#you were just not cared for as a child and made to feel that was your fault

[cherie-doll]

How do you think the cod guys (you date and work together) would react and treat you if you had gotten unwell, they noticed and then you were diagnosed with a auto immune disease? Like lupus, various auto immune arthritis conditions(rheumatoid, psoriatic) , chroins or w/e?

How would they be able to handle your new weakened self?

This is a pretty self indulgent request and I just want to know if they'd still love me.

Ps. I love the art you use.

“it’s never lupus”

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You Find Out You're Sick

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He had noticed your how your performance which was usually average or above average suddenly started declining, he was more worried than upset so he decided to talk you into taking some time off and visiting the medic

He's saying this not only as your superior but also as your s/o, even if it was just something small (or so you both assumed) he would still want you to take care of yourself, even if he finds himself very busy he would come check up on you every now and then

That was until the doctors told you it was something far more serious that was affecting your body and would affect how you did things from now on

While it may have discouraged you, Price always made time for you, especially since he wanted to comfort you best he could, he wouldn't treat you less nor be too overprotective, he knows how capable you still are

Knowing what would affect you would be long-term, he didn't want you to let that get in the way of living your best life, he still comes around as much as he can to remind you how much he loves you still

Ghost

You said you were doing fine, but he knew that you had let it get to you, deep on the inside you were a little hurt, sometimes it became hard to deal with the medications and treatments knowing it was all for nothing if it meant being like this for the rest of your life

Simon would have some trouble knowing just how much to let his worry for you show, he just wants you to be healthy and happy, so it might become a little overbearing when he's always telling you to take your meds, or holds you back from being a little reckless

You're not child, you remind him, but he prefers being your silent reminder rather than verbally expressing it

In a way he could understand the part about having to deal with this lifelong, some things no matter how hard you tried to cover or search for a cure just couldn't be completely buried, so he tried his best to help you manage it in his quiet way

Soap

It had taken a long time before you were diagnosed, many tests and doctors appointments later you were finally told what had been happening to your body

It had felt like a betrayal, you had taken care of it well, you would frequently join Johnny on his morning runs (when he managed to get up early) and even train with him to improve, he had been recently saying how much better you had gotten at working out

But he had also seen those small changes in you; mostly how you could no longer ignore "small" pains that seemed to bother you constantly, he too had worried when not even the doctor could give you a clear answer

The feelings of anxiety and frustration had nearly been too much for you, and despite you focusing on mostly yourself now, he never made you feel bad for it, he was there at your side, not resenting you for suddenly feeling unable to spend time with him

If you preferred to sit and do some other activity rather than go out, he would do what suited you better

Gaz

He's always been attentive to all your needs; emotional and physical, so no doubt it was due to his nagging that you went to the doctor in time to get treated, you didn't have to be confused about these new symptoms that had begun to interfere in your daily life

You hated how unpredictable your illness could be, Kyle taught you to be patient with your body, to not expect too much out of it, he took care of you better than if you were alone

If you've had to adjust your diet and lifestyle, he would greatly help with it, before you would carelessly prepare your meals just to have something to eat, and it's become increasingly hard to keep track of small things like your meals

He's made all the necessary adjustments to help you manage, even if you think it's a little annoying at times how much you have to care now, he's able to still cradle your face in his hands and give you reassurance that you'll learn to live with it

He doesn't let you wallow in your sadness too much either, your thoughts could easily make you look at life grimly, but he's constantly showing you ways to still find joy in the little things, and with time your attitude improves

Roach

If it weren't for him laying it so heavy on you going to the doctor then you probably wouldn't have gone yourself, you kept dismissing those symptoms and when you got back the diagnosis he was probably more worried than you were

Frankly, you were scared, if you had never gone through so much all at once then it was difficult for you to deal with all this, but he wouldn't leave you not even when you felt like this was something you had to deal with yourself

He did all he could to keep you cheerful and content, he wasn't just about to let you deal with it by yourself, especially since you could confide in him and let him know how you felt

There had always been a quiet and mutual understanding between you two, so it was easy for you to lean on him when things were hard, even if you felt overwhelmed by all the symptoms and new feelings that came with this disease

He wasn't only your partner but a friend too

Alejandro

Feel like he'd be tempted to put things aside to assist you when you really needed him, perhaps he wouldn't be able to do much to keep you from experiencing physical pain or complications, but he would do whatever he could in his reach to make you feel just as loved if not even more than before

On some days even small tasks and chores like getting up, starting your day, making something to eat or even remembering to take medication to alleviate the pain is hard for you, he would be by your side no matter what

He would want you to focus solely on yourself, and even when you expressed how terrible you felt for having to rely on him so much, he'd tell you a million different ways how he doesn't mind it, he'd do anything for you

He encourages you to re-evaluate your priorities; your number one job right now is to only worry about yourself, he'll take care of the rest

Rudy

My boy Rodolfo was worried sick for you, he noticed you were missing more days and despite him not being the one you told everything to, he still felt a need to find out what had been going on, you were his s/o after all

When he found out about the frequent visits to doctors to try and pinpoint what the problem was, he felt a little disappointed you didn't come to him but he hid it away not wanting you to feel like it was another burden to carry, you were far busier worrying about your health

He did everything he could to help you, offered to accompany you to doctor's appointments and so on until you got a diagnosis back, he's not entirely sure how to navigate this but he knew the one thing you would need was support

Sometimes you get frustrated not being able to do certain things or having to refrain for your health, but thanks to Rodolfo, your resentment and bitter feelings go away when he's around

His acts of service have served to prove how much he cares for you, you're always in the back of his mind not only when he's with you but also when he's out alone; he makes you feel loved even during tough times

Phillip Graves

You were worried what his reaction would be, you dreaded telling him because he was the type to immediately tell you to rest even if you got a cold or were feeling too hot, you didn't doubt his love for you, because he would do anything for you

Which in a way worried you, he was so busy with his new tasks that maybe he wouldn't have time for you in your newfound condition, there were always a hundred other people that needed his attention before you, or so you thought

But he listened quietly, and with care made sure that you were getting the rest that your body needed, and don't dare think to neglect yourself even if you think your disease isn't so severe

Perhaps there may be tense moments where you became fed up with it all; with the way some people treated you, how doctors treated you, how you viewed yourself.. but he was always able to sneak in a kiss on the cheek or some other small but significant way to make you smile at his actions

There was just no way you could not keep your face from showing happiness when you saw him, he had always had that effect on you and even now it overshadowed your negative thoughts

Makarov

Usually this man keeps tabs on you even if he isn't physically there with you at the moment, but he hadn't been there to notice your deteriorating health, or how you now had to take medicine when you had flare-ups, etc..

Either way word reach him and he suddenly came back, it felt strange having him give you a look over, his eyes observing you and he noticed how you had changed small, minor details in your routine

You felt weird having him perched like a hawk watching you, but in his eyes he was just doing what he could to care for you, he no longer wanted you to overwork yourself like you often did, against your protests he put his foot down and would not allow you to do anything unless he has deemed it safe beforehand

Even if you faked annoyance it was sort of heartwarming seeing him secretly care so much, you know he's never casual about anything and he wouldn't simply dismiss something like this

Keegan

He didn't have to go around finding things out because you were upfront about it with him, you had recently begun complaining of some pain in your muscles, at first you had shrugged it off, thinking it was from your last mission, it wasn't unusual to experience this

But it persisted, so much that you decided to go visit the medic on base along with Keegan, and while he came out fine, you had to stay back longer until a doctor was able to look at you

You assumed he had gone back to his barracks, but he had stayed waiting outside hoping it wasn't anything serious, you were surprised to walk out and meet his eyes when he raised his head

He can tell by the look on your face when you're in pain or something is bothering you, he can also tell when you're not in the mood to be open about it and he complies, but that won't stop him from caring for you

König

He was more worried than you were, and rightfully so, it was something new to him, he hadn't gone through this himself so he was afraid of how little he knew, especially since it was happening to the person he thought of so dearly

He tried to hide his anxiety, but never had be been so worried, you tried your best to assure him that it wasn't as bad as he thought, even if doctors couldn't cure it, there was no reason why he should be losing sleep, you would still live an average life

To give some sense of relief to König, you made changes and tried your best to adapt even when it became increasingly difficult at times, you knew the man beside you would always be there and it gave you some comfort to have someone to share your problems with

His company helped you cope better than any other treatment, maybe it was his big and imposing figure that made you think of him as your gentle guardian, he would watch over you and you never doubted his love

Horangi

It was difficult at first and you really had thought you would be stagnant at this point in life, you feared not being able to advance or go anywhere, you still had so many goals and dreams you would like to reach, but him seeing you struggle made his heart clench

He wanted to accommodate you best he could, he also didn't want to make the mistake of not being informed and he didn't want you feeling alone if he couldn't understand

He would accompany you to the pharmacy, the doctor and any other place where you might need his help, he knew you were plenty capable but if walking beside you helped you feel a little more secure in your footing, then he would accompany you everywhere

And if at any point the stress became too much, he gently reminded you that he didn't mind supporting you, you weren't a burden at all, it would be his pleasure to help meet your needs

Nikto

You thought he wouldn't notice, you had barely noticed it yourself, but perhaps Nikto had caught it quite early on, it had gone unnoticed by you how often he had a habit of watching you, it was a custom he had

He knew how you did things, your routine, your habits and everything, so it was unusual to him how much you struggled now to concentrate, while you wrote it off as not getting enough sleep Nikto was already taking notes

He also didn't think it was normal for you to suddenly become so tired or come up with rashes, he sort of casually brought up when your next check up was and told you to get it done sooner, and how surprised you were when you came back with the results

You probably trust him more with reminding you to do certain things so now he's become your notepad, if it were someone else he wouldn't even bat an eye, but since it's you he's letting you do whatever, like a cat that becomes fond of a person

He doesn't mind being soft with you either if it means making you feel just a little bit better on a day when you're feeling down

[22ayla21]

Hello there! Hope you're doing well

He's been barely gone for one patch but im pulling a phainon and already missing my man Mydei, so I'd like to make a request for him! I literally can't get the thought of him being an older brother so I'd like to see anything Big brother Mydei related! I feel like he would be very protective if he had a child sister/brother, he'd probably be the softest towards them even if they were a little troublemaker no one can change my mind lol. Take your time!

A Blood Oath and Ashes

Torn apart by fate, they did not forget each other, and this memory made them stronger on their path to reunion.

In the dusty lore of Kremnos, weakness, especially in men, was rarely spoken of. Here, they were hardened from infancy. Here, tears meant readiness for death. Here, they forged not just warriors – they created weapons worthy of gods. But even in this harsh world, children were born whose dreams were of light, not blood.

Mydei and his younger sister came into the world in a family where darkness stood at the threshold, but their mother's heart radiated light.

Gorgo, a proud and mighty warrior, one of the strongest women of their people, dared to defy Evrepion – the ruler, her husband, a monster. He was the father of their children. And the one who cursed them.

Mydei would forever remember his mother's gentle gaze, as if she foresaw his great future. But even more vividly etched in his memory was how she held his younger sister close to her chest, wrapping her in a thin, wormwood-scented blanket, as if saying goodbye forever.

Their childhood ended on that fateful day. Evrepion... their father... threw Mydei into the River of Souls. Like a defective object, like unwanted garbage. And all because of a prophecy. If not for Gorgo's will, Midei would have long since become a forgotten echo.

But in that final battle, she didn't manage to save her son. So she saved her daughter. She snatched her from captivity, from a future worse than death, buying time for the girl to disappear.

Mydei survived. He crawled out of the River, wounded and broken, and began his journey.

Years passed. He grew older, growing up in solitude. Without his sister, without his mother, without warmth. Only memory, hatred, and duty. He became what he was meant to be: a weapon, cold and merciless. But beneath the steel armor of his soul, hope still smoldered: she was alive. She had to be alive.

And she was alive.

He found her when he had already stopped believing in fate. She stood in the arena, in armor that seemed inherited from their mother. Her movements were swift, and her gaze was like a mirror. In that gaze, he recognized himself. He recognized Gorgo.

She recognized him first. Not by scars, not by armor, not by the banner under which he now fought. She recognized him with her heart. And she rushed to him without fear, without tears – only with a cry:

"Brother!"

The world stood still.

Since then, they had not parted.

It wasn't easy for Mydei. He had forgotten how to be gentle. He had forgotten what care was. But by her side... everything changed. He learned anew – how to place his hand on her shoulder, not on a spear. How to cover her back – not because she was weaker, but because he had sworn she would never be alone again.

She was not defenseless. Like their mother, she could be a storm. But in his eyes, she was still that little girl who once clung to Gorgo, feeling warmth and safety.

He was strict with everyone. But never with her.

She could smash training armor, climb the fortress wall, pour water on the hated advisor in the middle of a meeting – and he looked at her like no one else. Holding back laughter, hiding warmth behind his usual sternness. But his gestures said everything:

"You are my meaning. My only remaining piece of the past. My future, for which I survived."

When she was injured during another training session, he himself washed her wounds in silence. And at night, thinking she was asleep, he would sit beside her and stroke her hair. Just like their mother used to do.

He didn't allow anyone to get too close to her – neither allies nor enemies. He respected her choices. But he never forgot: if anyone dared to raise a hand against her – he would destroy the whole world without hesitation.

One night, sitting by the fire, she asked:

"Do you think Mother would be proud of us?"

He was silent for a long time. Then he replied:

"She would say you have surpassed her."

The girl laughed, burying her face in his shoulder.

And he, for the first time in many years, allowed himself to hug her the way they did back in childhood, when they didn't yet know pain.

He swore to protect her. Always. And, if necessary, to burn the sky just so she would live.

[flaresemily]

ᏴᎪͲ ҒᎪᎷᏆᏞᎽ Х ΝᎬᏀᏞᎬᏟᎬᎠ ᎡᎬᎪᎠᎬᎡ.

★ αll Եհís թαíղ í բҽҽl. ís Եհís lօѵҽ? օɾ... ղҽցlҽcԵ?

⚠warning⚠ mention of : torture. Stitches. Burn mark. Neglecting. Please proceed with caution. If you are uncomfortable with this kind of thing please ignored this story. Unless you can take the risk

Masterlist : Part 1

It started small…so small. You were Bruce and Selina's daughter. (Yes you are and today you are not some random woman child)

They all love you. Yes, yes they did. Dick takes you to the park sometimes to Bludhaven. Jason, despite being revived again, is cautious with you. Tim being the smarty pants he is actually teaches you how to do math! Damian? Oh Damian, he loves you.

But that all happened one night. At the age of 6 you notice your eyes color is different from both your parents. Bruce didn't notice yet, not even Selina did.

You know who did? Alfred did. How? Simple. He was preparing you to have a family dinner with the others. Of course you are excited. I mean…who wouldn't?

You were so excited you didn't notice the stairs. You trip down the stairs and say bye bye to your head.

As soon as you wake up, Alfred is there taking care of you while your parents and siblings fall asleep on the floor or couch.

That's when he noticed. His eyes widened. “Miss…your eyes? It's pink?”

You just stare at him wondering. When Bruce wakes up he notices your bright pink eyes. That's when it all went downhill.

Bruce and Selina fight all the time. With Bruce accusing her of cheating and her trying to defend your right. And then the next thing you knew.

Divorce paper was signed and Selina has moved out, returning to her work as Catwoman. You just stand there awkwardly. You guys are probably wondering how the family starts to neglect you.

It's because Bruce started it first. Everytime he looks at you. His eyes fill with betrayal. He started to drink and neglect his work as Batman. When he did become Batman oh boy. He doesn't have mercy on any of the villian.

The boys started to blame you little by little because everytime Bruce made eye contact with you. He felt despair. Those bright pink eyes. He looked back through your old picture and noticed something in your eyes. Each picture where you are. You have dark red eyes. From far it looks like black eyes but it turns out to be dark red. Crimson red like blood.

He never noticed your eye color but he clearly remembers that when you were born you had his hair and eye color so…what changed?

Then, one day after finishing your lunch alone. You hear your mother's voice. You quickly run to where the voice is. And there she is talking with Bruce and Alfred with all the boys assembled there. Then she presents a girl the same age as you. 6 years old. But with blue eyes. Bruce's eyes. You stared at them from afar.

Selina handed Bruce something and he looked shocked. He quickly kneels down and hugs the girl. After he finishes hugging her. He stood up and looked at the boys while smiling. You miss his smile.

“This here is your real sister. Y/n.” He announced. Dick takes the paper and scans the DNA test and damn…it is the same Bruce and Selina DNA that came out positive with the girl. (Something like that idk how to describe it but the DNA is positive about the girl being their daughter.)

You can feel your stomach twist. That's when you run to them. “Papa!” You called out to Bruce. All eyes turn to look at you. Even the girl did. You don't know why but you feel…scared as if you did something wrong. “Papa…” Selina just stares at you.

“Papa? Who is she?” Ask the girl. Jason looks at the little one and replies. “It's nothing she's the new maid Alfred hired to be your playmate. Alfred looks shocked too.

“But master? She–” Bruce raises his hand to signal Alfred to stop talking. “Just like Jason says. Since I can't really throw you out considering the outside is Gotham. Then I have no choice but to take you in. From now on you are no longer Y/n Wayne. I do not have a daughter with pink eyes. You may pick out another name for yourself.” just like that your little heart shattered.

Bruce turns to the other daughter. He picked her up. “But you my dear shall be Y/n Wayne the real Y/n Wayne” he smiled gently at her and Carried her to the living room. You just stared blankly at the place they once stood.

Alfred looks at you and leads you somewhere. “Mis– I mean uhm dear. I'll buy your outfit later, alright?” you just stare at him with betrayal in your eyes. You don't understand why Alfred treats you like this.

Everyday is like hell to you. Not only Bruce and the others openly spoil her. They seem to be abusing you mentally. Apparently this…daughter has some fear. Especially in the dark. Dick will always sleep with her. Sometimes she sleeps with Bruce and sometimes Damian reads her bedtime stories. While you?

You are trained to be the perfect maid for her. Your new name? Well it's [name] now.

(Pls use different name for Y/n and different name for [name])

Years passed by. You don't even remember how many scars you have on your back. One from when Damian was angry with the joker for trying to ‘almost’ kill his precious sister. He was training and you tried to earn his trust. Big mistake. He was so angry that he slash everything on his way. You were 7

While training with his katana he uses a blindfold. He didn't notice it was you and he ‘accidentally’ slash you from In front. Luckily Alfred was there to save you from bleeding too much. Damian never apologized.

Second scar was a burn mark.

You are tasked to bring some tea to Jason as he's tired. In the garage he was fixing his motorcycle. You once again try to earn his trust. Accidentally pick up a crowbar and drag it across the floor. He who heard it immediately went to his ‘survival’ mode.

He literally choke you and hold the teapot close to your left eyes and pour it down. Making you scream in pain. Luckily again Dick was on his way to the garage when he saw this. He quickly pushes Jason away and brings you to the hospital. Sadly the scar is permanent. Jason never apologized. You were 8

The third scar hurts you more. Apparently ‘y/n’ went missing and the family went crazy looking for her. At the same time you went missing too. Coincidence huh.

The kidnapper posted a video where they cut and stitched ‘y/n’ back up again to the batfamily. They all went crazy raiding that place looking for her. When they did. Bruce carries her still bleeding body to the manor. How many stitches does she have?

Let's count!

Both arms - 4 = 2 at each arms

Both legs - 2 = 1 each legs

Stomach - 3 = they cut and stitched back up

Back - 5 = same thing they did to the stomach.

Left chest - 1 = they cut open to see the ‘heart’ in a hurry they didn't stitch it properly.

Bruce was apologizing again and again to her. Key word = her.

Then Tim noticed someone standing at the front door. It's Selina and…y/n!!

Then he looked at the unconscious girl in Bruce's arms and he took off the blindfold and was shocked. It isn't their precious y/n it's you!! Bruce almost let you go but he kept a tight grip. His tears already stop and he takes you inside the manor. The rest of your recovery is tended by Alfred.

That's when Selina tells them she forgets to inform Bruce she's taking y/n for a mother- daughter outing.

You who are barely conscious could only let a tear fall down.

Present time

You are 15 now. Same age as y/n. You [name] l/n. You are forced to abandon your name to some wannabe you. Like it or not hey it's life.

“[name] go hang the laundry please I need to pick up the miss at school.

Your age : 15

Wannabe you : 15

Damian : 17

Tim : 19

Jason : 23

Dick : 26

Bruce : 46 (let's all just pretend okay?)

Selina : 46 (PRETEND OKAY!)

“Yes Alfred.” Being a maid wasn't on your bucket list when you were little but now…you can't complain cause Bruce truly treats you like a maid meaning…

Maid + salary + Wayne manor = a lot of money

So a win-win situation.

After Alfred picks her up from school. You were cooking lunch for them. Before suddenly you feel dizzy. So you quickly cook lunch and lay on the bed in the maid room.

That's when you feel the urge. The urge to bite into something. Your body feels warmer than usual. The next thing you knew you were biting your arm. Which is currently bleeding right now.

‘It hurts! It hurts but it's delicious!’ you think. Through your dizzy state. You didn't realize someone was knocking on your door. Alfred opens your door since you aren't answering.

It was dark. With the curtain closed. And you are not opening the light. He decided to open it. Once he did he saw how messy your room was. “[name] didn't I tell you to clean it up?” He looked around for you cause he clearly heard your voice. Before he could turn around something or someone pounced on him.

🦇🦇🦇

From : Flares Emily

🦇🦇🦇

How was it the ‘part 1’ do you all batfamily x neglected reader lovers want more? COMMENT THEN!! (not me forgetting how taglist work😞)

[sleeplessspell]

The Art of the Gift

The guards call me “The Ghost.”

The street kids call me “King Penny.”

The nobles? They call me “an urban menace,” though one did accuse me of being a rogue socialist with a flair for drama. I liked that one.

Most folks know me simply as the generous thief.

It’s funny. I spent most of my life stealing to survive—picking pockets, unlocking safes, creeping past sleeping guards. For years, I was a whisper behind every vanished heirloom and misplaced gem. And now? Now I’m the one giving things away.

How things change.

It started the day I robbed the Vault of Lynthar. You’ve probably heard of it: built by dwarves a century ago, seven subterranean levels, three rotating floor traps, and one blind, sword-wielding, enchanted golem named G’erthud. I still have a scar from where he nearly made me a head shorter. But when I cracked the final door and stared into the golden abyss, I realized something terrifying.

I had no idea what to do next.

That pile of gold wasn’t just wealth—it was freedom. Freedom to buy castles, build kingdoms, retire on a beach with someone pretty and a wine glass in hand. And I felt… nothing.

So, I left. I took a sack of coins and disappeared. Left the rest behind for the vultures to fight over.

And then years later, after the scandal had died down, somewhere between boredom and a particularly forgettable bathhouse, I had an idea.

If I couldn’t steal anymore, maybe I could still sneak. Old habits die hard, after all. So I slipped a silver coin into a beggar’s satchel while he slept. I didn’t expect much. Maybe a confused look, a grateful prayer to some forgotten god. But when I passed by the next day, I saw him standing tall, holding a loaf of bread in one hand and sharing it with a child in the other.

And I felt… something. Something good.

So I did it again.

And again.

Two years later, the capital of Aelren buzzes with rumors.

They say if your purse feels heavier in the morning, it means the generous thief has passed you by. They say he moves like smoke and whispers like wind. That he wears shadows like a second skin and has a laugh like distant chimes. I never meant to become a legend, but here we are.

I live in the attic of an old watchmaker’s shop. Mr. Verin knows I’m not exactly renting, but he’s also too blind to care and too tired to chase me out. He leaves out extra bread sometimes. I pay him back with new pocket watch cases I commission from a smith across town.

My days are quiet. But nights? Nights are for the dance.

I slink across rooftops like a lazy cat, hunting for empty windows and open shutters. But instead of snatching lockets or letters, I leave things behind—coins tucked into boots, necklaces draped on mantels, little carved wooden toys left on windowsills.

I’ve perfected the art of reverse theft.

And the city has noticed.

One evening, as I perch atop a chimney overlooking the Plaza of Whispers, I hear a commotion below. A crowd has gathered, murmuring and pointing at a notice posted on the old well.

Curious, I drop down and melt into the throng.

The paper reads:

“By order of Queen Mirena, a royal bounty of 10,000 gold pieces is offered to anyone who can reveal the identity of the so-called ‘generous thief.’ This figure is believed to be a skilled rogue and is hereby declared wanted—not for crimes, but for curiosity.”

Beneath it, a handwritten note:

“Come have tea with me. – M.”

I laugh aloud.

The Queen and I have a history. We were inseparable once—both orphans of the war, scuttling through the orphanage halls like mice. She grew up and put on a crown. I grew up and put on a mask. 

We haven’t spoken in over two decades.

Until now.

I accepted the invitation two nights later. Not by knocking, of course—what do you take me for?

I slip through the western tower’s laundry chute, past a dozing guard, and into the Queen’s garden. A table awaits, already set: two chairs, a pot of jasmine tea, two steaming cups.

She’s there, waiting, wrapped in silks that shimmer like moonlight. But her eyes—those eyes haven’t changed a bit.

“You’re late,” she says, sipping her tea.

“You put a bounty on my head,” I reply. “Had to be sure it wasn’t a trap.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t say dead or alive, did I?”

“No,” I admit. “But I’ve met your new captain. Subtlety doesn’t seem like her strong suit.”

She gently slaps my hand. “Be nice, Almira is lovely.”

We drink in silence for a while, surrounded by roses more expensive than houses and the chirp of crickets.

Eventually, she says, “You know this is madness, right?”

“Which part?”

“All of it. The sneaking. The gold. The secrecy. If you want to help people, there are better ways.”

“Like taxes?”

She grimaces. I set my cup down. 

“I don’t do this to fix the world, Maeve. I do it because it’s who I am. I can’t stop sneaking. Can’t stop watching, listening. This is the only thing I know.”

“Then why give the gold away?”

That gives me pause, I think for a moment. 

“Because I’ve stolen enough. Because the world is hard, and coins make it softer. Because I like the look on people’s faces when they find a silver where there should be none. Because... I can.”

She nods, quietly. Then she says something that surprises me.

“You’re doing good work. Just... be careful. Most of the nobility want to use you as a deterrent, to show what happens to those who defy them. The rest want your head. Plain and simple.”

I chuckle. “What else is new?”

Weeks pass. The city grows warmer. Word spreads of new bakeries funded overnight, of a sick boy whose family woke to find a purse heavy enough to afford a healer, of an old woman who found a deed to her house signed and sealed.

Still, the hunt for me intensifies. Traps are laid. Whispers turn into shouts. I start wearing masks again, disguises. I start walking in daylight, passing as a common merchant or a bard, or a fool. The danger is half the fun.

But one night, while dropping a small pouch into a barrel behind a struggling tavern, I feel a presence.

I spin, dagger drawn.

It’s a child.

A girl in her teens with eyes like embers and a jaw set like iron.

“It’s you,” she says, half shocked, half amazed. “You’re King Penny.”

I lower my blade. “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve been watching. You walk funny. You hum when you think no one’s around. You left coins at Mrs. Henley’s door last week.”

I blink. “You followed me?”

She shrugs. “You’re not that sneaky.”

“Excuse me?” I sputter.

“I want to help,” she says simply. “Teach me.”

“No.”

She folds her arms. “Why not?”

“Because this isn’t a game. Because powerful people are looking for me. Because—” I pause. “Because you’re a kid.”

“A kid who snuck up on you,” she retorts. “Listen, I know ten people on this street who’ve eaten better this month because of you. I want to do that too.”

I sigh. “What’s your name?”

“Paper.”

“Fine, Paper. I’ll give you a test.”

Her eyes light up.

“Tomorrow night. The baker on North Street. You slip this into her flour bag without being seen.” I toss her a gold coin. “If you pull it off, maybe I teach you.”

She grins, snatches the coin, and vanishes into the alley like smoke.

And for the first time in years, I feel something close to purpose.

That was six months ago.

Now, I’m not alone.

Paper has three recruits of her own—scrappy, fast, loyal kids with eyes sharper than blades. Together, we’ve become something else: not just a legend, but a movement.

We’re still ghosts. Still whispers. But now, when the nobles lay traps, they catch empty baskets. When guards wait in alleyways, they hear only laughter from rooftops.

And across the city, hope grows—not just in pockets, but in hearts.

As for me?

I’m still a rogue.

Still a creature of the night.

But now, I’m also a giver. A mentor. A myth people want to believe in.

I don’t know what my legacy will be. I don’t need statues or songs.

Just the occasional story.

Of a thief who gave too much.

And taught others to do the same.

You’re a rogue with enough gold to last ten lifetimes. But old habits die hard—you sneak through crowds, slipping coins into people’s pockets. The kingdom is buzzing about the mysterious, generous "thief."

[haikyu-mp4]

The plan – Sugawara x reader wc 759 – f!reader requested by @iatethemochi for A blast from the past, workplace romance edition<3

Becoming a social worker hadn’t always been the plan, but you did love working with children, and some of your coworkers had become good friends. Especially that Sugawara.

If you ever had a gloomy day, the teacher would brighten it with his cute animal socks sticking out of his slippers and mischievous eyes telling you he had ulterior motives. “Hello, Miss L/n!”

The corners of your eyes crinkled when you saw him. He was holding onto the side of the doorsill, as if swinging himself into the room, his free hand lifted in a wave. “Sugawara! Are you here for Yoshio?” you asked, even though you knew the answer, turning to smile at the young student who would sit with you for about an hour each week. You averted his focus by gathering up the blocks he had been playing with, dumping them back in their basket before booping his nose with your pointer finger.

Sugawara admired you in the process, then stepped aside when Yoshio got up to walk out. “Thank you, Miss L/n!” the child called to you as he walked out.

“Bye, Yoshi. Thank you for coming.”

Suga stood by the open door and watched as his student strolled just down the hall to their classroom, which was a convenient seven meters from your office.

Meanwhile, you were watching Sugawara with interest, taking your own time to admire him in return. You couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was, but he was always so soft. Such a sweet man, even when the devil on his shoulder had the reins and let him sneak into your office during work hours.

As Yoshio entered the classroom, closing the door behind him obediently, Suga nodded to himself and turned back to you with a relieved sigh. His assistant was in there watching the children read anyway, so he had a few minutes before he had to be back.

“Nene and Amane told the principal they’re pursuing a relationship,” Suga blurted out now that you were alone. You gasped, both hands covering your mouth to muffle the sound. “Now Nene is applying for new jobs because they were told one of them has to transfer by the end of the month.” It sounded like the gossip had been begging to be repeated since he heard it. Still, his voice was lowered to a sensible level. Nene and Amane are both teachers at your school, but in the middle school department.

“Feels like this school is destined of some kind… or cursed!” you pondered with a careful laugh. The thought made you fiddle, choosing to pull Suga’s cardigan zip up and down again.

Sugawara hummed, moving half a step closer to you with his eyes following your hand on his clothes. “Because you’ve fallen head over heels for your coworker, too?” he sighed for effect, really just joking. Or at least partially joking, partially testing the waters.

You shrugged your shoulders, looking up to find his eyes and winking. “Who knows, I sure like when he’s around.”

With a small chuckle, he lifted his hand to tuck some of your hair behind your ear when you stopped fiddling with his cardigan. “Anyway, Amane said he refused to leave this school, so Nene had no choice.”

You frowned, hating how much that hit home when comparing it to your… situation. Either of you might have to change jobs if you ever wanted to be anything more than a secret. “She once told me Amane wasn’t even her type,” you sighed, not voicing a single one of the more negative thoughts currently plaguing your mind. Suga squinted when he thought he spotted some doubts in your eyes, but a look at his wristwatch pushed any further pressing on the topic to the back of his mind.

“I have to head back. We’re still on for lunch?”

You plastered an immediate smile. “Naturally.”

“Negativity-“ To your surprise, he lifted a hand to flick a finger against your forehead, making you huff in confusion until you registered his words. “Begone!”

You sighed and nodded, letting him know you wouldn’t dwell too much on it if you could help it.

Sugawara put a hand on your upper arm to support you as he went in to kiss your cheek, before ultimately leaving the room as quickly as he came. Just like usual.

With another heavy sigh reflecting the weight of your heart, you went back to work. Becoming a social worker hadn’t always been the plan, and now you hated how much you loved it.

masterlist

[lethargical-lily]

Here we go again

I think the most tiring part of the Castlevania fandom is when people say Dracula and Lisa are “goals” because they’re actually the farthest thing from it. I get you want to be caught up in a whirlwind romance with a vampire that would destroy the world for you, but what we have to remember is that when talking about the characters these actions and ideals say a lot about them and all of them are negative.

I need to reiterate that Dracula’s relationship to Lisa, though he cared for her, struggled greatly because of their severe power balance, especially after Lisa’s death where every step of the way we see Dracula rejecting her wishes and fundamentally misunderstanding everything his wife stood for in the name of his own grief and selfish revenge. He is a selfish man and Lisa was not exempt from that selfishness when he basically just steamrolls her when it comes to her last wishes. Not to mention how his own revenge brutally injured their child both mentally and physically.

Dracula is not a good father or husband. I WANT him to be, but at this interval he is not.

If I, as a parent, had a child, the most beautiful gift to my world and the greatest joy to my life, and you, his father, physically wounded him so badly that he had a scar winding across his chest that I now had to look at every time I saw him I would feel the most burning anger, and if I didn’t feel that way I would be a bad mother. Lisa’s lack of anger at her husband is disgusting in my opinion, and honestly an insult to her child who is always supposed to come before your spouse no matter what anyone says. Same goes for Dracula.

In fact, do you know how i got motivation to write the angsty fanfiction I did for Castlevania that addressed Alucard’s parents abandoning him?

I constantly rewatched the scene where his parents were resurrected and talking about what they would do with their life, which was supposed to be a happy and hopeful scene but that made me feel genuinely nothing but anger.

In that whole conversation they only brought Alucard up ONCE

Once for the boy that watched his mother burn

Once for the boy maimed by his own father and subsequently forced to kill him

Once for the boy abandoned by the only two people he loved and hurt once again by another two people that made him think they loved him

They are not GOALS, and to say they are honestly ignores so much of who their characters actually are in the context of the story.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

i’ll be in denial for at least a little while / what about the plans we made?

ya! k. bakugou x reader

after a month with radio silence and encouragement from concerned friends and family, you end up at katsuki’s doorstep. themes of depression/isolation, mentions of death (katsuki failed to protect a family on a mission), angst with some comfort at the end.

one of those ones i just needed to write. special tag for @crushmeeren <3

song: tv

11:03 pm.

"he doesn't normally do this." you have eijirou on speaker phone while you look for your keys. you can't see him, but you know already the worried look in his red eyes as he speaks. its the same worry he's had for katsuki back when they were still in UA. its the worry you'd expect from a best friend.

he can't see you, but he knows you're worried, too. because anyone who gets thoroughly ghosted by their boyfriend with no warning would also have shaky hands as they drive over to check on them. anyone who cares about someone else, worries.

"you said he's still coming to work, though?" you know the answer. yes, you've heard from shouto that he's still heading to the agency regularly, going on patrol and field missions as normal. but what you don't know, what you aren't able to confirm from what people are seeing, is what scares you: what if he's dragging himself out of bed, exhausted because he didn't sleep? what if he's skipping meals? what if he's going on missions, secretly hoping that something goes wrong?

"yeah, but he barely talks to anyone. i mean, i know he doesn't care for small talk, or whatever, but... somethings wrong. i can feel it."

your stomach churns, making the turn onto his street. for a while, you sit in the driveway, trying to see into the windows. maybe he's asleep. maybe he's perfectly fine. but most of that is just hope.

"what if he doesn't let me in?"

literally, because theres always a chance he's asleep and doesn't answer his door- though he's always been a light sleeper since going pro. but theres also the chance that he lets you inside his home but not into the walls he's built around him this past month.

"he will. he has to. he loves you." eijirou's voice feels like refuge, even over the phone.

you take a deep breath, hands clutching the sweater your wearing. its his, and you almost feel a little bad that you've taken it from him. does he have other things keeping warm? he has other sweaters, or blankets, hot showers and even his own explosions, but is he still feeling cold? alone?

eijirou drones on a little more. he's not the one sitting in his abesent best-friends driveway, but like you, he's stalling. "what happened was... it was terrible. but no ones blaming katsuki for that."

"yeah. except katsuki probably is."

he's silent over the phone. you both knew it, but didn't want to say it.

"i'm going in."

the redhead nods, though you can't see him. "i'm here if you need me."

"alright, by eiji."

"bye, [y/n.]"

your heart is pounding, bracing yourself for whatever may happen. but part of you knows that whatever you're feeling, your boyfriend is probably feeling tenfold and alone. its why you need to do this.

tentatively, you raise your knuckles to the door, knocking.

theres silence for a moment. you hear some footsteps that pause just before the door, like he knows its you.

on the inside? he feels pathetic for trying to hide, hoping you'll go away. he knows you won't, you both know it.

"katsuki?" your voice is quiet, afraid of disturbing any ghosts. "c'mon, i know you're in there."

he tenses. he wants to make up an excuse, tell himself that he's fine, that he doesn't have the time, that leaving everyone behind suddenly isn't a sign that something is wrong. but he's a liar and a bad one.

"go away."

he winces to himself, knowing he sounds like a child. but truthfully, its what he wishes he were, right now. a child who didn't have to feel the weight of failure pressing down on his ribs.

"i'm not going away until you let me inside." you say, firmly. "please."

its the first time you're hearing his voice in weeks, and its enough to bring you to your knees. he's been doing this for a month, but you wonder if he's felt lonely or scared or confused for longer than that.

"...i don't want you to see me like this."

you fight back tears. "maybe i do. maybe i wanna see you."

he's leaning his forehead against the door, knowing it's gone on too long. he knows he can't keep this up forever, and that at one point, you'd come to his front door. he expected more anger, anger for being a shitty neglectful boyfriend that never opens up about his feelings.

but he doesn't hear any anger in your voice, at all. and that makes him feel worse.

"please." you plead again, ringing the doorbell, hoping it'll annoy him enough to open the door. you'd rather have him pissed off, annoyed or angry than have none of him at all.

he shakes hid head, hand on the doorknob. its already unlocked.

"you're fucking stubborn, aren't you?" a sentence that comes out with something like a laugh. your chest tightens, worried he's about to tell you off. for a minute in the silence, it seems like it.

but then he opens the door, letting you see him.

you want to run towards him, feeling his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you into his home and back into his life. but the fear of him rejecting that holds you back as he lets you inside, closing the door behind you.

you first note how dark it is. obviously, because its near midnight. but he's never been one to go without at least a window open, to let some moonlight in. he can't stand artificial light, anyway. he's always bitched that it messes up his sleep.

"you mind if i open some curtains?" you ask him, softly gaging his reactions.

he scoffs quietly, but reels in his attitude- most of it, anyway. "i don't care, do whatever."

you ignore his spite, walking over to the living room window and drawing the fabric. it's a perfectly clear night, a sky so full of stars you could swim in it. its something so beautiful, something he hasn't let himself experience in weeks.

you presence in his home is felt like that of a ghost. you take more time to look at his surroundings. you can hear his voice before this: "i like shit clean. and you're bad at that."

but now, he doesn't seem to care. theres dirty mugs and unwashed laundry. you're not saying anything, but he's expecting it. he's expecting you to call out his hypocrisy, or just how shitty he's let his place become. the thought makes his anxiety skyrocket, and following that, shame.

but instead, he watches as you collect a few of the cups and rinse them off in the sink. somehow, that makes him feel worse. what the hell did he do to deserve that?

"what are you doing?" he asks. you notice one of the mugs he got as a gag gift for his 20th birthday, though he took it seriously. a world's greatest hero mug, now dusty and forgotten.

"don't worry about it." you say, turning back to face him.

neither of you know where to start. he's hoped that if he stayed alone, drowning in his own depression, he wouldn't have to watch when you inevitably leave him.

"you know it's been a month?" you gently approach him. he's not moving away from your presence, which should be a good sign.

"i know." he says fast, cold. you know his tell that he's angry- short replies, pissed off red eyes and distance. he's not even mad at you, though. just himself.

"eijirou called, said he was worried. we all were, i mean."

his eyes dart up to meet your for a brief moment. the mention of him makes his chest tighten up more, knowing you're not the only person he's disappointed. he feels like a true, honest coward. he's not getting along with anyone. maybe he's the problem.

his silence makes you panic, wondering if he's listening. "i wanted to give you space. you're my boyfriend, i care and i-i didn't wanna push you."

he nods, arms crossed, looking at the floor.

"i'm just sorry it took me so long to get here."

his eyes meet yours again, this time holding your gaze. he wants to cup your face and tell you that you have nothing to apologize for. that he's hard to approach and hard to love, even though he knows you'd disagree with that. but the words get caught in his throat, and filtered by unresolved anger.

"yeah, well... you're here now, aren't you?"

you just nod, grateful that you're both, at least, talking. thats more than anything else in the past month.

you think back to the articles of what happened. how two young parents with kids even younger were tragically injured during a bank robbery. how pro-hero dynamight successfully captured the criminals but couldn't prevent what happened to the innocent.

whats worse is how neatly packaged and sanitized it became. "a physical altercation." "an unforeseen criminal event." "and unfortunate and untimely demise." he hated the way they tried to save his name, to not pin any blame him or his failures. he was blaming himself. why wasn't anyone else?

"you know no one blames you for what happened, right?"

because no one does. but for katsuki, thats the worst part. he should have bee faster, better. if he had been seconds earlier, maybe they could have gotten to the hospital faster. maybe he could have prevented it, all of it. if he was just a few seconds faster.

but he wasn't, and it'll haunt him forever. "they should be blaming me." he says solemnly.

you shake your head, stepping closer to him, hands itching to reach out. you want to take his blame and guilt away, even just for a moment. you wanna be able to touch him again. you wanna feel your boyfriend and everything he is.

theres tears in his red eyes as he recounts everything, breaking down. he once swore to himself he'd never cry in front of you, or anyone. now, he's starting to see that you're the only person he could cry around.

"how many people are grieving because i fucked up?" his voice raises slightly, but you hear through it.

"they know you tried."

"yeah well, not hard enough!"

he takes a deep breath, the thing he always tells you to do when you sprial. he lets the air sit in his lungs before finally pulling you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your head as he holds you. he's tired of being alone.

"has it really been a month?" he asks, quietly.

you just nod into his chest, speechless. he's letting you in again, letting you touch him, feel him. its the closest you've been in what feels like decades.

you pull away just a little, hands cupping his face, looking into his teary eyes. its the first time in a while he's let himself cry, feel. and it makes his chest ache. his bones are exhausted from pushing down his feelings, of saying that he's fine, that he deserves the exile he's placed upon himself the past month.

"i'm sorry i'm shitty a boyfriend." he sobs. "and a shitty person. you deseve so much fucking better, they all did."

you shake your head, hushing him compassionately, wiping his tears. "i don't want better. i want you." he pulls you in tighter, and for a moment, time stops, the way he's wanted it to for the past few hours.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

2 am.

you both sit on the living room floor, backs against the couch. you're pressed against him, holding his hand while he rests it against your thigh, his thumb gently stroking over your skin. he's been exhausted as of late, but he doesn't want to close his eyes and miss this moment with you.

but when he looks over at you, your head on his shoulder, he feels more and more that he's allowed to let his guard down. you're still very much awake, but it's the first night in a while you can sleep without aimlessly worrying about him.

"you know idiot, for what its worth, i haven't been completely alone." he says looking over at you.

your eyes perk up. if there was anyone else who made sure he wasn't suffering in silence, its someone you wanted to know. "really? who?"

he pauses for a moment, like he's recalling a conversation in his head. one thats been buried by guilt and anxiety for the past month. but with you, he's letting himself admit things.

"...i spoke with a member of the victims family. she was the sister to the mother of the family. she was at the hospital the day it happened."

his answer took you off guard. in your head, he boarded himself up in his house, isolated and alone. you're not completely wrong, but you do feel a pang of guilt for not thinking better of him.

"how did that go?" you push gently.

"i expected them to be angry. to blame me for it. hell, i blame me." he starts, reminiscing the event. "but she was kinder than i deserved. said she didn't blame me."

you can tell he doesn't believe her words, or anyone's. that he still replays it in his head, living the guilt, the guilt that he survived and others didn't, eating at him.

"she sounds really sweet." you squeeze his hand.

he nods. "yeah, she was."

"you know," you start, trying to give his mind a brief holiday from the turmoil. "if everyone is saying it, it kind of has to be true."

his lips twitch into a reluctant smile. "whatever, idiot."

you sit up, facing him as you piece together your next words. he pulls your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles, wanting to hear your voice. right now, its the only thing keeping him afloat.

"the hardest part about this job is that you can't save everyone. you can't change that."

what you say isn't new, its a reminder. that no matter how many things he blows up, how many villains he handles and how many times he climbs to the top, he'll have to endure the pain of loss. he's seen it in every teacher and every hero who came before him, and all the up and coming heroes who still have lessons to learn. and deep down, he knows that its no reason give up. he's determined to be the best, to be everything he said he'd be.

he nods, hearing the truth in your words, knowing that he'll need to make peace with it. he has no witty remarks or curses to add. just a drive to do better.

"but knowing you? you'll probably still try."

he brings his face to yours and then your lips to his, kissing you. his hand comes up to your cheek as he lingers for a few moments before pulling away.

"of course i will."

[oikarma]

nobody's soldier | pt.2

summary: you are a woman, now, and you are ever so aware why you joined the war as a soldier in the first place. there is nothing that keeps you going--save for perhaps the promise of one day returning to him.

a/n: no. i will not make a third part. i will break the cycle. i will not only write 3-part max verstappen fics.

── �� ・⸝⸝

Smoke and musk meant many things to you. at different points in your life.

As a child, they meant danger. Or good food, though in that case smoke was accompanied with a tantalizing aroma.

As a soldier, they meant danger and company. You did not love the war. It had taken time to warm to the sound of gunfire. You did not love the smell of your fellow countrymen. Still, it reminded you that you were not entirely alone. They were friendly and they were fighting for the same purpose.

And now, they reminded you of only Max. You did not know why. The smoke must have been from his constant warfare, but the musk? It must have been from the time he said goodbye. It was a lovely musk, not the darkness that hung over the barracks. It was something he kept for himself, you thought. You could not let the scent bring tears to your eyes.

Being a woman was not very difficult. You preened and made sure your skirts were nice and full. You bat your eyelashes at soldiers who whistled when you walked past. It tired you--disgusted you--so you kept your acts for the men who mattered. The men who had the information you wanted.

Tonight, the enemy commander had his eyes trained on you. General Wolff...no, you could not address him by any other name. He was the enemy. He was handsome in the way that could have been charming if it wasn't wrapped in malice. He knew you weren't who you said you were, but he didn't care. Plenty of women lied about their background. No respectable woman would have been deep in the trenches. Not without a purpose.

So, to him, you were just another prize to be won, another woman to conquer. He was the kind of man who would enjoy the challenge.

"You must be very lonely, my dear," he said smoothly, his voice a low whisper that sent chills down your spine as he stepped closer. "Such a beautiful woman...and all alone in a place like this. Perhaps you need someone to protect you." His hand brushed too close to your side, and you stiffened, forcing yourself to suppress the shiver of disgust that ran through your veins. You had to remain in control.

He must have mistaken your uncomfortableness as desire. His hand seemed to inch closer.

"I'm fine," you said as you turned to face him. The smoothest lie was always the one closest to the truth. "I'm only here to do my duty, sir. To help our men."

His lips curled in an amused smile, as if he found your words an invitation rather than a rejection. "Oh, I am sure you are. His hand now rested lightly on your arm. "But duty is so very...lonely, isn't it? I can offer you more than that, you know."

Wolff's fingers grazed your skin. You couldn't pull away. You had to let them linger.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. You forced your mind to clear. The feel of his proximity made your skin crawl, but you couldn't let it show.

Max…

You closed your eyes, desperate for an anchor, and there he was in your mind's eye. Max, his face stern and full of command. You reached for his gaze, those beautiful eyes, those haunting eyes. You would take that memory to the grave. You often wondered what he would have said, had he not been afraid. Max Verstappen was not a coward in any sense. And yet he could not say any words that might betray his feelings.

His face--his eyes, his touch--filled your senses, keeping you grounded. They kept you from losing yourself in the enemy's hands.

The commander's voice broke through your thoughts. "You look so distant, my dear. Tell me, who do you dream of when you sleep?"

It was a surprising question. Your eyes flickered to his for a fraction of a second, and you swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in your throat.

"Someone far away," you said, hoping your voice seemed sweet and sorrowful. It was definitely genuine, that much you were convinced. "Someone who wouldn't care for someone like me."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, I'm sure you’re wrong about that."

You didn't respond. His touch lingered for a moment longer, before he finally stepped back, perhaps sensing the faintest tremor in your stance.

"I'll see you later, dear. Maybe you will be a little less reluctant when alcohol's in your blood."

He left you be. You waited until the door closed, then slipped the map on his table into your blouse. You would leave as soon as the time came.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You were supposed to be gone by now.

Without thinking, you took the tankard of ale handed to you at dinner. The drink was cold and bitter on your tongue. You drank to escape, to silence the thoughts that had been clawing at your mind for weeks. There had been no clean water. You should've beared your thirst. It had been a bad idea from the start.

And then, another. A veil settled over you, clouding you from the world and from good judgement.

It wasn't long before you felt the heat of the fire on your face, and the warmth spreading through your limbs. Your vision swayed with each step, the edges of your consciousness slipping away. You had drunk too much, too fast, and now the alcohol was taking control.

In a blur, you found yourself in a darkened corner of the camp, a soft hand resting on your shoulder. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything seemed to move in slow motion. A familiar voice murmured from the shadows.

"You're drunk," the voice said, low and smooth. You turned, but it took a moment for your eyes to adjust. The face before you wasn't Max's. The voice couldn't have been, either. It was too rough, too conceited.

His eyes glinted in the dim light, and his smile was dangerous. "You've been running from me for weeks. But now…now you're finally letting go, aren't you?"

It shouldn't have been like this. You should have left already. You had what you needed to know.

You were acutely aware of the thin paper tucked in your blouse. You only hoped he would not notice. That he would have his fun and leave you alone.

"I know who you are, darling," Wolff said, and you felt a fear creep up your spine. Surely-- "And I do not care. You're just a silly peasant girl who got left at the altar. There's no one waiting for you. Am I not good enough? Silly girl."

His words cut deep, but you buried the flinch beneath a carefully crafted smirk. He was circling now, like a wolf sizing up his prey, drunk on victory and drink alike. You knew then: he was not going to leave you alone. No amount of silence or cold glares would drive him off tonight.

So you let him toy with you, let him play his dangerous game as though you were just a helpless mouse beneath his claws. His lips crashed against yours, tasting bitter of alcohol and smoke. The burn was ugly in your mouth, your stomach twisting at the taste of him. You wanted to push him away, to scrub the taste off your tongue until it was raw. But you could not afford that.

Instead, you softened your lips beneath his, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you--expecting fear, expecting surrender--you let a sly, dangerous glint spark in your eyes. You tilted your chin, lashes low, and let a sharp little laugh slip free.

This would be your game to play.

"Is that all you've got, Commander?" you purred, your voice edged with mockery. When your eyes fluttered, the darkness brought only the image of Max. "I thought the great soldier would be...bolder."

His breath caught, surprised. You saw it. Felt it. The briefest flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

Feigning teasing had always been your shield, your weapon wrapped in silk. You traced a finger slowly along the line of his jaw, as if you were considering him, as if you were choosing him--not the other way around. You wondered what it would feel to draw your fingers along Max's jaw, to have him undone underneath you.

"You'll have to do better than that if you want to keep my attention," you added, voice low and laced with a poison-sweet challenge.

It worked. You saw the pride in him bristle, saw the need to prove himself ignite in his drunken eyes. He thought you were playing, and he loved the game.

You? A careful hand had slipped into the back of your boots, pulling out your soldier's blade. He leant forward, meaning to capture your lips again, but you were already slipping the knife between his ribs, and he didn't even see it.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Behind you, the tent where Wolff had fallen lay eerily quiet. He had played his game too greedily, too full of drink and pride. He hadn’t expected the slender blade you had kept hidden in the folds of your garments.

His eyes had gone wide with surprise, his hand reaching too late to stop you.

Now he would never reach again.

Your breath was unsteady as you stumbled out into the darkness, keeping low beneath the cover of shadows. The guards were still reeling from their own excesses, the night thick with revelry and carelessness. But dawn would come, and with it, the discovery of their dead commander. They would hunt you like a fox in the woods.

You could not afford to be caught. Not now. Not when you were so close.

You ran, your limbs aching but your mind sharp, burning with the memory of Max--the only thought that kept you moving when your body threatened to give out. You saw his face behind your eyes: stern, steady, safe.

He had looked at you not as a peasant girl, not as a plaything, but as something worth protecting. Something precious. And someone worthy of that title.

The moment you broke through the treeline, breath ragged in your throat, you saw his soldiers. There were faces you briefly recognized, though they would not know you. Not in your present state, hair out, muddied dress catching on the ground.

There was only one face you needed. And there, there, atop his warhorse, his uniform darkened by dust and battle, his eyes scanning the horizon with relentless determination.

"God above," Max breathed, all his resolution gone. This was not the General Verstappen you knew, the one who recognized no Lord but his own hand. This man worshipped at only only one altar, a newly, precariously carved alter; but it was all his own, and his blessings had come. In a heartbeat, he dismounted, crossing the distance between you with terrifying urgency.

You collapsed into his arms, your strength gone, and he caught you as if he had been waiting for this moment all his life.

"You're safe," he said hoarsely, his hands cradling your face, his eyes raking over you with frantic desperation, as though reassuring himself you were real and whole. "You're safe. I thought--I hadn't heard. Did he do anything?" His voice broke, the mask of the army general slipping away to reveal the man beneath. The man who had been looking for you in every battle, every waking moment.

Your voice trembled. "I couldn't risk contacting you. He tried, well, it doesn't matter now. I have the maps. They're with me. But he's dead. I had to--"

"I know," Max said fiercely, cutting you off, his brow furrowed with fury and worry. He did not seem to care about the maps, not at all. "I know, my love."

My love. It was not like the careless 'darlings' the Commander threw at you, not knowing your name. My love, something in its own category.

"He's dead--" you repeated, not knowing what to say.

"That's my good girl." And that was when you finally melted. His words reassured you, giving you the permission to let your guard down, after all this time.

"No one," he rasped, "no one will ever touch you again, except for me."

The claim burned in the air between you, searing away the filth of the enemy camp, of Wolff's drunken hands. Yet, it did not frighten you. Not coming from him. Max spoke not as a conqueror, but as a man who had nearly lost the only light left in his world.

His thumb brushed your lower lip, gentle where others had been cruel. "Do you have any idea," he said, voice tight with feeling, "how long I have wanted to make you mine?"

You were no longer aware of the other soldiers who had gathered to gawk. It was him, only him, never anyone else.

Max did not wait for an answer.

His hands cradled your face as if you were made of porcelain, but his lips spoke of a hunger that had been caged for too long.

It was nothing like the bitter, ugly kiss you had endured in that tent. Max's lips were fire and salvation, desperate and full of reverence. His arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the cold and the memories alike, and in that moment, you felt something you had not tasted in all the months of war.

Hope.

"Come," he murmured against your temple. "It's over. It's all over. We will be alright."

It wasn't, truly. There were many more battles to fight, many more dead men to come. But Max Verstappen had always been a man of his word, and you had no doubt this was a promise he too would follow through.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: your honor i love him

[jamathydodger]

Something isn’t Right about those Fenton Kids

(Fenton Crypt(k)ids)

Featuring little doodles (I am an art blog)

The Doctors Fenton are weird and off putting to the average Amity Parker in a way that is entirely human; obsessive, eccentric, reckless, loud, always dressed in those strange skintight ‘hazmat’ suits, clearly mad scientist types. Their children, however, seem to be the opposite; calmer, quieter, careful, dressed like anybody else their age and seem actively disinterested in their parents ‘ghost hunts’.

One could almost assume the children were not raised in the townhouse whose, most likely, illegal rooftop extension loomed over the neighbourhood, except… well, the children are nice, polite, bright even they’re just odd. Something about them seemed spooky.

When the two were small, their quiet and calm nature gave the impression of dolls. The kind that look way too human and somehow entirely other, especially if one were to make eye contact with the children unflinching stare. Whilst not as doll like in their teen years, making eye contact with a Fenton child is still unnerving, what with the way Jazz seems to see all that you are through your eyes or how you can see all that there is in Danny’s.

The two never really even looked quite right, clearly they resemble their parents to shocking degree making all that much easier to see the ways they differed. Children’s complexion has always given the appearance of being ill, desaturated and perhaps a touch green. The lack of vibrancy in the their skin made clearer from the stark contrast of their vibrant eyes. Now Amity Park is no stranger to ‘strange’ or ‘unnatural’ eye colours, many residents eyes were brighter then those from out of town, an it is not uncommon to see eyes in colours outsiders would attribute to coloured contacts such as purple. The Fenton Kids however, their eyes are luminous with their vibrancy, sometimes seen to cast light on objects close to the children’s faces. As the two have grown they also appear to have gotten, pointier, sharper. Danny’s ears seem to taper slightly to points and one can oft spot fangs amongst his sister’s teeth when she talks.

Many townsfolk find Jazz and Danny to be too off putting to try and interact with, more so as they grow up and become less human stranger. Some folks feel quite guilty for avoiding them as aside from the way the kids make them want to run and hide they don’t because she already sees them, and you can’t hide from Everything the kids are very polite. Most however are happy to wash their hands of the Fenton children.

My Doodles!

[wlwsoccerfics]

A weekend off (VivMiedeamaXRussoReader)

Summary: you and Viv enjoy the weekend off of practice.

Warnings: None just pure fluff. Google translate used.

You currently were packing up the Car, well the light stuff. Viv already took care of the heavy things, you would drive up to a little cottage and stay there for the Weekend. It was friday around 3pm. You just got home from practice an hour ago.

"Liefje, ben je er klaar voor?" You asked. ( love, are you ready? )

"Ik ben er bijna klaar voor, lieverd." Viv said and walked over. ( I'm almost ready, baby. )

"Wat ben je aan het doen?" You wanted to know. Leaning over to kiss her softly. She kissed you back. ( what are you up to? )

"het blijft voorlopig geheim." Viv stated and grinned softly. You were pouting now, she kissed it away. ( it's a secret for now. )

"Wat fijn voor jou dat ik van je hou." You answered. Smiling a little. ( lucky for you that i love you. )

"Ja, ik heb geluk. Ik hou ook van jou." She let you know. ( Yes I am lucky . I love you too. )

"Mommy?Mama?haast je alsjeblieft." You hear a tiny voice say from inside the car. It was your 3 year old son Elian Abel Jared Miedema-Russo . He wasn't your only child though. You were currently 6 months pregnant with your Baby Girl. Both of you were really excited. You loved being moms. ( Mommy? Mama? Please hurry. )

"someone is not very patient today!" You whispered jokingly.

"at least he said please." Viv stated.

"true." You answered. "Nog een paar minuten, kleintje." You let your son know. ( just a few more minutes, little one. )

"okay!" Elian replied. Closing his eyes. Trying to take a nap.

Ten minutes later your little Family was on the Road. Viv was the one driving. You listened to some dutch children songs Elian was absolutely obsessed with.

"mommy?Mama? prendiamo presto un cucciolo?" Your son asked cutely. He spoke english, dutch and italian. You spoke dutch quite well and Viv's italian wasn't bad either.( Mommy? Mama? we get a puppy soon? )

"Forse dopo la nascita di tua sorella. Ma non prometto nulla." You let him know. It was something you and Viv had talked about before because both of you loved dogs. ( maybe after your sister was born. but no promises. )

"Va bene." Elian replied. Viv laugehd softly. ( Okay . )

After a little over an hour in the Car you reached your destination. Viv was unpacking the Car, while you Set up a Little play area with your sons Toys, in the living room. It had His favorite toy Cars, his two favorite dolls and of course some Blocks cause he was obsessed with those. After that you sat down on the Couch. Needing a little break. Cause your daughter enjoyed kicking you like crazy. You and Viv were certain that she was gonna be a footballer.

"are you alright, liefje?" Your wife asked and sat down next to you. Placing a hand on your Baby Bump.

"i am. Just needed a moment cause your daughter is kicking like she is trying to win a Karate Tournament." You said and sure enough your daughter was kicking against your wife's Hand.

"she is getting stronger and stronger every time i feel those kicks against my Hand." Viv replied. Leaning down to kiss your stomach gently. You played with her hair when she started talking to your Daughter.

"Hallo kleintje. Wij houden heel veel van jou." She whispered out. You smiled listening to her talk to your unborn daughter. Elian walked over and climbed on the Couch. ( hello little one. we love you so very much. )

"Ik praat ook met de baby?" Your son asked. Kissing your Baby Bump. ( i talk to the baby too? )

"Ja natuurlijk, lieve jongen." You replied. ( yes of course, sweet boy. )

"Ze kan alles horen wat je zegt." Viv explained and he gently placed his head on your stomach. ( she can hear everything you say. )

"Echt?" Elian asked in surprise. ( really? )

"Sì, davvero." You stated. ( Yes really. )

"Ti amo, sorellina." He said, looking at your Baby bump. Your unborn daughter was kicking. Which made Elian giggle. "She kicked me." Elian replied. ( i love you, baby sis. )

"she is telling you that she loves you too!" Viv explained.

"yay!" He happily answered. Doing a little Happy dance, while sitting on the couch. Both you and Viv chuckled softly. You gently stroked Elians face.

"i think this Moment is very fitting to let you know what took me a bit earlier today." Your wife let you know. She stood up and walked to her backpack. Pulling out a Photo album.

"Love, this Is so pretty. Did you really make this?" You asked, tearing up. And so far you only have seen the front. It had a bunch of different tulips on it. Cause those were your favorite flowers. And very dutch of her. Those were the flowers she got you on your First Date, you proposed to her in a field of tulips, yes it was an important part of your relationship.

"yes i did. The Paint needed to dry before i could take it with me. There are already a few Pictures inside and soon we can also put Pictures of the little princess in there as well." Viv told you. "I already put her First Ultrasound inside." She let you know. You Put Elian in the middle of the two of you and went to Check Out the First few pages together as a Family.

"Sissy!" He happily yelled out when he saw the Ultrasound.

"You got that right." You answered and looked at him lovingly, before leaning over to Viv, kissing her softly. This Trip was Off to a great start with your loved ones. You couldn't wait to make more memories and soon be a Family of 4.

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Tall Child II.

Father figure!Hotch x BAU!reader

part one | series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Returning to work after such a long absence is never easy, but trying to understand your boss without failing is even worse.

Words: 3,3k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime and the reader's old shoulder injury. angst WITH open ending. hotch being a father figure. the reader having bad thoughts and the team not being a good team with her. father and rebellious daughter type relationship. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Helloo Tall Child lovers, I hope you like this and that it will be a sequel according to your expectations. I'm sorry for the delay, but the complexity of this relationship made my job difficult, as I never thought of writing more with this reader in the first place, and I was very surprised that you liked it so much.

So I'm pleased to tell you that I've made an exclusive list with this reader because I'd love to explore more of this through other seasons and situations not necessarily canon, feel free to send your request if you have specific ideas with this reader!

Six weeks later.

The air in the BAU was colder than you remembered, not just in temperature but in feeling; it was a sterile, impersonal chill that clung to your skin like mist. Every echoing footstep in the polished corridors seemed louder, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. It wasn’t just the recycled air hissing through the vents or the fluorescent lighting that buzzed too harshly overhead. No, this cold ran deeper. It had taken root inside you during those long, suffocating weeks locked away in your apartment, when the silence had pressed in on all sides and the world had narrowed to four walls and the weight of your own thoughts. This was the cold of absence. Of isolation. Of walking back into a life that had kept moving without you.

You stood at the entrance, your badge clipped to your belt, your go-bag slung over one shoulder. From the outside, it looked like you were fine. Recovered. Rested. As focused and willing to work as ever. But on the inside, you were still picking up pieces.

The place hadn’t changed, but you hadn’t expected it to. Reid’s desk was just as you remembered: clean, almost painfully so, every file color-coded and aligned with obsessive precision. The chessboard still sat in its usual spot off to the side, pieces mid-game, like he was still chasing the perfect strategy that might finally let him beat Gideon. Across the bullpen, the computer screens all flickered in perfect rhythm, except for Morgan’s, which pulsed in shades of bright pink. You didn’t need to see her to know Garcia was up to something again, probably testing out some new system or just trying to annoy him in that way only she could pull off. The coffee pot sputtered and hissed in the background, steady and familiar, its bitter scent weaving through the air like it never left.

And then, your gaze landed on the far wall: Hotch’s office. The door was closed. Blinds drawn. The same as always, and yet now it felt heavier somehow. Imposing. Like, just the sight of it pulled your shoulders tighter. You found yourself wishing he wasn’t there. Wishing you could walk in without that cold knot twisting in your stomach.

Damn, you weren’t supposed to be afraid of him now.

A few heads turned when you stepped in. The room didn’t go silent, but it shifted. You felt it, eyes lingering just a second too long, hushed words dying mid-sentence. And then JJ was there, walking toward you with that soft, careful smile people wore around broken things like you.

“Hey,” she said gently, arms opening without hesitation.

You let her pull you into a hug. Her perfume was the same as always. So floral and grounding. You closed your eyes for a second, just enough to feel the safety in it. But it passed quickly.

“You look better,” she added softly. You didn’t say thank you.

She said better, not good.

Morgan and Elle came next, their footsteps steady, familiar, grounding in a way that almost made your throat tighten. “There’s the prodigal agent,” one of them said with a crooked smile—maybe him, maybe her—you weren’t paying close enough attention to tell. Your focus was locked on their faces, not their voices. Their smiles were genuine, warm even, but just behind them, something else flickered. Worry. Maybe guilt. Maybe both. It was there in the brief glance they exchanged when they thought you wouldn’t notice, in the way Elle’s arms crossed just a little too tightly over her chest, in how Morgan’s usual swagger was tempered by something quieter.

But Reid was the hardest to face. He hovered, hesitating, unsure if he should say something or just let it go. In the end, he gave you a small, tentative smile and an awkward “Hi,” as if six weeks hadn’t passed. As if he hadn’t been the reason your stomach still twisted with guilt every time you closed your eyes.

You nodded and whispered, “Hey.” That was all you could manage.

But then came the moment you had been both dreading and aching for so long it had carved itself into the rhythm of your days. The soft creak of the door swinging open sliced through the low hum of conversation like a knife. You didn’t need to look to know it was him. The measured, deliberate sound of his polished shoes crossing the bullpen floor was unmistakable, as familiar as it was unsettling. Each step seemed to echo louder than it should have, like the room itself tensed in his presence.

And there he was. Aaron Hotchner. As composed and unreadable as ever, every inch of him radiated quiet authority. His presence hit like a pressure drop in the atmosphere, pressing down on your chest and making the space around you feel impossibly large and impossibly small all at once. Like suddenly, you didn’t know where to stand. Like suddenly, you weren’t sure if you even belonged in that space anymore. Like suddenly, you were a child who had been punished for bad behavior.

You had imagined this moment a hundred times.

None of them felt like this.

He didn’t say anything at first. He stood there, just a few feet away, arms folded, that familiar, unreadable expression settling over his face like a mask. The same one that used to make your pulse quicken, that used to leave you guessing, second-guessing yourself.

But not this time.

This time, you didn’t flinch. You met his stare head-on, feeling the weight of his gaze like a hand around your throat—but you refused to shrink. Not again. You’d spent too long folding yourself into smaller and smaller shapes, twisting and bleeding just to fit into the narrow mold of what he expected, of what he trusted. And for what? For this? For distance and doubt? No more. That part of you—the desperate part—was dead and buried. Or if it wasn’t yet, you were damn sure going to kill it. You lifted your chin, defiance burning in your chest like a second heartbeat, daring him to look at you and still pretend you were invisible.

“I’m back,” you said, voice low but steady. “Just like the paperwork says.”

Your boss studied you for a moment longer than necessary, his gaze flicking to your shoulder—the one that still bore the memory of your injury, the phantom weight of everything you’d lost—before settling back into that cold, distant mask of his. That unreadable expression he wore so well, the one that used to make you feel safe because it meant he was in control. Now, it just made you feel small. Disposable.

And for a moment—just one cruel, flickering moment—you almost believed that he’d step forward. That he’d close the distance. That he’d reach out and gently touch your shoulder, like he used to when things were too heavy, too hard. You almost believed he would look you in the eye, say your name like it meant something, and tell you he was sorry. Sorry for the silence. Sorry for the coldness. Sorry for the suspension. Sorry for treating you like a child.

You almost believed he would say he trusted you. That he still saw you, still believed in you, even if it was a little. That he understood why you did what you did. That you weren’t broken. That he didn’t think of you as a liability or a ticking clock counting down to another failure.

You almost believed he would tell you it was going to be okay.

But it didn’t happen.

He just looked away. Not with malice. Not with cruelty. But with distance. Like someone turning from a photograph that had faded in time. And you felt the sting of it—quiet, precise, brutal. Not just the rejection of your role, but the absence of something far deeper.

It wasn’t the pain of being forgotten.

It was the pain of never being seen.

“We’re glad to have you back,” he said, his voice the same steady, measured cadence it had always been.

But it wasn’t the words that stung; it was the way they landed. Clinical. Safe. Like a statement recited for formality’s sake rather than spoken from any real feeling.

Not I’m glad.

We’re glad.

That single word change twisted like a knife in your chest.

“Right,” you said, the word escaping before you could hold it back. Your eyes burned with something you refused to let spill over. “Glad to be back, I guess.”

Hotch didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t.

There was a long silence between you two. He studied you, just like before, but this time it felt colder. Like he was looking for something you didn’t have anymore.

You couldn’t stand it. You turned away quickly, your body betraying you as your chest tightened and your breath quickened. You were better than this. You were stronger than this.

The case came in shortly after: a triple homicide in Maryland. The kind of case that had all the hallmarks of a nightmare: brutal, violent, unsolved. You didn’t think you were ready for fieldwork. In fact, you didn’t think you could even look at another case without feeling like an imposter, like a stranger in your own skin. The idea of diving back into it, back into the chaos, felt overwhelming. But you didn’t have a choice. There were no other options. And Aaron was too careful now to give you the responsibility of leading your partner again. Not after everything that had happened.

“Morgan leads. JJ, handle media. Reid, consult with the coroner. Elle, talk to the families.”

And then, without a single glance in your direction, he turned to you and said, “You’ll assist.”

No lead. No profile. No responsibility. Just…observe.

Support.

The word echoed in your head, bruising you in places you hadn’t even realized were tender. Support. As if that was all you were good for now. The sharp ache of betrayal twisted inside your chest, but you couldn’t—wouldn’t—let it show. You didn’t argue. Not out loud. But it burned. Every cell in your body screamed in protest, but you held it in, forced it back down where no one could see.

On the jet, the silence between you and Hotch was like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. You sat across from him, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes glued to the window as the world outside blurred by. But you could feel him. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, though he didn’t meet your gaze directly. He kept glancing at your shoulder, the one that still bore the ugly scar of your injury. His eyes flicked there so many times, and each time they quickly darted away, as if caught between something you couldn’t tell.

And it wasn't just him. The whole team had noticed it, the little looks they gave you when they thought you weren't looking, the way their conversations were interrupted when you walked into a room, and they automatically faked their best smile at you. You could feel the tension in the air, like they were all waiting for you to sink or swim, to show you still had something to give.

In the field, you did your job. You fell into the motions like muscle memory: keeping your voice calm, your observations sharp, and your hands steady. You kept your face neutral, even when the case began to grind you down, piece by piece. But every decision Hotch or Gideon made went through Morgan. Every suggestion you made was quietly nodded at but never acted upon. You could almost hear the quiet hum of judgment in the air every time you tried to assert yourself. You were invisible.

It was like walking through fog. You were there, but no one could see you. No one really saw you.

You were present but unseen. You were nothing more than a shadow, drifting through the motions.

And, of course, back at the hotel it was the same. You kept to yourself, retreated into the quiet of your room, away from their pitying stares. The team trickled in, chatting amongst themselves, but you didn’t join them. They didn’t expect you to. Instead, you made a lie about being tired and about having a headache, and you hid behind it.

So you sat on your bed instead, the room dimly lit by the glow of a muted TV. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the electronics and the occasional shuffle of your own restless thoughts. The takeout boxes sat untouched on the desk, still sealed in their flimsy plastic containers. Your service weapon rested next to your badge on the nightstand, a weightless echo of a dream that no longer seemed to matter.

The knock came at 10:43 p.m.

You hesitated, fingers frozen over the blanket, eyes flicking to the door. Part of you considered ignoring it, pretending you didn’t hear, pretending the world outside wasn’t so close. But something in your gut told you who it was.

With a sigh that felt too heavy for such a small sound, you stood up and moved toward the door, your movements stiff and reluctant. You opened it, and there he was: your lovely boss. Standing there, holding a white takeout bag with the same purposeful, composed demeanor he always had.

“I figured you didn’t eat,” he said, his voice soft, as if offering something much bigger than just food. His hand extended toward you, the scent of it wafting up with the slight steam still rising from the dish. “Chicken teriyaki. No onions.”

Your heart clenched, hard and sudden. Of course he remembered.

He always remembered.

It was the smallest things, the details he’d tucked away in his mind, that made your chest tighten like this, like a dam about to crack. You took the food from his outstretched hand, your fingers brushing his briefly, and stepped aside to let him in, but he didn’t move.

He just stood there, his posture stiff, his eyes avoiding yours in that way that felt both respectful and…uncomfortably distant.

It felt less like your boss checking in and more like a parent standing awkwardly outside a teenager’s door, unsure if they were about to be let in or shut out.

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, voice almost a whisper, as if you were apologizing for the inconvenience. You weren’t sure why it came out that way, it wasn’t him you were apologizing to. Not really.

“I know,” he replied, his voice calm, careful, as though he were trying to measure every word. He stood there for a long moment, looking at you but not really seeing you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the ground.

Then he shifted slightly, glancing at the takeout bag in his hand. “There’s also a dessert, but you should eat the real food first.”

His words felt like they were layered with more than just concern for your well-being. It was the way he said it, like he was directing you, guiding you—not as a colleague, not as a boss, but as someone who felt responsible for making sure you didn’t fall apart.

And then, you knew it.

You weren’t a grown adult in his eyes right now. You were someone he had to take care of, like a child who didn’t know how to care for themselves anymore.

“You still don’t trust me,” you said finally, voice low but steady. It wasn’t a sharp edge, not a challenge.

Hotch’s eyes flicked to yours, then dropped again—quick, involuntary. Like the words hurt to hear, even if he’d been expecting them.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s not true.”

“Then why am I stuck on the sidelines?” you asked, and this time the question came harsher, more bitter than you intended. You didn’t mean to sound wounded, but the words carried it anyway. “Why am I the one just…watching? Observing, while everyone else is doing the job I’ve trained my whole damn life to do?”

His silence came fast and thick, and it stretched too long, long enough to confirm what you already suspected. The answer, when it came, landed like a blow.

“Because I need to know you’re okay,” he said, quiet but firm. “Before I put someone else’s life in your hands again.”

Ouch.

You flinched. Not dramatically, just enough for him to see it. Just enough for you to feel it ripple through your spine like heat. The air in the room shifted, charged and sharp, like an old scab torn open.

“I thought you said this wasn’t personal,” you said, hating the way your voice cracked around the edges.

“It’s not,” Hotch said, voice tight.

You stared at him. Really stared. The lines around his eyes are deeper now. The tension in his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders, was like this conversation was another weight he didn’t know how to carry.

“Sure feels personal.”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it passed too fast to name. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t try to spin it.

Instead, he said quietly, “You scared me that day.”

You froze.

He wasn’t looking at you now. He was looking past you, somewhere far away. Like he was remembering it. The day it all went sideways. The weight of the call he had to make to the ambulance. The fallout. The blood and your tears.

“You scared all of us,” he added, softer now. “But me the most.”

The confession hit harder than you expected. Not because he was admitting fear, but because he still couldn’t look at you when he said it. Because even after all this time, all this effort, it still felt like he hadn’t let go of that fear.

“I know I made mistakes,” you said, your voice quieter now. Controlled. Trying to be steady, even as your throat tightened. “I know I lost control. I know I…crossed lines.”

You stopped. Breathed. Tried to gather the rest of it.

“But I’m not—” You hesitated. The word was right there. Lodged between your teeth.

Not broken.

You weren’t even sure you believed it anymore.

Hotch finally looked at you, really looked, and when he spoke, it was softer than before. “I know. That’s why I approved your return.”

You searched his face, looking for judgment or disappointment. But what you saw instead surprised you.

Tiredness. Not just the kind that came from stress or long nights of cases but the kind that came from caring too much and not knowing how to show it without screwing everything up.

It disarmed you.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you murmured, almost ashamed. “About Reid. About your kid. Or you.”

He nodded, just once. Small. Measured.

“I know,” he said. “But it still touched a nerve.”

That landed harder than any reprimand. No raised voice. No lecture. Just the simple truth of it, that what you said had stuck to him like shrapnel.

The silence that followed was quieter now, less tense, less heavy. Something between you was shifting. Mending, maybe.

“I’m not broken,” you said suddenly, with more force than you expected. The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “I’ve been hurt. I’ve been…off. But I’m not broken.”

Hotch looked at you for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“I never said you were.”

“You acted like it.”

He sighed, eyes dropping again. “Maybe I was afraid.”

Your brow furrowed. “Of what?”

He hesitated. Then, quietly: “That if I pushed you harder, I’d be the one who broke you.”

The breath caught in your throat.

“I didn’t think you were weak,” he added. “I just didn’t want to watch you fall apart.”

Your chest ached.

“I already did,” you said.

“I know.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the threshold.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said finally, without looking at you. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”

And then he was gone, leaving the door open just a crack behind him.

Just in case you needed to follow.

[myreallovelymind]

💗Dating life update 💗

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the amazing date I went on with the guy who picked my pink lingerie set. It was honestly one of the best dates I’ve been on with one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen. I wish I could share a picture so you can fan girl as hard as I am.

The date was amazing, we went out for pizza and we had a bottle of wine. He was dressed so well, he’s 6’1, speaks with a posh British accent and honestly, I melted when he looked at me in the eyes. I melted so hard, I couldn’t actually look at him so he thought I wasn’t interested in him until we were on my sofa about to kiss… my bad!

Sex was incredible. He’s kinky and dominant but didn’t expect me to submit. We filmed ourselves and we genuinely hold hands when he’s fucking me doggy? Like who does that on a first date?!

It was great butttttttt….

He’s a dad and is part time in London and part time 1 h away from London. He has a flat here but also a house there. Before we started texting, he has decided to rent his central London flat to spend the summer with his child as he had given up on dating apps.

Surpiseeee, I turned up. We then had a few days of talking about logistics and he didn’t quite see it working. He said I’m not the type of girl we would want to see casually and he would want to be together together and try fully but that he didn’t have the time. I was upset. Telling him we should try because I think what we have is special.

When people talk about how someone will make you feel like you’re their dream girl. That’s how he makes me feel. This is going to sound so cringe, but I believe in love at first sight for a second. I met him and thought… I think he’s my person.

Alas, he said he wanted to stay in touch but he would want us to try fully in November when he gets his London flat back. I was upset and told him that don’t want to text him unless we are trying because that would just hurt. So we left it at that.

I posted on Tumblr saying I hate dating bla bla bla. I go on a date which not even 1% of the chemistry I had with hot dad man. I spend a week telling my friends I miss him and I want to text him. I have never been in this situation. I have never been unable to move on. I’ve never checked my phone multiple times a day to see if he texted me. He’s been on my mind all the time.

A week after our goodbyes… I’m edging my denied pussy to him moaning my name on my video… and I get a text from him.

He says he’s been thinking about me every day. He doesn’t want to see anyone else and he wants me in whatever capacity I can give him. He wants to date and really try but he’s okay with casual if that’s what I can give him. I have also, never had a man trying to get me back.

I obviously say yes. I call my friend shrieking like a little girl. Nobody has seen me this giddy before. I won’t be seeing him as often because he is a working dad but I don’t care. I would rather wait for him than shit dates more often.

He wants to be my dom. He wants to control my orgasms and wants me to cum but also respects the fact that I want to wait a year. He made me fuck him whilst looking at him and kept telling me how incredible I looked. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like every cell in my body wants him.

This sounds like a love letter? Anyway, I’m seeing him on Wednesday, so in a week. He wants me plugged and belted, wearing a dress when I cook for him on our second date. It was his birthday last week and he didn’t get a cake because he was working, which is criminal so I’m going to make him his favourite cake, Victoria Sponge Cake 🍰

It’s not love, it’s lust. My logical brain knows this isn’t love. But what if he was my person? Watch me jinx this but I just wanted to share where I’m at!

Did I mention he was gorgeous and that he called me “my love”?

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 182 (A Pleasant Surprise)

Following the meeting with the Bankses, Felix and Emit soon received confirmation that the judge had recused herself from Ash's custody trial, handing it off to her colleague, Judge Morrison, in Brindleton Bay. Just as she'd promised. While Felix took care of informing Heather and Conrad of the good news, Emit headed to Britechester.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Angela since the wedding, but while he was in her time he couldn't avoid her. He didn't want to. But he was still unprepared to see her growing belly - confirmation that life, as he knew it, would never be the same. He'd been avoiding this feeling.

"How did it go with the time thief?"

"It went well," he said. "I think it's over."

Angela smiled. "That's great," she said, but she wasn't really interested in the time thief. "Did Felix tell you it's twins?"

He nodded. He didn't know what to say.

"The doctor says everything's good. We're all healthy."

"That's good."

She waited for him to say more. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"Angela, I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do about it. I haven't slept in months. The night you told me you were pregnant, I went for a walk through the glen and sat outside an old pub. This woman walked out like she came straight from the 1920s and sat down next to me. Talked my ear off for an hour about her husband - 'the Admiral', she called him - and their daughter. Finally, I told her you were expecting and she knew I wasn't happy about it. 'Maybe you shouldn't have been such a gigolo,' she said."

"What are you talking about? What woman?"

"I don't know who she was, but she made me think about things I've done, and rules I've broken...Ange, you're not the first woman I've slept with...on the job. There was only one other woman, six hundred years ago, but I looked into her genealogy because I got scared. I don't even know how this works, but I'm my own 22nd great-grandfather!"

"You're what?"

"I don't even want to know, and it scares me. But being a time traveler is all I know. As soon as I turned thirteen I left home to start my training. I don't think I can quit."

Angela looked at him with earnest green eyes. "Is there something you want me to say? I told you I would never force you to stay."

"I just...I wanted to see you. And I want to come back. I don't know when..."

Angela sighed, placing a hand on her growing stomach. "I'm not going anywhere, Emit, but if you have to ask me if you should stay, I think you already know what you want to do."

While Emit left Angela with an awkward goodbye, loner Lilith was getting acclimated to life at the chateau, feeding a burgeoning interest in tarot with a deck she'd found. Felix' boss was yet to open an office in Ravenwood, so he was commuting to work every few weeks and scoping out potential new clients when he was home.

But the loved up newlyweds still managed to spend as much time as they could together, and while Felix was out of town for Ash Landgraab's new custody hearing in Brindleton Bay, Lilith took a pregnancy test. Positive! She grinned with excitement.

From the minute Lilith met Felix, she knew she'd be happy to have a child with him, and she couldn't wait to tell him the great news. The chateau's pet crow, Rowena, came with the house, and Lilith entertained herself watching the mysterious black corvid while she waited patiently for her husband to return.

It was dark when he came home, exhausted and complaining about the flight from Brindleton Bay, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face as he tucked into dinner. "Did Judge Morrison give custody back to Heather and Conrad?"

"Of course he did. Nancy didn't even show up - just Malcolm and his wife. Judge Morrison didn't believe Malcolm when he said they had no knowledge of what Landgraab Engineering had been working on, and Ash will be home by the weekend."

"That's the second best news I've had all day," she said, standing next to him at the picnic table outside. He raised an expectant brow. "Felix, I'm pregnant."

(She told him this herself. He came home and I tried to queue up her telling him, but the option wasn't there because she did it just as I was looking for the option in her menu!)

The former ghost's eyes bulged as he registered the news, a wide grin pulling from one cheek to the other. "You are? We weren't trying yet. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've been nauseous for days and my period was late, so I took a test this afternoon."

"Lilith, this is the greatest news I've ever had in any of my lives." He struggled to find the words to express the warmth exploding from his skin, standing from the bench to caress her small belly. "We're going to have a baby? Our baby!"

The newlyweds shared a romantic embrace as they celebrated their impending parenthood, and Felix ran a hand through his beloved's red hair. "What else did you get up to while I was away?"

"I've almost got my podcast schedule set for the new season, and I called a local adoption agency about a cat. They're bringing a black kitten over tomorrow to see if he suits us. He's called Patches."

"What will Rowena think about a cat?"

"My friend Cassandra says her mother has a crow and two cats, and the cats never bother Obsidian."

Felix smiled, reaching for her hand to kiss the soft tips of her fingers. "We'll hope Rowena and Obsidian have the same disposition, then."

Their friends would finally be reunited with their son in Brindleton Bay, and Patches joined the growing Psyded clan as the newlyweds began prepping for the arrival of their first child. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Rowena won second place in the official poll to name Grimbella's crow, Obsidian, so she was automatically bestowed the name when I first loaded up the lot in-game.

NOTE 2: Baby boom incoming. It's not just the Pleasant twins...Also Emit definitely saw Lady Ravendancer('s ghost?), but she knows enough magic to make herself look completely alive to anyone she wants, probably. Emit didn't jump back far enough in time to run into her in 1920, and the Landgraab curse has nothing to do with the time thief. (That's why he didn't recognize her, in case you did!)

NOTE 3: We're skipping the second custody hearing. It's summarized, we won! But we knew they would win because the Landgraabs were being shady with biometric time travel and Felix could prove it. Ash is coming home!!

[cobaltperun]

The Catalyst (2) - Colder

WandaNat x Female Reader

Chapter summary: Even though you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. for years you’ve never been keen on mind games. Yet it seems like this whole situation is a big mind game.

Spotify Playlist

Masterlist / First Part

Word Count: 4.4k

-Broken the rules I followed burning for name so hollow-

The tension on the quinjet could be cut with a knife, and it was suffocating. No one was comfortable, not agents assigned to watch Banner, not Banner himself, although you figured he wasn’t tense because of his own issues. Oh, no, while most people were tense because of him, or rather the ‘Other Guy’ he was more uncomfortable by the tension between you and Natasha. You didn’t look in her direction, even if you felt her eyes on you every now and then, that same piercing gaze.

“For what it’s worth I didn’t intend to cause whatever this is,” Banner raised his hands, probably feeling a bit responsible for this.

“You didn’t,” you told him, still slightly reeling from the last conversation with Natasha. Now she had the nerve to talk about ‘what ifs’ to get angry at you for putting yourself in danger. She had no right to do that, to feel that.

You could feel Natasha’s eyes on you once again, and you knew she was biting her tongue, not wanting to talk things out in front of this many people. The initial shock of being in the same place again wore off, but now there was just tension.

“Right,” Bruce didn’t quite buy it. “If you say so, Agent L/N,” you whipped your head toward him with a glare.

“I’m not an agent,” you were done with that, done with Fury, done with Natasha, done with the whole organization and its stupidly long name that just so happened to perfectly fit into an acronym shield.

Bruce’s eyes widened and he nodded, not wanting to escalate things further, but you could see he was starting to piece together a broad picture.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, spent in near deafening silence aside from Natasha informing Hill that you were landing in five minutes. You looked outside the window when helicarrier came into view and old memories came back, all the missions you went on with other agents, the bonds and friendships you made. For the first time since you stepped back onto the quinjet you glanced toward Natasha, and your eyes met immediately and it was as if she was silently welcoming you back, even after everything.

And you despised that it was affecting you. Like the scent of her perfume that reminded you of the feelings you once had, that look, the same one she’d give you when you’d meet up after being sent on different missions, reminded you of the happier times.

“I’m going to find Fury,” you said the moment the quinjet landed, you couldn’t be around her right now. Not when it felt like your heart was going to explode any second now. You marched straight for the bridge, ignoring the agents around you. You weren’t running, but you were clearly in a rush, and barely keeping your emotions in check. All of this was just one huge awful idea. Some knew you, some joined after you left, either way they all seemed to know why you were on the helicarrier. Or perhaps they just had more important issues to deal with at the moment.

You placed your hand on the ID scan. You no longer had your ID on you, not that it mattered, a tiny spark triggered the mechanism, and the doors opened.

“Agent L/N, I see you’re comfortable with your powers now,” Fury’s voice boomed from above you and you looked at him from the doors, standing there, overlooking everything and everyone.

“I’m not your agent,” you finally slowed down your pace, walking up the stairs instead of rushing.

Fury looked at you like you were a petulant child refusing to behave. “Yet you’re here,” he didn’t care what your reasons were, or if you were or weren’t his agent, he was just that desperate.

“And you’re desperate. Losing Clint, losing that cube, relying on a bunch of people that at best have one common goal, sending Natasha to get me,” you walked up to him, looking right into his eye.

He was as firm and unbreakable as ever, believing his cause to be righteous, no matter the cost. Believing that he stood in the shadows of whatever would stand between the threat that was coming and peace on Earth. “I am very desperate agent L/N, desperate enough to put my faith in a handful of people to become a team,” he replied.

You raised an eyebrow as an ironic, sour smile spread across your face. “You had a team. Remember? The X-Men? Before your bosses turned on them,” you took a few steps back and jumped over to the rows of computers. “You couldn’t put your faith in the powers you feared, could you?” you spread your arms, and almost in an instant the heat rose in the room. Your eyes turned bright blue, as bright as your flames. One of the agents fired at you, but a burst of flames engulfed the bullet, melting it before it could reach you.

“Don’t waste bullets, she’s just showing off,” Fury wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t worried, he just observed as flames and lightning danced around you, forming long ribbon-like shapes tied to your wrists.

You breathed out and the flames and lighting vanished, letting your eyes return to normal. “I’m not going to move a finger, I’m not going to fight, I’m not going to save a single agent, I’m not going to interfere no matter what happens, unless civilians are in danger. And I sure as hell am not going to let you depower me again,” those days were behind you, days when you were so worried about your powers that you willingly let S.H.I.E.L.D. depower you just so you didn’t have to worry about hurting someone by accident.

~X~

Natasha led Rogers and Banner to the bridge, comfortable with the busy procedure on the helicarrier. It did little to ease her worries, even with all the technology at their disposal they still haven’t tracked Loki or Clint and she was thrown right back into that mission three years ago. Only this time the full force of S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to track down Loki and Clint. She looked at Fury as she entered the bridge. She wasn’t stupid or naïve, if this was just about Clint none of this would be happening. One agent, no matter how good or valuable, wasn’t worth all these resources.

And then there you were, leaning against the wall, all the way in the back and not really doing anything. You had no intention of helping until the very last moment, and as much as Natasha wished things were different she understood.

She left you, she chose to complete the mission and you spent almost a month in captivity, waiting for the effects of mutant depowering serum to wear off. She could have gone rogue, but she didn’t. ‘Nat, I need- I’ll bleed out-‘ those were the last words you spoke to her before she ended everything between you with one simple sentence. ‘I don’t have the permission to use it,’ it being the syringe containing the antidote to depowering serum. You didn’t argue after that and a minute later the communication was cut off.

She couldn’t let that happen again. No matter what happened she would get Clint back.

She crouched down next to a computer searching for Clint. With no clue as to where Loki could be there was simply no way to find Clint in time. There was no way to guarantee that Loki would keep Clint alive, or that Clint would remain useful to Loki until they could get to him.

“It’s still not gonna find them in time,” she voiced as much after Coulson explained things to Banner and Rogers. She could see you folding your arms from the corner of her eye, probably thinking about the mission. Bitterly thinking you weren’t worth this three years ago, not to S.H.I.E.L.D. and not to her.

“Agent Romanoff, would you show Doctor Banner to his laboratory, please?” Fury’s order snapped her out of her thoughts and she stood up, hoping to lead Banner to the laboratory and then go and take her frustration out in the gym. As it was she couldn’t do anything to speed up the search, so she might as well distract herself.

~X~

You’ve been gone for three years but it took less than half an hour to get used to the organized chaos in front of you. Hundreds of moving parts, all directed by Fury, moving like one well-oiled machine. It was frightening how quickly you got comfortable right where you were; you almost itched to get to work.

“Y/N, it’s good to see you again,” Coulson approached you with a friendly smile on his face.

“You too, I suppose,” you didn’t mind seeing him, or Maria Hill, and you’d be happy to see Clint again, it was mostly Natasha and Fury that you had issues with. The others followed orders, and they weren’t there to pretty much tell you they didn’t trust you to use your powers even if it meant it would save your life.

Coulson leaned against the wall right next to you and pulled a USB stick out of his pocket. “You might want to take a look at this when you have the time,” he said.

“What is it?” you figured there was no harm in taking a look at it, even if you did take it from one of the best spies in S.H.I.E.L.D.

“The documents related to that mission. Including the aftermath, all the way until after we found you again,” he said and you nearly burnt it to crisp. “Do it for all the years we worked together,” he tried to convince you, but you were very much tempted to chuck it into the ocean. “She hasn’t let anyone call her ‘Nat’ since then, not even Clint. Thought you should know that before you burn that bridge down entirely,” he pulled away from the wall and went over to Steve Rogers.

You glared at the USB stick and shoved it into your pocket. There was nothing there that you cared about, but somehow you couldn’t throw it away, especially when you saw Natasha rushing in again, now dressed in her uniform. Barely a minute later Sitwell got a match on Loki.

You said you wouldn’t move a finger, wouldn’t do anything, and you were about to keep your word. You watched as Steve Rogers got ready to get on the quinjet again, as Natasha led him to it, focused on the mission and determined to find Clint as well. “Damn it,” you cursed and went after them.

“You’re coming as well?” Rogers asked you when you caught up to him and Natasha right as they were getting on board.

“Just in case,” you then figured you haven’t introduced yourself. “I’m Y/N L/N,” you told him and he nodded.

“Steve Rogers,” he said and offered you his hand. You shook it and went to the pilot seat, you lowered your glaive next to the seat while Natasha sat next to you.

There was no need for words, no need to look at each other, you had a job to do, and you’d do it.

Before long you were in Stuttgart and you came just in time to catch Loki making people kneel before him. “Gives the whole god-complex a new meaning, doesn’t it?” you muttered as Rogers jumped down and protected the old man that refused to kneel.

“You can say that again,” Natasha agreed as you flew closer to Loki and she lowered the gun. “Loki, drop the weapon and stand down,” she ordered over the speaker, but Loki merely pointed his spear at the quinjet and fired.

You tilted the quinjet to the side, dodging the blast. You and Natasha watched as Rogers fought with Loki. “I should go down there,” you went to stand up, ready to let someone else fly the quinjet, but Natasha quickly grabbed your forearm.

“Don’t,” she didn’t look you in the eyes, she didn’t say anything else, but her had trembled ever so slightly and that was enough.

Coulson’s comment echoed in your mind and you reluctantly gave up on joining the fight head-on. “Fine,” you said. “Can you take a shot?”

Natasha shook her head. “Guy’s all over the place.”

You were about to reply but then ‘Shoot to Thrill’ by AC/DC began playing through the speakers. “Agent Romanoff, you miss me?” Tony Stark’s voice came through the comms and you glanced at Natasha. It was subtle, but she smiled.

Stark flew in in his armor and blasted Loki back and all you and Natasha could do was watch as Stark landed, pointing a shit-ton of weapons at Loki. “Make a move, Reindeer Games.”

Loki raised his hands as his garb faded away. “That’s it?” you expected more as you began landing the quinjet.

“It’s too easy,” Natasha said and as much as you hated to admit it you agreed with her.

“Something’s wrong. We better keep an eye on him,” you landed the quinjet and Rogers and Stark got on with Loki between them.

“Swap with me,” Natasha tells you and you nod, letting her pilot the quinjet. You grab your glaive and stand on the side, ready just in case Loki tries anything.

Loki was… not quite what you expected. When you read about the Asgardians, the people that were supposed to be the gods of Nordic mythology you kind of expected more. Yet he looked like a regular human, clearly more powerful, but he could easily blend in if he wanted to. There was something in his eyes, in his demeanor, something dangerous, cunning.

“I don’t like it,” Rogers suddenly said, and you noticed he and Stark were also watching Loki.

“What? Rock of Ages giving up so easily?” Stark replied, clearly not bothered by any of this.

“I don’t remember it being that easy. This guy packs a wallop,” Rogers took the whole situation a lot more seriously.

“Didn’t think I’d hear that anytime soon,” you commented, still mostly focused on Loki. You felt a change in the air and went back to Natasha. She glanced back at you as you leaned over her shoulder. “Be careful, there’s a storm suddenly approaching,” you whispered and then realized how close you were. “Sorry,” you pulled away. You intended to keep the information between the two of you. You tucked your hand into your pocket, brushing your fingers across the USB stick. It was tempting you.

“It’s fine,” Natasha reassured you just as lightning flashed in front of the quinjet. “Doesn’t seem like a regular storm,” she noticed and it definitely wasn’t natural.

Something crashed onto the top of the quinjet and you grabbed onto Natasha’s seat to steady yourself. You looked up, feeling immense power clinging to the quinjet. “Thor? Probably?” judging by the power being lightning and the data you got, that was the only option that came to your mind.

Stark opened the back hatch the moment he had his helmet back on and you went to Loki, grabbing onto his shoulder and leaving a trace of your own lightning on the metal shoulder guard.

Just as you did that Thor entered the quinjet and hit Stark with his hammer before Stark could shoot him. Stark landed on Rogers and Thor went right for Loki.

“Not in the mood to talk,” you raised your glaive, clashing it with the hammer, only to immediately feel the force of Thor’s attack. You didn’t even have time to activate your powers, he just swept you aside and took Loki.

“That guy’s a friendly?” Rogers asked as he and Stark got back to their feet.

“Someone needs to teach you what friendly means,” you grumbled

“Doesn’t matter. If he frees Loki, or kills him, the Tesseract’s lost,” Stark approached the ramp, clearly intending to go after Thor and Loki.

“Stark, we need a plan of attack,” Rogers warned him.

“I have a plan. Attack!” and off he went, and by the looks of it Rogers intended to do the same as he went to grab a parachute.

“I’d sit this one out, Cap,” Natasha told him from her seat.

“I don’t see how I can,” Rogers already made up his mind though.

“Quite easy, you just stay here,” you got up and went over to Natasha once again.

“Not an option,” and he just jumped as well, leaving you and Natasha and a handful of agents on the quinjet.

“Well, while the primary colors are hashing things out how about we retrieve Loki?” you asked and let a few sparks circle your hand. “I know exactly where to find him. Okay, I know roughly where to find him,” you said and Natasha nodded, following your directions to where Loki was.

Surprisingly he was just standing there, as if waiting to be picked up once again. And no one was in sight. Not Stark, not Rogers, or Thor. “You’d think he’d try to escape,” you said.

“We need to be careful,” Natasha told you. You couldn’t tell if Loki had any way to destroy the quinjet if she just landed it so there really was only one course of action you could take. One stays on the quinjet, the other faces the god of mischief.

“I’ll bring him back in,” you decided and went outside to meet Loki.

“Ah, the mutant. Firestorm, right?” he knew you, he knew everyone. “You aren’t afraid you’ll be left behind?” he mocked, hitting right where it hurt.

Clearly Clint told him a lot more than you originally thought. “Stopping you is worth the risk,” you didn’t deny it, he was right. You didn’t trust anyone anymore, the only difference was that this time it wouldn’t matter. You could defend yourself.

Thunder blasted from the forest below the cliff you and Loki were standing on. “Already tearing each other apart,” he seemed amused.

“Imagine what they’ll do to you,” you pointed your glaive at him and then at the quinjet. “Let’s go,” keeping Loki on the quinjet with just you and Natasha there wasn’t exactly the smartest move, but you figured a display of power was needed in this situation.

“Of course,” yet he didn’t resist, he didn’t object, he still had that smug look on his face as if this was exactly what he wanted.

~X~

The job was done for now, Loki was locked up, most of the team was here, Fury would do the talking for now. You found an empty room with computers and plugged the USB stick Coulon gave you in and there they were. Files upon files, the details of the mission, everyone involved and the data on them.

You sighed, looking at the words in front of you yet not really focusing on them. It was supposed to be a simple mission, it wasn’t supposed to end with you, impaled and bleeding out. With Natasha leaving and you being captured. You skipped through the mission reports and moved on to another file where you saw Natasha’s activity log. A day after the mission she was hacking into the databases, cameras, clearly looking for something. Unauthorized search after unauthorized search, all in hopes she would be able to track you.

“One day too late, Natasha,” you muttered to yourself. If she was going to disobey orders she should have done so during the mission, not a day later when you were already being held captive and tortured by the Red Room.

You went through more files and eventually stumbled upon a familiar scene. The remnants of the Red Room base you were kept in, or what was left of it after you could finally properly use your powers. The photos were taken shortly after you escaped, the place was still burning. In the end she found you, came to get you, probably. Or maybe it was someone else, there was no way of knowing at this point.

A week later Fury and Coulson tracked you and you threw your badge at their feet. You leaned back against the chair and just stared at the ceiling. It didn’t fix anything, but it did bring you some comfort that she did actually try to look for you.

With a heavy sigh you turned back to the computer and got access to the cameras where Loki was kept. Surprisingly you saw Natasha walking up to the cell.

“Right, of course,” of course Fury would send her. If there was one person who could interrogate Loki, it was Natasha.

“Hm. There’s not many people that can sneak up on me,” despite the current circumstances you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. She was that good. Too good actually.

“But you figured I’d come,” you missed seeing her work. Loki may be wielding magic, but Natasha’s interrogations were magical in their own way,

“After. After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate,” Loki assumed, as if expecting Fury would underestimate him like that.

“I wanna know what you’ve done to Agent Barton,” your eyes widened when you heard Natasha say that and for a moment you weren’t sure if Fury sent her or if she came on her own. You could barely see her face, but from what you could see there was that sense of desperation, hidden deep behind the mask she put on.

“I’d say I’ve expanded his mind,” Loki taunted, provoked her.

Natasha tilted her head to the side and then began approaching him. “And once you’ve won. Once you’re king of the mountain,” she crossed her arms and stood right in front of him. “What happens to his mind?”

“Is this love, Agent Romanoff? Got over Agent L/N that quickly?” Loki kept hitting right where it hurt and you clenched your fist. Clint clearly still had those ideas in his head, and here was the enemy, taunting Natasha with that.

“Love is for children. I owe him a debt,” Natasha ignored the second question, but you saw it. The way she squeezed her arm just a bit harder gave her away.

“Tell me,” Loki invited her to keep talking as he stepped away from the glass.

Natasha paused, opened her mouth once, then closed it. And then she also took a few steps back. “Before I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. I uh, well, I made a name for myself,” she sat down on a chair near the railing while Loki also sat down. “I have a very specific skill set. I didn’t care who I used it for, or on. I got on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me, he made a different call,” she explained her story, the basics of it. Judging by everything Loki already knew he was probably familiar with this as well.

“And what will you do if I vow to spare him?” he tested the waters, trusted that he was in control, that he was the one manipulating her. As if she didn’t catch on that he already knew everything she revealed.

“Not let you out,” Natasha shut that idea down immediately.

“Ah, no. But I like this. Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man?” and there was nothing fake about it. She really wanted to get Clint back, and she was willing to do almost anything to accomplish that. A bitter thought that you weren’t worth that crossed your mind once again but you pushed it to the back of your mind.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, indifferent to who ruled the world. “Regimes fall everyday. I tend not to weep over that, I’m Russian, or I was.”

“And what are you now?” Loki asked.

“It’s really not that complicated,” she stood up again and closed the distance between her and Loki. “I got red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.”

“Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakov’s daughter?” your eyes widened as you realized just how much Clint told him. “Sao Paulo? The hospital fire? Barton told me everything,” he approached the glass once more, sneering at Natasha as she tried to keep her composure. There was no way that wasn’t affecting her.

“Stop,” you stood up, gripping the table so hard it was starting to crack.

Yet Loki didn’t stop. “Your ledger is dripping, it’s gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child, a prayer. Pathetic,” with every word his voice grew harsher, angrier, aiming to hurt her in any way he could. “You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away.”

You tried to turn the program off, but it wouldn’t close. “Fury,” you couldn’t keep watching, but he clearly wanted you to see it.

You watched as Loki slammed his fist against the glass and Natasha flinched, jumped back, more startled than you’ve ever seen her. And you pushed away from the table and went to open the doors only to find it was sealed shut.

“I won’t touch Barton! Not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear,” you were stuck there, listening to Loki, imagining Natasha’s face. There was no way this wasn’t getting to her.

“And then he’ll wake just long enough to see his good work and when he screams, I’ll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!” blue flames burst around you threatening to burn the whole room down and lightning crackled, but you still heard Natasha sobbing.

“You’re a monster!” she sobbed, and you cried out, charging a ball of lightning to send right at the computer.

“Oh, no. You brought the monster,” Loki taunted, and just as you were about to make the computer explode Natasha spoke up.

“So, Banner? That’s your play,” she sounded completely calm, but you knew her, there was a turmoil inside of her. And Loki would pay for it.

You blew up the computer anyway, just to release a bit of that frustration. It didn’t help. Nothing would help until Loki was beaten and made to pay for what he just did.

Taglist: @toxicitytiger @wandaromamoff69 @womenarehotsstuff @psychickryptonitebouquet @seventeen-x @maddsdotorg @arualdcg @ilovemybabygirlmoon

[novashelby]

Evie: The Origin Story-Chapter Two

Paring: Tommy & OC(Evelyn)-Father/daughter bond Word Count: 3,144 Warning: This story deals with child abuse, trauma, and dark themes. Please be cautioned before reading it Story Summary: War tainted, Tommy Shelby was slowly losing hope until he found it in the form of a young girl. Evelyn Walsh, just 8 years old, knew far too much about the cruel world they lived in. All she wanted was to be a child and all Tommy Shelby wanted was something to love, care for, and allow him to feel human once again. This is the origin story of Evelyn Rose Shelby, the adopted daughter of Tommy Shelby. Chapter Summary: Tommy walks Evie home and comes across the wicked witch herself, Cindy.

Links: Ao3 Wattpad As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you so much and please enjoy. Tag list: (If you want to be added or removed, please DM me. @evita-shelby @wonderlanddreamer @zablife @brummiereader @peakyswritings @rei-is-still-here @vivianleighwishesshewasme @littlemiss-arabella @cillianmurphysdimples @lavender-haze-01 @futurefamousdeadmusician @missmomof3 @copinghex

Offering to walk the girl home was questionable. The weather was temperamental, predictably, of course. Tommy sighed, pushing his gloved hands deep in his pockets, turning to the young girl. She had a poor excuse for a coat in the winter air and her feet were bare. Too close to the wet ground. He did his very best to keep at  her pace. For every step he took, she took double to keep up with him. “C’mon,” he said, not unkindly, but to hurry it up slightly. But when his eyes glanced down at her, he noticed her face red and nose wet. Sighing, he paused, kneeling to her level. His gloved hands grabbed her face, attempting affection, but from the girl’s sudden wince, he cursed himself for being so rough.  He loosened his grip, sighing, “where are your shoes?” She puffed out her cheeks, diverting her eyes off to the side, staring off in the distance. Tommy tapped her cheek. “Eh!? I asked, where are your shoes, eh? Your shoes! The things you wear on ya’ feet, hm?”

The raise of his voice startled her enough that she took a few steps back, whimpering. The man she’d felt so safe with suddenly held up to his reputation. Evie pushed his hands away and booked it up the dimly lit street. Tommy stayed kneeling for a moment, murmuring, “fookin’ ‘ell.” Standing, he beckoned her back. “Oi! C’mere, hm? Your feet! You can’t walk in the rain with no shoes-oi!” 

The girl turned, looking at him cautiously before folding her arms over her chest. “We’re friends, Mr. Shelby! But ya’ yellin’ at me! Friends don’t go yellin’ at friends-”

“Yelling?” he hollered back, baffled. He muttered, scratching the back of his head. “I wasn’t yelling.” Shaking it off, he let out a long sigh of frustration. “I’m sorry, alright? No more yelling, now come back here.”

“And you be a bit bossy, too!”

Tommy brows raised, “what?”  Under his breath, he said, “I’ll show you fookin’ bossy.” 

“Yeah, bossy. I dun like that very much.” He had to admit it, the girl sized him up better than most men his age. At that, he cracked a smile, chuckling to himself and rubbing his furrowed brow line. The little girl stood with a puffed chest and pouty lip. Tommy took gentle strides to her, outreaching his hand to gently hold her arm. 

Grabbing it without squeezing too hard, he directed her up the street. He promised not to yell anymore or be too bossy, which baffled him. He never considered himself at that moment bossy or yelling. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asked, not liking that she was walking the dirty Birmingham streets with no shoes. Knowing what was on the ground made him wince for her; piss, spit, city groot, and whatever else. Tommy waited for no answer and picked the girl up, allowing her to relax her sleepy head on his shoulder. Her arms and legs clung to him, and she snuggled so deep into his body that she felt this feeling of never wanting to let go. Smoke, rum, a woodsy aroma. That was his scent. Evie took in the hugest whiff to mark it forever in her memory just in case. Just in case that it’d be the last moment she’d ever see her friend, Thomas Shelby, again. 

Just as he turned up her road, Evie felt her eyes get heavy. He was too comfy not to fall asleep in, but he had to let her down so they could walk up to the flat. It was a run down building that most would find hardly livable. “Lead the way,” he said, nodding up the stairs and her tired little legs climbed up and up until they reached her flat. It was a tiny, worn down thing, and the lock on the door hardly worked. Tommy knocked. 

From the other side, there was cursing and grumbling. It sounded like a man and a woman fighting. Tommy pushed his ear up to the door, and narrowed his eyes to Evie, who just shrugged. “Mama don’t like when people interrupt her business.” 

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, pursing his lips, backing from the door. “Business has to be interrupted sometimes.” They were going at it; Cindy and the man. You said you got no fookin’ boyfriend-I don’t sleep with no fookin’ slag whores with fellas. Tommy quickly wrapped his arm around the girl’s head, blocking her ears and pressing her to his side. I don’t got no fucking man, I told you! Fucking get your hand off me-it’s the last time I’m paying for your fookin’ hollowed out cunt. Tommy cursed and pounded the door harder. “Oi!” he yelled, stress lines forming along his forehead and mouth,

From the other side, Cindy fought with her robe, naked underneath wearing only the grime and dirt from her work. And the man wrestled with his trousers and shirt, showing no decency in how he appeared. “Hold your fuckin’ ass, I’m comin’!” From across the hall, an elderly lady peeked out and Evie smiled. 

“She’s always yelling, that one! Has men in and out faster than a bank, I tell you!” Tommy turned and nodded, unsure of what to say. The elderly woman tightened her robe and pointed to Evie. “That one is always out all hours of the night! Causing a ruckus.”

Tommy looked down at Evie and smiled, mouthing, “a ruckus, eh?” His thumb caressed her cheek as he looked at her, his eyes twinkling with something rare for him; affection. The elderly woman hung around, waiting for the ruckus to continue, but Tommy suggested she go back inside. “You don’t want it to escalate.”  When the door opened, Tommy kept his cool composure, but on the inside he cursed. Had this little one been exposed to such grotesque indecency? 

Cindy stood there, leaning on the door frame with a cigarette between her fingers. Her face was strained. A very hollow looking woman, he had noticed. Far too thin and ragged with stress lines beyond her age. His eyes skimmed over her, her body exposed to him. It reeked of sex. Dirty, vile, filthy sex, and if his eyes weren’t mistaken, there were cum trails between her thighs. When he didn’t say anything, Cindy barked, “well? What the fuck do you want? One shilling for thirty minutes, two for the full hour-”

“She’ll fuck ya’ over, though!” the man yelled, grabbing his wallet from the table. Tommy peered around her, jaw tightening. The man hardly cared to button up his trousers and if one wanted to, they could see his cock outlined in his underwear. For fucks sake, he mumbled under his breath, finding himself pulling the girl closer to himself. Tommy pulled them out of the way so the man could get by.

Cindy cursed him, glaring as he rushed down the stairs. When they were through hearing his bickering echoing up the stairwell, she faced Tommy, smirking a tad, “though for a man like you, I can offer something special-come in.” She purred, grabbing his free arm. He flinched away.

“Are you missing something?” he asked, a strain in his voice, and Cindy paused. “Hm? And fix your fucking robe!” 

“Excuse me?” she snorted, tightening it so he no longer saw her body. Her eyes dropped down, and Tommy felt nauseous at the way her facial expression darkened. Her eyes narrowed in a seething, dark manner and her nostrils flared. With her claw-like hands, she dug her fingers in Evie’s shirt, peeling her off Tommy. He wanted to pull her back knowing that when he left, the poor girl would have nothing to protect her. She cried out, her chubby little hands clinging to his trousers.  “Evelyn Kathleen Walsh!” she yelled, kneeling and roughly gripping her jaw. Tommy winced, seeing her nails dig into the girl’s cheeks. “Where the fuck were you? Huh?” She shook Evelyn’s face. “I told you to stay in the fucking apartment! And look what you did? Caused issues-”

“She was no issue,” Tommy said, speaking up, resting his hand on Cindy’s. He pushed it down to ease up on Evie’s jaw. “Really. I found her lost around my stables and I brought her back.” Cindy calmed, standing, nodding for Evie to head in. She pouted, looking up at Mr. Shelby. 

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, not wanting to share him with her. She started to walk in the flat, and turned to look at him once more, offering a smile through pain. Tommy tilted his head to her, mouthing goodnight. Mouthing back, she said, “goodnight.” 

Cindy yelled over her shoulder, “wash up and get to fucking bed! I don’t want to hear that fucking bitch at your school about missing another day, you hear? Giving me goddamn shit because you can never do nothing fuckin’ right.” Her body leaned lazily on the frame, her legs folded as she enjoyed her cigarette. Ash flickered everywhere. “Fucking kids, you know?”

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Right, kids.”

“You got any?” she asked, looking at him. “Children? I bet a fine man like you has a few. Married to some uppity house wife, stuck in some sexless marriage. Why else would you be hanging around here?” Tommy let her speak, keeping his blank expression firm. “Hm? I could fix that for you.” Her head nodded back. “She’ll knock out in a few minutes-won’t hear a thing.” He looked in the flat, counting two doors.

“Only one bedroom?” he said. 

“One bed-look, if you want a high priced whore, you don’t come around here-”

“I’m not looking for a whore,”  he said. “I came to return your child-”

“Evs can find her own way back,” she said. “She’s surprisingly good at directions. Can’t fucking get her to cook a damn thing or clean-”

“You should go tuck her in,” he interrupted, taking a step back and tilting his hat, not caring to bid her a proper farewell. In his line of work, foul men were plenty, but he never saw a bitch so disgraceful. Cindy watched him turn and walked down the stairs, nursing his own cigarette to shake off the nerves.

When the cool air hit him, he looked up. The little one was staring down at him, waving, wearing a large smile. He smiled back, trying to hide the pain and worry he felt. Taking off his hat, he waved it, winking. The little one felt so much love looking at him. Her smile was so big, her cheeks balled up like a chipmunk. But it dropped when she looked over her shoulder and quickly closed the window, drawing the curtains. “Fucking hell,” he whispered to himself. 

The next day, she took her drawing book to the canal, skipping off school. Stuffed in her pocket was some stale bread. Her little duck friends knew to join around her because she always had a thing or two for them. She sat, legs crossed. “Okay, one for you, Poe,” she said, letting the duck eat from her hand. “And one for you, and one for you.” Left in her hand was a small bit and she put it in her mouth. “And one for Evie.” She started to set up her ‘station’ of a notebook and some crayons. One of the ducks walked over it, and she whined, “Quakers! No! We have business to do.” 

She started to draw. Now, the little one was no artist. Her drawings weren’t going in a gallery, but she loved it anyway. She started with a girl wearing a school uniform, humming to herself. When she finished the hair, she said, “this is Evie!” Next, she drew three happy ducks. “Quakers, that is you!” She lifted the picture and squinted. “Hmmm!” She looked back at the duck and back at her painting. “I didn’t get your good angle…I’m sorry.” And that is Poe and this is Diddle because he has a brown spot on his mouth.

Right next to her, holding her hand, she drew a man with a flat cap hat, and above him she wrote Mr. Shellbee. And when she was done, she tucked away her supplies. “Okay, fellas, I have to go, but I’ll bring ya’ something tomorrow!” The ducks walked around here, occasionally plucking at the ground for anything they could find. Evie turned her jumper pockets inside out to brush out the crumbs before skipping off.

The Garrison wasn’t too far off, but by the time she got there, she was winded. It was the pub she saw him come out of the day prior. With no mind, she pushed open the doors and rushed in, looking around. It was hitting noon time, and only a few men lingered about. All perked and looked at the girl, and the man at the bar called to her, leaning over the counter with folded hands. “Oi! This isn’t no place for no little girls, yeah!” Evie looked over at him, frowning. “What do you want?” he asked, not unkindly, wiping his hands on his apron.

She hopped to the bar, and kneeled on the stool to see properly over the bar. “I’m looking for Mr. Shelby-”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Which one?” “There’s more?!” Blinking, she looked around before getting out her drawinging. Grunting as she flattened it out. Along the journey,  it had gotten a little crinkled. I should have kept it in my drawing book. “That one!” she pointed and the gentleman squinted, making a face. Before him was a stick figure wearing what he assumed to be a three piece suit, a flat cap, and a cigarette between his fingers. 

“Hmm, well, I don’t know,” he said, holding the picture up and looking around at the back. On a table, there was a man slouched, already too many drinks in. “Is it that one?”

Evie shook her head, giving him a look. “Nuh uh!” Motioning to the picture, she added, “does he look like he has a mustache?”

“I suppose not,” he replied, chuckling to himself. “You stay right there, hm? I’ll be right back.” The girl had a little spunk to her, he’d give her that. He put the picture down and went in the back. She heard some talking and through some double doors, Mr. Shelby came through and she slid off the chair.

“Mr. Shelby! Mr. Shelby!” she yelled, clinging the picture to the chest. Tommy kneeled, meeting the girl to eye level. “I made you this-”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hands on her shoulders. Evie froze, her heart shrinking just a tad as she watched the lines in his face stress. He was giving her a hardened look and the pressure on her shoulders wasn’t so nice, either. She went small; quiet and her face dropped all signs of happiness. Tommy admitted to himself, seeing that girl pout like that, looking at him like she did that wretched woman, made him feel ill.

“I’m sorry,” she said, folding the picture and tucking away under her jumper. Tommy eased up, bowing his head slightly. 

“The pub isn’t safe for girls,” he said, relaxing his expression, his hand cradling her cheek. It was cold; rosy red and flushed. Her little nose dribbled, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to sniff it back up or stop herself from crying. In his pocket was a clean handkerchief. Plucking it out, he dabbled around her nose before squeezing lightly. Helping a child blow the snot from her nose wasn’t on his list for the day, but there they were. “Blow, come on, blow it out!” Evie puffed out her cheeks and blew her nose while Tommy cleaned it up. Folding it up, he tucked it away.

“I drew you a picture,” she said, having a hard time looking at him. He smiled, leaning his face in, tilting it up to catch her eyes. His hands fell to her arms, rubbing circles with thumbs. She took it out and unfolded it. “I don’t like it. I forgot Mr. Shelby’s horse-”

Before she could hide it away, Tommy took it, holding it with a firm grip. It was a lovely picture, he thought. Really captured his personality with the cigarette and the stress winkles. He pointed to the ducks, “and those are your friends.”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning on him to look at the picture with him. “And me and you. And in the back is the beach and bridge.” Tommy snorted that the thought of the canal being considered a beach. 

“Well, it doesn’t need the horse,” he said, deciding as he tucked it away. “He doesn’t like his picture drawn anyway. Has too many bad angles.” As he stood, he groaned, stretching a bit before kindly placing his hand on her back, pushing her towards the door. “Now, Evelyn, you shouldn’t come in here, understand?” 

She pouted, stopping right before he could shove her out. Looking up at him with round eyes. “But we’re friends. How can I see you?” Tommy’s brows raised and hummed, thinking back to the previous night. He settled with, you can always run to the stables. Even when I’m not there, I’m always in the stables. Her mouth gaped and her eyes balled. Leaning in, she whispered, “Sister Stefana says ghost talk ain't so nice. You talkin’ the devil that way, Mr. Shelby.”

He pinched her chin, amused. “I think the Devil’s too scared to come to Birmingham.”

“Some people say you’re the Devil, but I don’t think the Devil kisses his horses like you do-”

“Well, to be the Devil, you have to be an angel. I don’t think I was ever one of those.”

Evie giggled and motioned for him to get real close, to put his ear to her mouth. She cupped her mouth and whispered, “do you also steal the loose jellies from the sweets shop?”

Exaggerating, Tommy widened his eyes and gave her a shocked look with a gasp. “Do you!?” Evie laughed and put her finger to her lips. With a pointed look, he said, “you better be careful, eh? Now, go on, hm? Be a good girl!” Opening the door, he watched as she ran off. This time in shoes, but they were ragged and torn. Probably she would have been just well off barefoot. Tommy kept his gaze on her until she was no longer in sight. “Ah, fucking hell,” he whispered, not cursing, but just as a release of emotions. He turned, scratching the back of his neck and when he looked up, John and Arthur were giving him quite a look of perplexity. He dropped the soft face and barked, “fuck off, eh? Believe it or not, I do have more ranges of emotions than a wall fly!”

[inlovewithfionaapple]

the shift

warnings: none

wc: 887

the next few days at smosh were a whirlwind of brainstorming sessions, chaotic improv rehearsals, and last-minute coffee runs. the usual. but for y/n, everything felt slightly off-kilter — like someone had turned up the saturation on the world, and all she could see was spencer.

spencer making everyone laugh during the pitch meeting. spencer helping carry lights when the crew was short-handed. spencer spinning around in a rolling chair like a child until he got dizzy and crashed into a desk.

he was... everywhere.

and y/n’s heart wouldn’t shut up about it.

they were wrapping a long thursday night shoot when it happened — the kind of night where everything ran late, the energy got weird, and people started getting honest.

most of the cast had gone home, but y/n and spencer were still around, helping the crew reset gear for the next day. she was coiling extension cords. he was stacking props with alarming disorganization.

“you ever think about leaving?” y/n asked suddenly, not even sure where the question came from.

spencer looked up. “like... smosh?”

she nodded. ��i don’t know. not because i want to. just — sometimes i think about what life would be like if i hadn’t come here.”

he tilted his head, studying her with that intense, thoughtful look he got when he actually stopped joking. “i think i’d be way less happy.”

y/n blinked. “really?”

he walked over, propping an arm against the wall beside her — not intentionally flirty, but close enough to make her pulse spike.

“yeah,” he said. “this job’s fun, sure. but it’s the people that make it something more. you make it something more.”

silence bloomed between them. it was soft. charged. dangerous.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

there was something in spencer’s eyes she hadn’t seen before — or maybe she’d just been too scared to name it.

something warm.

something careful.

something that looked a lot like want.

and then — as if the universe had a sick sense of humor — the moment cracked.

“hey guys!” noah’s voice echoed from down the hall. “anyone seen the tripod bag?”

spencer immediately stepped back, clearing his throat, the spell broken.

y/n forced a smile. “uh — yeah, think it’s by the editing bay!”

noah vanished again. but the air between her and spencer never quite went back to normal.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “anyway... i’ll, uh, finish those props.”

“right,” y/n said, heart still galloping. “cool. yeah.”

but nothing felt cool.

everything felt like it was on fire.

the next night, y/n sat alone on the roof of the smosh building, sipping warm tea from a thermos and trying to sort through the knot in her chest.

spencer joined her ten minutes later without saying a word. just sat beside her, quiet.

she didn’t ask how he knew she was there.

he always just... knew.

for a while, they didn’t speak. the city stretched out around them, humming and alive. streetlights blinked in the distance. somewhere, a dog barked. a breeze tangled through y/n’s hair.

finally, spencer broke the silence.

“do you think we messed it up?”

she looked at him sharply. “what do you mean?”

“this.” he gestured vaguely between them. “us. this weird in-between thing we’ve been stuck in.”

her mouth went dry. “we’re not stuck.”

“aren’t we?”

he turned to face her fully now, and for once, there was no joking in his eyes. just raw honesty. a rare kind of vulnerability that made y/n feel like her heart was cracking open.

“i like you, y/n,” he said. “more than i’ve been saying. more than i’ve known what to do with.”

the words hit her like a thunderclap.

she stared at him, stunned.

“i didn’t want to ruin anything,” he continued, voice softer now. “working together, being friends — i didn’t want to screw it up. but lately, i feel like not saying anything is screwing it up worse.”

y/n’s chest ached. “spencer…”

“i get it if you don’t feel the same,” he said quickly, misreading her silence. “or if it’s too complicated. i just — i had to say it.”

she reached out then, grabbing his hand.

his words may have shattered her, but his hand — warm, familiar, a little sweaty — grounded her.

“i feel the same,” she said quietly. “i’ve just been scared too.”

a breath of relief rushed out of him, almost a laugh. he squeezed her hand gently, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmured.

they sat like that — hands laced, hearts thundering, the night folding around them like a secret.

spencer leaned in then, just a little, eyes flicking to her mouth.

it would’ve been perfect.

the kiss.

the moment.

but y/n’s phone buzzed loudly between them.

she jumped, groaning. “damn it — sorry.”

spencer chuckled, leaning back with a half-smile. “you always have the worst timing.”

“or maybe we just need better luck,” she said.

he looked at her for a long, slow moment. “or maybe we just try again tomorrow.”

and y/n smiled.

because tomorrow had never sounded so promising.