#emwrite

[rottingformerfirstmate]

It's lonely without Izzy. Edward feels his absence like he's been run through, and the sword is still there to catch against the walls whenever he rounds a corner and twist inside his guts as sharply as Izzy's dry humor. While Edward is not alone--never more than twenty feet from Stede, not that either of them feel a desperate need to keep the other in sight--he can't help how the hole where Izzy should be swallows any semblance of joy in interacting with anyone else, even Stede. He should still be here.

The cheap table and chair set Stede bought for the kitchen has only two seats, and Edward can't look at it without wondering where Izzy is supposed to sit. It's absurd when Izzy didn't dine with them, but Edward feels entitled to irrationality right now. Stede said as much while Ed laid on top of the dirt they buried Izzy beneath, pretending he could still hear him breathing, whispering all the words left unsaid into the damp earth.

Izzy wouldn't want a chair at their table anyway. The version of Izzy Ed remembers, the one that mocked his flights of fancy, would scoff at the idea and perhaps knock over the vase of lillies Stede arranged so carefully. He'd call this a waste of everything Edward is.

Then again, there's a version of Izzy that Edward didn't know well enough to realize his existence until after they were broken beyond repair. It was still Izzy who painted his face in gold and sang for them at Calypso's birthday. His last words in life were a comfort for Edward. That feels like the Izzy Edward knew as well as the back of his hand, but the open softness in his face and the peaceful acceptance of endings does not.

Rather than thinking too hard about whether Edward really knew Izzy at all, he sits cross-legged opposite Izzy's makeshift headstone with his eyes on the tarnished shine of the ring knotted into the cravat. He can't figure out why they denied Izzy a burial at sea, and no one has explained, which Edward suspects is because it has already been laid out for him. The several days between Izzy's death and funeral are a grizzly blur of which Ed has little memory beyond a soul-churning ache for Izzy to be beside him again. He forgave Edward before he died. It wasn't enough because he only did it to get the words out while he still had the chance, not because he was past the horrors he endured at his captain's hand.

Stede comes to check on him and deliver a cup of tea, sweeter than Izzy ever made it for Edward because he was smart about rations and Edward never went with him to make sure he wasn't skimping. It surprises him when a question of where Izzy's cup is slips from his mouth, but Stede was prepared for this and sets a tea cup next to Edward's good knee. Vaguely, Ed remembers the meltdown he had the first time Stede made tea after Izzy died, demanding to know why there were only two porcelain sets. Izzy liked tea when he was hurt or ill. If making tea for a dead man who can't possibly be aware of its presence bothers Stede, he gives no such indication. Instead, he tells Edward he will leave the two of them to chat and turns back toward the house.

Ed drinks his tea before it gets cold. He pours Izzy's over the grave, the best approximation he has for holding it to Izzy's chapped lips, before its steam dissipates.

[haveateadude]

don't say yes, run away now

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ what happens when you invite Ellie to your wedding, and what would you do if she stands up?

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ i mention sex like,, once but nothing happens. homophobia and some white guy named michael.

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ I LOVED THIS IDEA OMGG AND I FINALLY GOT TO WRITE ITTT

I hear the preacher say, "Speak now or forever hold your peace"

There's the silence, there's my last chance

I stand up with shaky hands, all eyes on me

Horrified looks from everyone in the room

But I'm only looking at you

You've wanted to get married for as long as you can remember. You have always dreamed of wearing a white dress, with your arm hooked around your father's while he walks you down the aisle, your whole family and friends sitting on those wooden chairs applauding as you kiss the person you love the most. Except, today is your wedding. And you don't think you want this. A little voice in your head is going: this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong and you don't love him you won't be happy don't do this don't do this you'll be miserable.

Don't do this

Don't do this

Don't do this.

"Don't move," you hear your mother say. You come back to reality as she zips up your dress. It's itchy and uncomfortable and you can't breathe. Is this really what you've been wishing for your whole life? "All done."

You turn around to look at your mother. You chuckle, trying to hide how shitty you're feeling, "This is uncomfortable."

"Oh, shush," She says, smiling. "Bear with it. You only get to do this once in your life—unless you divorce Michael and get married again. Which, you shouldn't because the divorce papers cost a shit ton of money. And he's a good guy, isn't he?"

You nod, "Yeah, mom. He is."

"That's good." She stops for a second, then looks at you: from head to toe. She's still smiling and it's starting to freak you out. "I can't believe this is happening. You look so beautiful, honey. "

"Thank you."

"You know, you scared me for a second. For a while, I thought you were a lesbian when you used to bring that girl back then. What was her name? Ella, Amelia, Bella…"

"Ellie?"

"Right, Ellie. You've invited her, haven't you?"

You nod, "Yeah. She's still a friend."

You don't know if liking each other's Instagram stories counts as being friends. And it might seem cruel, knowing you've dated her secretly in the past, and now you've invited her to your fucking wedding. But it didn’t feel right not to ask her. You've known her since you were in high school.

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to get Ellie off your mind. All you're starting to think about now is kissing under the rain with her, secretly passing notes in the hallway, laughing in between kisses, sitting in between her legs while you read - just quietly existing in each other's presence without having to make it sexual. This is the moment you realize you've never felt this way with Michael. He makes you smile and he kisses you when he comes home from work. But he never laughs during sex, and he never holds your hand except for when you're in public. He never whispers, "It's okay," ever so gently like Ellie when you cry; he never runs his finger through your hair like Ellie used to when you couldn't sleep.

This is the day of your wedding, for fuck's sake. Maybe deciding to marry in church wasn't a good idea.

A part of you knows that you've been longing for Ellie your whole life.

You were wishing she wouldn't come, but as you walk down the aisle you can't help but catch a glimpse of her eyes. It always seemed that you were connected—as if you both had a string attached to your pinkies. If she pulled—if she looked at the back of your head you'd turn around to look at her; if she walked to the room you would be able to feel it—you would fucking feel it. Right now you could feel the string. She was tugging at it. She was tugging and tugging and tugging and she would not leave you alone.

As you stand in front of Micheal you try to smile; he smiles back. Ellie is tugging at the string. She could always tell when you had a fake smile on your face.

The preacher is talking but you're not hearing him.

"Are you okay?" Michael whispers to you.

You nod, still smiling. With teeth and everything. You then whisper, "Yeah, I'm just overwhelmed."

"Me too," he whispers back. "I'm so happy, I can't believe this is happening."

You're about to reply when you hear, "Speak now or forever hold your peace—"

And then someone stands up.

And then your smile drops as you look at her.

Ellie has always been reckless, the little shit. She's always bold and brave and she isn't scared of saying what she thinks but still—this surprises you. You hear an echo of gasps around the place and all eyes are on her as she's standing. But she doesn't say anything. She looks around the room and then looks at you so you look at her. Tug, tug, tug. You can't help but feel like a helpless teenage girl in a secret relationship—this is what you felt when you used to look at her in a party, knowing nobody knew about her and you and also knowing you'll find your ways to meet up later. And then she blinks, and then leaves. Just like that. She walks out.

Michael's eyes are on you. It hits you, suddenly, that you will be married to him. He'll want to have kids and you will agree because that's who you are and then you'll be miserable.

"Woah," He laughs. Like this is funny. Like someone has just told a joke. "Was that Ella? Your mother told me that—"

And then your feet are moving before you can think of the consequences. People gasp again, now they're starting to stand up. You walk out, taking out your veil and heels, and leave them on the floor of the church as you run. You can't help but feel happy, free, proud. Especially proud. Like this isn't your secret anymore��like you could scream at the world how much you like her without being embarrassed or scared. Everyone should know you love her.

"Ellie!" You exclaim as you look at her. She's also running. "Ellie, hold up!"

She stops suddenly, turning around to look at you. Her breath is ragged.

"Did you just—what are you doing here? You're getting married."

"Fuck Michael," You breathe out, hands over your knees, trying to catch your breath. "I think I hate him and I—and I keep thinking about you. And I just—fuck Ellie. I can't marry him."

"You've wanted this your whole life," she says. She knows how much you've wanted to get married, you always talked to her about it. "You've finally got it and—"

And then she's not speaking, because you're kissing her. Her lips feel like home. Ellie chuckles and then you're laughing, too. You press your forehead against hers and you feel like you could cry. Maybe you are. She wraps her arms around you like she just needs to hold you.

"I'm sorry to break this moment," she starts to say as she pulls away, looking behind your shoulder. "But we've got a mad mother running towards us."

You look behind as you see that your mother is running as she screams your full name.

"Run," you tell her. She nods and seconds after you're both running for your lives, Ellie holding your hand gently.

"Thank god I brought my car!" She exclaims as she pulls her keys with her other hand. She unlocks the car doors and as soon as she gets in she starts the engine. You get into the passenger's seat. "I can't believe we just did that."

You laugh as Ellie drives until losing sight of your mother.

You know this will bring a lot of consequences and maybe you'll never talk to your family again. But well—at least you'll live a happy life and will never run out of what to talk about in therapy.

[anyon-else]

"Oh, baby..."

The man kneeling at your feet let out a quiet, involuntary whimper at your cooed words, and you had to fight back a smile. He truly was a sight to behold when he was on his knees.

You were sitting in a plush, cushioned chair above him, stroking the cheek that he had pressed against your thigh. His bruising grip around your ankle was the only sign of tension in his otherwise relaxed body. And the adoration in his gaze—the need—almost made you want to hold out on him a little bit longer.

"Please," he choked, leaving light, fluttering kisses anywhere he could reach. You buried a hand in his hair and gave the strands a firm tug when he scraped the tips of his fangs against your skin. The effort to lift his eyes to yours and retract his them looked painful, but he was nothing if not patient.

"Did you wait to eat the whole time I was gone?" you asked, releasing your grip when you were sure he wouldn't be tempted to bite again and stroking your fingers through the messy strands of his hair. He nodded, squeezing your ankle tighter as if in an attempt to convey his hunger and desperation. "My love, you didn't need to."

You both knew it was a lie. He needed this—the torture, the teasing, and the satisfaction when he finally sank his teeth into your soft, fragile flesh. When you finally let him have a taste...he wanted to starve himself each and every day just to hold on to the euphoria.

But this was the hardest part...having you here, so close that he could practically taste your blood, but being told to wait.

And he would. Of course he would. He would do anything you said, and you knew it.

"Poor thing. You must be hungry," you muttered, releasing his hair and placing a gentle hand on his cheek. He closed his eyes, turning his face into the touch and kissing your palm, "or maybe...we should rest a while before dinner."

"N-no," he croaked, eyes widening the moment the word left his lips. "I mean, I-"

"So desperate," you said, clicking your tongue and grasping his chin between your fingers, "fine. Just a taste for now."

He nodded, eager and needy and so, so hungry.

"Just a taste," he repeated, gaze falling to where you held your wrist in front of him. He glanced up at you one more time, and at your nod, sunk his teeth eagerly into your arm. You gasped when his fangs broke the thin layer of skin and added two wounds to a growing collection of small scars dotting your wrist. He moaned, eyes rolling back as he finally got to eat—finally got to taste you. It had been days since you'd left, and he wasn't sure what he would have done if you'd returned any later.

Just a taste, he reminded himself. He gripped your arm, squeezing tight enough to bruise as a groan slipped from his throat. He didn't register the feeling of tears building in the corners of his eyes until one slipped down his cheek. There was no use trying to fight them back—not when he was finally getting to sink his teeth into your flesh and feast like a man starved.

"That's enough for now," you said lightly when the salty drop of water hit your skin. Immediately, he relaxed his mouth and extracted his fangs. You brushed your thumb over the trail that his tear had left behind as he swiped his tongue over the spots of blood that bloomed from the pair of fresh wounds on your wrist, leaving no drop wasted.

"You were so patient for me," you said quietly as he left delicate kisses over his bite marks. "So good. And you stopped when I asked."

He nodded—he had been patient, but even if his hunger had gotten unbearable while you were away, the thought of drinking someone else's blood made him feel sick. You'd ruined him—if he ever lost you, he'd likely starve before ever finding blood that satiated this all-consuming need that you roused within him.

"Thank you..." he muttered, still insatiably hungry, but what you'd given him was more than enough to quell the painful pangs of hunger he'd felt only moments earlier.

"You can have more soon, my love. Once we've both rested."

He assented with an unintelligible murmur as you led him to the bedroom, knowing that he'd be well taken care of before the sun rose.

CHOSO KAMO, gojo satoru, diluc ragnvindr, childe, kakashi hatake, SHIN-AH + anyone i missed!

[emryses]

lovesick

Rating: T Length: 5.8k Relationships: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Characters: Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne, Crystal Palace Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Magic Kiss, Forced Proximity, Painland Week 2025, crystal is quite literally ‘the are you serious? right in front of my salad?’ meme

EXCERPT:

Edwin’s mouth is so nice, Charles thinks, for maybe not the first time but he’ll reflect on that bit later. His hand still curves along the back of Edwin’s neck, his fingertips brushing his hairline. His eyes fall, again, over Edwin’s mouth and he tries to reckon with the sudden, intense desire to press his thumb against the pillowy soft skin where Edwin’s lips are still parted and made puffy pink. By him, and—well—if that isn’t doing something to him. His eyes look up, and lock onto Edwin’s. He’s looking at Charles with something in his eye that he’s never seen before, but he might want to see again, if possible. Which is—a thought. A big thought, actually. Too much of a thought for right now.  A smaller thought occurs to him: kiss Edwin. Now that’s much easier for him to sort through; he very much would like to kiss Edwin again. To dip in and taste what exactly it is he’s left behind. “Uhhh,” says Crystal, from beside them. Right, so. Crystal’s here, too.

@painlandweek for a mix of Day 9 Magic Kiss & Day 10 Forced Proximity/Bound Together. 💙❤️

Read on Ao3.

[goodboyinagirlway]

Coming home from the coffee shop with my collar on, having fetched her favorite coffee to help her start her long day of work… only for her to take MY cup and pour it into the bowl next to the small bed under her desk.

She’d attach the leash and I’d lay blissfully next to her stilettos until she gave me a new task or tugged me up between her thighs to kiss and worship her. I’d be so lucky to have her reach down and scratch behind my ears as she writes.

[bi-buckrights]

grab me by the hand (just as calloused as I am)

bucktommy | E | 7.8k | one shot

“Evan,” Tommy starts, leveling him with a look. “I can’t ask that of you. I live in the opposite direction of you, it will take you forever to get home.” “Then spend the night at my place.” The words slip past his lips before he even has a chance to think. Tommy stills, his mouth dropping open in surprise. “Are - are you sure?” He asks gently, with big, sincere eyes. Buck thought he would panic at the prospect of spending their first night together - his first night with a man - but he takes it in stride like everything else in this journey; with excitement and joy. He smiles, and doesn’t have any regrets when he says, “Yes. Please come home with me, Tommy.” Buck swears Tommy’s smile could be enough to remind anyone of how much beauty this world contains. “Okay,” he whispers. “Take me home, Evan.” - or: Tommy shows up, and he stays.

Read on ao3

[emwritesstuff]

DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 9.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. (warnings: diving deep into humans as test subjects in this one. heavy self deprecation, pstd, panic attacks, a lot of apologies for some reason?) (6,670 words)

9: THE THIRD LAW OF NEWTON

It’s Friday morning. The Wakandan Princess arrived earlier in an airship that resembled something like a flying Bugatti and made the Quinjet look like a bicycle. Two spear-wielding female warriors - the Dora Milaje, you’ve recently learned - flanked her as she came out of it, which you thought was a little overkill. Royalty treatment, you suppose.

They’re now guarding the doors to the room you’re having your first deprogramming session in, pretending they don’t see you stare.

You’re nervously bouncing your knee up and down as you wait; up and down. Up and down. Up and down. One of the warriors flick her eyes in your direction.

It makes you stop. The movement resumes involuntarily when she looks away.

You’re hoping you won’t regret this. Like every other decision you make, it was an impulsive one; stemmed out of the need to delete every trace of HYDRA that was still in you.

You were born for the use of HYDRA.

That day, when you were showering your frustration away, you took a bath sponge and for the first time in your life, tried to scrub the numbers off.

7463000195.

The skin on your arm is still a little raw, their mark still inked deeply on it.

This procedure has to be the next best thing.

“Try not to look too excited, Shuri might get self conscious.”

You look up suddenly; Bucky is hovering above you, a smirk countering the usual exhaustion in his eyes.

“I just can’t contain myself,” You say, getting up and past him. “What are you doing down here?”

Bucky shrugs. “Moral support?”

Steve walks in just as his best friend says the words, and you hold back a groan. He’s been supporting your decision since you made it; of course he’d be here too.

You just have to pray Shuri is truly the genius people have been raving about.

The room Stark has assigned for the Wakandans is right down the hall from his own lab - and if that one was high-tech, then you didn’t have an adjective for this one. Shuri’s sleek, white and silver equipment now lined the walls, and holograms occupied the space physical screens would be.

“Impressive, no?”

“It’s a little flashy,” You grimace once you realize who you’re talking to; out of the corner of your eye, one of the warrior women tightens the grip on her spear. “Sorry, my…my lady. Your highness?”

The princess laughs. “Please, let’s end the formalities. I’ll be rummaging through your head for the next hour, it’s only fair you just call me Shuri.”

You hold back the urge to say As you wish, Your Highness and bow. “How exactly is this going to work?”

“Essentially the same process we’re doing to Sargeant Barnes. Find the source of your triggers. Unravel the memory and sever the connection to the problematic behaviors.” Her choice of wording makes you frown. “In generic terms.”

“You’re wiping me.”

HYDRA has never wiped your memories - at least you don’t think they have - so you don’t really know how it feels. All you know is that is not a fun time.

Your eyes find the two war veterans just outside the room, two armoire-sized men who could drag you right back in if you made a run for it. You’re almost certain they would never.

But still. They could.

Shuri speaks again as your breaths shallow, “We’re not taking any of your memories away. They will still be in your head, but have no effect on present you. This will be more like… unplugging a cable from the port.”

“Like disarming a bomb.”

It’s not exactly comforting. But it’s not wrong.

“Exactly.” Shuri shifts in place as if you’re making her self conscious. “Not that you—”

“Oh, I am.” You shrug. “Let’s do this, Your High— Shuri?”

Shuri hands you a sort of metal headband and leads you to something that almost looks like a tanning bed, but with all glass casing and soft padding inside. You try not to think of how it looks like a coffin, or a fancy cryopod, instead focusing on the memory of the machine that made Steve Rogers into a super soldier. That one’s a little better.

The contraption you’re getting into looks like all of these combined, with the sci-fi makeover all over it. Shuri takes her place behind a multitude of hologram screens and out of the corner of your eye, you see Rogers on the doorway.

Good to know the Dora Milaje let him walk about like that.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions so we can narrow in your trigger memories,” Shuri says, and you nod. There’s some beeping around your head. Your fingers flex at your sides. “Try not to move too much. We’ll begin when you’re ready.”

“Yeah… alright. Fuck it. I’m ready.”

A second passes.

“Where were you born?”

“I… I’m not actually sure.”

There’s a pause. It’s brief, but you notice anyway. You can’t really see anything from where you’re laying down, so you just keep your eyes to the ceiling.

“Where did you grow up?”

At least you know the answer to this one.

“The Brutkasten. 18 miles south from Erda, Norway.” You still remember vividly the trek through the snow during your escape, how you reached the tiny town in less than adequate clothing and with a bullet wound to your side.

You’re sure your raggedy, unexpected appearance raised many questions, but you couldn’t provide answers: mostly because you don’t speak Norwegian.

HYDRA made sure you were made into an island.

“Who was in charge of your programming? Who trained it into you?”

You pull a breath in - no wonder Bucky needed his quiet time after this. The questions are precise and equally invasive, and even if you tried skirting around the spoken answer the memory was already in your head. No running from it.

“Baron Von Strucker. Wolfgang Von Strucker. Head of all of HYDRA’s enhanced human projects, including mine.”

Shuri pauses again. “That’s… are you sure you remember right? I’m having conflicting results.”

Your hands are starting to sweat.

“Strucker trained the programming into me. He was always there to activate—” You interrupt yourself, as something in your head clicks. It makes you consider her question again, and chase another memory instead. “Steiner. Hermann Steiner said he made me. It has to be him.”

“That’s it. Keep going,”

“He…he tampered with my DNA to give me my powers. He said I needed an off-switch. A fail-safe. The-the whole purpose of the words is to keep them under control, I think. If they’re not activated I can’t use my powers properly, and if they are, I’m HYDRA’s perfect weapon.” Your lungs feel empty, and it’s suddenly hard to get them full again. It’s strange to echo Steiner’s words like that. It takes you back to that conversation.

To the warning.

You can hear something beeping and can only guess it’s to do with your vitals. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t—”

“You mentioned something about activation words. Can you recite them for me?”

Your fingers tighten against the soft padding you’re laying on. You need to get through this.

You must. “…and blood-black nothingness began to spin, a system of cells interlinked within one stem.”

“Shuri, perhaps we should—”

“One second, Captain Rogers. Just one second.” Shuri’s voice feels distant, and you can see her turn to someone out of your line of sight. Steve, maybe. The glass upper-half of your pod is open, but it weighs on you all the same.

“Vernetzt. Vernetzt. Change of momentum with change of time. Noether-Theorem. Hail HY- HY—”

“Got it.”

Your voice dies inside your throat. They’re talking, you can hear the muffled voices to the left of your pod. You’re buried under the snow, icy rubble burning your skin as your nails dig into cotton fabric and foam. “…not a fail-safe. I’d call it a muzzle.”

Getmeoutgetmeoutgetmeoutgetmeout

The words don’t come. Your limbs are stuck. You’re a vicious dog, too terrified to leave its cage.

You have no idea the damage you can cause—

The light dies for a few seconds.

Tony Stark’s wail travels from down the darkened hall: the Pac Man.

Not again…

“He really needs to get a no-break for that thing,” Steve’s voice cuts between your frazzled panting, pulling you back into reality all the way from Norway. The lights are back on. You make a pathetic little sound that should have been a chuckle.

Something warm and sturdy helps you sit up, and you realize too late it’s a pair of very muscular, very patriotic arms. “Can we take a break? I need… a minute. Maybe ten,”

“Of course. Let’s do fifteen,”

“I think we can call it a day here. It’s lunchtime anyway.”

“Lunch? It’s 11:30, Captain.”

“That’s lunchtime if you’re retirement home age.” You say matter-of-factly, hopping off the pod. “And he is way past that by this point.”

Steve rolls his eyes, and you shrug. “I’m not saying she’s right, but…” Bucky walks in as the Dora quit guarding the door. “Look I’m not saying retirement but—”

“C’mon, not you too…”

“A vacation! You really need it, bud.”

Steve protests. You nod your head solemnly, stifling a laugh. You push through jellified legs in order to leave the room, fully embracing the lunch time excuse.

“What, you’re not comin’?”

You bite your lip. You want to say it - you really want to say it.

“Where?”

“Lunch. The diner,” Bucky raises one eyebrow at Steve. “You didn’t invite her?”

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“I was going to—” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Was just going to make sure you’re okay first. You know, to go out.”

Bucky waves his metal hand between you and Steve. “Please. This isn’t a date. I’ll be right there.”

Motherfucker.

“Barnes—”

This isn’t a date.

Bucky is right there, across from you and Steve.

And you’re not making out with anyone except this cheeseburger.

They took you to a place named Nemo’s, a diner in Brooklyn that is traditional in every way: burgundy booths made out of that are cracked in places. Silver metal tables. Checkered floors, low lighting even though it’s barely noon.

It’s apparently almost as old as they are, and they’ve been coming here since they were teens; it doesn’t surprise you at all. Creatures of habit, these two. Not to mention the food is to die for.

“Easy, tiger.” Bucky says, making you look up from your sandwich. He tosses you a napkin. “Here. You got grease all over yourself,”

You roll your eyes, but wipe your mouth anyways.

“Let her be, Buck.” You look at Steve in surprise, but he only shrugs and takes a bite out of his own burger. Old-school, with the sliced bread loaf instead of buns and everything. Too many pickles for your taste though.

Bucky’s response is to slap the brim of Roger’s baseball cap, eliciting a laugh out of you.

This is nothing like you’re used to. You’ve been to dinners and Pizza Night at the compound, but those are different. It’s more crowded. There’s more pressure. Even Steve seems at ease here, his shoulders relaxed despite his disguise being flimsy at best. A baseball cap, that’s it? Not even a mustache? Even Bucky’s singular glove is more inconspicuous.

You realize you’re staring when he meets your gaze, a hint of a crooked smile curling his lip upwards. Maybe you should’ve shared the seat with Barnes instead.

“What?”

You breathe in. He looks awfully good under this awful lighting.

Get it the fuck together.

“There’s ketchup on your cheek.” It’s a lie.

But it works: Steve swiftly moves to grab a couple of napkins. The other super soldier is eyeing you suspiciously.

You have to resort to stuffing your face of his fries, which causes enough commotion to allow your cheeks to return to their regular temperature.

“Is Stark not feeding you enough? Jesus,”

You shrug. “These are just really good, and mine are gone. See?” You show him your empty basket and Steve mumbles something about ordering more. “Thanks for bringing me here by the way. I know it’s you guy’s thing.”

“Figured it could lift your spirits after this morning. Like ice cream after the dentist,” Steve says, and you nod. Your spirits are indeed lifted. It feels easy, to just be around them like this.

Because despite your resistance, these two know all of the terrible parts of you. They think there’s hope for you yet, which is the sort of optimism you’re still working on.

“Yeah. If you stayed back you’d just be overthinking yourself to death. And that’s not allowed here.”

You sigh. “It’s just a lot. You guys saw what happened today and it was only the first ever session. If Steiner’s right about me it could be a huge disaster. What if I lose control? What if—” A french fry is flung in your direction, turning concern into vexation.

“No overthinking at Nemo’s.”

“Dick.” You throw the fry back, and he pops it into his mouth with a grin.

“Buck’s got a point, actually. We need to take one step at a time and suffering by anticipation won’t help.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to look surprised. “You’re agreeing with me? Who are you?”

You chuckle. “Seriously, Steve? Not even him?” Bucky makes a face of resignation, shaking his head.

“Besides, you’re one to talk…” He added, quietly.

Steve exhales. “You two gangin’ up on me now? This friendship of yours is really something,”

“We’re the cryo-crew. The HYDRA… rejects. The frozen guinea-pigs?” You and Bucky do a high-five as Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’re both in remission now, the nicknames can stop—”

“I like cryo-crew.”

Steve groans. “I can’t believe this.”

Cryo-Crew it is.

Your body stiffens once you notice a man standing slightly northeast to your booth. He’s looking right at you; eyes too focused to have anything but recognition in them. You should’ve known your reprieve wouldn’t last. The months living in the compound made you forget how it felt like, to live on high alert. Bucky is next, frowning at your body language and turning towards your gaze. Then Steve. He streches his right arm across the table in front of your chest. The light bulb right above you flickers.

The man approaches the table, but he doesn’t seem nearly as tense as either three of you. Steve stands. Bucky remains seated but with a tight grip on the back rest of the booth.

Fight or flight, practical demonstration.

“S-sorry sir, Captain Rogers, sir. It’s so hard to find you out on the town like this, I couldn’t help it. Michael Lawrence. VP of the Sentinels of Liberty.” Steve lets out air through his nose, him and Barnes relaxing at the same time. He takes Michael’s hopeful, outstretched hand and shakes it, clapping an amicable hand on his shoulder then towing him away from you and Bucky.

“What. Was that…?”

“Must be ‘nother one of his biggest fans,” Bucky chuckles, pulling the strings of his hoodie. “He’s got a few devoted fan clubs, I always tell him the baseball cap is not enough.”

You scoff. “Right? Like, look at him. He can’t be thinking that’s making him anonymous.” Bucky grins. You’re still on edge, but the tension is dissipating slowly. You can see Steve’s back from here, shaking another few hands and displaying his signature Captain America smile. “I thought it was trouble for a second. Geez.”

“As much trouble as civilians can be. Buncha’ nerds geeking out over a bigger nerd,” He shrugs. “You’re off the hook, Sparky. Relax.”

“Look at where we live, Buck-o. ” He makes a face at the nickname, and you shrug. A Buck-o for a Sparky, it’s only fair. “We’re never off the hook.”

“You got that right.” He sighs. “Even if it was trouble. Those fuckers are not laying their hands on you, or me, ever again.”

You nod. The reassurance makes your chest tighten. You’ve been getting a lot of that lately. You didn’t know you needed it. “It’s not just them though. It’s… S.W.O.R.D. General Hoss, Fury. I feel - I know - they’ve got their eyes on me, just waiting for the moment I slip.” Even Stark. He was funny and he seemed to care, but his initiative towards the Sokovia Accords made it clear he held a high standard for fuck-ups. And you were a big one.

Your knee starts bouncing, making Bucky land a kick on your shin. You send him a glare, but he just smiles fiendishly.

“The Compound situation is… complicated. It’s Hoss’ kennel. The longer we stay, the more strings they got on us.” You nod again, slowly this time. Bucky drums his gloved metal fingers on the table, looking around the diner before speaking. “Won’t be our permanent residence for much longer, though.”

“What? You plan on running off into the sunset with Steve or something?

“Please. He’s not my boyfriend,”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I see the way you look at him. And vice-versa.” You roll your eyes.

“I don’t look at him any sort of way, Barnes. Except maybe disgust. Okay?”

Boyfriend. Some bullshit.

Bucky shakes his head. “Sure thing.”

“…he tell you anything?”

“Nah. He doesn’t kiss n’ tell. Should I ask?”

“No.” You refute quickly, and he narrows his eyes.

You’re not sure why he’s acting like this. Rogers wouldn’t have much to tell anyways.

“Right. Think you fool me with this act—”

You hold back the urge of pulling his hoodie strings and choking him with them, mostly because this place is public and because Steve is now back, shoving the cap back in his head like he’s not six-foot-four and super-soldier shaped.

He slides back beside you, and you scold yourself for relaxing when he does. Dammit. 

Bucky gestures vaguely at the both of you.

“Sharin’ a booth and everything.” Now you really want to choke him. With his own arm, maybe. He shrugs. “Alright. I’m gonna go check if the bathroom stall has that poem we wrote still.” Bucky says, leaving you and Steve at the table with a wink.

Fucking goddammit.

“What’s he on about?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t seem like—”

“It’s nothing, Rogers.” You grit your teeth. You can’t have him noticing how transparent you are, too. He’s now got a hurt look in his eyes, making you sigh. “He’s a shithead. What did uh - Michael - want with you, anyway?”

“He’s got this World War reenactment event, and he wanted to know if I could make an appearance. Gave him an autograph and a picture and sent him on his way.”

Your jaw drops. “What?”

“I know, I know. I don’t really do autographs. But he asked for one—”

“That’s not— he wanted you to do war reenacting with him and his buddies?”

“Yeah. It’s not the first time someone’s asked me that.” Steve shrugs as you shake your head incredulously. “They wanted me to play myself in a movie, too.”

“That’s fucking twisted. Wait, you have a movie?”

“Yes and no. They got some bodybuilder to play me instead. ‘S coming out in a couple months.”

You let the fact sink in for a second.

“Can we go watch it?”

He glares at you. “Absolutely not.” Then laughs. You join him, imagining how ridiculous it would be to watch some action-hero-esque Steve Rogers next to the real thing. “Plenty of better things to watch instead.”

He leans his elbows on the table, looking back at you. The cap conceals most of his expression, but surprisingly you can still see his smile clearly.

It kinda sounds like flirting, even though you know it’s not. Your heart does a somersault regardless.

“Deal.”

Keep it together.

A waitress approaches you after a few minutes. “Can I get you two cuties anything? A milkshake, two straws?”

The table becomes a cacophony of - Oh, no; we’re not—; not like that - as the poor woman stands there with an awkward look on her face. You scoot away from Steve quickly - you hadn’t realized your elbows were brushing this entire time - while he looks around for Bucky.

“He’s been gone for a while, hasn’t he?”

“Yup. Think he got stuck in the toilet?”

“Dunno. Maybe he’s outside already. We should probably vacate the table anyway,” He says, getting up.

Reality sets in as he does, the blood that had rushed up to your face settling back where it’s supposed to be. You watch him drop a couple fifties on the table and half-cover them with his plate. “One for bill. One for tips.”

“I don’t think you know how tips work,” You quip, not at all surprised by his generosity.

Turns out Bucky was not outside. And neither was the car you rode into town.

You’ve been robbed. Three Avengers, actually maybe one and two halves, robbed. You’re 60% sure it was Michael, Cap’s Biggest Fan #37.

You’re staring exasperated at the empty spot on the narrow street you’d parked when Steve comes out of the diner. “Can’t find Bucky anywhere.”

“And we’ve been robbed! Look,” You cry out, pointing at where the Jeep should be.

A look of realization crosses Steve’s face and he groans, rubbing his face.

“What?”

“We weren’t robbed. Bucky took the car and left us here.”

“What?!” Your voice bounces against the brick walls of the buildings around you. “How? Why? You gave him your keys?”

He shook his head. “Must’ve swiped it off my pocket at some point. He’s good at that.”

Goddamn him and his nimble metal fingers. You’re more alike than you thought.

You were about to ask the universe why when the answer chimes in on both your phones.

Have a nice date. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! J.B.

“J.B. Fucking ridiculous.” You read the date part again and turn to Steve, showing him your phone screen as if he doesn’t have a twin message on his. “Did you plan this?”

He scowls. “Plan this? Bucky leaving us stranded in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah.” You don’t explain it’s because of the date thing. But you know he’s got it, because his scowl deepens and he suddenly looks offended.

“No. I didn’t plan this.” He takes a step forward, getting right on your face. “You think I couldn’t get myself a date if I wanted one?”

The mention of how easily he could score himself a piece of ass makes you see red for some reason. “Mr. D’Artagnan over here! Good on you,”

“That’s not— do you mean Casanova?”

“Please, don’t act like you’re the king of pop culture.” You cross your arms against your chest. “So you didn’t tell Bucky anything?”

“No. I didn’t.” He breathes out. “I didn’t ask for his help, either. He’s a shit wingman.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You feel betrayed, somehow. There’s no better way to explain it. Like this has been a trap, even though Steve has had nothing to do with it, but his best friend had and he wasn’t here to receive the brunt of your blows. “It’s just— he’s been an ass about this whole date-not-date thing all day, I’m sick of it. And now this.”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair that leaves it all over the place.

“I thought it was obvious there was nothing like that. This was his idea. A stupid wingman move, that’s it.” The way he says it makes you grit your teeth. “I just don’t get why you’re so angry about it— why do you hate me so much?”

“Because!” You explode. “Because you annoy the shit out of me. Because of you wake me up at 6 a.m. to run. Because you beat my ass during combat training every time, as if letting me win would give you hives. Because you’re too fucking nice and then you’re the Captain again and it’s fucking confusing!”

Because the idea of you dating Steve Rogers is fucking preposterous and you don’t get why suddenly everyone is bothering you about it.

“I’ve done nothing but try and help you. We were fine 10 minutes ago—”

“I can’t tell if you want to help or just sanitize me. You tell me I’m enough when it’s just so obvious I’m not. Just tell me you hate me back, Rogers.” He shakes his head, and you hit his chest, fruitlessly trying to shove him away. “Come on! Be angry back. Say it. I hate you.”

“Stop.” He grabs one of your arms, then the other when you don’t relent. He’s so gentle about it that it makes your eyes well up. “Stop—”

“You hate HYDRA. And you hate me. Just fucking say it—”

“I can’t! I don’t hate you. I don’t. I’m sorry.” His words finally do the trick; you slack on his hold, nearly collapsing into his chest. “I care about you and you— you need to start dealing with that.”

You suck in a sharp breath - the weight of today’s events crashing down all at once - and you finally understand the reason behind your mood swing. Despite Nemo’s rule, you have been overthinking non stop. He cares, even if you don’t deserve it. You only hate his guts some of the time. And you have to deal with that.

The reason why you can’t fucking stand all the nagging is because you know can’t allow yourself to want a silly, normal thing like a date. Not yet.

Steve splays a large hand at your back, the other resting at your hair as your breathing returns to normal. His steady presence helps - you even let a tear or two fall, but you’re composed again in a few minutes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out on you. Thanks for— everything you’ve been doing. And sorry.”

He moves as if he’s not going to let you step away, but his hands fall at his sides. “It’s okay. You’ve had a tough day.”

You scoff. “It’s not okay, Rogers! God. Stop being so… understanding.” You say, putting your hands on your hips but doing your best to keep your attitude at bay. Apologies are not your strong suit. “I’m sorry for a reason. So you have to say ‘apology accepted’ so we can move on.”

Steve raises one eyebrow. “Apology accepted,”

“Great.” You nod. “What now?”

He blinks, finally averting his eyes from you as he looks back to the main street. “There’s a station down two blocks away. Or we can… get a cab.” You make a face, and he nods in agreement. “I could hot wire a car. Maybe not the best idea.”

“You want to steal a car?” You frown. “You know how to steal a car?”

It’s not like the idea isn’t exciting. But the image of Steve Rogers hot wiring a car seems a little surreal to you. Then again, he’s been in the army. He probably knows how to do a lot of illegal shit.

“I’d just return it tomorrow.” He chuckles when you deflate. “Guess we’re taking the train. We can ask Nat to get us at the Compound station.”

“God, this is so humiliating.”

“Sam, then.”

“That’s not better.”

“Better than walk—” His words are cut off by the screeching of tires next to you.

It’s the Jeep.

It’s James Buchanan Barnes.

“Yeah yeah, I was nearly at the Interstate but I felt bad. I think it’s gonna rain. Get in.”

You don’t waste any time. He’s here and it beats asking for Sam, or Nat, to rescue you. Even though you’re itching to get home, to barge into her room and tell her all about it.

“Fucking hell, Bucky. You’re an asshole. Fuck you.”

He grimaces. “Deserved that. Sorry.”

Steve is still out of the car, bracing his hands on the passenger window. “Get out. Let’s switch.” Bucky tilts his head. “You don’t have a license.”

“I’m 93 years old. I know how to drive.” He pauses, then entering a glaring contest with Steve. “I’m an Avenger - sort of. Doubt my lack of license will be their first concern when pulling us over.”

Steve just stares. Your eyes flit from him, to Bucky, and back. Finally, Barnes just sighs and allows the other nonagenarian to take the wheel.

“I could drive.” You’re also an Avenger - sort of.

They both turn to you at the same time. “No.”

Jesus. Okay then.

You don’t go back to the diner on next Friday’s deprogramming session - Steve couldn’t make it, so you and Bucky decided to not go without him despite his protests. Neither of you have valid licenses, after all. Instead you two lounged under the sun and Bucky made you a rum and coke so large that kept you drunk for three hours.

It’s for the best. You went for the intensive program - between two or three sessions a week - and you were in need of something to take off the extra edge.

Shuri’s prodding at your brain is showing results - if those are good or bad, it’s yet to be decided. Your powers have been slipping out of control more often. Tony finally got that nobreak for his Pac-Man machine. You’re running through electric toothbrushes faster than a piranha, but - strangely - you haven’t had a headache in days. The crossroads approaches, you can feel it; you’re gonna have to make a decision soon. Finish the job and lose the little control you had, meaning learning to use your powers from like a baby deer learning to walk, with imminent risk of causing more damage than you can afford, or cutting it short and dealing with a possible head implosion.

It’s great.

You already know what Steve’s opinion is, but you’re yet to make up your own mind about it. You appreciate his faith in you - and everyone else’s. But the more faith they have, the more disappointment you can cause.

It’s getting increasingly harder to detach yourself from them, and if you’re being real honest, you’ve already stopped trying. Whatever plans you’ve had of figuring out your faulty powers and bolting, fading back into anonymity, has been crushed way before the media started calling you Dynamo.

It’s terrifying, because even if bleak, that was a known path forward. And now, you can’t see anything clearly ahead. Just that crossroads.

You’re not fully healed from your old ways, though. Steve Rogers is on national television, back under the limelight and the scrutiny of a bleached blonde host wearing a brightly-colored skirt suit. And you made watching the interview a personal form of self-flagellation.

Holed up in your room, eyes fixed on the screen of the tablet Stark had lent you - you didn’t go for the big TV because Natasha would chastise you for doing this. But you can’t help it. It makes you feel better. It makes you feel… even.

You mute the TV when a picture of you is shown on screen. You look serious, geared up, menacing. The kinda side of yourself the mirror never shows. The question the host asks Steve makes him look to the floor, and you’re glad you can’t hear his answer. Something akin to the one he gave about the risks of allowing Bucky to walk free, you’re sure. You catch the twitch of his lips, the tension in his knuckles. But he takes it in stride, flashing a charming smile when he’s done. Of course he does. He’s Steve Rogers, and the people love him.T

hat’s why he goes to that stuff and not you, or Nat, much less Bucky.

Truth be told, you’re dying to break this cycle, maybe burn the Compound to the ground and throw Captain America’s shield in the garbage. It would cause havoc, for sure. But it would set you all free.

He ends the interview with some heartfelt speech about everyone’s part in keeping the peace. The audience claps.

You wrap your arms around your knees.

You half-watch-half-look at a couple of episodes of Survivor before getting up, headed towards the big kitchen on the communal floor below. There’s a hole in your middle that can only possibly be fixed with food.

And there he is.

Leaning over the balcony, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He got back quicker than you expected, no doubt taking the motorcycle or a helicopter to the CBS News Headquarters.

“Does alcohol have any effect on you?”

You expected him to startle - he doesn’t.

“No. This is mostly wishful thinking,” Steve says, swirling the amber liquid in the glass.

“All this pressure and you can’t even be an alcoholic about it. Shame.”

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.” He shrugs. “What are you doing up this late?”

You give him a look. You’re positive it’s barely past 11 p.m. “What am I, fourteen?” You retort and he flashes you a sheepish, tired smile. “I wanted a snack. Then I saw you were back from the interview, brooding and trying to get yourself drunk.”

“I wasn’t brooding. I just… needed some air.” He clears his throat. “The interview went well, I mean. But it’s a whole thing. Wardrobe, hair, microphones, shaking hands. The commute.”

You raise your eyebrow, wondering why he can’t bring himself to say the word tired. “As well as something can go when Kaitlyn Holloway and her pink blazer are trying to get you to say something compromising.”

“You watched it.”

“Don’t tell Nat.” You nod when he does. “Figured I should. I put it on mute when you were talking about me though.”

Steve sips his drink and makes a face. “Only good things.”

Laughter escapes you, getting him to raise his head to look at you. “Right, I forget. You’re Steve Rogers and you’re incapable of hating anyone.”

The things he told you last week have been carved into your head. You couldn’t stop mulling it over, and over.

He shakes his head. “No, I hate plenty of things. Like crude language. Wet snow. Bullies.” You knit your eyebrows. Wet snow is new. “…I hate HYDRA and I hate what they’ve done to you. To Bucky.”

Your hands tighten against the railing. “And I hate what the army did to you. What S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hoss are doing.” Your vision goes blurry, and you have to close your eyes.

He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I volunteered for all of that.”

“It’s still—”

“Bullshit?”

You draw in a sharp breath. “Yeah. But no. It’s not fair.”

“Maybe not. I just never saw it that way I s’pose.” His eyes are focused on the horizon, and then his gaze lowers. You shift on your feet.

He doesn’t have to say it. It’s duty. To him, it’s what all of this has always been about.

“Can I ask you a question?” You suddenly feel cold and under dressed, especially comparing your large T-shirt and shorts to Steve’s more formal attire. But that is not unusual. He looks at you, so openly that it makes you shiver. Maybe it’s just the cold wind. “About what you said that day… at the gym. That you can’t, you know—”

He blinks, the memory probably resurfacing. It’s kind of been a long time since you had sex. “Yeah…it’s a bonus effect of the serum apparently. Once you have a family, your priorities change. Serving the country is not your biggest concern anymore, so they went ahead and made sure to kill any chance of that happening.”

Your mouth parts. “You didn’t know,” It comes out in a whisper.

He shakes his head. He’s looking at the whiskey like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Found out after I was thawed out. Routine check-up.”

You clench your fingers. You’re not sure what to say. It makes you want to punch someone – not him this time – but someone.

It’s not fucking fair.

It takes you a moment to answer. “So stubborn as you are, you went and got yourself a family anyways.” You say, gesturing vaguely at the place the Avengers made into their home and trying on a lighthearted tone. You can only hope it works. “And now they’re your biggest priority instead.”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s why you gave up the shield to Tony, isn’t it? And that you have to do everything S.W.O.R.D. tells you to—”

“Not everything—”

“But a lot.”

He nods.

“So they let you get them out of the Raft and come live here.”

He nods again.

“I don’t think they’d want this if they knew, Steve.”

“They know and they don’t.”

You stare at him for a second.

“So just—pack your bags and get out of here! Retire or something. Get out of character.”

“I can’t retire. I can help people for a long time still. Besides, people don’t like me out of character. They want Captain America,”

“I don’t.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, fair enough. Is that why you’re always trying to make me lose my temper?”

“Maybe.” You smile coyly. “I’m not saying I like you for you or anything. Just that what I see behind the mask – the shield – is better. ‘Cause it’s real.”

“Look… I’m not two people in one, darlin’. There isn’t this interior battle, or mask, that you think there is. The Captain is me. I’m not sure I know how to not be that anymore. It makes things easier.”

“For who?”

“For everyone,”

“I’m not everyone.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely one of a kind.”

“And you make my life very not-easy.” Understatement of the century.

He chuckles. “This place… might not be paradise, but it has a purpose. Look around you. Controlled environment and plenty of support for Bucky, amnesty for Natasha, a safe place for Wanda… it’s not like you’ve done any differently. You’re using this place and its resources as much as I am.”

“It’s different. I’m doing this because I wanted to. I’m selfish. I was reluctant at first… but it was my choice for my own benefit.” He doesn’t seem to agree, but you only shrug. “I just think you should start doing what you want for a change.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve leans in, and it’s like he’s captured you with nothing but his eyes. So, so blue. And grey. Like the sky, that is sometimes clear, sometimes cloudy. Tonight, you can almost see stars in them if you look hard enough. While you were caught, you hadn’t noticed his hand come up to tuck your hair behind your ear, stopping when it cups your jaw.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, like it’s a secret. Because it might be.

“I’m doing what I want, for a change.”

His nose brushes yours before he kisses you, much less urgently than last time. It’s tender. So much so it leaves you paralyzed, your fingers tingling.

You don’t know what to do; this is a one of a kind thing to you. He kisses you like he wants you to sigh when you think about him. Like he wants you to write his name on your notebook and circle it with a heart. Like… like he wants you.

When he pulls back, your eyes are still closed. He’s smiling when you finally open them, a crooked thing. None of that poster-like shit.

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

You stand there, shell shocked, willing yourself to move and to affirm that you hate him. You can’t.

Steve Rogers picks up the empty glass and starts making his way back inside, stopping to look at you before closing the sliding doors. He stays there for a bit, nodding as if he’s decided something, and then holds the doors open, half inside and looking back at you in invitation. You hesitate for a split second. Then, your legs begin moving, half on their own accord, and he smiles like the sun.

[starshinegarcia]

Don’t Blame Me

Aaron Hotchner x BAU Reader Part 2!

Part 1 Here

(Based on Season 4 episode 9)

“If you walk away, I’d beg you on my knees to stay”

TW: Mentions of Sexual Assault (Marked if you need to skip)

It had been a full day since your.. less than a professional encounter with Hotch, and it’s safe to say that you had been left reeling. Not only was it unbelievably unprofessional- you enjoyed it and wanted more of it, and that was what made you the most angry. You had never even considered being attracted to him- aside from the occasional dream fantasy- and now? You were all in your head about what this meant, not focusing on the task and case at hand. Your teammates had taken notice, and had all tried to inquire in their own way- Emily bluntly, Garcia by sweetalking, Morgan by flirting- but you had pushed aside every effort and kept to yourself- making an extra effort not to make direct eye contact with Hotch, if you could help it. And that had been successful- until now, that is.

“It’s possible that we need a decoy. Someone to see how his methods work, up close and personal.” Reid offers to Hotch, and Hotch nods, his gaze shifting to your desk, where you were chewing on the tip of a pen, eyes glazed over and deep in thought about- something. “Someone he knows, someone he’s comfortable with. So he can feel like he’s winning.” Reid follows his gaze, pausing, “Sir, if I may- __ seems to be distracted at the moment and it may not be best for her to-” Hotch is ignoring him, closing the case shut and motioning in your direction. “Agent __, Agent Prentiss, I’d like to speak with you two.”

Emily snaps her fingers in front of your face- but you had already come to the sound of Hotch saying your last name. You rolled your eyes at her, trailing behind her and positioning yourself out of Hotch’s gaze. “We need you two to go undercover, in order to fully grasp the methods our unsub is using, adapted from Viper’s.” “So, we need to get Viper to try his moves on us.” Emily sighs, nodding. You talk softly, gritting your teeth slightly, “Yes, sir.” Hotch’s eyes find yours, finally, “Agent, you can sit this one out, if you feel unsafe-” “No. I can do it.” Your voice comes out bitter and sharp, so you hastily add a “Sir.” at the end to cover your tracks. You follow Emily into the women’s locker room, grabbing your go bag and angrily digging through it. “You okay?” Emily raises her eyebrow at you, well versed at reading women by now. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

The familiar lights of the, once again, still sleazy bar hit your face as you walk in, carefully trailing behind Emily, with eyes alert. You had both changed into less FBI-agent like clothes, grabbing a drink from the bar as you found a seat n the corner. Before long, the familiar sharp scent of cheap cologne met your nostrils as Viper emerged behind you. “Well, well, well. Look who’s back for a taste. Who’s your friend?” You see Emily swallow a snarky remark, “Emily Prentiss.” “Enchante.” Viper smirks, bowing dramatically as his eyes find you. “So, tell me, did my methods work?” “You could say that, I suppose.” You hear Hotch’s voice in your head, Agent, you can sit this one out, and you grit your teeth, leaning in closer and continuing to banter with him.

SKIP HERE FOR SA TRIGGER!! At a certain point, you feel Emily tugging on your shirt, and you whip around to see her slyly following a man in a fedora. You turned back to Viper, “This has been.. Nice, but I have to go now, I’m afraid. Look me up on Facebook- unless you’re too off-grid for that.” Viper’s eyes change, grabbing onto your arm and pulling you to him quickly. “I don’t think so.” He growls, dragging you back into the depths of the bar. You freeze, going limp as you realize the danger you’ve put yourself in. You fumble for your gun- shit, you had gone in unarmed and unwired. You found yourself in the same dark corner you had been in earlier, just in daylight- it was much scarier now. Viper’s rough hands found your body, as you shook your head, trying to protest, or fight back, “Stop, please-” “Don’t fight it.” His hand found your mouth, muffling your protests.

You sunk your head against the brick wall, closing your eyes as tears streaked down your face- until a sharp voice broke through the dark. “FBI, Freeze, hands behind your back! Now!” You blinked quickly, seeing the blurry vision of Hotch aiming a gun at your attacker through your tears. Viper scoffed as Morgan cuffed him, and you fell against the wall, your knees crumbling underneath you. Hotch immediately put his gun away, moving towards you- but you summoned every bit of strength left in you and threw your arms around him. He stiffened at first, but just as quickly wrapped his arms around you, tightly holding you and using his free hand to stroke your hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“Don’t blame me, love made me crazy”

(if it doesn’t, you ain’t doing it right)

𝐀/𝐍 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬!! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭,, 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 ;)

[em-loves-reading]

ARCANE SEASON 2 SPOILERS

Oooo I am fucking cooking in a way I have not cooked in months. All my fellow caitvi angst hurt/comfort bitches gonna eat this upppp

[3wisellamas]

Ballroom Bliss

Since we didn't get much of any SCC in the new chapters (aside from Cap'n being...Cap'n), here's a typical lazy morning in the Sweet Cap'n Cakes' music shop.

[trulyem]

HELP

[haveateadude]

hi there! would you mind writing ellie x reader who are still in a semi-new relationship, but it's the first real relationship reader has ever been in and she's so touch starved & afraid of asking ellie for affection? you can add on whatever you'd like. thank you so much!!

touch starved

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ you're touch starved, but ellie loves cuddling and kissing.

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ none, just fluff :)) like, it's so sweet it makes your teeth rot so maybe that's a warning

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ to the person who requested this, i hope u like it!!!! i tried my best :)) i haven't gotten a request since i was twelve years old and writing on wattpad, so this is kind of exciting. anyway, love youuuu, hope you're having a wonderful day!! btw sorry this is short and late, life's kicking my ass lately

Ellie and you have been dating for a while, but this doesn't mean you still don't get insecure about some stuff. You've never dated anyone, and dating her—the most perfect woman to ever exist—makes you question if you're doing the right thing sometimes. Like, is it okay if you ask for a hug? Or maybe ask for a kiss? Do people even ask that? Or do they just do it, no questions involved?

You sigh, rubbing your hands on your thighs as you look at Ellie, who's taking pictures of the field you're both having a picnic in. She has her hair up in a half bun, her hands holding the camera, slightly squinting her eyes while she's sitting on her toes. She looks beautiful as you sit next to her, and you can't help but feel a pang of anxiety in your chest.

It's not just anxiety, though. It's a deep, aching need that you can feel in your bones. You've always craved touch, even from a young age. You remember being a kid, sleeping on your childhood bed, hugging your stuffed animals, hoping someone would hug you like that—hoping your mother would come into the room and say nothing but hug you. She never came into the room, though. You would lie there for hours, loneliness your only friend.

Now you've got Ellie, but you don't know how to ask for affection. What if she calls you needy? The fear of rejection creeps through you.

Ellie snaps a picture, then looks at you. Her gaze lingers for a second before she's smiling. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you reply as she crawls over to you, "I'm just enjoying the view."

"The view is nice," she agrees, setting the camera down, then sitting next to you. She brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, a small gesture that makes your heart skip a beat. "But I like this one better."

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling like you're starved for this type of intimacy as you lean into her hand, her fingers now resting on your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. You press a kiss into her hand, hoping she doesn't notice how nervous you are. Is this the right time to ask? Well—

"Can I ask you something?" you ask suddenly.

"Of course," she responds, her hand leaving your cheek to rest at your hip. "You can ask me anything."

"Is it okay if I ask for a hug? Or... a kiss?" You cringe at your words as soon as they leave your mouth. You shake your head as you force a laugh, avoiding her eyes. "It's a dumb question, sorry."

"Hey, that's not dumb," she says, taking your chin and gently making you look at her. "It's okay if you want to ask, but you don’t really have to—you can just come up to me and give me a hug. I will hug you back and I won't mind. Same thing with a kiss."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah... you're doing great, you know that? With the whole relationship thing, I mean. I love you, and I love having you as my girlfriend, so if you want more, you can just say it."

You smile as she kisses your forehead. "You're the best."

Ellie chuckles, then opens her arms. "C'mere," she says. You lean into her touch as she holds you, her hand rubbing up and down your back in a soothing manner. This is the best hug you might've ever gotten. You feel as if your heart is about to burst open from all the love you're feeling now.

"I think I've always wanted this," you admit quietly, your voice muffled against her shoulder. "Ever since I was a kid, I've dreamed of being held like this."

"You're lucky you have me, then. I love holding you like this."

As you sit there in her arms, her words sink into you, and you realize that maybe asking for what you want isn't as scary as you thought it'd be. With Ellie by your side, you feel like you can handle anything. You pull away slightly and press a soft kiss to her lips, feeling the tension melt away as she kisses you back.

When you finally pull away, you see the understanding and love in Ellie's eyes, and it reassures you more than words ever could.

[anyon-else]

spiked w/ kaeya alberich, zhongli, xaio – main masterlist

warnings (please read!) | gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, non-consensual drug use, implied attempted sexual assault (barely, but i wanted to add it just in case)

KAEYA ALBERICH

kaeya was not one for quiet nights.

he much preferred the white noise and chatter of the tavern to his own lodgings. even after he began seeing you, spending nights with you at his side on a barstool remained his favorite activity. he loved to watch your easy confidence as you chatted with jean or charles, or even diluc for that matter. he just enjoyed listening to your lovely voice over the background conversation of the other patrons.

but there were some nights when kaeya wished he had elected to stay home.

there was a new bartender working tonight. kaeya had seen him a few times, and charles didn't seem particularly bothered by him despite the subpar drinks he made, but kaeya couldn't help his inherent distrust of any newcomer. it always took him a bit of time to get used to an unfamiliar face settling in mondstadt as a permanent resident, and from what kaeya had heard, this one had made his intention to stay in the city for the foreseeable future very clear.

the night, while young, was already wearing him thin. he'd just gotten back from a days-long commission that jean had requested he take on personally. it had been a grueling week, and the only thing he wanted to do when he returned was take you to the angel's share for a few drinks, then take you to bed.

you never elected to drink very much when you accompanied kaeya to the tavern. you'd usually nurse a glass or two of wine, and oftentimes you'd leave without finishing a third.

tonight, you had barely started sipping your second glass when you began looking fairly ill. at the moment, you were slumped against kaeya's shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open or form a coherent sentence.

"darling?" kaeya asked when your strength seemingly left you. you went limp, and had you not already been leaning on his shoulder, you probably would have fallen off of the barestool. kaeya caught you with an arm around your waist and another holding your shoulder. you muttered something unintelligible and groaned when kaeya shifted so he could look at you. he lifted your face, and gave your cheek a light tap when your eyes began to flutter shut. "can you open your eyes, love?"

"'m tired," you mumbled. kaeya furrowed his brow; he was certain you'd only had one drink since you'd arrived.

he caught charles' concerned gaze from across the bar, but before either of them could speak, the newcomer was stepping forward nervously.

"i can take them to the back," he said to kaeya, eyeing you briefly, "there's a couch."

kaeya raised a brow at the suggestion. from the corner of his eye, he saw charles wince.

"i'll take them," kaeya corrected firmly, scrutinizing the man further when he saw disappointment flicker across his expression.

"r-right. of course. it's just back–"

"i know where it is," kaeya snapped, abruptly standing from his chair and sliding his arms under your pliant body. concern was thrumming through him, and he immediately forgot about the bartender shuffling behind him when you shifted and let out another string of mutters.

"talk to me, love," he muttered as you peeled your eyes open, "how are you feeling?"

"bad," you grumbled. kaeya hummed, pursing his lips and walking as steadily as he could manage.

"was it something you ate?"

"dunno," you said, already fading again. kaeya cursed when your eyes fell shut and you went limp, head resting against his chest and arm hanging uselessly to your side.

kaeya laid you on the couch in the back room that charles had set up for employees. you didn't stir as his arms left you, though he saw your brow furrow when he let you go. he elected to take one of your hands in his as he thought through the events of the night to try and pin down the cause of your mysterious illness.

it was then he realized that the new bartender had followed him all the way down the hall and was waiting nervously in the doorway. he shifted uncomfortably under kaeya's sharp gaze.

"what are you still doing here?"

"i...i apologize, i just wanted to make sure everything was alright–"

"while your concern is very touching," kaeya sneered, suspicion growing each time the man's eyes left his and strayed to where you were laying behind him. kaeya shifted so that your face wasn't in the man's view, "i can handle things."

kaeya saw a touch of annoyance cross the man's features, and the alarm bells already ringing in his head became more frantic.

"unless," kaeya rumbled as he stood, reluctantly dropping your hand so that he could approach the man, "you know something about this."

"oh! uh...no, i'm not sure what happened. i just noticed that they looked rather sick."

kaeya hummed, scrutinizing the man for a moment longer before nodding his head towards the door behind him.

"you can go, then," he said with finality.

"right," the man nodded, eyes wide as he took in kaeya intimidating aura, "o-of course."

kaeya didn't watch the newcomer scurry away. instead, he turned back to where you were beginning to rouse again. he heard a string of words escape you, only catching his own name every few seconds until he was kneeling next to you, one hand reaching to find your own as the other cupped your cheek.

"kaeya," you huffed, breathing sporadic and so panicked that it made kaeya's chest ache, "what's happ'ning?"

"i don't know, darling," kaeya told you truthfully. you groaned, bringing a hand to shield your eyes from the light in the room and turning on your side, pressing your face into the pillows. "i'm sorry. we'll get you feeling better soon, alright?"

"that wine," you mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow and barely audible over the distant chatter of the tavern, "it was...really strong."

that gave kaeya pause. he distinctly remembered the new bartender pouring your wine, then turning towards the opposite counter where kaeya couldn't see what he was doing.

he couldn't imagine that anyone would...

"charles!" he shouted as soon as he puts the pieces together, rage clouding his mind as he thought back to the suspicious behavior, the attempts to stay in the room with you, and kaeya's own gut feeling that something was off about the newcomer.

the only thing that kept him from going back to the bar and wringing the man's neck was your hand holding his. he couldn't leave you alone now—not with that criminal still roaming god-knows-where.

"don' leave," you muttered, making a desperate attempt to sit up and grab onto kaeya's arm. he shook his head, placing careful hands on your shoulders and guiding you onto your back. you were looking up at him with bloodshot eyes, and the fear in them made his chest ache.

"i'm not," he shook his head, taking your hand in both of his and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "don't worry, love. i'm not leaving."

kaeya's chest tightened when your breath hitched, a silent sob rocking your chest. you were terrified—that much was strikingly clear. your eyes were scrunched shut, and if your pained expression was anything to go by, you had a raging headache brought on by whatever it was that you had drank.

kaeya couldn't watch for much longer before he was lifting you up and replacing you on the couch, then setting you down with your head on his lap. you pressed closer to him, head resting on his thigh and fingers gripping his jacket.

"what happened?"

kaeya stiffened at diluc's familiar voice. he looked down at you and focused on the rise and fall of your chest to keep himself from getting too upset over his brother's untimely arrival.

"that new bartender," kaeya grumbled, "he made their drink tonight. i think they mixed it with something."

there was a silence, and kaeya finally chanced a glance at diluc. he was watching you with a furrowed brow, hands clenched into fists and jaw grinding back and forth in the only show of anger that kaeya could see.

"is the drink still at the bar?"

"it should be."

"i'll take it to timeus on my way to the knight's headquarters."

kaeya looked up in surprise, but diluc looked away, very intentionally avoiding his eyes.

"i'll take the bartender to jean. i trust she can keep him in check in a far more legal manner than i would."

diluc breathed in deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. when he opened them again, he looked far more intense than before, and he looked at kaeya with a seriousness that was rarely shared between the two.

"it's my responsibility to know who is being hired at my establishments. i apologize for being so negligent."

kaeya blinked, opening his mouth to reassure him that the only one at fault was the scum who did this, but diluc held a hand up to stop him.

"just make sure they're taken care of," diluc said, glancing down at you once more with a furrowed brow that almost made him look worried, "i'll handle the rest."

kaeya gave a single nod, knowing that any gratitude could go unsaid. he also knew that this sudden show of kindness was less for him and more for you—diluc had always been fond of you, claiming that you made kaeya more pleasant to be around.

while the comment had irked him when it was made, he couldn't exactly disagree.

"'m sorry," you groaned when diluc was gone, sniffling and trying desperately to keep your tears at bay. kaeya's expression twisted, his hand stilling where it had been rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

"sorry?" he repeated, "love, what could you possible have to be sorry for?"

"for inconveniencing diliuc," you huffed, "and making you worry."

kaeya sighed, shaking his head at the guilty look on your face and cupping your face in his hands.

"we just want to make sure you're okay," he whispered, lifting your hand and pressing his lips to your fingers, "none of this is your fault, my love."

you grumbled something that sounded like a disagreement, but let the argument go when your headache returned.

"am i gonna be okay?" you croaked, eyes filling with panic as you thought about the possibilities of what could've been put in your drink. sure, you'd heard about people's drinks getting tampered with before, but it could've been something more deadly. maybe this was a murder attempt to get at kaeya. maybe you had unintentionally made someone so angry that they'd hired this bartender to kill you. maybe–

"you're going to be just fine," kaeya assured you, hands cupping your face so that you were forced to look at him, "it's nothing to worry about. i've seen this happen a few times. you'll just wake up with a nasty headache, but i'll take care of you, yeah?"

"yeah," you agreed, feeling any energy you'd been using to panic seep from you as you sank into kaeya's arms.

as kaeya carried you home later that night, he thought about all of the things that he could do to make that bartender's life a living hell. the ideas he came up with brought him some satisfaction, and he found that he was more excited than he had been in a long time to get to work the next day.

ZHONGLI

zhongli had been alive for many, many years. enough years that he had seen the cruelties that others were capable of. he understood that preventative measures were necessary to keep oneself safe, but he was also painfully aware that those protections were not always enough. those with bad intentions usually found a way around any safeguards no matter how carefully they were designed.

in you, he saw a very careful person. you were well aware of the dangers of the world—though perhaps not to the extent of someone who had fought in wars and survived to tell the tales. you were, however, cautious enough that he knew you were a very capable person.

but despite his experience, this was a first.

you weren't one to drink yourself into a state of incapacitation, so zhongli couldn't deny his growing concern as you stumbled towards him, eyes lidded and legs shaky. you stumbled towards him, struggling to keep yourself from falling with each step. he met you before you could fall, accepting your outstretched arms and pulling you into his chest.

the first thing he noticed upon catching you was that you were shaking. he tried to move away so that he could look at you, but your grip was firm. you were holding him so tightly, like you were afraid of letting him go and facing whatever had frightened you so much.

"y/n?" he asked softly, resting a hand on the small of your back just under your shirt and rubbing soothing circles over your skin. he felt some of the tension loosen from your shoulders and hugged you closer, "darling, what happened?"

the answer appeared behind him before you could even attempt to answer. he felt a tap on shoulder, impatient and insistent. zhongli turned carefully, making sure to keep you steady as he faced the interruption with equal levels of impatience.

"yes?"

"ah, this is a bit awkward," the man chuckled, attention not on zhongli, but rather on you huddled in his arms. zhongli's eyes narrowed on the stranger, and he pulled you tighter against his chest, keeping your face pressed into his clothes to keep it out of the man's sight.

"do tell me what you find so awkward about the situation," zhongli said darkly, "or better yet, tell me why you're even speaking to me in the first place."

the man gulped, finally looking up and meeting zhongli's glare. it must have been the first time he really registered the person holding you, because his eyes widened a fraction and he began spitting out excuse after excuse, each sounding more desperate than the last.

"y'see, my friend has had a few too many drinks tonight. i apologize that they stumbled into you like that–"

"your friend," zhongli huffed, an irritated laugh bubbling in his throat, "ah, well, it's a good thing you've come to their rescue, then."

the man, who zhongli now knew was denser than stone, grinned at this and began reaching towards you eagerly.

"may i ask you what their name is?"

this made him pause.

"well...i don't think they'd appreciate me giving that information out to a stranger-"

"oh, of course," zhongli nodded, "how noble of you."

"right," the man gave him an odd look, but continued reaching towards you, "if you could just–"

if there was one thing that zhongli appreciate about his human form, it was its agility.

he swept you to the side, keeping one arm firmly around your waist while the other grabbed hold of the man's wrist. he only got a glimpse of the stranger's wide, terrified eyes before he twisted the his arm just shy of breaking. the man let out quick, panicked huffs as he looked between zhongli's hard expression and the hand gripping his wrist.

"a-alright, i get it," the man gulped, making a feeble attempt to pull away, "i'll go–ow, i'm sorry! i didn't know–"

"didn't know what?" zhongli asked venomously, false smiles and politeness wiped from his expression. his harsh tone made the man visibly shudder, "that it's not acceptable to try to kidnap people? what made you so ignorant that you couldn't comprehend that that is a crime?"

"i wasn't...listen, i'm sorry, okay? i won't do it again, just let me go. please."

zhongli was very close to breaking the man's wrist, eyes nearly glowing as they narrowed on the man's terrified eyes. however, he paused when you shifted, coughing weakly into his chest.

"zhongli," you croaked, "i think he did something to my drink."

zhongli's fingers tightened around the man's wrist, earning a terrified squeak from him as he tried to pull back in one last, desperate attempt to get away.

"well?" he asked the terrified man sharply, "did you?"

"o-of course i didn't! i just...i didn't know you were together, alright? i just saw that they looked ill, and thought i'd help–"

"your help is neither wanted nor needed," zhongli said with a sharp smile that made the man's face go white. zhongli knew he could be more than menacing at the right times, "xiao."

the adeptus appeared at his side immediately, making the already nervous man jump in fear. the man watched with wide-eyes as xiao approached zhongli. xiao payed no mind to the man trembling in zhongli's grip. he did, however, take note of your barely-conscious body slumped against zhongli. you were staring blankly at something behind xiao, and the adeptus tried to keep himself calm for your sake.

"please watch him until i return."

xiao gave a single nod, gripping the man's shirt and dragging him to a more secluded area of the market. zhongli wrapped his arm further around your waist, pulling you in close before he disappeared from the streets of the harbor.

baizhu did not looked particularly alarmed when zhongli appeared in the middle of the pharmacy, though his eyes widened just slightly when he spotted you in the ex-god's arms.

"come with me," baizhu ordered immediately, turning and moving further into the pharmacy. he entered a room with zhongli at his heels and pointed towards a long table, "put them there."

zhongli did as he was told, brow furrowed in clear concern as he brushed a hand over your cheek. you seemed to be conscious, but barely lucid as you leaned into zhongli's palm.

"what happened," baizhu asked, leaning over you and opening one of your eyes wider to look at your pupil.

"i believe they were given some kind of drug. i don't know what."

"that would explain these symptoms," baizhu murmured, placing a hand on your chest and closing his eyes. his palm began to glow a bright green, and zhongli watched as changsheng slid down the doctor's arm until she was resting on your stomach. after another moment, the glow dissipated.

"i can't tell the exact substance that was used, but it's nothing deadly. they'll just need to rest. it will be out of their system by tomorrow night at the latest."

zhongli nearly collapsed as relief rushed through him. he took your hand and pressed it to his lips carefully, closing his eyes so he could focus on calming his racing heart.

"if it's not too much trouble," zhongli began as baizhu stepped back from the table, allowing changsheng to take her place upon his shoulders again, "could you look after them for a moment? i've left someone waiting."

baizhu huffed, a smirk crossing his lips at the zhongli's sugarcoated words.

"please do. rest assured, they'll be looked after here," baizhu told him slyly, waving a hand towards the door, "and don't bother bringing me any more patients when you're finished. i'm afraid i'm stretched quite thin with just the one."

as zhongli disppeared towards he harbor, baizhu almost pitied the poor man who had put you in such a state. almost.

XIAO

xiao had never enjoyed human celebrations.

he knew that they were important to you, but he just didn't have the patience for them. they always dragged on for so long. sure, he was immortal, but he still appreciated concision.

and the crowds. just thinking about trying to shove his way through a mass of humans made his skin crawl. he'd watched you do it enough times that he knew he would be content to never experience it for himself.

so he was satisfied watching you from afar. he liked seeing you enjoy yourself, even if he wasn't necessarily keen on the types of events that you chose to dedicate your time to.

however, it was neither his place nor his desire to tell you how to spend your time. while he would've been more than happy to just lay with you under the stars, he knew how much you enjoyed spending time with your friends at these little soirees.

but humans were just so fragile. he knew you wouldn't blame him for wanting to keep a watchful eye out.

it was foggy, but that did little to impede his vision as he watched over you from the balcony of wangshu inn. tonight's event had gathered a fairly large crowd to the courtyard outside of the inn, but xiao was careful to make sure he didn't lose sight of you in the depths of the crowd.

in the back of his mind, he heard zhongli's scolding voice telling him that he shouldn't hover, but he waved it away. he was not hovering. he was simply...observing. there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep an eye on humans whose intentions and judgment he didn't trust. he probably would've been here whether you decided to attend or not, just looking out to make sure no one was hurt in the crowd or bothered by some drunkard.

the fact that you were here was simply a coincidence. he was just taking advantage of it to keep an eye on you.

xiao!

the voice that intruded into his mind was panicked, begging for his attention and help. he felt the fear of the person calling him through the word alone. it sent a cold chill down his spine, and he perked up immediately, eyes still on you to make sure you hadn't somehow gotten hurt while he was momentarily distracted.

but you were fine. the call had come from somewhere a few miles from the inn where the abyss order tended to wander. very few knew to call his name in order to summon him, but this particular cry seemed far too desperate for him to ignore. he gave one last look to where you were standing at a food stall with your friends before he disappeared. it only took seconds of searching to find the source of the voice.

as he suspected, the woman was surrounded by monsters. one cryo mage, one hydro, and a handful of hilichurls were tormenting her for seemingly no reason other than their own amusement. rather than unleashing any deadly attacks, the mages released small bursts of elemental power and cackle at the frightened cry that the woman gave as she was hit with a blast of water or ice. the hilichurls seemed equally as amused, dancing around the woman in joy as they watched her grovel and beg that they leave her alone.

"xiao, help!"

she cried his name once more in the same second that he summoned his polearm, throwing it through the shield of the hydro mage with enough force that it shattered, then summoning it once again to destroy the shield of the other. with all of the monsters exposed to the wind, he flew forward and sent the point of his weapon across their throats, ending their lives quickly and painlessly. no need for any more senseless violence than that which had already occurred.

"t-thank you," the woman breathed as she watched the bodies of the monsters disappear, turning to dust as any remaining life drained from their bodies. once they were gone, xiao stepped forward to help the woman to her feet.

"how did you know to call for me?" he asked shortly, slightly annoyed that such a minor incident had called his attention away from the inn. the woman flinched, and he sighed, lowering his head, "i apologize. i just meant that not many people know to call for me anymore. i'm surprised."

"oh! well, i have a friend who told me about an adeptus who helps those in danger. they said to call for you if i ever found myself in a need of help."

xiao sighed. of course.

"this friend—what is their name?"

"it's y/n. they live near the inn, just a few miles from–"

"i know," xiao interrupted with another sigh, "and where do you live? is there somewhere you would like me to take you?"

"just the inn is fine. i'm meant to be meeting them, actually. for the party."

xiao nodded at this small relief—no more time wasted, then. he took hold of the woman's shoulder and teleported to the edge of the crowd gathered outside of the inn. she wobbled slightly at the unexpected travel, but he simply held her elbow as she righted herself while he scanned the crowd for any sign of you. without his high vantage point, it was difficult to make out anyone beyond the border of the crowd, and he scowled.

"will you be alright on your own?" he asked the woman as he let go of her elbow. she nodded.

"yes, thank you very much. i am in your debt."

"it's no trouble. think nothing of it," he told her before he vanished, leaving her to weave her way through the crowd in search of you. xiao returned to his perch on the balcony, scanning the crowd once again for your familiar form.

what would usually be a fairly easy search quickly become far longer than he'd expected. you were nowhere to be seen, and after a third, then a fourth, and finally a fifth scan of the crowd, he took in a deep, calming breath and tried to listen for a call of his name or a sign of your presence within the inn itself.

nothing.

he reappeared on the outskirts of the crowd again before his panic could get the better of him, shoving past people until he spotted verr goldet behind the makeshift bar that had been put together before the party. she was pouring seemingly endless glasses of dandelion wine for the eager customers on the other side of the counter, meeting their demands with a patience that xiao envied.

she spotted him before he could speak, a small smile on her face as she continued to work on taking the orders of the partygoers.

"xiao," she greeted, "i'm surprised to see you. y/n told me that you'd be keeping your distance tonight."

"do you know where they are?"

verr paused, bottle of wine stilling in her hand as she glanced at him. her expression seemed to ask how he had possibly lost sight of you—she was, admittedly, one of the few people who felt comfortable telling him that you were perfectly safe without his constant vigilance.

"i haven't seen them, but they might've just gone to the bathroom. i'm sure they're fine."

right. of course. there were plenty of reasons why you wouldn't be in his direct line of sight. there was no real reason for him to get so worked up over momentarily losing track of you.

he glanced towards the main entrance of the inn. it was vacant of anyone but a few stragglers stumbling towards their rooms, spent from the excitement and the alcohol that had been flowing fairly freely as the night progressed. you were nowhere to be found.

"don't disturb the customers!" verr shouted after him as he strode towards the inn intently, his face a cloud of worry and frustration.

even though you usually pretended to be ignorant of it, xiao knew that you were more than aware of his tendency to hover. you would sometimes tease him about it, but you also understood how important it was that he knew you were safe. if you'd left, you would've signaled to him that you were going somewhere he couldn't see you.

if you'd gone willingly.

the thought had him moving faster towards the third floor where most of the rooms were located. he paused in front of the first one, wondering how much of a scolding he'd get from you, verr goldet, and zhongli if he barged into each room one-by-one until he found you.

it doesn't matter, he told himself as he lifted a foot to kick down the first door. it was just before he made contact with the flimsy wood that he heard something around the corner of the hall: the smallest sound of distress, and then a reprimand from a low voice to remain silent.

his weapon was in his hand before he even caught sight of the two figures illuminated only by the dim glow of the hall lamps. the man who had spoken was towering over a hunched figure in the corner of the room. he looked angry, and he held a limp arm in a tight grip as he tried to drag a barely-conscious human towards an open door.

xiao did not need to look down to know that it was you who was being dragged. he recognized you immediately, if not by your silhouette then by the familiar sound of your voice, so quiet that he likely wouldn't have picked it up had he been human. you let out a pained, terrified call of his name that made the man above you scoff, undeterred in his efforts to pull you to your feet.

in a single, precise blast of wind, the man was on the opposite end of the hall, clutching the back of his head where he'd hit it against the wall and groaning in pain.

xiao's weapon disappeared as he knelt at your side. he lifted your head onto his lap and held it firmly between his palms, studying your expression carefully. your eyes were lidded, and you looked like you were barely hanging onto consciousness. xiao felt anger swirl deep within him as he scanned you, searching for any sign of injury.

the skin that the man had been holding was irritated, circled with a red handprint that was already beginning to bruise. xiao picked it up gingerly and closed his eyes, willing breath into his lungs before it burst from him in an explosion of fury.

"xiao..." you breathed, eyes falling shut with the knowledge that xiao had come for you. the adeptus swallowed thickly, pressing a kiss to your wrist and laying it gently over your chest. he brushed your disheveled hair from your face and stiffened when he caught sight of the dark bruise on your cheek. you had gone limp in his arms, and he lifted you up at the same time that the vile man on the opposite end of the hall rose shakily to his feet.

"what the hell?" he grumbled, shooting xiao a scathing glare that the adeptus returned tenfold. the man blanched at the glare he was given, far more menacing than his own from the hundreds of years of practice that xiao had under his belt. "y-you attacked me. i could have you arrested for this!"

xiao didn't trust himself to speak. his fury was boundless, and he knew that if it was released, this man would be dead within seconds.

him, and most of the humans residing in the rooms surrounding them.

the man looked bewildered, both by xiao's silence and by the darkness radiating from him. he shifted as a thick aura of destructive intent pooled into the room—just a fraction of the rage that xiao felt—and attempted a hasty retreat for the stairwell.

morax, xiao called sharply as he moved to follow the man, i require your assistance.

zhongli appeared almost instantly in front of him, concerned expression from the rare use of his old name becoming grim at the sight of you limp in xiao's arms.

"what do you need?"

"please take them to bubu pharmacy."

zhongli didn't hesitate to reach forward as the adeptus carefully handed you to the ex-archon. xiao kept a hand on your cheek for a moment longer when you were secure in zhongli's arms, listening closely for the steady beat of your heart. when he was satisfied, he stepped back and nodded at zhongli.

the man disappeared immediately, and xiao felt something tighten in his chest at having you out of sight again. he trusted zhongli to take care of you in your vulnerable state, but not having you within arms reach after you'd been in danger was nearly enough for him to forget the man stumbling down the stairs, and instead go straight to bubu pharmacy.

he stood at the top of the stairs for a moment longer before he teleported to the bottom floor. verr goldet saw him instantly—though he knew that he wasn't being very subtle. the darkness that he felt boiling within him was probably consuming the space around him, which was likely for the best. it would help create a clear space for him to do what he pleased to the vermin that had finally reached the final set of stairs.

he vaguely heard verr calling for people to back away, herding them towards the bridge on the opposite side of the courtyard in anticipation of some kind of confrontation.

the man gave a shout of surprise when he spotted xiao at the bottom of the stairs, stumbling backwards and crawling up the stairs like a rat. xiao felt his mouth twitch, lip pulling back in a snarl, but he composed himself.

he took his time making his way towards the man, taking each step with deadly intent that he knew the cockroach could feel. his eyes were wide and filled with a delicious expression of fear that xiao reveled in. he generally didn't feel this sadistic need for blood, but this was different. this man—this...this animal—had hurt you. who knows how many others he'd hurt in the past.

you would be the last that he ever attempted to harm.

xiao covered the surrounding scene in thick shadows, sparing the onlookers from what was unfolding. he couldn't, however, mask the screams of a coward begging for mercy.

it took him little more than five minutes to take care of the mess he'd made of the stairway and contain the darkness that had pooled around him and the man. he was gone before the crowd could catch sight of him.

he was in front of bubu pharmacy in seconds, breathing as deeply as he could manage to keep his ever-festering rage in check.

"xiao," he heard zhongli say next to him, a hesitancy in his voice that xiao rarely heard. he looked up at the man and blinked, taking in the grave expression on his face.

"they'll be alright," zhongli said before xiao could even open his mouth, hands held neatly behind his back. there was a deep, unsettled frown on his face that was making xiao uneasy.

"but?"

"but...they were drugged. baizhu is trying to determine the exact substance that was used, but he said that it will do no lasting physical harm."

xiao felt something in his chest tighten at the thought of you being in such a vulnerable position in the few minutes that he was gone. you must've been terrified...

"xiao," zhongli's voice broke him from his spiraling thoughts—thoughts that were quickly becoming self-incriminating. "do not blame yourself for this."

"i left," xiao said simply, staring through the door of the pharmacy despite zhongli's pointed gaze insisting that he meet his eyes.

"the only one at fault is the man who did this," zhongli continued, "who, i assume, is not longer a problem."

xiao gave a single nod, and he was sure that he heard a sigh of relief come from the ex-archon.

"good," the man said coldly, "that's one less thing to worry about."

xiao glanced up at his former master, wondering what he was still doing here. surely the situation was being handled by baizhu, and with his own presence, there was no need for him to take up any more of the man's time with a situation born from his own inadequate vigilance–

"you're going to give yourself a headache," zhongli tutted, gliding past xiao towards the doors of the pharmacy.

"wait," xiao called, halting zhongli where he stood.

"yes?"

"i–" he grit his teeth, willing the words to get through to zhongli, "i left."

zhongli watched xiao for a moment before he returned to the adeptus' side.

"why did you leave?"

"a woman was being attacked," he responded immediately, "a few miles from the inn. she called my name."

"and do you think y/n would have forgiven you if you'd ignored a woman in need to continue watching over them?"

xiao felt his throat dry at this. it was true—even without the added stipulation of the woman being your friend, you would've been distraught to learn that he'd ignored someone's plea for help to keep watch over you.

but the one time he'd lost sight of you was the one time you'd needed him most.

you hadn't even been able to call for him.

a sadistic part of him wished he'd kept the man alive, if only to make him suffer further, but he knew that would bring him nothing more than a brief, fleeting feeling of satisfaction. it wouldn't change what had happened, and it wouldn't leave you any less scarred by the event.

"come," zhongli said after xiao had been given sufficient time to stew in his own thoughts, "you should be with them when they wake."

when he finally fought past the guilt clouding his mind and entered the pharmacy, you were still unconscious. baizhu explained the effects of the drug to him quickly—in small doses, it caused drowsiness and fatigue. A higher dose could render someone unconscious—much like the state that you were in now. xiao knew anger was still radiating from him, but he couldn't find the energy to try and hide it. how dare someone do this to you. they had no right to even look at you.

"xiao?"

a whisper of his name broke him from his thoughts, and he bent towards you with a gentle hand on your cheek.

"i'm here."

your smile made most of his anger drain away, and he did his best to return it. he knew he hadn't convinced you—you always seemed to see through his attempts to feigning emotions. you showed him mercy this time, likely too exhausted to do much more than keep your eyes open. xiao sat in the chair at your bedside and took your hand in his.

you closed your eyes again at his familiar touch, letting yourself drift off with the knowledge that you were safe.

[emryses]

stick a pin in it

written for @steddiemicrofic march prompt: pin | 388 words | rated: T

During the summer of 1986, Eddie makes himself a new battle vest. Try as they might, they can't quite get Steve Harrington's blood out of the first one; and though Eddie thinks that may add a certain…je no say whatever to it, in the end, he finds an old jean jacket of Wayne’s, chops the arms off and starts all over again.

It doesn’t end up being too difficult. He repurposes patches from the old one. Cuts up an old t-shirt and sews it on the back. Even paints some shit on it with Jane El Hopper-Byers’ paints she lets him borrow. He does it all by hand, like he did the other one, because he likes it. Because it turns out to be pretty decent physical therapy for his bat-eaten muscles. Because it reminds him of the way his mom used to patch up their clothes when he was little, because they couldn’t afford to buy something brand new.

He adds to it all summer long, in bits and pieces as he finds things he wants to attach to it. The vest ends up being an extension of himself, you see. A little bit of his heart on the outside, cloaking himself with it. He adds to the vest, like he adds a gaggle of children to his group of friends, or a kiss from Steve Harrington to his list of first times.

One day, in late August, they sit off to the side of the Harrington pool, teenagers splashing around like children. Steve is laid out like a goddamn Adonis in his tiny swim trunks, sun bathing and delicious. Eddie sews in his cut off jeans, he hasn’t been able to stop looking at Steve all day, chewing on his bottom lip. He watches as Steve reaches down into the folds of the towel on the ground, takes something out, and tosses it to Eddie, and catches it.

“Now what’s this?” Eddie asks. He knows what it is. He knows exactly what it is. It reads, CLASS OF ‘85 under a monogram of HHS.

Steve shrugs. “My class pin. If you want it.” He sounds more nonchalant than Eddie thinks he is, from the blush on his cheeks that he is sure isn’t from the sun. “Thought you might want to put it on your vest.”

[goodboyinagirlway]

No I can’t hang out, I’m super busy. I have these crazy plans all day…

I’m going to fantasize about my hands tied to her bed frame, ankles attached to the posts, bone gag in mouth… how droopy my eyes would get as I drool and she tells me in her sweet siren voice that I look so handsome when I’m helpless…

Squirming as she drags her nails painfully slow and light across my thighs and sides, teasing me to get a bratty reaction so she can hit me and tell me I’m that if going to start acting up, she’s going to make sure I stay a good boy. All the sick punishments she’d use to make sure I stay pliable, needy, sweet, and well behaved for her.

So yeah, super busy today, can’t make it out, sorry!

[bi-buckrights]

Last Minutes and Lost Evenings

Bucktommy | 13k | Mature | ao3

For @your-catfish-friend for the @911fanworksfestival hope you like it ❤️

Summary:

“You’re quite the hero,” Buck says. His voice borders on flirtatious, and if they were anywhere else, Tommy would be stepping up to his level, maybe even kicking up the flirting a notch. But the sirens of the engine blare, reminding him of where they are. He reels himself in, not letting himself get carried away in thoughts of what might happen if they were anywhere else. “Aren’t we all?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant. Buck doesn’t buy it, his eyes lingering on Tommy, reading him and breaking down those walls. Thankfully, Chim starts asking Buck basic questions about where he’s from and what brought him out to LA, distracting him until they reach their location. But even with the moment of reprieve, Tommy knows that Evan Buckley is going to be trouble. - Or: Tommy never left the 118, and nothing could have prepared him for Evan Buckley.

Read on ao3