back as you yelp, grasping onto the couch for dear life it felt. "Don't forget your place sweetheart. You're done when I say brat..." he pauses his sentence, repositioning one of his hands to your front. "And I think you can give me one more." He states as he set fire to your body rubbing fiercely over your clit, steadily pushing himself deep, determined to make you unravel again.

"Daddy" You scream, feeling your body giving in to him, his thrust becoming frantic, his moans become beastly with each thrust. "Give it to me y/n. Ahh... fuck. I know you want to baby." Is his final pleasuring cry to take you with him, as he made a final slap against your body to sheathe himself fully.

"Oh, Aaron" Is all you can cry as the air hitches in your throat. All at once, your body erupts again, feeling him filling you with his seed. Grasping onto him to anchor yourself to reality, uncertain this level if euphoria is real, or if you'll ever get to relive it again.

Drained of any energy, your body collapses into his, feeling his arms catch you and lifting you sweetly into his embrace. Although; unable to open your eyes, you feel him carefully carrying you, and then the soft cushion of a bed. You weren't sure how long he was gone, but your body slightly jumps at the feeling of a wet cloth between your thighs.

"Wha..what are you doing?" You mutter against a pillow and hear him softly laugh at you. "I've got you, sweetheart, just rest" He replies in a very tender voice. He softly wipes your leg, erasing the proof of your shared pleasure. Even half-conscious you had never felt so adored. Following; you feel him slide the heels off your feet, and then tug at the end of your dress to remove it. Your dress is finally off, and you feel it would be silly to care about after the deed you two just committed.

You are only naked for a couple of seconds before he wiggles a soft t-shirt over your body, oversized enough to be a nightgown. It smells strongly of him, which comforted you, but not as much as him pulling you into his bare chest, kissing your forehead just as you slip into an exhausted sleep.

Please let me know if this should be turned into a short series! Thanks loves!

[erensthottie]

Bonnie & Clyde — 1

[Eren Jaeger x black f!reader]

[Song] ‘03 Bonnie & Clyde | Jay Z & Beyoncé

[Warnings] swearing, use of marijuana, act of robbery, a bit of sexual activity, mention of blood

BLRRRRRRR

“WOO! Fuck yeah! Let’s go!” One of the robbers yells as he runs out of the bank smiling big with two duffel bags full of money. Smiling with him, another taller than the first runs behind him to the food truck that the getaway driver awaits in.

Running out with more duffel bags in y’all hands, you and Eren race out to the truck. Helping you in, the robbers take the bags throwing them in, and grabs onto your hands so you can jump into the moving truck.

Just then you guys hear the sound of police sirens blaring from around the bend. Coming at full speed they drift the corner, accelerating to catch up to y’all. Making eye contact with one of the officers, you smirk, blowing them a kiss and a wink before you and Eren close the doors.

“Step on it Alert!” Eren yells to Armin in the driver's seat.

Taking your seats, you sat in Eren’s lap, legging draping over his as you enveloped your arms around his neck full out making out with him. His hands rest on your lower back and outer thigh pulling you close to him, tilting his head to the side, deepening the kiss even more.

“Your so bad you know that?” He smirks at you, slapping you on your thigh making you jump, giggling and smiling pulling him back in.

“What now boss?” One of the robbers asks as he takes off his mask. The same one who ran out first.

“Yeah, boss?” The other one, the taller one adds in.

Eren stops kissing you for a minute, still holding onto you looking at both men.

“Well, Connie… Jean. Now, we celebrate.” He smiles looking back at you.

“What’d you say beautiful?” He rubs your thigh, eyes never leaving yours.

Face getting warm and your body heating up, you softly nod with a low hum, looking right at him, leaning back into him for another kiss which he gladly accepts.

“Yeah!” Everyone cheers.

“Yes sir.” The men voice, bowing and taking their half into their duffel bag.

“Sir, the chef has informed me that dinner is prepared and ready.” A man with freckles told to Eren.

“Sir, the chef has informed me that dinner is prepared and ready.” A man with freckles told to Eren.

He grunts and makes his way to the route of the master bedroom which you currently stayed.

“You guys can take a plate, me and Y/n will take our share later.” He says as he walks over to the elevator down the hall. Getting in, he presses the third floor and leans back on the railing.

“Beautiful?” He calls as he walks into the living room from the elevator making his way to the room.

“Yes, darling?” You walk out, leaning against the door frame in a small lingerie dress that barely covered your thighs and ass.

Eren's eyes widen and his face turns red as he stops in his tracks. Dropping the bag, Eren lowers his head smiling, tongue poking his cheek while he scratches his chin. He slowly tilts his head back, with low eyes and inspecting your beautiful and amazing body in the sensual and seductive outfit.

"You know," he starts as he untucks his dress shirt, undoing the buttons on it then throwing it somewhere in the living room making his way toward your direction.

"You really are something right. This all for me beautiful?"

Eren unbuckles his belt allowing it to cascade to the wood tiles. Only inches away from you know, he wraps an arm around your body and pulls you close enough, placing a hand on the back of your neck guiding you to lean into the kiss.

You both makeout, entangled in each other pleasure blindly navigating through the room and successfully finding the bed tumbling right onto it while being able to not break the kiss.

"The things that you do to me. It makes me crazy, makes me fucking mad. I want you, I need you, I need your love and your body so bad. Let me make love to you. Let me hold you and tell you everything you crave hear while I go into your deepest places till I reach that sweet, sweet womb of yours and make you cum over and over on my dick. The same one that you love and cherish with your life." Eren slowly grinds his hips into yours, lips moving down your neck leaving open kisses in their waking.

"Will you let me do that beautiful? Do you permit me to reclaim you over and over again? Tell you I love you? Cum deep into your wet and tight pussy that I love and adore with all my life? Will you?"

Overwhelmed with all the oversensitivity and the burning pit deep in your stomach, you desperately nod your head as you repeat, "Yes... yes, yes, yes. Please~"

<3

"Nah Jaeger, you cheatin' out here." Connie says as Eren puts down a draw four card on the deck in the center of the table.

"No I ain't," he smirks taking a puff of the blunt before passing it onto Armin.

"I'm simply just playing the game Con."

"Cap! Y/n can't be helping you pick out your cards, that's straight bull." Jean points to you settled behind Eren's chair, giggling, eyes red and lidded as you stick your tongue out at him only for him to respond with a playful gasp and clutch chest.

"Oh please, Y/n could do whatever she feels like horseface." Eren quips leaning his head back to wink at you.

"Hey! I don't have a horseface you pigeon." Jean claps back.

Everyone including you burst out in laughter, unable to hold it in being that you all are under the influence.

“Marco, it's your turn.” Connie softly nudged at the man spaced out after putting his card down.

Marco blinks a few times to stop himself before looking at the cards in his hand and selected two number five cards, or what he thought were two six cards.

“Ayo, yo, pick up two fo’ your mistake!” Jean says as he starts to pull out cards for him.

“Huh? How?” he protests.

“Fuck is this?” Armin picks up the yellow six and nine card that he had put down.

“Ohhh.”

“Ohhhhh.” Jean mocked.

“Leave me alone, I'm smacked aight?” Marco explains taking the cards from Jean.

“Uno,” Eren says wiggling his last card in between his fingers.

Armin went a place down and a red draw two, leaning back in his chair with a smile, taking another puff before pasting the blunt to Jean “Uno.”

Eren daps him up telling him ‘that's what's up.’

“How the fuck y'all got Uno already?” Jean takes a hit inhaling picking out his cards and putting them down before passing on the blunt to Connie.

Taking his turn with the blunt and cards, he skipped Marco and Eren pointing to Armin to go.

Eren gives him a death look and shakes his head.

“Hey, it's just how the game is played.” he put his hands up passing the blunt to Marco who was once again spaced out.

“Dude, just go to sleep, Y/n will take over for you.” Connie shakes him back to consciousness.

“Yeah, I'll take ‘em for you.” you smile and take his cards taking his place in the chair before hugging him goodnight.

“Another hit Y/n?”

You nod taking the blunt from Connie and taking a deep inhale of the smoke and holding it before exhaling it out through your nose.

“Ou, he got some good cards,” you say sorting out the cards in your hand before you put down four skips.

“WOW!!” Jean and Connie say in unison.

“That's what we doin’ now beautiful?” Eren looks at you, holding the card to his chin.

“As Connie said before, that's just how the game is played.” you retort sending him a kiss.

“Hey, hey. Don't put me in this.” Connie said.

“I’ma getchu back don't worry.” Eren declares.

“Threat or a promise?” you test him.

“Take it how you wanna beautiful.” he jerks his eyebrow.

“If y’all wanna fuck just say da, damn.” Armin snarky remarks make Jean and Connie fall out of their chairs laughing.

“Shuddup Armin.” you joke laughing along.

Continuing with the game, you place down a reverse card making the rotation go counterclockwise. Connie went and put down a plus two to which Jean added another one. Armin then grinned at them putting down his last card, draw four saying ‘uno out’.

All eyes on Eren he looks back at everyone before looking at you.

“I told you I'll get you back right?”

Without saying more words he placed down a draw four on top of Armin’s. Everyone in the group gasps and ooh’s while they look between you and Eren.

“Pick up eight beautiful.” he says as he caresses your cheek.

You gasp, “Oh my God, noooo.”

“It doesn't work like that baby.” you say as you kiss his hand putting down an additional draw four card making the total 12.

From across you, you heard someone stifle their laugh, snorting in the process. You turn to see Armin with his hand over his mouth face slowly turning red from now breathing. He shakingly points his finger towards Connie’s direction. You turn in confusion and see him with a straight face, looking at the pile of cards.

“Connie…”

Everyone except him and you die of laughter, toppling over. He softly places the cards on the table, scooting his chair out, rising and walking away.

“No, No Connie wait!! I’m sorry!” you try your hardest not to laugh, trailing behind him, slightly stumbling from feeling high. He didn't answer only continuing to walk till he walked to his room, entering and softly closing his door.

“FUCK!!”

Y'all hear him yells at the top of his lungs and you laugh even harder than before. It's probably the hardest that y'all ever laughed in your life. You're laid out on the floor, holding your stomach as tears come out of your eyes and you buffer in place silently laughing. Eren laughing loudly head held back stomping his feet on the floor. Jean once again on the floor also laid out like you, shaking in laughter and he screams out with laughter, having that Windex bottle laugh. Armin jumping in his chair, wheezing and crying once in a while snorting loud as hell.

“Did something happen?” Marco voiced.

He was in front of y'all, rubbing his eyes in his oversized onesie with his blanket wrapped around him. That only made everyone succumb to laughter. Armin fell out of his chair onto the floor, Eren slouched in his chair in an uncomfortable position, Jean face down into the carpet and you on your back in an almost starfish position.

Marco freaks out, runs to each of your sides to check up on you only to be met with snores and soft breathing. Y'all laughed yourselves to sleep, who the fuck does that shit? Being as caring as he is, Marco uses the couch cushions and places them under each of the guy's heads, and covered them with blankets, even leveling Eren’s legs so he could be more comfortable. He picks you off the ground being sure not to wake you up and puts you on the big couch right by Eren covering you with a blanket as well.

He cleans up and puts out the rest of the light blunt in the ashtray and packs up the Uno cards. Turn off the light and whispers goodnight before leaving to his room.

All rights reserved to @erensthottie

Reblogs are allowed

[hxnmantii]

Class 1-A and their car habits

tw: crack/fluff, cursing

People: Bakugo, Shoto, Izuku, Sero, Kiri, iida, Mina x mostly gn!reader (Mina is the only one that’s implied female!reader)

Ratings: PG

A/n: yuuhh get into💋 I personally would like to ride with Shoto. I just wanna hold his hand👉🏾👈🏾 but not on no simp shit. Originally, this was going to be just boys but who would I be if my gay self didn’t add the queen herself? Anyways, Who would you like to ride with?

Bakugo~

Bakugo does that sexy ass thing where he drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand on your thigh and when you don’t pay him enough attention he’ll lightly squeeze your thigh. This man does NOT share the aux....his stingy ass. He says he doesn’t wanna listen “to your trash music” but will play bxmb threat and NBA Youngboy at full capacity with the windows down. If you beg enough maybe he’ll play 1 Nicki song. But he will throw a fit and act like he doesn’t like Nicki even though he knows all of the lyrics. Altough he’s really uptight about his car, he enjoys driving and picking up the Bakusquad in it because he likes to feel useful and needed. No doubt about it, this man has road rage. He’s screaming outside the window and in the car about how someone cut him off and when someone screams back him, he’s like “Pull over right now cuz those sound like fighting words to me.” Now y’all in the back of a cop car and 30 minutes late to your dinner date. You are not, I repeat, you are NOT allowed to even think about eating in his car unless he’s got that plastic wrapping on his car. He treats his car so good (at some point you think he likes the care better than you) her name is Bethany. I-

Shoto~

Shoto has one hand on the wheel and one hand in your hand, stroking your hand from time to time and kissing the back of it. He had a sleek gray sliver car with a sunroom (he never actually uses) that goes fast and he likes going real fast because what they gon do, give him a ticket??? When his dad the number one hero??? Try again. He’s also the type to flick off the cops as he driving by because ACAB. He’s always wearing a gold Rolex and you got your nails done so when you hold his, the acrylics compliment his hand and watch.(like the pictures from Pinterest) You guys ride in comfortable silence. It’s so calming riding with him because although you’re slightly anxious with how fast he’s going, you’re at somewhat ease because he’s doing it so smoothly and you trust him. His windows are tinted because once again he’s the son of a pro hero and people are nosy, neither you or him like that. Although you don’t really need the assistance with Shoto being a living AC and heater in one, his seats have buttons for each seat and you can warm your bum. His car had the clean car smell...it just smells really clean. He’s got a bunch of condiments and napkins in his glove department. He doesn’t know where they came from. His whole vibe in his car is rich and elegant. He gets his car professional wash every Tuesday and you are required to come.

Kirishima

Kiri’s got a big ass red GMC truck and he gave the truck these monster wheels so it’s a force to be reckoned with. Her name is Sophie and like Bakugo, he loves her dearly but makes it clear to you that he’s love you more than her. He does the sexy ass thing where he’s got one hand on the wheel and one hand tightly holding on to your head rest so his arms flexing and he’s backing up with a concentrated look. that is so hot to me. He’s got a sticker on the back that says “honk if you’re manly” . He definitely would let you take the aux because you guys made a playlist of songs you chose together. He would be the type to start dancing when a good song came on, almost hitting someone in the process because he took both hands off the steering wheel out of excitement. He’s got road rage but not enough to actually start shouting or flicking someone off. In the trunk of Kirishima’s car, he’s got at least 5 different protein bottles as well a case of water and some jump rope. He says “You never know when I’ll need it to work out” but he has his personal gym?? Anyways, he has a specific section in his closet for red button ups because he likes to match Sophie when he drives her😭 I hate to say it but Kiri looks like a hill billy especially since he’s got those shoulder cut out button ups. He’s cute with it and he’s happy so you somewhat tolerate it

Midoriya

Izuku has more of a family car like a soccer mom car or a dark green Ford explore because he likes to pick everybody up to hang out and he needs space since he’s got a lot of them. Not to mention, he also likes to cruise and enjoy his time with you no matter where y’all go because we all know this man is a simppp. At every stop light, he’s gently grabbing your face and either kissing you on your cheek or forehead. He tried giving you a kiss on the lips once but he got so caught on the feeling that he ended up holding up the line and everybody was honking and made at him. He was so embarrassed that he now waits til you guys get to your destination to do all that extraness. Being the big fan he is, naturally he has some All might themed seatbelts and has all might stickers all over his steering wheel. He also has little all Might figurine on his dashboard that he prays to get him out of car trouble. Genuinely think it’s works too. Izuku in his trunk has a bunch of workout gear and gaze cuz he’s sexy like that. He does not have road rage at all....maybe a little. He might flick someone off but that’s as far as it goes. He definitely gives you the aux because he loves watching how lively you get it. (Y/n) “Do you know your Megan baby?”🥰 (ZuZu) “Y-yes?”

Iida

Now hear me out...Iida has a motorcycle. He’s got a need for speed that cars can’t really fufill because you can’t weave through other cars like a motorcycle can. His motorcycle has the highest tech on it naturally. It’s all black but has lights underneath it so he can change it by phone and ofc it’s always blue. You guys also have matching helmets that are Bluetooth so you’re able to talk to one another without having to yell very much. When you guise stop, he rubbing your arms to make sure that you’re okay and/if you need to pull over. Now when he’s not riding the motorcycle he’s got a Tesla. He preaches about the law and following the rules but when he get in the car, that’s a different story. With him you better either hold on tight to him or you better get double seat belt buckles for extra protection because he’s about to try and race the flash. (And you thought Shoto was bad) You get out thanking the universe for letting you touch ground again. Iida got the type of car that if you even breathe incorrectly around it, it’s going off and waking up the whole damn neighborhood. When iida first got his car, he read everything up on it so he would be fully able to use the car to its full potiential meaning that he’s got Siri set up, he can lock the door from his car, and watch the cameras on his house through the screen of his car. The Bluetooth is automatically connected to his phone so no you will not be getting the aux but you can play some tunes form his phone. He’ll even make you a playlist on Apple Music with his rich self.

Sero

Sero’s got a red convertible with tan seats and the weather allows it, his top is always down. His car always smells so good because he uses the wild cherry air freshener in his car. He blasts bad bunny and daddy Yankee as y’all are cruising slightly over the speed light. He also likes blasting Ski Mask. He’s the type to sing you the words while gently holding your face and singing to you with a lovey dovey smile on his face. He’s very respectful and turns down his music when entering neighborhoods because he doesn’t wanna mess with the vibes. You two have matching glasses that says queen/ king on yours and king on his. He definitely has some throw dice hanging from his mirror along with a picture of you and him taped to his dashboard cuz he’s also a simp. He’s always has a packet of Extra gum in his middle console along with warm water bottles. If police pulls him over, he definitely the type to start flirting with him so the officer just to make him uncomfortable enough to let him off with a warning. For a fact, he has the Puerto Rican flag on the antenna of his car. He has Led lights and likes them to be colorful rather than on one color. Sero definitely jogs around the front to open the door for you because he’s a jester and a gentleman in one. His part of his car is that the top can go down solely for the fact that the sun always highlights your skins so well.

Mina

Do I even need to say anything about the Pink queen herself?? She has a cute pink steering wheel case with matching pink seats and ofc she has a bedazzled stick shift. She has a Jeep. She the type of person to has matching glasses with her interior and when you get in the car, she’s putting her music on shuffle: a dangerous move because you go from Brent Faiyaz to Jhene Aiki to fucking Cardi B, Flo Mili, and etc. When you unbuckle your seat to start twerking in the seat, she’s automatically going to start hyping you up. She’s got one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on your ass smacking it as you fuck it up in the passenger seat. Y’all are literally swerving from side to side and let’s be honest here, Mina is not that good of a driver so you have almost gotten in an accident multiple times. She’s the type to pull over to take cute selfies or videos with you and post them all at once captioning it with “Late nights w/bae”. Underneath seat she an emergency packet filled with makeup, clothes, hair and first aid kit supplies. Although she’s not the best driver, she takes the rules really serious because she would hate to have an accident with you in the car. Like Sero, She has led lights in her car but they only flash pink. Mina is the queen of putting falsies on so she would mostly definitely put yours on (without tweezers) once you park as well as do your edges if you ask. She just has that talent. *chefs kiss* amazing

Reblogs are appreciated!

A/n: I’m lyin I definitely would be riding with Bakugo because I have major passenger rod rage lol and you definitely don’t wanna get your ass beat TWICE

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Three

chapter two - Chapter Three: Ceasefire - chapter four

Series Masterlist

Plot: Bucky, Sam and Y/n visit Baltimore and unearth a long kept, heartbreaking secret. Bucky and Y/n’s tension comes to a head when they meet with Dr. Raynor.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: spoilers for episode. 2, angst, language, racial undertones, racial profiling, PTSD, mention of torture, mention of suicide, fluffy angst, Walker is an asshole and Y/n is a bad bitch, the start of the slow burn 🔥

A/N: This shit was heavy to write because of the subject matter so hopefully the fluff towards the end makes up for all the angst I’m about to put you through lol. Honestly, it’s so hard to write this series not having the ending of the show yet 😂 Like I’m trying to build this and I know where I need it to go but it all depends on the show. This week’s episode was 👀 and I’m already drafting in my head. Anyways, enjoy!

----

Military craft bathrooms, I had found out, were not an ideal place to apply makeup.

I had woken up in the early morning hours stiff, achy and with a deep purple bruise on my cheek. I’d done my best to conceal it as to not attract attention wherever Bucky was taking us, but I wasn’t a magician.

Sam and I had yet to speak about me going home, but the tense exchange we’d shared before I passed out still hung over us. It wasn’t like we’d never fought, but the reasoning had never been over one of our lives being endangered. I didn’t want to leave him, but it was futile to argue the point.

The neighborhood that we were passing through didn’t look all that different from New Orleans. Bucky still had yet to tell us who we were here to see, only that it was important that Sam met him. I was done asking questions and trailed behind them on the sidewalk, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets and my head hung in defeat. I’d tried to do the superhero thing and failed miserably.

“Hey, it’s Black Falcon! What’s up?” “It’s just Falcon, kid,” Sam replied to the boy sat in front of a chain-linked fence with his friend.

“No, no, my daddy told me it’s Black Falcon,” the kid insisted. 

Sam stopped in front of them, “Is it because I’m black and I’m the Falcon?” “Well, technically, I mean, yes,” he shrugged. “So are you, like, Black Kid?” The kid’s friend burst into laughter and Sam did the same, “I got him, right?”

“Whatever, man…” the kid sat down, I was just about to pass him when he stopped me, “Are you a superhero too?” Sam stopped and looked back at me, his lips pressed in a thin frown. His eyes were sympathetic but I wasn’t in any mood to discuss my unsuccessful attempt to enter his world. I gave a sad smile to the kid, “No, I’m not.” I patted his shoulder and left, Sam chose to walk with me instead of ahead of me.

Bucky was already on the house’s front porch when we climbed the stairs, he banged on the door marked with a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. We waited a few seconds before it opened to reveal a boy, 16 or 17 maybe.

“We’re here to see Isaiah,” Bucky said. “Nobody named Isaiah live here,” the teen replied.

“Look, we just want to talk to him,” Bucky gently pushed.

“You must not hear what I just said, you ain’t getting in this house. Ya’ll can leave now.” Bucky dropped his head and shut his eyes, looking as if what he was about to say pained him. “Tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here,” his voice dropped, “He’s gonna know what that means.”

The boy’s eyes bounced between the three of us before backing away from the door, “All right, wait here.” “Nice kid,” Sam commented once he was gone, “How do you know this guy?” “I used to, we had a skirmish during the Korean War,” Bucky explained. The screened door opened once again to reveal the teen, “Today’s your lucky day. He said he wanna see for himself.”

Bucky led the way inside followed by Sam and I. Where the living room met the dining room was where a tall, grey haired black man stood. “Isaiah,” Bucky greeted him as we stepped inside. “Look at you,” Isaiah said, taking cautious steps toward Bucky. “This is, uh, Sam. Sam, this is Isaiah,” Bucky raised his hand toward the man, “He was a hero. One of the ones that HYDRA feared the most, like Steve. We met in ’51.”

“If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah,” Isaiah interrupted to correct Bucky’s inaccurate storytelling. “We heard whispers he was on the peninsula, but everyone they sent after him, never came back. So the U.S. military dropped me behind the line to go deal with him,” he spat the last part of the sentence. “I took half that metal arm in that fight in Goyang, but I see he’s managed to grow it back. I just wanted to see if he got the arm back or if he’d come to kill me.” I watched over Sam’s shoulder as Bucky shook his head. “I’m not a killer anymore,” his voice hitched slightly.

“You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be? It doesn’t work like that,” Isaiah’s voice hardened, “Well, maybe it does for folks like you.” There was a pause as Bucky collected himself before we got to the heart of the matter, “Isaiah, the reason we’re here is because there’s more of you and me out there.” 

“You and me…” Isaiah seethed, his eyes boring into Bucky.

“And we need to know how…” “I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” Isaiah growled before picking up a metal tin and flinging it across the room. Sam threw an arm out to shield me but the tin lodged itself in the wooden paneling of the walls. With that power at his age, Isaiah was undoubtably a Super Soldier. 

He took deliberate steps toward us till he stood only a foot away from Bucky. “You know what they did to me for being a hero? They put my ass in jail,” Isaiah’s voice broke, the traumatic memories were hitting him as he spoke, “For thirty years. People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren’t done with me.” “Isaiah…” Sam said carefully.

“Get out of my house!” Sam and I startled at the sudden noise, but I didn’t fault Isaiah for his reaction. My heart broke for him in fact. Tears had welled in my eyes as he told us fragments of his life, my hand slipped to my mouth to prevent my sobs from escaping. Bucky turned away first, leading me out as Isaiah’s presumed grandson did the same to Sam. He pushed ahead of us both, every emotion possible playing out on his face.

“Sam…” Bucky began as we descended the front steps of the house.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isaiah? How could nobody bring him up?” Sam angrily pointed a finger towards Bucky, who remained quiet as the three of us walked down the middle of the road. “I asked you a question, Bucky.” “I know…” “Steve didn’t know about him?” Sam asked.

“He didn’t, I didn’t tell him,” Bucky answered, his eyes never leaving the ground.

“How could you not tell him?” I exclaimed, my tears still tracing abstract patterns down my cheeks, “If there were anybody to tell, it would have been him!” “So you’re telling me,” Sam stopped walking and pointed back to Isaiah’s house, “That there was a black Super Soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it?” 

Before Bucky got the chance to answer, the siren on a nearby police car sounded off. Two officers pulled up and exited the vehicle, “Hey.” “What’s up, man?” Sam said.

“Is there a problem here?” one asked, focusing on Sam.

“No, we’re just talking,” he answered, gesturing between the three of us. “We’re fine,” Bucky answered, visibly put out by the interruption.

“Really, we’re fine,” I shakily spoke up, wiping my palms under my wet eyes.

The officers didn’t accept our answers, instead coming closer towards Sam. “Can I see your ID?”

“I don’t have ID, why?”

“Okay, sir,” the officer held up his hands, “Just calm down.” “I am calm,” Sam responded, I could see the anger bubbling below his surface, “What do you want? We’re just standing here talking.” Bucky gestured towards the policemen, “Just give him your ID so we can leave.” The tears I was fighting so hard to control couldn’t be stopped as I watched the scene play out. “No,” Sam protested, “I’m not giving him shit, we’re just talking.” “Officers, there’s nothing going on,” I insisted, sniffling as I tried to speak. “Ma’am,” one of the men approached me, holding his hands out carefully as if to shield me from Sam, “If this man is making you uncomfortable in any way-“ “He’s my brother,” I sidestepped away from the cop, “You’re the only ones making us feel uncomfortable.” “He’s not bothering either of us, do you know who this is?” Bucky gestured towards Sam, I came to stand between both of them and placed a protective hand on Sam’s shoulder. If anything was going down, I was going down with him.

The cop that had briefly stepped away to his car came back and whispered something into his co-worker’s ear. His jaw dropped as he looked Sam over again, this time with a much less aggressive stare. “I am so sorry, Mr Wilson,” the bastard had the audacity to chuckle, “I didn’t recognize you without the goggles. I’m really, really sorry about this.” A second police car came down the street and stopped in front of us. The officers told us to wait as they hurried to try and clean up their mistake. It didn’t matter, the damage had already been done. Neighbors and people passing by were stood outside houses and on the sidewalk watching the scene unfold. And there stood Sam, the leading role of a story these men had written and forced him into. I’d never felt more helpless in that moment when I realized that had he not been recognized, there wouldn’t have been anything I could’ve done to save him.

“I didn’t…I didn’t tell anybody because he had already been through enough,” Bucky said quietly, reeling us back to our original point of conversation.

“Mr. Barnes,” the officer who had tried to cage me from Sam approached Bucky, “There’s a warrant out for your arrest.” “Look, the president pardoned him for all that,” Sam said. “Not for that. You missed your court-mandated therapy. It’s like missing a check-in with your PO. I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, you’re under arrest.” Resigned was the only word I could think of to describe Bucky’s expression. He willingly followed and allowed them to handcuff him, quickly shaking his head at us as if to apologize for the ridiculousness as he got into the car. The worst part was I knew that if Sam or I were stupid enough to speak up, the consequences would be far worse than our reluctant cooperation. The car drove off, carrying Bucky and all his demons he hadn’t told his therapist about this week.

Sam and I remained frozen in the street, playing the last five minutes back in our heads. In a little house in a corner of Baltimore sat a war torn, wrongfully imprisoned, black Super Soldier who hadn’t had the suddenly privileged lifestyle Steve Rogers had. Isaiah had been beaten down, experimented on and abused for almost half of his life. The samples that had been taken from his body against his will had been used to create the Super Soldiers we’d met, ones that were out for blood. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam muttered, putting a hand on my back and pulling me into his side protectively. I snuck one last glance at Isaiah’s home, praying that whatever time he had left on earth was spent in the peace he deserved.

——

We hitched a cab ride to the downtown police station and were informed at the front desk that Bucky was being released. His therapist was flying in from New York to come and meet with him.

Sam and I sat in the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting area, him on his phone and me zoning out on the wall. The ‘what ifs’ of our confrontation with the police were still swirling around in my head, each one more brutal than the last.

“I’m not leaving,” I blurted out, “After this, I’m not leaving you guys.” Sam sighed and switched off his phone, “I’m not gonna argue this again with you. I’m keeping you safe, I don’t care whether you like it or not.” “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m feeling,” I turned to him, my eyes watery and my fidgeting fists clenched in my lap. “I’m not going home just so I can sit from a safe distance and worry whether or not you’re gonna die at the hands of some cop who feels brave. Or a bunch of Super Soldiers with a grudge against the world,” I forced the lump building in my throat down, “I’m not going to leave and wait for your body to come back in a casket. The only way I’m going home is if you’re with me.” His lips parted like he was about to say something before deciding against it. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I could see that my speech had affected him. He pulled me into him, my head laying on his shoulder and his arm around my neck. I had worried for my brother’s life when he was first in the service, even more when he first became an Avenger. But that fear couldn’t compare to the kind I felt when the cops disregard each of his truths. I sniffled as I rested against him, trying hard not to imagine a world where Sam Wilson wasn’t by my side.

“Sam,” a women approached us, “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Dr. Raynor, James’ therapist.” We rose and Sam shook her hand, “So nice to meet you.” “Y/n Y/l/n,” I introduced myself as she extended the same greeting, “Thank you for getting Bucky out.”

“That was not me,” she smiled politely.

“Christina!” a nearby voice shouted, “It’s great to see you again.” 

When bulls see the color red, it angers them to the point that they’ll charge toward it in a fit of rage. My reaction to seeing John Walker in the red white and blue suit was one of a similar caliber.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I grumbled, covering my face with my palm. 

“You know him?” Sam asked in disbelief. “Yeah, we did some field ops back in the day,” Dr. Raynor answered.

Walker strutted towards us, “I heard you were working with Bucky so I thought I’d step in. Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.” 

“We haven’t finished our work,” she asserted, “Who authorized this?” Walker held up two hands and aimed them at his arrogant self. “He’s too valuable of an asset to have tied up. Just do whatever you got to do with him, then send him off to me. Got some unfinished business, him and I,” he pointed to me and Sam, “You guys too. I’ll be outside.”

He marched back out through the door he’d come through and if we hadn’t been in a police station, I might have reeled him back in with my energy to inform him of just how low of a chance there was that we’d ever take an order from him. But if we had to go through him to spring Bucky, I’d bite my tongue for his sake.

“James,” Dr. Raynor turned, addressing Bucky who was now leaned up against the nearby counter, “Condition of your release, session now,” she looked over her shoulder towards us, “You too, Sam, Y/n.” Sam was quick to decline for us both, “That’s okay, we’ll be out here-“ “That wasn’t a request.”

Judging by the unenthusiastic glare we were getting from Bucky, he wasn’t any more excited than we were. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave,” I said to Sam, taking the initiative and following Dr. Raynor, once again with the men in my tow.

“What exactly is your relationship with James, Miss Y/l/n?” Dr. Raynor asked as she slowed her pace to match mine. “I don’t have a relationship with him,” I answered plainly, “I only met him yesterday. We got our asses kicked in Munich together.”

We were led into an interrogation room, just as cold and bleak as the ones I’d seen on tv. There were two chairs on each side of the table awaiting us. “Since I’m here primarily to speak with James and Sam, Y/n,” Dr. Raynor removed her coat and placed it on the back of her seat, “You can observe alongside me. You two on that end.” A simple thing as even sitting next to one another seemed like too big an ask for Sam and Bucky. The two of them looked like kids sent to the principal’s office as they begrudgingly sat down. I for one was looking forward to watching them sort out whatever beef they had that I had gotten tangled up in.

“So,” Dr. Raynor set her notebook down on the table, “Who would like to start?” “All right, look, Dr. Raynor?” Sam began, “I get it, why you want me to talk to Freaky Magoo over here. But I’m 100% fine.” Sam’s fatal mistake was darting his eyes over to me before looking back at her. I already knew he was lying, but his tell confirmed it.

“It is my job to make sure that you’re okay,” Dr. Raynor addressed Bucky, “And so, yeah, this may be slightly unprofessional but it’s the only way that I can see if you’re getting over whatever’s eating at you.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I agree,” Bucky shook his head.

“This is the first time they’ve agreed on anything for the past twenty four hours,” I spoke up, leaning back in my seat to watch the show unfold.

“See? We’re making progress already,” Dr. Raynor said, “So, who wants to go first?”

Silence.

“No volunteers? Wow, how surprising…” she remarked, “Okay, we’re going to do an exercise. It’s something I use with couples when they are trying to figure out what kind of life they wanna build together. Are you familiar with the miracle question?”

“Absolutely not,” Bucky answered. 

“Of course not,” Sam’s voice overlapped with Bucky’s.

“Okay, it goes like this. Suppose that while you’re sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up, what is something that you would like to see that would make your life better?’

Bucky suddenly became chatty, “In my miracle, um, he would…he would talk less.”

“Exactly what I was gonna say,” Sam replied, “Isn’t that ironic?”

“You guys are leaving me with no choice,” Dr. Raynor shrugged, “It’s time for the soul-gazing exercise.” “I like this better,” Bucky perkily pointed a finger towards his shrink.

Sam chuckled quietly to himself, “He’s gonna love this.” “Yeah, I’m ready.” “This is right up your alley…” Dr. Raynor motioned for them to rotate, ”Turn around, face each other.” “You should really enjoy this,” Sam said acidly. 

“I’m going to,” Bucky said with a sarcastic smile, the only one I’d seen him wear. “Let’s do it,” he said happily as Sam moved to face him, “Let’s stare. This is a good exercise, thanks Doc.” “Alright, get close,” Dr. Raynor instructed, they scooted slightly towards one another, “Come on, get closer.” With their knees touching, any further would put them much closer than either of them would ever want. “Which way do you want to go?” Bucky asked, “Right or left?” “Why are your legs open?” Sam asked impatiently, “You know what? Fine, here, you happy now?” He used Bucky’s chair to pull him forward so they legs were locked together.

“That’s a little close,” Bucky said loudly, adjusting in his seat. Sam nodded in agreement, “It’s very close, that’s what you wanted, right?” 

I couldn’t hold in my laughter anymore, causing both of them to shoot daggers at me. “Is this fun for you?” Sam snapped, gesturing towards their touching thighs. “Very,” I grinned unapologetically.

“Guys,” Dr. Raynor held up a hand to silence us all, “Now, look at each other. You need to look at each other in the eyes,” they obeyed and lifted their eyes to meet, “There, you see? That wasn’t so hard.” The stares they wore intensified, “Wait, what are you doing?” Dr. Raynor asked, “Are you having a staring contest?” Sam adjusting his eyebrows was her answer, she leaned over the table and snapped her fingers. “Just blink! All right, James, why does Sam aggravate you?” Bucky turned to his therapist with as close to a real smile as I’d seen on him when she cut him off, “And don’t say something childish.” His head lolled to the side in defeat, his pink tongue came out to wet his lips as he thought over his answer. “Why did you give up that shield?” “Why are you making such a big deal over something that has nothing to do with you?” Sam shot back.

“Steve believed in you, he trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason,” Bucky’s emotions were starting to seep out, “That shield, that is- that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield and you threw it away like it was nothing.” “Shut up…” Sam muttered.

“So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.”

The way that Bucky’s voice had quivered at the end was telling of just how deep the wound ran. But Sam’s forgoing of the shield was backed by reasons that Bucky could never wrap his mind around.

“You finished?” Sam spoke up, when Bucky said yes, he continued, “All right, good. Maybe this is something you or Steve will never understand. But can you accept that I did what I thought was right?”

This was the issue that made the heavy silence we were sitting in all the more complicated. Both men were valid in their feelings, but there would be no resolve for either of them. Steve was gone, Walker carried the shield and Bucky and Sam were trying their best to navigate a new world.

Sam scoffed, burying the emotions that I knew he was trying to hide from. “You know what, Doc? I don’t have time for this. We have some real serious shit going on. So how about this? I will squash it right now. We go deal with that, and when we’re done, we both can go on separate long vacations and never see each other again.” My eyes widened at how quickly the conversation had escalated. “I like that,” Bucky agreed.

“Great. Well, let’s get to work,” Sam turned to Dr. Raynor, “Thanks, Doc, for making it weird. I feel much better,” he turned to Bucky, “I’ll see you outside.” With a slap to his shoulder, he rose from his seat and was out the door in seconds. There was so much left unresolved that didn’t sit well with me. As Bucky went to stand up, I did too. “Actually, Doctor,” I walked around to table to take Sam’s empty seat, “I’d like to say a few things.” Bucky annoyedly fell back down into his chair and shook his head in irritation. I didn’t particularly care that he didn’t want to speak with me, all he had to do was listen. “I know you and Steve were best friends and I know how much he means to you. But I can’t sit here and watch you berate my brother relentlessly over the fact that he didn’t take up that mantle. It’s easy for someone like Steve to be Captain America without any pushback, but Sam?” I pointed to the closed door, “It’s a whole ‘other ballgame. And while Steve would never have fully understood it, he would have made an effort to. And he wouldn’t be pressuring Sam like you are. You need to drop this and you need to drop it now.” “Let’s get one thing straight,” his razor sharp jaw ticked in anger, “You don’t get to talk about Steve like you knew him or like you understand anything about our friendship. You never met him, you don’t get to speak for him.” He could have never known what button he had just pressed, but my reaction wouldn’t have changed even if he had. I sat up straighter in my chair, my steely eyes boring into him. “I didn’t know Steve? Well, then I guess it was a different Steve Rogers that Sam introduced me to when I came to visit him in D.C. And it must have been a different Steve Rogers that I visited at the Avengers compound when I helped Sam move in,” I leaned forward, the dam in my eyes threatening to break, “It must have been a different Steve Rogers that I ran to when people all around me started turning to dust.”

————

It was pouring rain outside the Avengers compound, the piles of dust that had rested on the ground having long since been washed away. Y/n stormed across the front lawn of the compound to the entrance, she had driven straight through for 20 hours from Delacroix to upstate New York. Getting past security hadn’t been hard once she had said who she needed to speak to and who it regarded.

Her boots squeaked across the floor as she marched through the compound, she’d only been once but she still remembered her way around. She navigated through hallways until she’d found the main room, she only recognized one of the figures that stood hunched over a table in deep discussion. At the sound of her entrance, each one of them turned around. “Y/n…” Steve said in shock, a relieved sigh spilling from his lips, “You’re okay.” “He’s here, right?” she trembled, “He’s in his room or the kitchen? Steve, tell me he’s here.” When Steve didn’t answer and ducked his head, Y/n pushed harder. “Tell me he’s here, Steve.” He looked back up, finally meeting her eyes. “I can’t do that.”

Y/n let the last bit of strength she had slip through her fingers as her soaked form dropped to the floor. Steve was quick to hold her, offering what little comfort he could, knowing that he wasn’t the person she wanted to see most in the world. She sobbed in his arms, the first step in the long process of mourning her brother.

Steve made a true effort to keep in contact with Y/n over the next five years. He flew down to New Orleans to visit every couple months or he offered to fly Y/n up to New York. About two years post Blip were when financial struggles really started to hit Sarah and Y/n’s business and Y/n had to decline each kind offer to meet him on his turf. When she explained why, Steve showed up on her doorstep two days later, ready to stay for the week and help out however he could. It wasn’t hard to see why Sam had bonded so deeply with Steve, he had just as big a heart as her brother.

The day that Sarah and Y/n received the joyous call from Sam that he was back from the dead was the best day of their lives. Y/n called Steve immediately after to tell him the news and thank him for whatever part she had guessed he’d played in reuniting their family. Her calls kept going to voicemail. After Sam’s reunion with his sisters and nephews, he took Y/n aside and handed her an envelope. Inside it was a letter from Steve explaining that he wouldn’t be returning after the restoration of the population. He wished her a good life with her family and that he had valued her friendship and kindness towards him. As brokenhearted as Y/n had been over the loss of her friend, when Sam told her the true reason behind Steve’s sudden disappearance, she was overjoyed that Steve had gotten somebody he loved back too.

Steve Rogers was there for Y/n in some of her darkest hours. They had bonded deeply, their friendship a single ray of light in their then darkened world. To see his shield paraded around by someone who didn’t embody the same qualities and values that he did hurt more than she let on. The world may have accepted John Walker, but he’d never be Captain America in Y/n’s eyes.

————

I had somehow made it through my retelling of my time with Steve without completely breaking down. A river of silent tears streamed down my cheeks but my voice held firm. 

Bucky’s harsh stare had diminished significantly the longer I spoke. His plush lips were parted in surprise, words I didn’t care to hear hanging off of them.

“I don’t ever want to hear that I didn’t know Steve Rogers,” my voice threatened to break finally, “You’re not the only one who wants to protect his legacy.” Dr. Raynor had remained so silent while I talked, I’d forgotten she was there until she offered me a tissue. I hastily wiped my cheeks, ducking away from Bucky’s gaze. “Thank you, Doctor,” I said softly as I stood up, “This has been really helpful.” I wrapped my arms tight around my torso and exited the room as quick as I could, making a beeline for the lobby to find Sam. When he spotted me, he stood to attention. “What’s wrong? What happened?” “Nothing,” I shook my head, “I just want to get out of here.” He placed a protective hand on my shoulder as he watched me sniffle the last of my tears away. Bucky joined us seconds later, I couldn’t look directly at him after bearing so much of myself to him. The three of us left the police station in a now familiar silence, each deep in thought about what we’d revealed. 

“Well, I feel better,” Sam said as we stepped out into the cool evening air. “I feel awful,” Bucky grumbled.

A siren whooping caught our attention, I wished it hadn’t. There stood Lemar Hoskins and John Walker, waving at us and calling us over. The three of us reluctantly made our way towards them. “Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.”

Sam rolled his eyes and humored him, “So what do you got?”

“Well, the leader’s name’s Karli Morgenthau,” Walker explained, “We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.” “They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal,” Hoskins interjected, “But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.” 

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps,” Walker finished.

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip,” Bucky spoke up across from me, “So I guess you’ll have to look real hard.” Walker smiled, “Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?” “Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?” Bucky asked. “No, we don’t know, Bucky,” his voiced raised, highlighting his frustrations, “It’s only a matter of time before we find out.” If I knew anything about Bucky by now, it was that he had no issue with provoking people. “Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker?” I clapped my hands together once, “Okay, if this keeps going, someone’s probably gonna end up back in there behind bars so let’s just settle down.” “Look, Walker’s right,” Sam stepped forward, “It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kind of authorizations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.”

We didn’t make it further than a three steps when Walker spoke up again. “Miss Y/l/n,” I stopped walking at his call, “You’re an enhanced individual, right?” “I’m what they call a mutant,” I spun on my heels to face him, “But to simplify it, sure, I’m enhanced.” Walker raised a condescending eyebrow, “Are you familiar with the Sokovian Accords?”

My spine stiffened, he was trying to blackmail me without actually saying the words. I was far too familiar with the accords and the ramifications they’d had on the Avengers. They’d sent Steve and Sam on the run for two years. “I think I’ve heard of them, yeah,” I smiled humorlessly. “It clearly states that any enhanced individuals who haven’t signed are not authorized to participate in any national or international conflicts or any missions run by private organizations such as the Avengers,” he gestured towards Sam, “You’re running with an Avenger, aren’t you?” A mirthless chuckle fell from my mouth as I watched him try and intimidate me. “Look, Craptain America,” I took slow and calculated steps towards him, “You can order your partner around or the soldiers that look up to you, but don’t think for one second that you can threaten me and try to pull the same shit the government did with Wanda Maximoff. I’m not going to be told who I can and cannot help.” Walker looked down at me menacingly, resembling a little boy who hadn’t gotten his way. “A word of advice then,” he said, eyes flicking between Sam, Bucky and I, “Stay the hell out of my way.” The juxtaposition between him and Steve had never been more apparent. Here he was daring to threaten me with incarceration followed by an ominous warning when it hadn’t worked. Bucky, Sam and I waited until him and Hoskins had left before heading our own way. “‘Craptain America?’” Sam echoed, slinging an arm around my neck, “I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you.” “It was a low blow,” I admitted with a contradictory smirk.

“Someone needed to say it,” Bucky chimed in, hesitantly looking over to me before quickly averting his gaze back to the sidewalk.

“Do I need to be worried that he threatened me with the accords? Are Sarah and I going to have S.H.I.E.L.D showing up on our door or something?” I asked.

“I think he’s just trying to intimidate you, but…” Sam inhaled wearily, “But I’d rather keep you here with us, just to be safe. If anybody were to come, we could protect you.” My smile grew as I looked up at Sam, the parameters of how to keep me safe had changed in my favor. I was almost grateful Walker had threatened me. “I can stay?” “Stop looking so happy about it,” Sam dropped his arm from around me, “This isn’t going to be easy,” he looked to our left to Bucky, “So what are you thinking?”

“Well, I know what we have to do,” he answered, if he had reservations about me sticking around, he was kind enough not to mention them. “When Isaiah said “my people…””

“Oh, don’t take that to heart. That’s not what he meant.”

“No, he meant HYDRA, HYDRA used to be my people.”

Sam thought the answer over for a second, decoding it. “Not a chance,” he scoffed.

“Walker doesn’t have any leads,” Bucky shrugged.

“I know where you’re going with this, no.” “He knows all of HYDRA’s secrets. Don’t you remember Siberia?” “Wait, you’re not talking about…” I sought out Bucky’s eyes that were still dodging mine. I didn’t need a history lesson on who he was referring to. “No. Not him. He’s crazy.” “We don’t exactly have a lot of other options,” Bucky said as if that was justification for what he wanted to do. “So you’re just gonna go sit in a room with this guy?” Sam asked. Bucky hesitated, searching for a more sophisticated answer. “Y-yes.” I may have been allowed to stay, but I knew that I wasn’t experienced enough yet to argue on their level. They knew when and how to make the difficult calls, they could operate in a grey area with little to no issues. All I could do was sit back, be taken along for the ride and tolerate any passengers who got in along the way.

“Okay, then,” Sam finally concurred, “We’re gonna go see Zemo.”

————

I couldn’t sleep.

We were back on the jet speeding back to Germany, this time with an even more sinister problem at hand. I had wanted to come along, I just hadn’t guessed that the reason I’d be allowed to stay would be because of a threat to my safety. All because of my powers. This was the reason why my father had been hellbent on keeping them a secret. I felt in a way that I’d failed him, that somewhere in the afterlife he was disappointed in me for telling the truth, even if I’d done it for the right reasons. Sam was conked out next to me, I envied his military training to get quick sleep wherever he could. I personally felt like I’d injected caffeine into my veins back in Maryland and hadn’t been able to come down since.

“Can’t sleep?” Bucky asked from where he laid on the floor, I thought he’d been unconscious the whole time.

“Can’t imagine why,” I dryly chuckled, “We’re only flying cross country to sit down and meet with one of the world’s most dangerous criminals. Why the floor?” “Oh,” he’d sat up and was looking back down at his lousy makeshift bed, his jacket balled up as a pillow and an itchy blanket, “It’s, uh, hard to explain.”

After a few seconds of near uncomfortable silence, he pushed himself up and made his way to where I sat. I tucked my legs under me to make room for his burly body. He was big enough that with all the space I’d tried to give him, my knees still brushed against his thick thigh. He sighed loudly, giving voice to the divide that if we’d have gone our separate ways, as planned, wouldn’t have mattered. Now that we were going to be working together, we couldn’t ignore what had been said in that interrogation room.

“Listen, about what…happened,” his face contorted in a mild cringe as he played the scene back in his head, “I’m sorry, for what I said.” “You didn’t know,” I offered, picking at a loose thread on my jacket, “I don’t talk about Steve a whole lot except with Sam.” “Still, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” Bucky continued, folding his hands in his lap. “I’ve been rude since we met and that’s not okay. Especially when all you’ve done is try and help.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I leaned my head against the back of my seat, “No permanent damage done.” His thumbs danced together, his brows were knitted in concentration as he prepared to speak. “Can I, uh, ask you about your powers?”

I twisted so that I could properly face him, “Ask away.” “How did they happen?” “I was born with them, actually. I’ve got this thing called the X-gene, it’s supposed to manifest at puberty but for me it activated when I was really young,” I ran a hand through my hair, “Imagine being five years old and having blue come out of your fingers when you were reaching for a juice box.” A miracle occurred and Bucky’s lips actually quirked up in a half smile. It encouraged me to keep talking. “My mom wanted to take me to this school for kids like me but my dad forbade it. He kept saying that it was too dangerous and that somebody could find me. It was like he didn’t realize that it was a refuge for people with powers, not a hunting ground,” I paused, flashing back to arguments between my parents of which one of them actually knew what was best for me. “So instead, I just taught myself how to control them. There were a couple incidents but other than that, I’ve kept them under lock and key for a long time.”

Bucky had remained still and fascinated as I spoke, switching between watching my eyes and my lips. Suddenly it felt like nothing had ever gone on between us. We were just fellow soldiers or co-workers having a conversation outside of work.

“What do they think now? Your parents?” he asked, the ease of the moment slipping away with a simple question. He couldn’t have known the minefield he was stepping into.

“My mom doesn’t know yet that I told Sam,” I sighed deeply, inhaling strength and exhaling bad memories, “And my dad killed himself when I was a kid.” “Oh,” Bucky’s eyebrows lifted, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried into-“

“No, no, it’s fine…” I waved him off, “Whether I want it to be or not, it’s a part of me. He was in the service and when he returned, he was diagnosed with severe PTSD. I was so young when he came home that I don’t really have any memories of him before it happened. He had all the classic symptoms; flashbacks, nightmares, paranoia, fits of anger, at some point he even stopped believing that he was a good father and husband,” I tear slipped down my cheek, “That was around the time it happened. We tried for so long to help him but the trauma consumed him. Every day he was just doing his best to survive himself.” I glanced up at Bucky to find that his eyes were just as watery as mine. It hadn’t dawned on me that I was telling him everything that he already knew about what happened when someone returned from war. He was living it out right now. 

“I’m not trying to strike any nerves but…in that session tonight, I saw how much you were holding in. With Sam, with me…” I started, praying I wasn’t going to end up pushing him further away, “I’ve seen what bottling things up and isolating yourself can do to a person and it’s a hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I know you don’t trust me yet but…if you ever do need somebody to talk to…I can’t understand your experiences, but I can recognize some of it.” Bucky truly looked lost, like he’d never been in the position of receiving such an offer. His face, usually so hardened, had softened so much he was almost unrecognizable. And yet there was still some barrier, some pain weaved between the hope and vulnerability that kept him from receiving my kindness with open arms. In the session, the pain I had seen in his eyes reminded me so desperately of that in my father’s eyes. If I didn’t try to help him, that look would haunt me for a long time.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice raspy enough to make me shiver. We sat there in the dark, both our walls we’d built around ourselves starting to crumble as we chipped away at one another. There was some feeling I couldn’t put a name to that had settled over us. The eyes that I’d avoided all day were now all I could focus on, digging into the deep blue pools and feeling like I could lay down my sword there. If we were going to get through this mission, we needed to be friends at least and I felt confidant we were on the path.

Bucky eventually cleared his throat, shaking me from my thoughts that he was at the center of. “We’re gonna be to Berlin soon, you should get some sleep.”

Internally, I smiled at the familiarity, it was almost word for word what he’d told me the other night. Only now the hostility had been dropped.

“You need it too,” I replied as he rose and made his way across the plane, “Goodnight, Barnes.” I curled up in a ball near Sam’s feet, praying he didn’t kick me in his sleep. I had just shut my eyes to try when a voice spoke up, “Bucky.”

“Hmm?” I opened one eye to see him lay back down on the floor, attempting to get comfortable.

“Call me Bucky.”

I pursed my lips slightly to decrease the size of my smile, I wasn’t the only one laying down their weapons. “Alright. Goodnight, Bucky.”

----

A/N: There’s something so powerful about name dropping Wanda Maximoff and Y/n having been besties with Steve Rogers lol. Hope you all enjoy, let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged! 

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale​ @wanniiieeee​ @asoftie4bucky​ @edencherries​ @i-reblog-fics-i-like​ @ttalisa​ @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess​ @rinaispunk​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @godlypotterwhodiaries​ @eternalharry​ @voguesir​ @mizz-kraziii​ @okayline​ @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories​ @nicklet94 @intricate-melody​ @aesthethickks​ @stumbleonmywords​ @simplybarnes​ @21bruhs​ @lostinwonderland314​ @superbookishhufflepuff​

[samwisethewitch]

Witchcraft and Activism

The word “witch” is a politically charged label. If we look at how the word was used historically, it referred to someone who existed outside of the normal social order. The people accused of witchcraft in the European and American witch trials were mostly — experts say between 75% and 80% — women. They were also overwhelmingly poor, single, or members of a minority ethnicity and/or religion. In other words, they were people who did not follow their society’s accepted model of womanhood (or, in the case of accused men, manhood).

If you choose to identify with the witch label, you are choosing to identify with subversion of gender norms, resistance to the dominant social order, and “outsider” status. If that makes you uncomfortable or uneasy, then you may want to use another label for your magical practice. Witchcraft always has been and always will be inherently political.

In her book Witches, Sluts, Feminists, Kristen J. Sollee argues that the “slut” label is in many ways a modern equivalent to the “witch” label. In both cases, the label is used to devalue people, most often women, and to enforce a patriarchal and misogynist social order.

Superstitions around witchcraft are connected to the modern stigma around abortion (and, to a lesser extent, contraception). Midwifery and abortion were directly linked to witchcraft in the European witch hunts. Today, women who seek abortions are condemned as sluts, whores, and murderers. The fight for reproductive freedom remains inextricably linked with the witch label.

During the women’s liberation movement of the 1960s, the socialist feminist group Women’s International Terrorist Conspiracy from Hell (W.I.T.C.H.) used the image of the witch to campaign for women’s rights and other social issues. They were some of the first advocates for intersectional feminism (feminist activism that addresses other social issues that overlap with gendered issues). They performed acts such as hexing Wall Street capitalists and wearing black veils to protest bridal fairs. The W.I.T.C.H. Manifesto calls witches the “original guerrillas and resistance fighters against oppression.”

In her book Revolutionary Witchcraft, Sarah Lyons points out that both witchcraft and politics are about raising and directing power in the world. In a postmodern society, most of our reality is socially constructed — it works because we collectively believe it does. Money only has value because we believe it does. Politicians only have power because we believe they do. Our laws are only just because we believe they are. Like in magic, everything in society is a product of belief and a whole lot of willpower — and that makes witches the ideal social activists.

Lyons argues that witchcraft is inseparable from politics, because witches have always opposed dominant political power. She makes a connection between the witch trials and the rise of capitalism and classism. She connects the basic concepts of magic to historic activist groups like the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP), who used ritual as an act of protest.

Not every witch is a hardcore activist, but every witch should have a basic awareness of political and social issues and be willing to do what they can to make a difference.

Ways to Combine Witchcraft and Activism

Perform a ritual to feel connected to the earth and her people. Activism should come from a place of love, not a place of hate. Make sure you’re fighting for the right reasons by frequently taking time to reconnect with the planet and the people who live here. This can be as simple as laying down on the ground outside and meditating on all the ways you are connected to other people, as well as to the ecosystem, animals, and the earth herself. If getting up close and personal with the grass and dirt isn’t your thing, try to find a beautiful place in nature where you can sit and journal about the interconnected nature of all things.

Unlearn your social programming. This is the most difficult and most important part of any activism. Before you can change the world outside yourself, you have to change your own psyche. Think about how you have been socialized to contribute to (or at least turn a blind eye to) the issues you want to fight against. For example, if you want to fight for racial justice, you need to understand how you have contributed to a racist system. You can do this in a variety of ways: through meditation, journaling, or divination, to name a few. Note that whatever method you choose, this will probably take weeks or months of repeated work. Rewriting your thought and behavior patterns is hard, and it can’t be done in a single day. Also note that if you are a victim of systemic oppression or prejudice, this work may bring up a lot of emotional baggage — you may want to involve a professional therapist or counselor.

Go to protests. Sending energy and doing healing rituals is great, but someone has to get out there and visibly fight for change. If you are able to do so, start going to protests and rallies for causes you care about. Don’t just show up, but be an active participant — make signs, yell and chant, and stand your ground if cops show up. Be safe and responsible, but be loud and assertive, too. If you want to go all out, you can don the black robes, pointed hats, and veils of W.I.T.C.H.es past, which has the added bonus of concealing your identity.

Turn your donations into a spell for change. When you donate to a cause you care about, charge your donation with a spell for positive change. You can do this by holding your cash, check, or debit card in both hands and focusing on your desire for change. Feel this desire flowing into the money, filling it with your determination. From here, make your donation, knowing that you’ll be sending an energy boost along with it.

Organize an activist coven. Do you have a handful of friends who are interested in witchcraft, passionate about activism, or both? Start a coven! Go to protests together, hold monthly rituals to raise energy for change, and collect money for donations. Being part of a group also means having a support system, which can help prevent burnout. Make a plan to check on each other regularly. You may even choose to do monthly group rituals for self care, which may be actual magic rituals or might be as simple as ordering takeout and watching a movie. Activism can be intensely draining work, so it’s important to take breaks when you need them!

Hold public rituals with an activist slant. Nothing gets people’s attention like a bunch of folks standing in a circle and chanting. Holding public rituals is one of the best ways to raise awareness for a cause. You might hold a vigil for victims of police brutality, a healing circle for the environment, or some other ritual that is relevant to the issue at hand. These rituals serve a double purpose, as they both bring people’s attention to the issue and give them an opportunity to work for change on a spiritual level. Use prayers, chants, and symbolism that is appropriate to the theme, and ask participants to make a small donation to a charity related to your cause.

Begin your public rituals with a territory acknowledgement. If you live in the United States, chances are you live on land that was taken from the native people by force. If you seek to have a relationship with the land, you need to first acknowledge the original inhabitants and the suffering they endured so you can be there. Use a website like native-land.ca to find out what your land was originally called and what indigenous groups originally lived there. Publicly acknowledge this legacy at your ritual, and publicly state your intention to support indigenous peoples. (Revolutionary Witchcraft has an excellent territory acknowledgement that you can customize for your area.)

Make an altar to your activist ancestors. If activism or membership in a marginalized group is a big part of your life, you may want to create a space for it in your home. Like an ancestor altar, this is a space to remember influential members of the community who have died. Choose a flat surface like a tabletop or shelf and decorate it with photos of your “ancestors,” as well as other appropriate items like flags, pins, stickers, etc. As a queer person, my altar to my LGBTQ+ ancestors might include images of figures like Sappho, Marsha P. Johnson, and Freddie Mercury, as well as items like a pink triangle patch, a small rainbow pride flag, and dried violets and green carnations. You may also choose to include a candle, an incense burner, and/or a small dish for offerings. Just remember to never place images of living people on an altar honoring the dead!

Do your research. Staying educated is an important part of activism — not only do your actions need to be informed, but you need to be able to speak intelligently about your issues. Read the news (on actual news websites, not just social media). Read lots of books; some I personally recommend are Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson, Love and Rage by Lama Rod Owens, and (as previously mentioned) Revolutionary Witchcraft by Sarah Lyons. If you can get access to them, read scholarly articles about theories that are influential among activists, like the Gaia Hypothesis or Deep Ecology. Read everything you can get your hands on.

VOTE! And I don’t just mean voting for the presidential candidate you like (or, as is often the case, voting against the one you don’t like). Vote for your representatives. Vote for city council. Vote for the county sheriff. Voting gives you a chance to make sure the people in office will be susceptible to your activism. Yes, your side might lose or your electoral college representative might choose to go against the popular vote. Even so, voting is a way to clearly communicate the will of the people, and it puts a lot of pressure on the people in charge. It’s important — don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

In my experience, combining activism with my witchcraft is a deeply fulfilling spiritual experience. It strengthens my connection to the world around me, with helps grow both empathy and magical power. I truly can’t imagine my practice without the activist element.

Resources:

Witches, Sluts, Feminists by Kristen J. Sollee

Revolutionary Witchcraft by Sarah Lyons

The Study of Witchcraft by Deborah Lipp

The Way of Fire and Ice by Ryan Smith

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)

Part 1

~Rowan~

Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.

This though?

This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.

Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.

He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.

If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.

He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.

Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.

What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?

The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.

Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.

She'd stolen his bed.

The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.

How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.

It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.

Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.

She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.

He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.

If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.

Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.

In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.

Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.

She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.

Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.

Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.

He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.

Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.

Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.

Nothing.

Which meant someone was helping her.

He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.

Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.

Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.

No, he'd have to try something new.

Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.

He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.

He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.

And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.

Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.

Except the beep never came.

Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.

Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.

"Where's my car, Rolland?"

"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."

"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."

Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"

Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."

The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.

"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.

"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.

"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."

Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.

The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.

He was going to fucking kill her.

~Aelin~

"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She just shrugged.

He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.

Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"

"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."

Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.

He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"

She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.

"I want to tell you a story."

He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."

He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."

He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."

"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.

His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."

He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"

"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.

Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.

Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.

"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.

She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."

He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.

Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.

She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.

He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.

She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.

"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."

She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."

"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.

"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."

As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.

Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.

His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.

"But your record says-"

"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."

Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.

It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.

"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."

"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.

"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."

"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.

She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.

"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."

His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.

"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."

"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.

She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."

Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.

"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."

Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.

"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."

She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."

Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.

He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."

Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"

She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."

There was a long pause.

"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.

She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."

Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.

"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."

"What were the jobs?"

Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."

"The murders."

She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.

He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.

It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.

He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."

Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."

He opened the door but paused. Waited.

"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."

She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."

He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.

He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?

"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"

Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.

That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.

He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.

"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."

"I-"

"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"

She shook her head, because she hadn't.

"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."

He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"

She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.

"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."

Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."

"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."

"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"

Gods, she wanted to.

He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."

"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.

"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."

She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.

It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.

And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."

He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."

"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.

"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."

"Rowan-"

"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."

"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.

He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.

He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.

"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."

"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.

It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.

She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.

She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.

She'd told herself this was just a game.

She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.

~~~

Part 3

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: child trafficking, child labor

a/n: just a disclaimer, i am not that well-versed when it comes to investigations and trial procedures at the court. please do correct me i make a mistake. i hope you enjoy this new part! i think we have about three or four chapters left. ANGST is on the next part :’(

seven: if you can’t believe | masterlist

“On April xx, 20xx, at approximately 10:30 in the morning, two unidentified males entered and held hostage the Emergency Room of the Royal Hospital. The nurse in charge of the information desk said that the two males approached the desk and asked if there were two boys (their identities are yet to be confirmed) admitted to the hospital. They claimed that they’re their guardians and wish to have them discharged and transferred to a different hospital. Based on their description, the nurse confirmed that there were two boys who came to the hospital earlier in the morning. However, the nurse informed them that they are not cleared to be discharged yet as per doctor’s orders and if they wish to discuss with the doctor-in-charge, they can. They only need to present IDs or any documentation to prove that they are indeed the guardian.

They did present IDs however, it was not valid and accepted by the hospital. The two males started demanding to see the two boys and insisted that they will recognize who they were. At that point, the nurse said the two males’ were beginning to raise their voices. The nurse asked them to calm down and wait patiently for the doctor-in-charge to arrive. That’s when the two males pulled out handguns and threateningly pointed it at the nurse.

The Royal Hospital’s security was alerted and immediately called the Royal Police. The hospital’s security was able to distract the two suspects until one of the police officers fired a shot. Fortunately, no hospital staff and patients were harmed. It is yet to be identified how the armed suspects were able to enter the hospital undetected. 

The Royal Police cannot release the names of the suspects and any other details as the investigation is still ongoing. However, we are looking at the direction that this could possibly be a  case of child trafficking and the two suspects are perpetrators. 

Please be rest assured that we are committed to solve this case and hold everyone involved accountable. We ask the general public to only believe verified information and wait for the official statements that the Royal Police will release accordingly.

Thank you for your understanding.”

You’re both crestfallen and angry. This paper would probably rip apart from the way your hand is deathly gripping it. It’s never easy to read and hear about crimes committed against innocent people. It’s never easy because they don’t deserve to go through the torment, harm and trauma. You wish you could avoid it, but it would be wrong and unfair to the victims. So no matter how heartbreaking or uncomfortable it is, you read and you listen because you have to be aware of it. You have to know and not turn a blind eye because they deserve to be heard and fought for. 

This black and white statement of the Royal Police is nothing but horrible. How did the kingdom let this pass? For a kingdom that’s so proud of its enforcement of strict laws, how did this crime happen right under its nose? 

It weighs on your heart and ever since you’ve taken hold of this piece of paper, you don’t know how to continue on with the day anymore. You lean your head against the backrest and stare up the ceiling. You breathe in and breathe out, getting yourself together to think, to function.  

Something is telling you that there is more to this hostage taking at the hospital and this case of child trafficking. And you desperately need to know. You’re already aware that the authorized and concerned people are doing their job already, but why is it drawing your attention? 

You release an exasperated sigh and massage your right brow. It’s been twitching due to the boiling anger inside you and you just want it to stop. The only way for that to happen is to find answers. Picking up your phone among the pile of papers, you dial the number of the person you’re sure that can give you any information, big or small. 

First ring. Second ring. Thi---, “Your Highness.”

You’re quick to your feet the moment he answered. “Hey Seungkwan. How have you been?”

Boo Seungkwan is the man to call. A persistent and assertive prosecutor and person in general. Definitely one of the brightest classmates and lawyers you have ever met. It’s no surprise that he’s hired by the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office as a prosecutor. He knows what he’s doing and more than doing, he knows how to fight to the end.

He actually wanted you to join together and you considered the offer. However, due to your position in the kingdom, you realized that practicing in private is more suitable for you.

“Well,” he says and pauses, “I have been better. How about you, Your Highness?”

“You know that you can call me Y/N, right?” You remind him, offering a smile even though he won’t be able to see it. “We went to law school and passed the exams together.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, not a big fan of throwbacks. “To what do I owe this phone call anyway?”

“About the recent statement of the Royal Police, is there anything you’d be willing to share with me?” You requested and faced the window that’s overlooking the city. 

You hear him chuckle on the other line. “I knew you’d ask. You do know that I’m risking my job as a prosecutor because I can’t say no to you right?”

“Is it something… big?” You ask nervously, biting the insides of your cheek.

A beat of silence passes and you can tell it is without having him say it. You think your heart is going to explode anytime soon.

“Big or not, it’s a case and a crime,” he retorts. “But this is something that Their Majesties need to brace themselves for,” he continues, warning laced on his voice. “It can shake the cabinet as well because we can tell that one, and if not, some of them are involved.”

There it is. The cold hard truth. There was nothing else to say. It’s more than obvious that the kingdom’s cabinet has been compromised and it will blow right at your family’s faces. You don’t even need to doubt it. But still, your blood runs cold at the thought. 

“Thank you Seungkwan,” you say and breathe out a defeated sigh. “Let’s meet for coffee some other time.”

You hear him say “anytime” and then end the call. 

You toss your phone back on the table and cross your arms as if you’re trying to hug yourself. Your eyes are out of focus and your mind has questions that need answers. This case is not even about protecting your family’s reputation anymore. It’s about your family protecting its people, its children, from this. 

You’ll probably never forgive yourself if you and the rest of your family have failed to do its promise and duty. 

“Your Highness?” Jeongyeon knocks on the wooden door and calls for you, pulling you back to the ground. “Are you ready to go?”

You frown and tilt your head to the side, confused. You don’t remember having errands outside the office today. 

Jeongyeon notices your confusion and says, “Your monthly checkup is today.”

Oh. 

“I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind,” you say and quickly gather your things so that you can leave now. “Thank you, Jeongyeon.”

She nods, understanding what you meant. She keeps the door open and waits for you to pass through. 

What the hell am I going to do? You ask yourself. A million thoughts has started running inside your mind from reading the statement up to finding out that this case could potentially be a crime syndicate. A crime syndicate that the Royal Family failed to prevent. Every day, there are crimes that get tried and solved in this kingdom. But for this particular crime, it doesn’t happen every day and it shouldn’t be in the first place. But, your kingdom must have grown complacent because here it is, a ticking time bomb that will explode anytime soon.

How did this happen and who allowed this to happen?

“Your stress levels are quite high compared to your previous check-up, Your Highness.” The doctor gives you a knowing smile after reading the results of your tests today. 

“It’s because of work,” you make an excuse and return his smile with a sheepish one while scratching the back of your neck. “I think.”

The doctor tried to muffle his laughter, but you can hear him snicker nonetheless. He just nods and mutters an, “alright,” and proceeds to write down the results and updates of this consultation. 

“Although there is nothing to be concerned about, I still advise you to take things slow,” he once again points out the reminder that he gave from the first time you got admitted. “Remember, I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

You nod and purse your lips in a smile. “I promise I’ll try.”

He raises his eyebrows at your answer, but lets it go in the end. 

“I think we are good,” he says and leans his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “Let’s go back to your yearly check-up, like the usual.”

“Thank you for your time.” You stand up and reach your hand out to shake his. “I’ll see you next year, then.”

The doctor replies with his smile still intact, “I will be here.”

You think about taking the rest of the afternoon off and just go back to your apartment. You suddenly don’t feel so good and present, for lack of a better word. You just want to think alone, away from any distractions. 

On your way out to the door, you pull your phone out from your bag to call Jeongyeon. This floor of the hospital is private and reserved only for your family. It’s something you’re not proud of and you should probably talk to Their Majesties about it. You sigh and hold your phone to your ear as you proceed to the elevator. You're only a few steps away when a familiar voice makes you stop.

“Hey.”

You jump in surprise, almost dropping your phone and bag. You turn around and you’re not so surprised anymore to see a grinning Wonwoo with hands inside the pockets of his white coat. With a roll of your eyes, you finally relaxed your tensed shoulders and walked towards him.

He meets you halfway and holds his hand out. You happily take it, making it easy for him to tug you close to his chest, bringing you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck while his around your waist. Just like that, his breath against your skin made all your worries vanish.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, distancing from him but not letting go. 

“I knew that you’d be here,” he answers, keeping his hold on your arms. “Had to see you.”

You scoff and give his shoulder a light shove. “Shut up. We were inseparable until our last day at your hometown and yet you still want to see me. Aren’t you sick and tired of my face yet?”

He pinches your cheek and kisses the tip of your nose. “Of course not.”

“Well, I’m leaving,” you announce and let go of him, reluctantly (as always). “You should probably get back to work.”

Wonwoo doesn’t let you move any further and drags his hand from your arm to your hand, swaying it from side to side as he whines out, “But, I’m on my break. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

You don’t really give in easily and it takes a lot of persuasion before you actually do. Jeongyeon can’t even convince you to stop going home late. But with just one request and pleading eyes, Wonwoo has you standing inside his office. 

It’s spacious, but a tad bit messy. There is lots of paper. In fact mountains of them, which you are very familiar with already. A wall of books is on one side of the room while three respective desks are on the other side. There’s a window, which is good, you can see some natural lighting. And of course, a small pantry for coffee and snacks. 

Wonwoo offered his chair for you to sit on as he prepared you something to drink. You still look around and try to keep yourself occupied. Your eyes trail on his desk eventually and you can’t help but smile. If every corner of this room is in disarray, Wonwoo’s desk seems to be the only area that is not. There’s nothing much on it except for a jar of pens, pencils and highlighters, a notepad and some bookmarked books. 

“You’ve met Soonyoung, right?” He asks, coming back with  two warm cups. Coffee for him and tea for you. “I share this office with him and another doctor.”

You nod and take a quick sip. You noticed that it’s almost lunch time on the clock above the door and wondered, “Is this all you’re going to have for lunch?”

“I had some cheeseburger earlier this morning, so I’m good,” he answers and leans against the edge of the desk. “How about you? Are you hungry?”

You smile and shake your head no. 

Then, it got quiet. 

It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but you think Wonwoo can sense something else by the way his eyebrows raise as if he’s waiting for you to say something more. He sips on his coffee one more time before placing the cup down on the table. Afterwards, he takes matters into his own hands and swivels the chair you're sitting on by the armrest towards him, catching you off guard.

His actions almost made you drop your drink and you thought for a moment if you should punch him again. “What are you doing?”

Wonwoo just gives you a mischievous smirk before leaning down to kiss your lips. Your eyes dilate in surprise while the rest of your body freezes. You’re just thankful you’re already sat on the chair, otherwise your legs would give up and you’d fall. When you don’t resist, his kiss deepens, demanding. But it didn’t go any further than a few more pecks here and there. You let him be until he decides to pull away, but not without giving one last long smooch. 

“What was that for?” You ask, suddenly shy. 

Wonwoo just nonchalantly shrugs. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

“You startled me!” You hiss and slap his arm.

Wonwoo has started to take pleasure in seeing you all flustered and shy. He finds it cute and he’ll take every chance he gets just to see it. But he knows there’s something bothering you and he’s hoping you give him the chance to hear you out.

“Talk to me,” he says while crouching, almost sitting down on the floor to meet your height. “What’s on that brilliant head of yours?”

You roll your eyes at his choice of words but give in nonetheless, “It’s the hostage that took place previously. There’s a new update about it.”

Wonwoo exhales and moves to massage your thighs. “I read about it briefly earlier.”

You nod and let the silence engulf the two of you once again. 

“Listen, the kids they we’re talk---”

“Wonwoo!”

You jump when the door of the office suddenly bolts open with two unfamiliar boys dressed in hospital gowns running inside. They’re quickly followed by a panting Soonyoung who gives the two of you an apologetic smile. Wonwoo immediately stands up as they excitedly dash towards him while chanting his name. 

“We heard you were on a break, can we play now? Please?” The little one, which you assumed was the youngest, pleads and hops in the hopes of Wonwoo carrying him. The other one, who’s much taller, does the same but he’s only clinging to his arms.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something, Your Highness,” Soonyoung says (you’re sure he’s teasing) and gives you a salute. “These boys never get tired and I have no idea how.”

You stand up from the chair too and try to get a good look on the boy’s faces, but you couldn’t because their attention is only on Wonwoo. 

“We’ll play, alright?” Wonwoo tries to calm them down.”But I want you to meet someone special first.”

Your heart skips a beat meanwhile Soonyoung’s jaw drops in a silent squeal. 

“They were the kids from the statement,” Wonwoo warrily says while making the boys face you. 

Statement?

Your heart skipped one moment and the next it dropped to your stomach. You didn’t expect it to be them. You really hoped it wasn’t them. You don’t even know how sure you are that it’s them. But when you finally meet their eyes, these boys don’t seem to be so unfamiliar anymore.

It’s them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks, suddenly concerned by the sudden downcast of your face. 

“Wonwoo...” you weakly whisper. 

They’re one of the children adopted from the orphanage.

“Can you ask the orphanage if they can give us a copy of photographs displayed at their gallery?” 

A phone call has never felt so dreadful. You can’t help but bite your nails as you listen to Jeongyeon adhere to your request. A lump has already formed on your throat and you don’t even know how you’re going to swallow it. 

You slide your phone back to your pocket when Jeongyeon said she’d get back to you shortly. You turn around from where you were standing and see Wonwoo and Soonyoung playing with the two boys. It’s bittersweet. For one, you’re glad they are free and happy and on the other hand, it doesn’t sit right why they have to go through terrible and unimaginable things just so that they can be.

And it doesn’t help that it all happened here. 

Wonwoo told you how they got to know them and how he had asked the hospital to keep them here in the meantime, in coordination with Social Services of course. He didn’t need the hostage taking or the police’s statement to know what’s going on because his guts already told him the moment he saw the state of the boys. But then again, what happened only confirmed what he feared the most. 

Wonwoo deviates his attention to you and notices your lost gaze. By the looks of it, he’s aware that this is bothering you. He gives Sam’s hair a ruffle before standing up and walking to where you are.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching his hand out to softly squeeze your arm.

“Yeah,” you affirm, but the palm against your forehead doesn’t seem to agree. “I just… I can’t believe this.”

“It’s okay,” he tries to soothe your distress with his hand cradling your face. “I mean, it’s not. But, it’s not your fault.”

Why does it feel like it is? 

You couldn’t ask him that out loud so you just give him a nod instead. Wonwoo knows you’re hesitant to believe him and he doesn’t like it. He takes your hands and squeezes them. 

“Look at me,” he commands and when you don't, he lifts your chin up himself. “I’m confident this will be solved in no time. Have faith in your people and yourself, hmm? ”

“Okay,” you answer and that makes Wonwoo smile. 

Okay. You’re going to stop wallowing in your own uncertainty. You draw your eyes back at the boys and at this moment, you promised that punishment will be inflicted to everyone responsible for their suffering. 

No matter what it takes.

[pftones3482]

Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

~~

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

~~

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

~~

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

[fnf-amateur-writing]

Hello! Can I request a scenario where l Updike with an s/o who got kidnapped and now he has to go save them- if u feel uncomfortable with that you can just do general relationship headcanons for him!

Hey there, Anon. I'm cool with your prompt, no worries!

TW: Kidnapping and violence.

Updike finding out S/O was kidnapped

Everything was rather dull at work. Sure, dealing with anomalies can be cool, but it wears on Updike after a while. Everyday was starting to become nothing more than paperwork, keeping tabs on the freely roaming safer anomalies, and trying and failing to kill Whitmore. Fortunately, his lunch break finally started after a long and boring morning.

Once he readjusted his tie and tucked away his trusty gun in his pocket, he went on a near daily walk to a local cafe. To be honest, it wasn't all that boring, since he now got to be with you during his lunch breaks. About a month ago, you two found out that you took your breaks at the same time. The cafe was also conveniently in between your workplaces, allowing you to walk an equal distance.

Without any incidents or that pestering metal head, Updike made his last turn, with the cafe now being just two buildings down. Strangely, the police were also two buildings down, talking to an employee that Updike recognised in front of the prematurely closed cafe. Avoiding involvement, Updike quickly turned around, waiting until he out of sight of them before checking his phone. You were always there first, so you probably texted him a heads up, but his phone showed no new messages.

It was pretty annoying, but no big deal. He'll just go somewhere else, and maybe you'll be there too if he's lucky.

~~~

The phone next to him rings, whilst Updike sat alone in his office, showing the front desk receptionist's name. That was rather unusual; that number almost never calls him directly, so it was probably important enough to be an exception. "Updike speaking," he spoke in his monotone voice, which was in a tone that easily showed how he says that a dozen times a day.

"Mr. Updike, the police are requesting your presence outside."

Okay, now that was very unusual. Not that the police are here, they show up all the time whenever a case involves an anomaly. But for them to make him go outside, when they usually go up to see him or a collegue, was odd. And he had a clean record too, so it's not like they were going to arrest him.

"I'll be right there," he said. He felt somewhat stressed from the sudden request, so he went a faster pace to the lift--to which he almost pressed the wrong button. He and a cop quickly made eye contact the moment the lift opened, and he followed the man as he beckoned him outside.

"Now, I know you're busy, so I'll get right to the point," the officer says, pulling a phone from his pocket. "Do you recognise this phone and the owner of it?" Updike wish he could say no, but he couldn't; it was clearly your phone, except it now has a large crack on the screen. "Yes, it belongs to my partner. Their name is (Y/N) (L/N)." As clear as he made those sentences, his throat was sore from the dread.

"Sir, are you aware that they've been kidnapped."

... No.

~~~

Looking back at it, he wasn't sure how he kept calm the whole time as the police explained what had happened. Some man had taken you right in front of the cafe. It happened so quickly, that the witnesses didn't seem to notice anything wrong until it was too late. They contacted him when told by employees that he always sat at the same table as you.

As he rushed home, he didn't quite know what he felt. It was a mixture of sadness, anger, stress, and whatever the hell else that couldn't be named that made his hair grey. But he wasn't going home just to wait in misery until the police did something; he was going to look for some clues, as recommended by the authorities. He wasn't aware of any troubles you may have wih your family and friends, but he was informed that most kidnappings are done by people the victim knows, so he had to snoop around your stuff to see if he could find anything to report.

However, he almost slammed himself into his own front door when something else caught his attention: a plain white envelope taped to the door. There was no markings or writing on the outside, Updike noted as he took it for inspection, but he could tell it had a letter in it. Surely, it couldn't be a coincidence this showed up the same day you were taken.

As he went inside, closing the door behind him, he didn't take another step away from the door before tearing the letter open. Within the envelope was a typed letter, which had a clear message despite never mentioning you or Updike by name. Also made clear was that this was nobody you knew, nor was it an anomaly trying to spite him, but rather a particularly greedy criminal who took notice of who you were with.

The letter demanded an absurd amount of cash to be hand delivered, an amount that clearly overestimated even his own wealth. And if he brought anyone with him or brought a weapon, then you would be shot on the spot. Finally, he had until midnight to do so, too, adding onto the stress.

The stress started to become a bit much as his hair grew darker. He had no way of knowing whether the bastard was bluffing, but it wasn't worth trying to find out. But still, there didn't seem to be a good way out anyways. It felt like he was about to snap, feeling some sparks from his head and... a spark of an idea.

He went up a flight of stairs to a closet within the hallway. There wasn't anything remarkable about it's contents, but he took interest on one side, where some suitcases of his were stored. Only one of these was useful right now: a sleek metal suitcase he can't remember even using, but he remembered it being there. After grabbing the case, he ran back downstairs while neglecting to close the closet door.

Now, he wasn't going to place any money in it. No, nothing would be in it. But he had an idea, because maybe the guy didn't quite know who they decided to mess with.

~~~

Updike parked his car on the side of the road, getting out in the abandoned yet familiar area. It was a small part of the outskirts of the city that eventually lost it's population and was left to rot, which amazed him that it hasn't been torn down yet. The only people who regularly come here are the homeless and obnoxious teenagers with cameras who pretend that one of the buildings are haunted for internet clout. However, he does remember coming here too a long time ago to hunt down Whitmore a couple times.

The meeting place was a short walk away, having used to be a local library. The evening sky was getting darker by the minute, and the sun was near set behind Updike as he looked into the old library. As dark as it was, a light was barely visible from the entrance, partially blocked by empty bookshelves. With the case in hand, he walked through the shattered glass double doors and in between two of the shelves.

"I'm here."

The light across the library shifted and footsteps approached. The man looked as dodgy as he expected, except with a bit of a 1950's greaser look to him, and the gun the man held never pointed to anything but Updike. He placed the lantern onto the shelve and approached, saying "hand it over." Definitely not a negotiating type.

Time passed too slow, yet also too fast. Though he normally used his head, Updike had to channel what was within him elsewhere or else the man would shoot him seeing the thunder from his head. Hard, sure, but dong it for you was a pretty good motivator.

In three, two...

As soon as both hands were on the case's handle, Updike managed to give a hard zap through his hand. The case's material made it guaranteed it would shock him, and shock him very badly. He shouted at the sensation comparable to that of a taser, unable to pull the trigger before collapsing. Updike wasn't sure if he was conscious, but it didn't matter since he was already slamming the case into his face. Giving a man a free nose bleed such as this one was usually seen as too barbaric for Updike's taste, but damn it was satisfying.

He took the man's gun and briefly searched his pockets for anything else he might use as a weapon. He pocketed the lighter for the box of cigarettes he carried, since he might wake up and pull a fast one by burning the place down. And then there was a key, and not a usual key one would think of. In fact, Updike knew from the shape that it was meant to unlock a pair of handcuffs. It may be best if he took that as well.

"(Y/N)!" he called out, "are you there?" He made his way to the back, peeking into some rooms as he passed. He heard some sounds coming from nearby, causing him to peek through the old bathroom door. There you were, gagged with a cloth and both hands cuffed to a pipe beneath a sink. You were trying to say something, so he quickly worked the cloth off your mouth and let it fall under your chin. Upon closer inspection he now saw how disheveled you looked and that one of your eyes was black and swollen.

"G-GABRIEL!" you finally managed to scream before coughing from finally having your mouth to breathe through. "I thought you- I thought..." He hushed you before using the key he found on your cuffs, allowing you give him a much needed embrace. "Shhh, it's okay," he said as you cried, "I've dealt with him."

"Now," he picks you off the ground and carries you away from the dreaded building, "let's go. I have an interesting story for the cops."

Now for a surprise bonus ;)

Aftermath headcanons:

Unsurprisingly, you both took off work for a while.

Regardless of how well you can handle trauma, Updike WILL take you to a therapist. He's already got one booked, so you don't have a choice really.

For the first time in the relationship, Updike has been the one to initiate cuddles. He's also just as paranoid as you are, and has become somewhat clingy as a result.

When it was nearing the day you two would return to work, you discussed plans on preventing another incident. Though it may seem a bit far, you agreed on wearing a small tracking device clipped to your clothes until the fear wore off.

The forced therapy sessions did come with benefits for the future. When you eventually had to testify against your kidnapper in court, you felt more confident in your words and managed to tell them everything without a breakdown.

The man didn't stand a chance and earned himself several years in prison.

Finally, once you felt everything was behind you, you walked together to the cafe again. It was a nice cafe and it would be a shame if they stopped visiting.

Some of the regulars and employees recognised you two, and welcomed you back. And as you two sat in your usual spots with drinks on the house, you could finally say it was a pretty nice day with nothing to worry about.

[thegirlwhobrokeintothetardis]

Tricked Into It (Greg Gerwitz x Reader)

Word Count: 1,957

Pairing: Greg Gerwitz aka Mouse x Reader

Summary: Ever since your last breakup with someone who cheated and abused the love you had for them, you have been wary of dating. And it doesn’t help when your friend Kim Burgess won’t stop pestering you about some cute techie guy at the 21st District.

Warnings: talk of bad relationship (cheating, emotional abuse, PTSD from the relationship), descriptions of what might be an anxiety attack (I described feeling anxious but it ended up bordering on what could have almost been an attack.)

A/N: So I am working on a Kelly Severide Imagine, but I’m a but stuck on it so I came up with the idea that I take the last imagine I wrote, the other Mouse Imagine and make it into a little series of one shots, mainly cause I wanted to explore the relationship of Mouse and this librarian!reader. So this is a sort of prequel to the first Mouse imagine, how they first met which is talked about in the other imagine.

HERE is the first Librarian!Reader fic if you want to check it out!!

If you want to be added to my tags, just ASK!!

“Kim, I swear to god!”

You slammed your book shut with a snap and looked up at the Chicago police officer, aka Kim Burgess aka your best friend, in front of you. She looked almost as annoyed as you felt, rolling her eyes and sitting down on your couch across you in your reading chair. Kim had come over after her shift at the 21st District ended, and only after a couple of minutes of peace, Kim started up on her latest crusade; your love life.

“Y/N...”

“No! I get that you care, believe me, but I don’t need you trying to set me up with someone.” You said with a heavy sigh. 

Kim scooted closer to you and leaned forward, trying to catch your eye which was avoiding hers, “Hey,” She paused and waited for you to look her in the eye, “I just want you to be happy. And I think this guy is a good match for you. Much better than -”

“Don’t say their name.”

“...Fine. But Mouse is so your type!”

You were about to start arguing again when her words actually registered into your head, “His name is Mouse? There is no way that this cop’s name is Mouse.”

“Okay one, he isn’t a cop. He is a tech expert that works with Intelligence, a civilian hired by the unit and the department. And two, Mouse is just what everyone calls him, its a nickname from when he was younger.” Kim explained.

“Tech guy?” 

“Yeah, crazy smart when it comes to hacking and stuff like that. He got the job after hacking into Voight’s cell phone in like a couple of seconds. And he was in the Rangers with Jay, plus he is pretty funny and cute.”

You looked away from Kim as you thought it through. Clearly Kim was just looking out for you, but there was no way this guy, this super-smart-tech-genius-ex-ranger, could ever be interested in someone like you. You were just a simple librarian at Chicago Public Library, living alone aside from your cat companion, Geraldine. You hadn’t done anything extraordinary with your life, and as your thought process started to spiral in an anxious tizzy, you started to shake your head.

“No, no I can’t see this guy. He wouldn’t want to get stuck with some boring librarian.” You said, your body shrinking in on itself as your self confidence crumbled. All the comments your ex significant other made to you while you were still dating came popping up into your mind one after the other after the other. Comments on your weight, your looks, how you were boring and that was why they stepped out and cheated on you any chance they could. Tears were misting in your eyes and you tried blinking them away, not wanting to cry in front of Kim.

“Y/N-”

“I mean it Kim. Drop it.”

Kim looked you over and saw how you had retreated into yourself, clearly looking uncomfortable with the topic. That’s when she sighed and nodded, forcing a small smile on her face, “Okay.”

                                                        ---

A week has passed since the confrontation with Kim about that techie guy, and you were slowly trying to purge the whole instance from your head and get back to your quiet life. Every once in a while, the conversation would slide to the forefront of your mind, along with your anxiety-fueled spiral about your ex, and you would try and shake away the ordeal. It had made you feel small and disgusting thinking about your ex and how your self worth was diminished because of them, and you never wanted to go back to that place again. Even if that meant never being in another relationship again.

On Friday, you had gotten a text from Kim around midday about having a girl’s night and heading out to have a drink at Molly’s, this pub which had become pretty popular with the cops of the Intelligence Unit. You had been once before, and one of the owners, Gabbie Dawson, was really nice to you when Kim introduced her. So you agreed, excited to go out and hang out with Kim. 

Once you got out of work around 6, you got back to your small one bedroom apartment and fed Geraldine before retreating to your room to figure out what to wear. You settled on a pair of slender black pants and a long sleeved dark green blouse matched with a pair of green heels. Once you showered, dried and got your hair the exact way you like it, added a little makeup and got dressed, it was time to head out and meet Kim at Molly’s. You drove to the neighborhood where the pub was, some cars already lining the streets letting you know that Molly’s would probably be busy.

You parked, and hurried to get inside, pulling your winter coat around you a litter tighter as a gust of wind tried to chill you to the bone. The November night air was lung chilling and while you weren’t dressed like those young twenty-somethings with short dresses and no coats, you still did not want to waste another second with the wind chill. Once you got in, you saw that your assumption about the pub being busy was right, many people scattered around the bar, others in groups were seated or standing next to tables against the other wall. You looked around, trying to catch Kim’s face in the crowd but having trouble with how crowded. You pealed off your coat and made your way to the bar where you saw an older man behind the counter, cleaning off a glass. 

“Excuse me?” You said, slipping into the space in front of the bar, and accidentally grazing your arm against the guy sitting down to your right, “Oh sorry.” You said quickly to the guy, not really looking in his direction so you didn’t notice when he started staring at you in awe.

“What can I get ya?” The older man said as he put the glass down and gave you his full attention.

“I know this is probably a long shot, but my friend comes to this bar a lot and I was just wondering if you’ve seen her tonight? Kim Burgess?”

“Ah! I know Burgess. From the 21st District?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s her.”

The man smiled before turning around and grabbing something from behind the bar and then turned back to you, “I haven’t seen her, but she called about 5 minutes ago saying that her friend would be stopping by tonight. She also said to get her a vodka cranberry on her and to give her this.”

He handed you a napkin and then turned away, most likely to get your drink ready. You looked down at the napkin with a rough note written on it, reading out loud the note, “Hey, something came up super last minute, have a drink on me and enjoy the night. Sorry, --Kim.”

“Sorry about that, kid.” The man said as he returned with your drink, giving you a warm smile that also had a hint of pity in it. 

“No problem. It’s not your fault.”

With one more smile he headed towards the other end of the bar, leaving you with your drink. You let out a sigh and brought the drink to your lips, trying to figure out what you were going to do next when a voice from next to you started speaking.

“You’re friends with Burgess?”

Looking over, it was the guy you had apologized to earlier. Now that you weren’t in a rush to find Kim, you got a good look at him. He had brown hair, you could almost consider it floppy-like if it didn’t also have a clean-cut feel to it. The man’s eyes were bright blue, and they looked at you with a mix of intrigue and surprise. He was wearing a blue button-up which matched his eyes, the first few buttons undone.

“Yeah, do you know her?” You asked. He nodded and looked down to his beer bottle, his fingers anxiously playing with the paper label.

“I-I work with her at the district.” He explained. “Are you one of her flight attendant friends?”

“No, god no. I’m a librarian at the Chicago Public Library.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“You don’t have to lie. I know it’s boring..”

“No! I genuinely think it’s cool. I-I mean I’m not a huge book guy myself but-but I did read a lot of Shakespeare in school and that was really cool, especially the-the one about the guy who dressed as a woman to hide from a mob or something and everyone thought he was a witch?” The guy rambled, his face flushing as he tried to save himself. You smirked at the clumsiness of his words and took a drink of your cocktail.

“The Merry Wives of Windsor?” You offered, and the guy snapped at the name.

“Yeah, yeah. The whole play now that I think about it went over my head at 16. But I was too interested in the Blackhawks and code. Like-Like the game that happened the other night, I was invested until that left winger from the Rangers totally checked Hartman and they put-”

“Hartman in the penalty box! Yes!! With only 3 minutes left on the clock and the take out the best right winger on the ice.” You jumped in, a smile growing on your face as the topic of hockey came up. “If he was still playing the Blackhawks would have got at least 2 more points and would have won instead of losing to the worst team in the league.”

The guy sputtered his drink and starts laughing, and immediately think its cause you had embarrassed yourself and he was laughing at you, not what you said. That was until he smiled at you and nodded his head. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

You felt a small fluttering in you chest when he smiled, something about him not making you nervous or anxious which was a change. With a smile on your own face, you put your hand out to him, “I’m Y/N by the way. Y/N L/N.”

“Greg Gerwitz.” Greg took your hand and shook it, lingering for a couple extra seconds before pulling away. “Or you can call me Mouse.”

You froze as he said that, your eyes widening in shock. He seemed to see your reaction and frowned, “Or not?”

“No, sorry.” You said quickly, trying to recover. “It-Its just that Burgess has been trying to set me up with you for the last few weeks.”

“Wait...oh! You’re that librarian! Burgess has been telling me about you too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, says how you are the best person ever and that I would like you the minute we met.” He chuckled. Greg smirked and turned more towards you, “And she wasn’t wrong.”

You flushed, feeling the heat of your blush against your cheeks as his smirk widened. It was quiet between the two of you as the pub continued with it’s noise like it wasn’t watching the start of something amazing. Greg then spoke up, getting your attention again, “Hey, I know this might seem fast but I really like talking to you.”

“I really like talking to you too.”

“Really?” He asked, his face getting red again as his smirk melted away into a nervous smile, “Well, what would you say about a date? Maybe the Blackhawks game tomorrow?”

It took quicker than you thought, but all your anxiety from the week before seemed like a long lost bad dream and you just wanted to spend some time with Greg Gerwitz.

“I would love to.”

ONE CHICAGO TAGS: @carnationworld​ 

NORMAL TAGS:  @l4life​ @ithoughtiwasflying

[mellowswriting]

Sweet but Fierce S/O

**some of these are more blurbs than headcanons... what can I say, it got away from me

Mando: 

The duality is something Mando sees often with you, and he can’t deny that he loves it. You aren’t just sweet and soft with him, an experienced bounty hunter who by definition was the opposite of soft, but you were so good with the Child. You could get him to sleep like you had cast a spell over him, fed and played and talked with him as if you could actually understand his babbling. Soft and sweet wasn’t something Mando saw often in his life and now he can’t get enough of it.

But Mando is familiar with fierce, and seeing the way you protect the Child and his beskar-clad father? It honestly turns him on beyond comprehension. How can the same hands that provide comfort and care so readily also viciously break the bones in the wrist of someone unfortunate enough to have made a grab for the Child? How can the same hands that make warm, delicious food for your little clan (a habit you picked up after balking at Mando’s tendency to survive solely on ration bars) also steadily hold a blaster to the temple of an idiot who tried to remove Mando’s helmet?

As a Mandalorian, he is so used to the world being black and white, either or. Every bit of you is refreshing to him - the considerate gestures, the soothing touches, the biting need to protect those you love. It’s a precious quality. 

It’s also incredibly attractive. Mandalorian culture is based in caring for and protecting children, so seeing you so fiercely loving?? Basically it makes him want to rail you into oblivion, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Frankie could use a little sweetness in his life. It’s been a tough time, coming back from all that shit that went down in South America. He was closer than ever with the boys of course, but something was missing. He needed something more. So when Pope introduced you to him at his barbeque, Frankie was beyond interested.

It was a whirlwind, falling in love with you. You changed his life in the best ways; taught him which yoga poses would help with his achy back, filled his house with soft blankets and delicious coffees, listened to him ramble on as he drove. And the way you talked about your work, your career? It’s enamoring. 

Your work is how he gets to see that fierce side. The two of you were out to lunch when your phone rang - it was one of your clients, apparently dealing with some sort of crisis. Frankie couldn’t deny you when you asked him to drive you to her home, especially since he had driven you to the small restaurant. Frankie leans against his car door as you go up to her house. 

Apparently her landlord was illegally trying to evict her. You have no issue getting in his face and telling him with a terrifying kind of calm that you have no issue calling the police and your company’s lawyers. You’ll have him buried in litigation and fines for the next decade if he doesn’t stop being a greedy piece of shit and go about his day elsewhere. If that wasn’t enough to have Frankie wide eyed (and drooling just a bit tbh), you seem to fall right back into your sweet self as you calm your client and reassure her that all will be fine. 

Hell, maybe Frankie could use a little spitfire in his life, too.

Javier Peña:

How? Just. How?

Javier doesn't understand how you've managed to be so sweet when surrounded by the shit you both worked with everyday. Your eyes are so bright and soft, your smiles easy and pure, every gesture full of unwavering kindness. Working in admin meant you saw all of the reports, all of the gruesome pictures of the aftermath of Escobar’s men. So again: how?

Christ, you always offer to get coffees for him and Murphy on those endlessly long days where every lead seems to fizzle out and he wants nothing more than to put his hand through a wall. Your presence is a bright spot in the office, even when the rain clouds hang heavy around his head. 

Javier seeks you out on those bad days. It isn’t intentional - usually, at least. He’ll tell Murphy he needs to go for a walk before he starts throwing things and will find himself at your desk with you looking up at him with those big, soft eyes and asking if you can help at all. If only he had the words to tell you that your presence was helpful in and of itself. 

Eventually Murphy gets onto him about it, tells him to just ask you out already because he’s tired of the longing. So Javi bucks up and makes his way to your desk with a surprising amount of nerves in his stomach. Fuck, how long had it been since he asked someone on an actual date and not just out to drinks as a prelude to fucking?

The sight of Agent Buchanan perched slightly on the edge of your desk gives him pause. The man is obviously laying on the charm and Javi is about to turn on his heel when he notices how uncomfortable you look. Javi’s eyes narrow because seriously? This dude is gonna fuck with the one literal ray of sunshine in the office? Buchanan leans forward and places his hand on your thigh and that’s when Javier is marching forward to break his spine in fucking half…

Before he can even get to you, you slip your fingers under his and give him that soft, sweet smile… and Buchanan’s middle finger is shoved back at a vicious angle. Over his pained sounds, Javier can hear the anger in your voice. “I said no thank you, asshole.”

Holy fuck. If Javier was interested before, he’s downright obsessed now. 

And as always, the honorable mention of Javier’s innocence kink. 

Ezra: 

At first Ezra thinks it's some sort of bluff, the charming and easygoing nature you portrayed. When you came across him in the Green wounded and in dire need of a new filter and probably a meal or two, you just… helped him. His very own partner left him for dead, and here you were, offering him a lifeline without expecting anything in return.

Yeah, no. That’s not something that happens, especially not in the Green.

He isn’t afraid to call you on it, either. This man is straight and to the point in every aspect of his life, might as well do the same in his death instead of getting jerked around. But you just… grinned, all conspiratorial, and whispered, “I’m actually just using you for good karma. This is a selfish act, don’t worry.” 

Huh.

It takes Ezra a moment to be assured that you aren’t playing some kind of long con as you nurse him back to health. You still clean his wounds and force him to take medication to help his lungs recover from the toxic air with confidence and ease despite his untrusting looks. Once he gets over his fears, there’s no getting rid of him. Ezra likes you. He likes the sweetness, the gentle touches. That’s why he offers you his partnership and beams when you accept.

Besides simply liking you, your kindness is a rarity that sparks a deep need in Ezra to keep you safe, protected. The idea of you harvesting on your own with no one to watch your back makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It’s the third day he’s out harvesting with you that he realizes you absolutely do not need his protection. You hear the duo approaching before Ezra does and immediately shove him into the raised, gnarled roots behind a tree - and the shot that would’ve caught him in the chest flies harmlessly past. Before Ezra can tell you to stay put and let him handle it, you’re scrambling out from behind the tree and he can hear the sound of your thrower discharging and a body crumpling to the ground. 

Ezra shoots out to help but you’re trying to wrestle the other man to the ground and Kevva damnit, he can’t get a clear shot with all that writhing about. Just as he goes to jump into the mix, whatever hold you have on the man straightens his arm out behind his back in a harsh, unforgiving line. The man’s thrower slips from his incapacitated hand and the sight of you snatching up midair and firing it right through his helmet has to be the most erotic thing Ezra has ever seen.

You can expect this man to wax poetic about the twofold of your personality for hours. Goes on and on about how he loves seeing the different ways you light up: in passion, in pleasure, in anger. It’s downright titillating. 

Marcus Pike:

Working with you gives leaves Marcus in the perfect position to see both sides. You’re so compassionate with the victims as you guide them through the legal processes but you also look ridiculously hot with a gun in your hand. Or while you pull on your bulletproof vest. Or when you’re strapping a holster to your thigh.

What can he say, Marcus can’t get enough of you either way. 

He loves when you give him that grateful smile when he brings you a coffee. The shoulder rubs you give him when he’s been sitting at his desk for too long leave him hazy with a mix of love and pleasure. The way you open your arms up for him to crawl into bed, still half asleep but still wanting him against you… it was pure heaven. 

Marcus also loves the hard edge in your voice when you’re interrogating a suspect. He loves the fire in your eyes when he wraps a hand around your throat and growls out exactly what he’s going to do to you, that bratty energy radiating off you and filling him with the need to break you down until he gets to see the pretty, begging glimmer of his sweet little thing again. 

Max Phillips:

Max is the kind of man who loves having a pretty, wide eyed thing beneath him, watching their face morph into that surprised pleasure. That’s exactly what he’s gonna get from you, too. He just knows it.

You’re the kind of person everyone loves working with, always offering a smile and kind words throughout the day. You work so hard and so diligently, that work ethic is something that leaves you offering your assistance when you’ve finished up before closing time. Max thrives on those moments where you peek into his office and ask if there’s anything he needs - maybe a coffee or some help with some paperwork. 

One day he decides, fuck it. Throws caution to the wind because hey, this is Max fucking Phillips we’re talking about here. So he waves you in when you pop by, lets you sit in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, and whispers “You can help by bending that pretty little ass over my desk.”, his hands braced on either armrest. 

The last thing Max expects is a harsh smack across his face. He stumbles back, eyes wide as you stand and glare at him. “Go fuck yourself, Phillips.” 

Okay, yeah. He deserved that. The great thing about him, though? Max also loves the chase. And what could be better than slowly but surely convincing you that the best thing for you is letting him rail you into oblivion? 

Pero Tovar:

Before he sees that fierce side of you, Pero keeps his distance. He’s a sellsword for god’s sake, he feels he has no business around such softness. He’ll hurt you, he’s sure of it. But that doesn’t stop him from looking. Pero often sees you in the market and every time, you take his breath away. You could usually be found aiding an elder in gathering their shopping into their carts or kneeling down to speak with the local children running amok.

As a man who spent his life surrounded by battle and hardship, it was a nice change.

It wasn’t long until he caught your eye, and Pero floundered. He didn’t know what to do with that first small gesture - he just stared at you when you offered him a small bundle of cheeses and meat to aid him on his two month long journey he was about to set off on. Of course he later cursed himself for the stunned silence he offered in response to your well wishes and the small wave you gave before you left him standing like a fool next to his horse. 

Pero would thank you properly when he returned, that was the resolve he came to while away. You deserved to hear the words at the very least. He takes a moment to clean up before he sets out to find you, not wanting you to see him covered in grime, and as always, he spots you within moments of entering the village. Except something is… off. Your face through the shop window lacks it’s usual brightness, your eyebrows pinched together, something akin to fear replacing the brightness your eyes usually held. That’s when Pero realizes there’s a man holding a dagger to the shopkeeper and demanding the man's coin. 

By the time Pero has his own dagger in hand and shoves through the door, the man is already crumpling to the ground from the harsh kick you landed at the back of his knee. Pero watches in  awe as you take advantage of his confusion to snatch the blade from his hand and point it at him with your foot pressed firm to his back. 

Despite just how amazing you look like that, Pero takes over quickly, wanting you out of harm’s way immediately. The assailant is taken care of after a small struggle and when you rush towards him to make sure he isn’t hurt, a fire lights in his belly. As you fret over him, your soft hands searching for any harm to his scarred, calloused skin, Pero knows. He’s found his person, he can feel it in his gut, deep in his bones. 

[ladyrivia]

Spitfire (Chapter One)

Summary: Anya Donato, a seasoned agent in the DEA transfers from New York to Columbia to take down Escobar. Upon arrival, two particular men catch her eye, Javier Pena and Colonel Carrillo.

No warnings! Except maybe google translate spanish.. Enjoy!

The fierce Columbian sun shined through the windows of the airport, giving Anya a bright welcome as she trudged down the stairs to customs. She dragged her suitcase behind her, duffel thrown over her shoulder carrying the remaining items of her previous life that was not already shipped down to the Embassy.

“Pasaporte, por favor.” passport, please. Digging through the inner pocket of her jacket, she pulled out her passport and required forms, handing them over to the man who was clearly tired of his job. “Gracias señora..Donato.” Thank you Mrs..Donato. He looked over the forms, stamping them and entering something into the system. “Bienvenida a Columbia.” Welcome to Columbia. He gave a tight lipped smile as he gave back her documents.

“Gracias.” Thank you. Anya replied, shoving the forms back into the pocket and continuing what seemed to be the never ending process of transferring to her new station in Columbia.

Anya walked to the ARRIVALS sign, where she was told that an agent would be picking her up. A handsome man walked towards her, his dark brown eyes scanning over your body. Perv. Anya thought, straightening her back and preparing to turn down whatever offer this man had.

“Excuse me señora, did you happen to see an agent on your flight?” Oh. Of course. He wasn’t expecting a woman to be joining. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a glare.

“I am the agent,” Anya dug through your pocket once more, showing him the shiny DEA badge before putting it back. “Señor.” His eyes widened, realizing his mistake, opening his mouth to form an apology, but she quickly cut him off. “Not another word. Can we just go now, I’m tired and ready to get the hell out of this airport.” He nodded, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and walking towards the exit. Normally, she’d argue and snatch her bag back, but she was too tired to care.

He led Anya to his black 4 door SUV, with scuffs and minor dents in it, showing its age. Throwing her bag in the back, she settled in the passenger seat. The car smelt heavily of cigarettes, which wasn’t too different from the car she sold right before heading to Columbia. If you were in the DEA, you either had a drinking problem or a smoking problem, if not both.

“I’m Javier, Javier Pena.” He was still trying to recover from his mistake earlier.

“Anya Donato. Pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes were focused on the city as they drove off, trying to get a sense of the area that she would now be living in. “Got a cigarette?” She looked towards him.

“Yeah,” He took out the pack from his front pocket, opening the carton for her to take one. “Here, lighter is in the console.” He grabbed one for himself and waited for Anya to finish lighting yours before handing the lighter to him. She took a long pull from the cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds before breathing it out, rolling down the window half way to allow fresh air to replace the smoke.

They smoked in silence, letting the nicotine settle her nerves.

“So.. where’d you transfer from?” Javier had never felt more awkward in his life. He normally always knew what to say, but with you he was at a loss.

“New York. Got tired of the snow and the cold.” She felt a smirk form on her face when she looked at him and said, “And I think you boys needed some help down here.” He looked at you, lips twitching into a grin

“Saying we’re incompetent?”

“Perhaps.” The banter eased the awkward vibe in the car, the two continuing to smoke while Javier pointed out places, whether it be a bad neighborhood, a good dive bar, or what she was most interested in, the best food choices.

“And here we are, home sweet home..” The car pulled into the Embassy, the security guards at the gate recognizing Javier’s car and immediately let him through. “I think the ambassador already left for today, I think they said something about a meeting.” He shrugged, clearly having not paid attention. “Let’s get you checked in here then we can get you set up at your new place.” He chucked the cigarette on the ground when he got out of the car, leading to the entrance of the large building. She opted to throw your cigarette butt into the trash can, grumbling something about littering.

“Pena!” A southern drawl called out. “You were supposed to pick up the new agent, not hire a new prostit-” Javi silenced him with a look.

“Agent Anya Donato,” She stuck out her hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m Steve Murphy.” He shook her hand.

“No harm done, you aren’t the first to assume.” Anya gave a pointed glare at Javier.

“Well, uh, welcome to the team.” Steve gestured to three desks pushed together in the bullpen. “That empty one is yours.” The group meandered to the desks, Anya plopping down in the uncomfortable office chair.

“Tomorrow we’ll have Carrillo get you your gun and fitted for Kevlar. For now you should get acquainted with our favorite narco.” Javier lifted a large box labeled ESCOBAR, putting it on the desk in front of her. Anya sighed, sitting up in her chair and taking the top off the box, finding it filled to the brim with papers.

“Where’s the coffee?” Her northern accent came out with the last words.

“The caw-fee is over there.” Javier mocked her accent, snickering when she flipped him off before retrieving a cup of shitty office coffee.

~

Hours passed, Javier was clicking away on the typewriter, Steve meandering around the office, retrieving information from the different intel groups that were scattered around the building. Anya’s eyes were starting to strain, the words becoming blurry on the paper. She snatched Javier’s cigarette box from where he placed it on the far corner of the desk, he got tired of taking it out every time she wanted to steal a cigarette.

“Don’t you have your own?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

“We’ve been over this Pena, I would’ve brought my own but Uncle Sam would’ve gotten pissy about it and I haven’t exactly had time to go get my own, nor do I have a car to do so.” Anya took a puff, then quickly took a swig of coffee. Not even 24 hours in and she was already returning to her bad habits.

“How many cups have you had?”

“..4..” She mumbled around the cigarette before looking up at Javier, eyebrow raised again. “Maybe 7.”

“Shit, Donato, how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

“You’ve been pouring over those papers for hours, why don’t we head out of here and go grab a drink with some of the guys?”

“You sure they’ll want me interrupting boy-time?” It was Anya’s turn to raise an eyebrow, she normally isn’t one to turn down drinks, but given the reaction she got upon first meeting her new partners, she wasn’t exactly excited to have to repeat that experience so soon.

“Of course, you’ve already interrupted it here,” Javi gestured around. “C’mon, I’m sure the trip down here wasn’t exactly easy. A few drinks could do you good.” He was pretty much begging her to come along at this point, he wanted to spend more time with her, get to know his new partner before they had to go guns-blazing into some drug lord's hideout.

“I guess so.” Anya put the lid back onto the box, downing the rest of her coffee and throwing it into the trash can near their desks. Javier quickly finished what he was typing before slinging his jacket on.

“You ready Donato?” She nodded and followed him back to his car.

~

The drive to the bar was short, the time filled with her asking clarifying questions about Escobar. Arriving at the bar, there were already other police vehicles parked. When she turned to ask him, he said, “We go here pretty much every night, it’s a good way to wind down.”

“Ah.” Anya and the New York DEA department had a place similar, except it was a 24 hour dinner/bar combo. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the past. She can’t afford to get emotional, especially when she’s the only woman on a team full of men. The second she shows emotion it’s over. Everything she’s ever worked for, benched and it being chalked up to being ‘too emotional’.

They exited the car, Javier leading her to the usual spot that him and Carrillo liked to sit. It was a corner booth, allowing them to monitor everyone coming in and coming out.

“Why isn’t Steve here?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows at the realization that Steve wasn’t with the group, but she saw him leave shortly before they did.

“He has a wife, Connie. She’s a sweetheart, I think you two would get along.”

“You barely know me.”

“We’ll that’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” Javier gave her a smile, and she couldn’t help but give him a slight grin in return. Approaching the corner booth, Anya noticed a man already sitting at the table, but he stood up upon seeing the two walking towards him. His stare was intense, she could tell he was trying to get a read on her. He was undeniably handsome, but in a different way than Javier. Javier was charming, definitely an expert in flirting and wooing a woman. The stranger was just… hot. His uniform fit tightly around his biceps, a 5 o’clock shadow sculpting his face, a watch decorating his arms that she wished were—

Get a grip, Anya. She cursed herself out in her own head as she ogled at the man.

“Carrillo, cómo estás?” Carrillo, how are you? Javier greeted the man.

“Quien es tu amiga?” Who’s your friend? Carrillo ignored his question, nodding to Anya.

“¿Recuerdas que mencioné que íbamos a conseguir un nuevo socio?” Remember me mentioning we were getting a new partner?

“Soy Anya, Anya Donato.” I’m Anya. She could tell that the man was surprised that the new partner was a woman, him continuing to analyze her every move.

“Colonel Carrillo.” His hand dwarfed Anya’s when they went to shake hands, they were warm, she could feel the calluses formed by years of hard work. Javier gestured for them to sit, him sliding in next to her and Carrillo sitting opposite of them. There was already a bowl of peanuts at the table, broken and discarded shells in a bowl next to it. Carrillo had obviously been munching on some before they arrived.

The waitress came by, dropping off menus and taking drink orders. The men had ordered whiskey.

“Aqua y…” Anya thought for a moment, deciding what drink she was in the mood for. Glancing over the menu, she decided to go with a classic Columbian cocktail. “Refajo por favor.” Water and a Refajo please. Carrillo and Javier gave her a quizzical look. “What? When in Rome..” She grabbed a peanut and cracked it while looking over the menu. Anya leaned over to Javier. “What’s good here?”

Carrillo was captivated by the woman. He certainly wasn’t expecting her when Javier said him and Steve were getting a new partner. While she was shorter than the two of them, she carried herself with the same confidence, even while having to look up to meet his eyes. He watched as she glanced over the menu with her big brown eyes while ordering her drink, the slight shade of pink that crossed her cheeks when they questioned her drink choice. Carrillo slightly tensed when she leaned over to Javier, a sense of jealousy sparking. Reúnanse, Horacio. Get yourself together, Horacio. He cussed himself out in his head.

“If you’re looking to try something local, you could try the Bandeja Paisa. It’s our National dish.” Carrillo grabbed another peanut as he spoke, cracking the shell with ease. He watched her fidget with the peanut in her hand while she looked for the dish on the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll try that. Thank you Carrillo.” Anya gave him a warm smile as she pulled back from Javier, placing the menu on the edge of the table so it was easier for the waitress to grab when she came back. The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and took their orders, Carrillo got a steak and Javier got a burger.

Anya finally attempted to crack the peanut, finding herself unable to. Carrillo noticed and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the peanut then back at her. She tried playing it off as if she was just fidgeting with it.

“Son of a bitch.” Anya muttered under her breath after a couple more tries. She could throw vicious punches, down a man twice her size in hand to hand combat, but she couldn’t crack a damn peanut.

Javier watched her out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing on his face when he noticed her struggling with the peanut. It was cute watching her try to play it off when Carrillo noticed, but he could see the pink return shortly there after. Javier had snuck off earlier to read her file, the ambassador had given it to him and Murphy days prior, but they didn’t bother reading it, assuming it’d be another guy like them. He read about her work in New York, how she helped take down some Cali Cartel members. Anya would go in undercover, taking down sicarios in club’s bathroom in a dress and heels when she would lead them back there for what they assumed to be sex.

After watching her suffer with the damn peanut for a few more moments, he reached down to grab it, easily cracking it and handing it to her.

“Thanks.” Anya muttered, the blush returning to her cheeks, redder than before. She munched on the peanuts while she grabbed another, yet again failing to crack it on her own. Javier chuckled and helped her crack it again. This repeated until they had a cycle of Anya handing him a peanut and him cracking it for her, dropping the peanuts into her hand and putting the shells in the bowl.

The spark of jealousy returned in Carrillo when he watched Anya finally relinquish the peanut to Javier. Es un puto maní. Para. It’s a fucking peanut. Stop. Carrillo returned to insulting himself in his own head, but he couldn’t help s small twitch of a smirk when Anya’s blush returned to her face.

“So tell me about the Rumpus Room.” Javier asked Anya while he cracked yet another peanut for her.

“That shitty place? Finally decide to read my file, asshole?” Anya snorted and took another sip of her drink.

“Call me an asshole all you want but I’m the one cracking your peanuts, gringa.” Javier waved the peanut in front of her.

“Gringa? Come up with something original, lindo.” Pretty boy. She swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Wonder where you learned that one,” He gave her the unshelled peanuts. “You gonna tell us or what?” He took a sip of his whiskey.

“Nothin’ much to say,” Anya said between crunches. “Awful place, smelled like cat piss.” She scrunched her nose. “Wasn’t anyone high profile, just a trafficker of theirs. Put on a tight red dress, strutted into the club and I had him in an instant. Practically drooled over me.” She shook her head. “We danced a bit and I whispered some..” Anya was worried of the reaction she would get, her plan worked well, but some think she’s promiscuous and a whore for how she took down these men. “Something dirty in his ear and led him to the back. Disarmed him quickly and just beat the shit out of him. Nothing special.” She practically chugged her drink, trying to ignore whatever reaction the two men had.

Well, there certainly was a reaction in their pants.

“In a dress and heels,” Javier whistled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Best not.” Anya let out a sigh of relief, neither of these men seemed to care about her unorthodox methods.

“You went in there without a weapon?” Carrillo’s fists were clenched, how could her superiors put her in such a dangerous position?

“Can’t hide much in a skin tight dress,” She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “Though I did hide a knife in my bra. My boss didn’t know about that.” A smirk came to her face. Carrillo did not find any of this funny. No backup or weapons, what if they had caught onto her? Over his dead body would he send—

Para, para, para. Stop, stop, stop. Carrillo pleaded with his mind once more as the waitress returned with refills and their meals.

The rest of dinner was filled with exchanges of stories, both men finding themselves enamored with the lively stories Anya told, the alcohol and time spent together making her feel more and more comfortable with the two. She was hungrier than expected, digging into her Bandeja Paisa.

“My god Carrillo!” Anya praised Carrillo for his recommendation, which was something he definitely wanted to hear again.

It was about midnight when Javier noticed Anya starting to slump, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with her.

“I’m okay seriously, I feel fine.” She felt the alcohol hitting her.

“You’re clearly tired, c’mon carñira, it’s time to get you home.” He groaned when he realized her apartment was empty, that was something they were meant to do before she arrived.

“Qué es?” What is it? Carrillo noticed the look on Javi’s face.

“Her apartment is empty. We were meant to get the essentials moved in before she arrived but with everything—”

“Bendejo.” Idiot. Carrillo muttered. “Ella puede quedarse en mi casa esta noche, tengo una habitación de invitados preparada.” She can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room set up. Javier eyed him, jealousy blooming in his mind. “Que? Quieres que duerma en la misma cama donde te follaste a las prostitutas?” What? You want her sleeping in the same bed you fucked prostitutes? Javier knew he was right, he wasn’t prepared for someone to stay over.

“My Spanish is good but I think I’m a bit drunk, fill me in?” Anya seemed to sober up a tad after nursing her glass of water.

“I may have forgotten to set up the furniture in your apartment..”

“You can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room.”

“Oh. Yeah that.. that works, just need to grab my bags from his car.”

“Consider it done.”

~

“There you go. Take care of her.” Javier gave a slight glare at Carrillo, warning him if anything happened to her. Stop it Javi. You just met her today. She isn’t yours. “Goodnight, carñira. See you tomorrow.” He shut the back door of Carrillo’s car, where he had brought her bags over.

~

The drive to Carrillo’s house was quiet, Anya looking out the window and gazing at the city’s lights.

Upon arrival, he insisted on opening her door for her, wrapping his hand around her waist to make sure she didn’t trip up the stairs to his house. He knew she wouldn’t trip, she knew she wouldn’t trip, but neither said a word and played along with the excuse.

“Make yourself at home, here’s the guest bedroom,” He opened a door on the left. “Sorry about the boxes in there, work seems to follow me home.”

“Oh no worries, I’m the same.” The evidence boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, all of them combined was definitely taller than her.

“Bathroom is through that door,” Carrillo pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “And that door is my room, so if you need anything don’t be afraid to ask.” She nodded. There was an awkward pause between them, before Anya spoke.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here rather than a hotel in the city.” Or Javi’s apartment. Both of them knew the unspoken words. She did pick up a few words from their earlier conversation, something about in the same bed as fucking prostitutes let her everything she needed to know about Javi’s habits. “Goodnight, Anya.”

“Good night, Carrillo.”