#because I spend so much time planning out my every move to avoid a goddamn lecture

[bitegore]

come the fuck on man.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 4: "do you trust me?"

(part one)

There are logistics to consider, when it comes to publicly executing a wizard. It’s a show of assurance from the Dynasty, to have him killed under the eyes of all Rosohna, to prove their strength, but also a risk. It looks unprofessional for a captured traitor to make a last stand within feet of the axe, even if all he achieves is going out in a blaze of glory rather than a quick drop of steel.

Steps have been taken to avoid this eventuality. Essek’s hands are shackled behind his back, forced into gloves with steel wires running through the fingers and palms to prevent even the smallest gesture. Between the cloth between his teeth and the metal muzzle holding his jaw tightly closed, he’s no closer to speaking a spell than he is to walking on the sun. Every fiber of his plain prisoner’s shirt and pants has been searched, twice, to ensure that he has nothing on him that might conceivably be used for casting.

Essek has seen this before, although rarely. It was not a surprise, when the appointed day arrived and his guards brought the restraints. Yet it feels unreal, as everything since his trial has felt unreal. As everything since Jester’s message has felt unreal. A dream, unspooling before him, outside his control.

There is a kind of ease to it, that Essek has never experienced before. There is nothing left for him to do. He made his attempt to run, and he failed. He said his words of defense at his trial, and they were not enough. And now, they will use the same techniques that he helped to perfect to drag him to the block and kill him for his treason, his callous disregard for all the lives lost in the war. All neat and tidy, and all he has to do is let the current carry him forward to the inevitable end.

He tells himself, as the gloves are locked onto his hands, that this is one of the better possible outcomes, and he even believes it. His friends, his family—they are not here. Jester has done as she agreed, giving him time to resolve the situation, and hasn’t messaged him since his trial. The Nein are well outside the possible radius of destruction that Essek has caused, in his arrogance and carelessness. He knows his actions will reflect poorly on Den Thelyss, but he hopes that Verin might escape with a mere demotion, as unscathed as anyone could hope to be, protected by Essek’s full, willing confession.

It’s worth it, to pay for their lives with his own.

Essek believes this. He believes it with his whole heart.

The gloves keep his hands from shaking.

Two guards, a goliath with her arms tattooed so densely she looks scaled and a burly half-orc with skin nearly as grey as the stone walls, haul him to his feet in his cell and push him forward. They hold him up by main force when he stumbles and he would otherwise take a head-first fall into the stone. Nonetheless, his pride prickles and burns when the half-orc yanks him upright after his latest near-fall, grip hard on the collar of Essek’s shirt, and snorts a laugh.

“Can’t believe he’s the fucking traitor,” the half-orc says over Essek’s head, drawling the words in a tone full of vindictive amusement that Essek has become regrettably familiar with, lately. “Fucker can’t even walk in a straight line. Can you, Shadowhand?” He gives Essek a sharp cuff on the shoulder to punctuate the insult, and it’s only because Essek has a sense of how this goes by now that he manages to anticipate the blow and stay on his feet.

The goliath laughs, a rolling rumble of thunder as she checks Essek hard with her hip, sending Essek into the corner of the next corridor hard enough that he’d have a bruise, if he lived long enough for it to show up.

“You’re telling me,” the goliath says. “Goddamn, wizards are useless once you get ‘em quiet, huh? Up this way next, what is this, your first time down here?”

“You’ve got to do a pretty good job, but yeah, pretty much just decorative once you shut ‘em up.” The half-orc grabs the cuff holding Essek’s hands together and tugs to indicate the next corridor, ignoring the way it forces Essek up onto his toes against the pain in his shoulders. “I just got in from Jigow,” he continues, as if Essek isn’t even there. “Y’know how it is, they were looking to cover y’all’s staffing problems since this bastard’s confession did a real number on things. Anywhere good to get a drink around here?”

“Thought you looked new,” the goliath said. “You trying to get lucky, new guy?”

“Hey, miss every shot you don’t take,” the half-orc said, sly, angling a glance up at her. “How’s my progress?”

“Depends on how much you spend on those drinks. Hold him, I’ll get the gate.”

The half-orc’s hands close firmly around the tops of Essek’s arms, holding him in place as the goliath strides ahead. In front of her—in front of Essek—is the great gate to the courtyard, and beyond it he can hear the roar of a crowd, bloodthirsty and victorious.

He can picture it. He’s put people here himself, attended executions for treason. The flagstones, smooth and dark beneath the crowd of witnesses. The stone dias with the Bright Queen’s throne, the chairs beside her for close advisors and other nobility. His mother might have been there, if he hadn’t so recently destroyed the reputation of Den Thelyss. And at the center, where all could see, the stairs, and the platform, and the block, and the axe.

The goliath is at the door, and the lock clatters, metal-on-metal.

Under cover of the noise, the half-orc lowers his head and speaks into Essek’s ear, no longer the careless drawl, but quick, clipped words in a familiar accent.

“I don’t have time to explain,” the half-orc murmurs in Fjord’s voice, so quiet that Essek would think it was a hallucination if he couldn’t feel the air move against his skin. “We have a plan. Do you trust me?”

Essek’s first response isn’t relief. It’s not even shock. It is pure, undiluted, blazing rage, that, after all this, these fucking morons are here. It hits him so hard that his skin burns with it, his vision spotting black at the edges, lips twisting against his gag. All at once, for the first time in a week, Essek is awake, jarred back to the present by the fury pounding through his veins. He can feel the air rushing into his throat, the hammering of his heart against his ribs, every fiber of his coarse prisoner’s clothing and every imperfection of the stone under his bare feet.

Fortunately, Essek has been a traitor in the heart of the Dynasty for too long to let it slow him down, and he nods, once, minutely.

“Okay,” Fjord breathes. “She’s going to open that door. When I yell, make a run for it.”

Once upon a time, Essek would have spent valuable time thinking about how astronomically terrible that plan is, but prolonged exposure to the Mighty Nein teaches a person to accept the reality of a plan being terrible right away and move on to thinking about managing the terrible plan quickly. And—

Even if it was the worst conceivable plan, even if it was—well, make a run for it, when there’s a sword-wielding goliath between him and the outside, which is entirely populated by guards, magic users, and a crowd that wants him dead—even then, Essek can’t imagine turning down the offer. It’s not exactly a port in a storm, but it’s something.

Essek is twenty paces from his own death, and even if this plan just ends with him having a friend at his side while he dies, it’s already better than dying alone. He never claimed to have entirely cured himself of selfishness.

And besides, Essek reassures himself as the goliath shoulders open the door. If this gets Fjord killed too, Essek will just have to find a way to drag himself back from death and throttle the entire Nein on principle. Stranger things have happened.

The door creaks open, and Fjord’s hands loosen, just slightly, and Essek runs.

“Fucker!” Fjord roars behind him, sounding breathless—pained? It buys Essek a bare moment to close the distance to the gate, and then dart around the goliath’s side as she starts to turn. “He’s using magic! Stop him!”

The goliath snarls, and Essek puts on a reckless burst of speed. Her hand shoots out and grabs his shirt, but Essek is moving too quickly. The fabric cuts into him as it rips, and then he’s stumbling into the courtyard.

He doesn’t get any further. His luck doesn’t hold up to a second blow from the goliath, and she slams a fist into his chest so hard he hears ribs crack. He’s shoved backward, toward the door, with a helpless, strangled shout of pain that draws every eye.

He’s caught from behind, a fist in his tangled white hair, and he hears a whisper of “Trust me.”

And then Fjord’s hand, unremarkable guard’s sword in his grip, comes down, and cuts Essek’s throat.

[parkers-gal]

yay! okay so I was thinking, what I'd the reader and Tom had a fight, could be over anything, but the reader was pregnant and a few years after, they bump into each other and they get back together. Sorry if it doesn't make sense.

this has been sitting in my inbox for a fat couple of months… sorry 😭

wc: 1.7k ! <3

—

“No, because you’re selfish and you can’t handle the fact that my life doesn’t revolve around you and your needs.” Tom spits out the words angrily, viciously, voice harsh and crisp.

You’re both frustrated beyond belief, and the bubble that had been overblown had finally popped, splattering your relationship and all the joyful aspects of it. Right now, you felt as if all that was left was the toxicity of two unbearable people who happened to love each other. You knew, deep down, that you loved each other enough to get through this, but with every passing moment, with every exchanged word, you realized at least one of you wouldn’t survive the damage.

“No, Tom. You’re selfish. You’re conceited and you only care about being a goddamn movie star. What happened to the family man, huh? What happened to staying tied down with me and your brothers?”

“Nothing happened to him! I’m still that person. I am a family guy.”

“Not to me, you aren't.”

“Well you’re not family!” He seethes through his teeth, anger radiating off of his short-tempered demeanor. You don’t even know how to react, so you spend the time soaking in the situation and how you should respond instead of actually doing it.

“You’re a fucking jackass. I asked when I could spend time with you and now you don’t even consider me as part of the family.”

“No,” He’s clear and concise even through the anger. “You asked when I’m going to stop living my life.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t have to! We both know that’s what you meant.”

“You’re not even on the same page as me anymore,” You scoff, arms crossing. “Seems like all this time in Hollywood made you forget that you’re not always the main character.”

“Fuck that, Y/N! Fuck! That!”

“No, Tom. Fuck. You.” You over-express your emotions, and after two more minutes of unbearable silence and screaming, he’s leaving your apartment just as fast as he arrived. You’re in shock, fingers shaking while you clear your throat, which is frayed and sore from all the yelling.

You sit back, elbows on your knees while your hands smoothen out your forehead. Tear after tear escapes your sobbing body, and eventually, you fall asleep on the couch.

In the weeks to come, you’ve realized the blow-out of a breakup could’ve been handled so much differently, but Tom hasn’t seemed to cool down at all — he’s petty enough to unfollow you on all social media, and you figure it’s time to let the hatred be mutual. You don’t touch your imessages, however, letting the love in those texts linger for a little longer.

Before you know it, you’re throwing up into the toilet boil, coughing violently at the action and spitting the bitter taste as best you can. You clean up, and when you check your phone, a small notification from your period tracker app alerts you that this is the second period in a row that has gone by without a hello.

Worried, you call Aisha, your closest friend and confidant. She’s over in no time, bringing along her girlfriend while you rant on the phone about your worries. They stop at the drugstore on the way.

The cause of your problems is discovered that day, and you collapse on the bathroom floor in agony, hands wiping at your face — through all the anger and fear and worry, you still love Tom. So much that Aisha even attempts to call Tom. But, alas, it’s sent straight to voicemail, and you realize he might’ve gone to extreme extents in blocking everyone.

You’re stuck going to the ultrasound with two lesbians and a frail old cat. Aisha is as supportive as ever, but as the doctor explains the process of each option, you feel sicker and sicker about the idea of getting rid of the fetus. In the end, you choose to keep the child you’re bearing, even if your ex-lover isn’t even in the picture.

Inevitably, the months pass, and as baby Charlie is brought into the wonderful world, you realize life as a single mother isn’t as scary as you thought it would be. In the first few months of your pregnancy, you’d kept tabs on what film Tom was doing and which was coming out next, but after the hormones and cravings, you’d decided to let the past sizzle and fade out in the way it was meant to all along.

It’s been almost three years since that fateful breakup, and Charlie is just reaching two and a half years old. You’re still single, and you’re okay with that. Charlie is all you need, all you’ve ever wanted, and the most important thing in your life. He’s young, and school is still a couple years away, but you enjoy having the toddler by your side, walking hand in hand with you because you’re his guardian, his provider, his only parent. You make him your only priority, because you don’t want him to grow up without anyone to love, or anyone to love him.

It’s hard, though. It’s hard because he’s a constant reminder of what didn’t happen, a constant reminder of what went wrong and of what you no longer have. You miss Tom more than words can express, and Charlie’s mop of brown curls reminds you of all the moments you’d run your fingers through Tom’s hair. You reminisce more than you’d like to, about Tom and your past, and though Charlie is technically half of the Brit, he’s one hundred percent yours. Because you’re the only one here, and that’s alright.

“Mummy,” Charlie tugs on your shirt’s hem while you move the shopping cart forward through the aisle. “Can we get the goldfish with superheroes?”

You jutt your lip out in a smile, nodding happily. “Of course we can, bub.”

As you step forward, you pit stop in the aisle, nearly tripping on the cart. You make direct eye contact with the man you used to love with your entire heart. The man who walked out with your heart and never gave it back. He’s staring right back at you, curls looking as fluffy as ever, face still a soft glow. Your breath hitches, and it’s then that you realize Charlie is still talking.

“Mummy?” He asks, and it’s just loud enough for Tom to hear. Harry, who’s beside Tom with an arm full of crackers and chips. Tom moves forward a few steps, hastily in an attempt to get more information.

“Uh, hi,” His smile is tight lipped as he stands at the other end of your shopping cart. Charlie shies away from strangers, standing behind your leg and holding your shirt with his grubby hands.

“Hi,” you return his awkward, reserved demeanor.

“Mummy who’s this?”

“‘Mummy?’” Tom has a follow up question for everything, and you internally panic, unsure on how to approach this.

You’d spent so long deciding how you should tell Tom that he was a dad. You spent hours debating on if you should pick up the phone or drive over just to tell him a truth you’ve kept inside for so long. You’ve abandoned social media, only sharing aspects of your life you can afford to post. Charlie is only occasionally on your page, but it’s not like Tom would see that, not after all that’s happened.

Your mouth opens and closes while you debate on how to reply. You’re physically incapable of saying your response, and it makes you even more nervous. You’re nervous on how he might react, what he’ll say, but most importantly, if he’ll stay.

“Is this…?

“My kid…” You fill in. “I- I mean our… our kid.” You pull your bottom lip between your rows of teeth, and you watch as Tom’s face undergoes thousands of expressions all at once. He’s surprised, shocked, happy, afraid, uncertain. You want the world to swallow you whole, suck you up so you don’t have to go through any of this again. But you don’t. Instead, you hold Charlie’s hand a little tighter.

“Our kid?” He drops a can of soup and you flinch at the loud noise.

“Mummy, who’s that?”

“That’s…” You don’t know how to answer his question. Instead, you lean down to his level, comfortingly and gently. “He’s a man.”

“Who’s that man?”

“He’s… your daddy.”

“I thought… no daddy?”

You purse your lips and furrow your brows. Tom’s watching the entire encounter from his place, but after a few beats, he steps forward, entering your bubble. Charlie doesn’t cower away this time, but looks up in curiosity.

“Hi, Charlie,” Tom extends his hand, adjusting his jeans so he can lean down just as you are, kneeling beside the young boy.

You look down, avoiding your worries and Tom’s gaze. He’s tearing up, and you want to cry too. You’re in a fucking supermarket, for god’s sake. This wasn’t how you envisioned any of this planning out, and though you’re mentally kicking yourself for letting it happen this way, you can’t help but feel like maybe this was meant to be. Written in the stars or whatever the folks say — you’re just grateful Charlie has at least a sliver of hope for two parents. Not that you can’t handle it, because you can, but you know someone like Tom wouldn’t want to miss something as important as this.

“I’m To- I’m…” He swallows thickly, making brief eye contact with you before looking back at Charlie. “I’m your dad.”

“Do you love my mummy?” He’s not shameless, but he’s still that shy little boy. “My friend says daddy’s love mommy’s so you must love mine, right?”

Tom lets a tear fall while he exhales a chuckle. He swipes the drop with the tips of his fingers, and the hand gripping Charlie’s squeezes it a little tighter. A glance in your direction is all it takes for him to answer Charlie’s question. “Yeah, buddy. I do.”

want more? my masterlist.

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th + pp taglist: @spideyspeaches @strawberrytom (no smut) @turtletaylor98 @parkerpeterparker2004 @peterbenjiparker @kelieah​

permanent taglist: @mayrapreciado20​ @tomhollandlol @roseke​ @supremethunda​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @farfromtommy​ @mamaparker28​ (no smut/tw) @pxxerfect​ (no smut) @seutarose @pixiedustsupplyco​ @itssmadelyn​ @white-wolf1940​ @woopwoopwoop222 @chrisosterfield​ (no tw)

th taglist: @lmaotshollandd

[hoodieofholland]

hey love. I’m obsessed with mob!tom - could you write something where mob Tom and the reader have a really big fight and Tom says something that was really mean and reader storms out and doesn’t come back until late and night and Tom is super worried :) at the beginning angst and at the end fluff.

I actually asked other writers too to write this a while ago but nobody does it and I found your account now and I’m so in love with your writing you are super talented <3

Sorry if my English is not really good- it’s not my first language

A/n: dear anon, you were reading my mind! I was actually procrastinating with a draft of some angst with mob!tom for a while, and you just motivated me to write it again hahah im obsessed with mob!tom too btw, no shame on this lol. Thanks for requesting, hope you like it!

Masterlist Request/tell me your thoughts on this

Warnings bellow the cut!

Warnings: angst, language, mention of gun.

You throw your purse over the table as you storm inside the house, walking up to your room with a stern face, straightened back and confident steps, without saying a word. Tom watched you from behind, sighing as he knew what was about to come - you were pissed.

He followed you slowly, not wanting to hurry the fight that was about to come. He knew pretty well what he has done tonight, but wasn’t planning on apologize, as he was also sure he wasn’t wrong about it.

By the time he reached the main room, you were already in the closet, taking off your jewels and putting them inside their boxes. “Baby”, he called you, but you didn’t raise your head.

Your gesturing was obviously stating your humor - or the lack of it. You wasn’t being so careful with the expensive belongings, as you always made sure to be.

“Baby”, Tom tried again, sighing this time, “Can you at least tell me what the hell did I do?”

That was the breakpoint. You lifted your head to look at him sternly. “Seriously? You gonna really act like you don’t know?”

He snorts, running a hand through his brown curls. “I mean, I know. I just don’t get why you’re so upset about it”

You laugh humorless. “I’m upset ‘cause you fucking treated me like a doll, Tom. That’s why I’m upset about it!”

“What?”, he snapped, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck, I just told that asshole of a waiter to get his shit together instead of eye-fucking you. For God’s sake, what’s wrong with that?”

"Well, maybe the fact that you made a scene in front of the manager because you were jealous?" You shout, shaking your hands. "Should I tell you the obvious fact that this man is probably fired now because of your speech?".

Tom was growing mad. He couldn't believe you were defending the guy who was flirting with you the whole dinner.

Turns out that what was supposed to be a calm and relaxing dinner quickly became something distasteful, as Tom took notice of the waiter that was serving your table that night looking at you with a dumb smile on his face the entire time. He could even see the guy talking to some other workers about you, staring at you like you were some kind of meal. So Tom did what he thought was right - he made it very clear that you were his girl and a employee shouldn't be looking at you like that.

"I don't give a single fuck if he's unemployed right now. He should take this as a lesson to not disrespect you or any other woman in his workplace", Tom said, undoing his tie and throwing it in anywhere in the wardrobe. He was tired and pissed with the whole situation - and, more important, with you, for making a big deal out of it.

"Disrespect me, or disrespect you, Tom?", you snap, eyes wide with anger. "Cause it didn't look like you were worried about me. Cause all I wanted was a peaceful dinner with my boyfriend, who actually never seems to be available to me, and you made it pretty hard for me to enjoy, just because you were mad for a guy possibly be flirting with your girl! Like I fucking belonged to you!"

"Oh, fuck off, y/n", he hissed, walking past the closet's door and going straight to the bathroom. "It's obvious I'd be pissed for the it too. You're my girl, and I don't think it's nice if other man look at you like that! Don't act like you've never done it too".

You followed him, yelling next. "Shit, you're unbelievable! What is it? Nobody can look at Tom Holland's girl? Because you're the great motherfucker mobster and I'm your fucking prize?"

Tom turned his body to glance at you again. He pointed a finger at you, eyes serious and penetrating. "I've never said it. That's not how I see this".

"Oh, really? So you care to explain me why do you keep doing that? We barely spend time together now, Tom, and when we finally get to have a nice night out, you make sure to state that I'm yours and that no other man can lay an eye on me", you sniff, unable to keep the cracked voice from coming out and show how upset you felt about it. "I don't like to feel that I'm waiting for you like a goddamn doll, Tom".

"Well, darling, I'm sorry if I'm not being enough, but that's how real world works", his voice is cold and he is avoiding looking into your eyes, his jaw clenched in a way that make it clear that he's not satisfied with the conversation's rumor. "I made it pretty clear when we first met that my job doesn't allow me to be here the entire time, so what the fuck do you expect me to do? Or do you think that this nice house and the maids, and all the fucking jewels I give you come for free? Tell me, y/n, what the hell you want from me?"

You watch his usually soft features whenever you were around turning into the one he used with his men. The veins in his neck visible, his pupils huge and thin lips trembling with anger. Tom has never spoken to you that way, and you could feel the pressure on your chest with the pain from his harsh words.

A couple of tears rolled down your cheeks and you were quick to rub them away with the back of your hand. Noticing the way you pressed your lips together lightly, Tom's face softened and he realized his posture and tone.

"I don't- I don't know, Tom", you say in a low, croaky voice. "Think I just wanted us to be a couple. I'm truly sorry if that's too much to ask you for".

His heart pained at your words and he took a few steps in your direction. "Darling, no, that's not what I-"

You stopped him, putting your arm in front of you and shaking your head. "No, that's exactly what you wanted to say. I don't know what I had in mind when we started dating, nor what I was thinking when I agreed to move in here, but I don't want to be between you and your job anymore".

He stared at you, unaware of what you were about to do, thinking about what to say. He didn't want to fight with you like that, but didn't want you to think that what you've said is true neither.

You walked past him and straight to the closet again, picking up your suitcase and grabbing a few clothes from the wardrobe. Tom watched you for a few seconds, startled, and then started to panic.

"What are you doing?"

You ignored him, trying to think what you'd possibly need to get to stay out tonight. You could get the rest of your things later, but right now you just wanted to get out of that house.

"Y/n, love, what are you doing?" He asked in desperation, reaching your arm and trying to pull you away from the wardrobe, but you just shrugged his touch off.

"What does it look like? I'm leaving, Tom! If you can't conciliate our relationship with your job, then I guess I have nothing to do here anymore". You say through gritted teeth.

"What?!" He breathed out. "Darling, you can't leave like-"

"Don't you fucking call me darling!"

Tom stops and stares at you, blinking. His mouth is agape, trying to get his thoughts together. You didn't stop packing, and when he saw the determination in your actions, he simply couldn't contain the anger growing on his chest.

"Know what? Go. Leave me! Get the fuck out of this house. I don't fucking care!" He yelled, and you jumped slightly at the sound of his guttural voice.

You wiped some of new tears and nodded once, not minding to get anything else as you closed your suitcase and walked out of the room, hands shaking from the emotions you were so hardly trying to refrain.

But before you could step out of the room and go down on the stairs, you turn around to see he stagnant at the same spot. "Fuck you, Tom. You can take all this damn jewelry. Take this, the clothes, and everything else you bought me. If I can't have you, these don't mean a single thing to me. I'm not a fucking doll, Tom".

You left, and he couldn't move for minutes straight.

*********

The night passed by and Tom didn't hear from you. He checked his phone more times than he liked to admit, but you didn't answer any calls, any messages. Nothing. He didn't even realize what time he fell asleep on the couch, waiting for some sort of sign from you, but in the morning, when he rolled out of it, his heart pounded in his chest at the realization that you were nowhere to be seen.

He asked Harrison, his best mate and the second person you most chatted with in the house, if he has seen you, but he didn't have anything. So Tom waited, trying to focus on his work for the morning and the evening, as he thought that maybe you just wanted some time to think clearer. He regretted saying those things to you already, knowing that none of that was true. Obviously he did care if you were there in the morning. He wanted to wake up with you by his side like every other day. It was all that mattered for him after all. Not the money, not the jewel, not the house. It all didn't make sense when you weren't there.

And he felt so sick thinking that you truly believed he was seeing you as a prize, as a doll that would stand beautifully waiting for him at the end of the day. He knew he should have persisted and said that you weren't right, that he loved you so much that he could take a bullet for you, right on his chest. He'd do anything for you, but didn't seem to know how to put that in words when it comes to a fight.

"Fuck!" He shouted when alone in his office, hands collapsing on the desk. It was past seven at night and he hadn't heard from you. A whole fucking day. He asked Harrison to send the men to look for you. He wouldn't force you coming back home, but he needed to be sure you were alright.

All the bad thoughts he could have were now successfully running through his mind and driving him nuts. He thought that maybe some rival mobster could have laid eyes on you, all by yourself, and tried to do something. You could be in serious danger right now, and Tom wouldn't forgive himself if that was the case.

He took a drink. He needed to clear his mind as time was passing by and his men didn't have any information about you. Your phone would be filled with unanswered calls from him, even voicemail telling you he was sorry and would do anything if you only called him back to say you were doing fine.

"Please, love, if you're listening to it... fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I never intended to hurt you. I'm a dumbass, and you don't have to forgive me, but, please, just let me know you're fine and I'll give you your time. Just- please. I need to hear from you, y/n", he recorded, a drink on his hand and the other holding his phone firmly.

When it was 9pm, he decided he was going out to look for you himself. He just couldn't sit there waiting for a call or for his men do to something - he needed to take that pressure of his chest and no one was helping.

He took his gun, called Harrison and a few more man before heading to the living room.

"Alright, we have a few more places left" Tom started his instructions, while shoving his gun at the back of his trousers. "Harrison and I are going to her family's house. You two check in her old friend's place. Doesn't matter how far it is, I don't want you two to come back until you've looked through that fucking town-"

"Tom", Harrison cut him off, coughing a bit to get his attention. He was about to snap at him, when he followed his gaze.

And there you were, standing at the door frame in the living room, a confused expression on your face as you tried to understand what was going on in the middle of the room. Usually, Tom never had meetings in any other area than the conference room.

"What's going on?", you asked bluntly, and Tom releases a deep and relieved breath, so audible that you couldn't not take notice of.

"God, you're here", he breathed out, walking towards you in large steps. You were still mad, but also so confused with his reaction that you couldn't stop him from holding you tightly in his arms. "Fuck, darling, where were you?".

Besides his words being a bit harsh, his voice was soft and caring, worried if anything. He didn't let go of you first, kissing the top of your head for a long minute.

Harrison smiled a little seeing the both of you and dismissed the men out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"Sorry, you don't need to explain", Tom shook his head and pulled away to look at you. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, a dark circle around it. He brushed your cheeks with the pad of his thumb and furrowed. "Are you okay, though?"

"Yeah, I am- but what was going on?", you insisted.

Tom cupped your face on his hands, still not believing that you were there again. "I was so fucking worried. I thought that something was off, you didn't answer any of my messages or calls... I was heading to a drive with my men to look for you".

You blink a few times, startled that Tom was so concerned all this time.

"I was in a hotel room, actually", you chew in your lower lip, kind of ashamed that you put him through such a concern. "Needed to be alone for a time, so I turned my phone off".

Tom pressed his forehead against yours. "It doesn't matter anymore, darling. It was all my fault", his voice was croaky and you felt your heart pounding inside your chest. "I should never have said those things to you-"

"It's alright, Tom-"

"No, it's not", he shook his head. "Cause it was all lies. I do fucking care if you leave me. I wouldn't stand being away from you, my love. You're everything, everything. And you're right, I don't spend much time with you, and it eats me alive, cause that's what makes me happy, being around you. All I ever wanted was to make you happy, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry if I haven't shown you how much you mean to me..."

"Shhh, Tom", you closed your eyes, hugging him by the neck and bringing him closer. "It's okay, I know it. I wasn't thinking straight too, I know you don't treat me like that. I was just too pissed, and yeah, I'd like to spend more time together, but it's alright that you don't-"

He cut you by a sweet kiss pressed on your lips, "Nothing is more important for me than you. I was too mad with that thing in the restaurant to say it right away, but I'll try harder. I'm gonna be here with you, no matter what. Work can wait".

You sigh and pull him closer, breathing his comforting scent.

"My lovely girl", Tom sighs and smile a bit. "You scared the hell out of me".

"You deserved it, idiot" you said and he laughed quietly.

"I love you, darling", he stroked your back, hiding his face in the crock of your neck. "Always".

"Love you too, Tommy".

You spent the rest of the night together, having a nice and cozy dinner at home. Tom never smiled wider than that night, and the following others were fulfilled with his promise - there was always time in your day to spend alone with your boyfriend.

*******

Taglist:

@dreamy-clousds

@pinkrockstar19

@onyourgoddamnleft

@spideyspeaches

@miraclesoflove

@hollands-taste

@zspideyy

[thebadchoicemachine]

AU where everything is fine and everyone gets hugs on a regular basis.

- Tommy gives up his discs much earlier to avoid his friends getting hurt. As a result L’manburg is granted it’s freedom almost entirely peacefully and Eret doesn’t feel the betray them to end the war!

- He still builds a giant castle house and wears a crown. People refer to him as “king” as a joke and sign of upbeat respect but he’s  just a normal friend.

- Actually, there is no president or king. It’s a community. More of a family than a country. Everyone’s voice is considered important. They have laws they all made together and a court house where everyone comes to decide big changes. Everyone holds the other accountable. For the most part people are just allowed to do whatever.

- Sally’s still here. She just is gone a lot for work but she visits as much as she can and its always a pleasant time! She’s grown just as fond of her brother in law Tommy (and Tubbo) as she is of her own son.

- Tommy actually respects her and rubs in Wilbur’s face the fact his sister in law is his favorite sibling.

- Schlatt still shows up but he’s just a businessman. Him and Wilbur are childhood friends. Fundy is his godson and they have lots of fun bonding scamming people when he’s in town.

- Technoblade has a giant fuck-you fortress up north in the tundra biome as well as an even bigger fuck-you-for-real underground potato farm. He shows up occasionally to bully his brothers and threaten god spar with Dream.

- Philza has not moved there, he’s out adventuring far away, but he has visited and plans to again and spends like 80% of his spare time writing/reading letters to/from his sons. 

- the Badlands are flourishing. They have so many cats and 50% of them are named after some variation of muffin

- Niki has a giant bakery. So big. It connects to Eret’s castle because Them, Tubbo, and Her just kept adding on more things. It’s got like a giant dining room and a waterslide and a garden and a pet room. It’s amazing.

- Sapnap is getting therapy for his animal killing obsession. He still does it, like, a bunch but much less and usually not to really important ones. He also now has many more pets of his own. He... he still commits arson so so much. Maybe more, actually, kinda like he traded the pe slaughter for more arson.Oh well. People are happy.

- Quackity... is still Quackity. Something in his brain just goes “we’ve got a fatass and a big brain, let’s cause problems” and then he does. But in this world he’s not traumatized or possessed so his antics are more “lets annoy Skeppy until he or someone caught in the crossfire decides to attack us” and less “im going to resurrect my abusive ex-feince so I can use him as a political meat puppet after I literally eat his heart and piss on his grave.”

- George has a goddamn alarm clock.

- Dream minds his own fucking business and doesn’t try to start a war every three days. He’s still technically fighting Tommy over the disks but it’s more in good spirit and less... you know... “White flags by dawn or you’re DEAD.”

- Wilbur sings a lot and it turns into more of a concert. Sometimes Quackity will join in and sometimes he’ll dance with the rest of the crowd. It’s become a tradition to hold kind of parties. Niki will bake and sometimes join Wilbur in a song. Everyone can have a turn preforming something if they want. Schlatt does stand up and Wilbur looses it every time. Most people just have a good time dancing and eating.

[marauderundercover]

This Side of Normal Ch. 6

Prev

AO3

Jason walks into the hospital room, heart breaking at the sight. Adrien, a huge bandage covering what was left of his arm and part of his shoulder. And next to him… This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be there to make sure the kids didn’t get hurt. Instead, Ladybug- no, Marinette, he reminded himself. She had told him her name through sobs as he held her on the roof after they gave their statements to the police. Marinette blamed herself. He could see it in everything she did, the way she responded to people, her body language around Adrien and Jason. He knew she blamed herself. But she shouldn’t. She wasn’t the one who had been trained to fight villains like that. Villains willing to kill kids to get ahead. But Jason was trained. He was supposed to be prepared and know what to do. But now, Adrien would have to relearn how to do everything with just one arm. Sure, he could get a prosthetic, but that wouldn’t be for several weeks. And even if he chooses to get a prosthetic, he’d have to relearn everything. Again. And it was all because Jason couldn’t save him. He couldn’t save anyone. Jason turns to leave, not ready to talk to the boy who lost an arm because Jason wasn’t fast enough.

“Jay?” A soft voice from the bed calls, making Jason freeze. Whirling around, he rushes over to the bed, immediately looking the boy over to see if he’s okay. 

“Hey kiddo, how ya feeling? Are you- I’m so sorry.” Jason rambles, falling onto the spare chair next to Adrien’s bed. A chair that should’ve held a parent. If Gabriel wasn’t a piece of shit supervillain who cut off his own son’s arm and kept his wife’s corpse in a hidden basement. Yeah, that investigation must’ve sucked. 

“It’s weird.” He says, and Jason frowns at the tears filling the boy’s eyes. “My arm hurts, Jay. Really bad. But every time I try to hold it, or move it to a position that doesn’t hurt- it’s not there.” 

“Oh kid.” Jason clamps his mouth shut, determined to not let the kid hear his voice cracks, determined not to let the kid see him cry. What did he have to cry about? He’s the one that wasn’t good enough to protect these kids. Jason leans forward and gently wraps his arms around Adrien, letting the boy sob into his shoulder. Holding onto a sobbing Adrien, Jason’s able to see Marinette wake up and instantly leap into a fighting position. When she notices him, she relaxes slightly, until she sees the crying boy. Then her face morphs into pain and she backs up away from the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“Mari?” Adrien says, pulling away from Jason and sniffling. 

“I’m so sorry Adrien. It’s, it’s all my fault.” She says, still keeping her distance. Jason sighs and stands, moving across the room in two large strides and wrapping her into a hug. She stiffens for a moment before basically collapsing in his arms. Jason just holds her and lets her cry, just as he let her on the roof two nights ago. After years of not being able to feel anything other than happy, Jason would support these kids and encourage them to feel. Even if it hurt. They deserved to feel. 

---

Sitting and talking to Adrien about anything and everything after school had become a daily occurrence for Marinette. Jason walking her from school to the hospital had also become a daily occurrence. So walking by herself was weird. Doable, because she was Ladybug and could walk across Paris alone, but still weird. Especially since Jason was so insistent on her being more careful now that Hawkmoth- Gabriel- was behind bars. Jay was convinced that that meant that the regular, run of the mill bad guys would come back out of the woodwork now that they didn’t have to deal with possible akumas. Regardless, that hadn’t happened yet and she could easily walk by herself. It was still weird though. Walking into the hospital, Marinette frowns at Jason who was pacing and rapidly arguing with someone on the phone in English. Quickly reminding herself that, no he wouldn’t be akumatized, and yes, he was allowed to have negative feelings, she moves so that she’s in his line of sight. Making eye contact with him, she raises an eyebrow as a silent question. He frowns, but doesn’t do anything else except nod towards Adrien’s room. Rolling her eyes in annoyance at his avoidance, Marinette lets herself into Adrien’s room, smiling softly at her friend. The first two days after the battle, she could barely look at him. She blamed herself completely and didn’t feel like she was worthy of being his friend anymore. Now, almost a week after the battle, she still blamed herself. But it was easier to look at him, easier to talk to him.  

“Hey kitty.” She says, walking over and sitting in the chair on the left side of his bed. 

“Hey bug. Jay still on the phone?” He asks, and that’s when she notices the tell-tale signs of worry on his face. 

“Yeah...how long has he been on the phone?” She asks, frowning at his wince. 

“Well, he tried to ignore the person the first three times they called. And then he finally answered, said ‘leave me alone’ and hung up. And then they called again, and that’s when the yelling and arguing started and he left the room. That was…” He trails off, looking towards the clock on the wall. “Almost two hours ago.” “Two hours? On the phone? You don’t think he’s in trouble, do you? I mean, I know he has a life back where he lives, and I’m sure his boss is probably getting frustrated with him. But-” Marinette stops herself, not wanting to say something selfish. She knew that Jason had a life outside of Paris. But he was the only grown up to care that Ladybug and Chat Noir were just kids, that they needed help. He was the one to make sure they weren’t spending too much time being heroes and not enough time sleeping and doing homework. He was their big brother, and she wasn’t ready to say bye yet. Even if they could still call him. It wasn’t the same.

---

Jason Todd was livid, and for the millionth time that week, thankful that Gabriel Agreste was rotting in a prison cell instead of manipulating people who were having a bad day. Cause this was not a good day. 

“B, I’m not sure what you want from me.” He finally huffs out, glancing towards Adrien’s shut door. 

“I just want to know why you haven’t returned. Dick informed me of the flooding your first day, and how things seemed to magically fix themselves. You told us that everything was taken care of, and then you stopped answering any questions about the situation. Seeing as there is apparently no immediate danger to anyone there, I think it’s time you returned home. You have responsibilities here, Jason. Your family is here.” Bruce says simply, and Jason has to bite his tongue from arguing. How was he supposed to tell Bruce about these kids who needed support that they weren’t getting anywhere else. That there were two young superheroes in Paris who needed someone to understand what they were going through, since they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) tell anyone else? Bruce would have adoption papers written up in minutes, and taking the two from their city didn’t seem right. Plus he would never let Bruce adopt them, the kids had enough emotional baggage to deal with without being a Wayne. 

“I just haven’t, Bruce. I’m a grown man. I-” “You have responsibilities, Jason. I let you take this vacation because I could see you needed it. But now we need you. I- your brothers miss you.” Bruce says, and Jason rolls his eyes at the man’s inability to be emotional. He would’ve done great in Hawkmoth’s Paris. 

“Okay, I’ll start looking for a ticket. I should be home in two or three weeks-”

“I’ve already ordered a ticket for you. Your flight leaves Paris at noon tomorrow. See you then.” Bruce says, hanging up before Jason has the chance to argue more. Not that he had the energy after going back and forth between arguing with Dick and Bruce for two goddamned hours. Resisting the urge to throw his phone against the wall, Jason takes a couple deep breaths to ground himself. No need to upset Mari and Adrien and if he goes in there pissed off, they’re gonna get upset. Shaking his head to try and clear it, Jason throws open Adrien’s door, grinning at the two, sitting side by side on Adrien’s bed. 

“Pixie Pop, you’re gonna piss off the nurse if she sees you up there again.” He says, walking over to his usual chair. 

“You’re upset.” She says, instead of arguing and reminding him that she can take anything the nurses can dish out (they’d had the exact conversation yesterday….and the day before.) Jason blinks, acting confused. 

“Don’t even try and act like you’re not Jay. Mari’s scary good at reading people.” Adrien says with a frown. Jason huffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay, I’m pissed.” He admits, slumping back in his chair and crossing his arms. Marinette turns to Adrien and whispers something to him, Adrien nodding before she turns back to look at him. 

“You’re gonna need our phone numbers.” She says, and Jason frowns in actual confusion this time. 

“Gonna need a little more than that, Pix.” He says. 

“Well, we knew that you’re not from here. And that eventually you’d have to go back. I mean, I’m sure your boss wasn’t planning on you taking a vacation quite this long. But-” Marinette pauses and lets out a shaky breath. “But neither of us want to lose you. You care about both sides of us, and you’re the only one. You’re our big brother, Jay, but we both know that you have another life somewhere else. And I’m sure those people miss you too. I mean, you’re kinda cool or whatever.” Marinette teases, but he can tell behind the smirk that she’s close to tears. Jason sighs and stands, bringing both of them into a big hug. 

“I don’t wanna leave, ya know.” He mumbles, frowning when he feels his shirt getting wet from tears. 

“I know. But you have to. And that’s okay. It’s not goodbye forever.” Marinette says, her voice breaking as she holds onto him tighter. 

“Expect a lot of calls and face times. Especially once I get my arm. I have so many jokes to make, you’re gonna be sick of it.” Adrien says, and despite the joke, Jason can tell the boy is crying too. Jason squeezes a little tighter, accepting the fact that he’d be leaving. And that he wasn’t sure when he’d see the two again.

Next

Tag list (open): @toodaloo-kangaroo @laurcad123 @kittenmywaythrulife @lost-in-the-world-of-maribat 

[frick6101719]

Your Father’s Day Kaz fic has me in my feelings IT WAS SO GOOD would love to see more even just headcanons of Kaz as a dad

Ooooh boy... Anon there is so much more where that came from! I have told myself not to write a Kanej-as-parents fic until after I've finished the one I'm working on now, but that hasn't seemed to stop me from dreaming up almost every detail of Kaz and Inej's lives as parents.

So. Heeeere we go

Kaz and Inej aren't exactly trying, per se, the first time Inej gets pregnant.

They're a little shy of thirty at this point, Jesper and Wylan have two kiddos already, and one night they're at the Van Ecks' for their weekly Monday night dinner (a tradition over a decade strong) and Kaz is playing chess with their oldest, or teaching card tricks to their youngest, and Inej is just overtaken by some maternal instinct watching them she wants one.

She brings it up to Kaz that night that maybe they stop with the preventative measures, and he is completely terrified. I mean, he's always known he likes kids--he thinks they're funny and kind of weird and despite himself he finds their guilelessness and wonder at the world absolutely endearing... but that's not the same thing. I mean a child? Him, a father?

He's not sure. He's not sure he'd be a good dad--he's not sure he's even allowed to want to be, after all the children he's left fatherless, all the fathers whose children he's taken away.

He's never allowed himself to think about it, actually, even after he married Inej. It felt like the whole topic of parenting and fatherhood was off-limits; any time he got close it was just too tender to touch.

But they talk about it a lot, and they eventually decide that they'll stop with the tonics. For a child of Inej's... he can do it.

Inej is away at sea, many months later, when she realises she's pregnant. She had a visit planned to her parents in Ravka which ends up taking up her whole trip because she has a lot to work through--a lot of questions, a lot of fear at the sudden reality of it--and her parents and extended family are a huge help

I have so many thoughts about Inej and motherhood and entire nights spent talking with Mama Ghafa during this trip about what to expect but I'm staying on-topic goddamn it

She's early in her second trimester when she lands back in Ketterdam, and all her plans of how to tell Kaz, and how long to keep it a secret from the Van Ecks go right out the window because she's already in the early days of her second trimester and our tiny little Wraith has nowhere to hide that bump

Kaz is with Jesper and Wylan at their place when Inej arrives, and they all go to meet her at the docks and as soon as he sees her crossing berth twenty-two he knows because he knows her posture, the way she moves, her shape, everything about her so well that he notices immediately the changes to her body and it nearly brings him to his knees.

So she doesn't get to tell Kaz, but she DOES get to tell Jesper and Wylan who--and really I cannot emphasize this enough--could not be more excited.

They make a big scene at the docks; Kaz is still just a little too stunned to tell them to calm down

Over the next few months Kaz definitely spends many sleepless nights just watching Inej sleep, her belly growing more and more noticeable beneath the blankets, wondering if he's going to mess this up somehow, and why he already feels like a part of him has been ripped out and laid bare before the world, vulnerable, delicate.

He would already do anything and everything to keep her safe, to make her happy, even though little Rosanna Marya Rietveld is still months away from joining him in the big wide world.

(They decide to go with Rietveld to keep her safe, because she's only a baby, and growing up with the name Brekker or Ghafa might make her a target, and they will do anything to avoid that. So while they have other roles and names in their other lives, as a family they're the Rietvelds 🖤)

He's a fucking mess all throughout the birth--Inej's parents come over weeks before her due date so Mama Grandma Ghafa can deliver the baby, and thank the saints Grandpa Ghafa is there because Kaz is a mess--he can't bear to hear Inej in pain--and he could use a distraction. Stories of his wife as a baby, told in the calm, soothing voice of her loving father = just the distraction he needs.

Kaz barely sleeps the week after Rosanna is born, which Inej doesn't mind because it means she gets rest, but when he finally confides in her that all he can think about is Pekka Rollins, on his knees, begging for the life of his little Kaelish prince and how easy it would have been to actually hurt the boy... well, they have to deal with that.

He lies with his head in her lap and she plays with his hair in the way she knows relaxes him, and tells him that Rosie is safe, that no one can protect her like the two of them, that there isn't a person in the world she would trust with their baby's life like she trusts him.

It works pretty well.

Of course, Kaz being the control freak that he is, and being more than a little anxious about Rosie, means that Inej also has to constantly tell him no, he can't pick her up any time she even thinks about crying, she needs some discipline and she needs a schedule Kaz stop it she needs to go for her nap not another walk around the garden!

Yeah from day one he is absolutely wrapped around her little finger.

About two years after Rosanna is born, they're lying in bed, tangled together in the sheets on a hot summer night, and Inej takes his hand and gently spreads his fingers across her stomach. Kaz is like "ahh nice" and then "wait a minute" and sits bolt upright and doesn't even have to ask, Inej is smiling and laughing and nodding and this time there are no mixed emotions he's only excited because they're having another baby

Another baby girl, it turns out--Jasmijn Anaya Rietveld. Inej is shocked by the almost red hue of her hair--a drastic contrast to Rosie's near-black--but Kaz just shrugs and says Jordie's hair was kind of red when he was a kid and Inej is delighted she had no idea!

Now that they're evenly matched, parents to children, life becomes more complicated, and even with all their money Kaz simply does not trust almost anyone to help take care of the girls (Marya Hendricks is one exception). He ends up stepping a bit back from Dreg business to help take care of the girls when they're very little. Thankfully by this point the Dregs business practically runs itself, and he can take meetings at the house with his most trusted lieutenants (like Anika and Pim) to stay on top of things.

He's super involved, but his actual parenting takes a long time to get right. It's many, many years before he loses the instinct to praise the girls when they find a creative way to skirt the rules

Just kidding that instinct never goes away; he always feels proud when they manage to disobey without breaking a rule. He just gets better at being stern while reprimanding them and waiting until he's turned away to beam with pride.

He also makes the rules increasingly elaborate and detailed--he'll get rid of vague wording and imprecision as best as he can, and then it's a win-win: either they learn to follow the rules or they get really good at finding loopholes.

"Contracts, Kaz. You've got our daughters signing contracts"

"Don't be ridiculous Inej; any thinking judge would spot lesion a mile away--there's no way these 'contracts' are valid."

Then there are their little rituals; both girls know if they wake up early they can have a hot chocolate with Da before he goes to work, and they know that if they ask very nicely, and it's not too close to bedtime, he'll play them their favourite songs on the piano, so they can dance around the parlour like little hooligans until they're so tired he and Inej have to carry them upstairs to bed.

They also know that when Kaz is working from home, if they're quiet, they can go sit with him in his office. Jasmijn always climbs on his lap--she knows she has to stay on his good leg--which is lovely (years of hard work with Inej mean he never recoils at his daughters' touch), but it's never long before Jas gets chatty. Kaz never tells her she has to go, but Rosie (who is usually sitting in a chair in the corner of the office, reading a book) will repeatedly tell her to shhh Jas, Da is working.

Kaz teaches them to be dangerous girls, just like their Mama. He'll make sure they never ever need to be, but he and Inej agree that they're going to be straightforward with the girls about their lives, and that means they learn how to pick locks and fight dirty at three and six years old.

They get their knife-throwing lessons from Mama too. Strangely, no one has to teach them how to climb the side of a building.

Anyway. Rosanna and Jasmijn grow up loved to death by their Mama and Da, and of course all their numerous "aunts" and "uncles" (aka any of the higher-ranking Dregs with enough guts to teach the girls to call them aunt or uncle).

And every time Inej wakes up to find the other side of the bed empty, she doesn't worry. She knows she'll find Kaz in the chair in the girls' room, awake and watching them silently. She'll fall back asleep thinking how her Papa was right--she did find a boy who gave her her favourite flowers.

[gayacademicwriter]

a snippet | a monster in love | hero x villain

trigger warnings: daggers/blades, death, dead bodies, murder, mentions of alcohol, explosions, assassinations 

The hero looked down at the case file in disbelief, praying that this was a six-month-late April Fool’s joke. 

“You want me to do what?” 

“I want you,” their supervisor answered, ushering them back into the seat, “to seduce the villain.” 

“I know that,” the hero said, cross. “I just have the slight feeling we skipped a couple of steps here. Perhaps even a couple of staircases. Dare I say a few floors.” 

“Calm down.” 

“The first problem: we hate each other. How am I supposed to spend that much time around them when we can’t stand each other’s guts?” 

“You’ll be doing it as a civilian, not as a hero.” 

The hero blinked. “Oh, my God, you want me to reveal my civilian identity to this person?” 

“Not reveal,” the supervisor said carefully, “just meet up with the villain as a civilian, not as a hero.” 

“And where does it go from there, then?”

“Then, once you’re close enough to them, you bring them down. At least get us some information. Something worth the year you’ve got to put energy into it.” 

The hero shook their head, their tone bitter. “I don’t know if you’ve been reading too many romance stories or something lately, chief. This is not going to work.”

“Well, it’s direct orders, so it had better.” 

“Are they running out of ideas up there?” The hero tilted their head. The supervisor shrugged. 

“Hell if I know. Just carry out your mission, will you?” 

The hero sighed as they took the file, muttering under their breath as they walked out of the room. “This is not going to work.”

—

It had very much worked, to both the hero’s surprise and dismay. 

A year later and the villain was smiling at them over a glass of red wine, completely unawares as to the fact that they were the hero. They bought the hero’s story that their name was Quinn, and that they worked in the government with confidential information. They thought the hero’s parents lived four cities over, and the hero had to say that their parents were on a three-month-long cruise to avoid the villain meeting them. They believed the hero had a brother, Alex, and a sister, Robin. They believed the hero was in love with them. 

And now here they were, a year later, celebrating a one-year anniversary as a couple. The hero frequently wondered whether this was a fever dream. 

“You know,” the villain mused, swirling the wine around in their glass, “it’s just a miracle that I decided to go out that night, and that I even had the courage to ask you if you wanted a drink.” 

The hero, too, had learned a lot about the villain. They had learned through late-night walks that the villain frequented the east end of town, which they had relayed to their team some time later, and the villain’s base had been wiretapped and stuffed with cameras. They knew that the villain worked a lot with a scientist on the pretext of longstanding friendship after they had both majored in chemistry. In reality, they were workshopping drugs designed to make the consumer tell the truth. The villain had been working on a fucking truth serum. They discovered that the villain was well-acquainted and worked frequently with a doctor who had a history of having what might politely be classified as bad ethics. 

The villain was a monster. 

And they were totally, utterly, in love with “Quinn.”

“Yeah,” the hero laughed, forcing the nervousness out of their voice. “I’m so lucky to have met you. Really.” 

The villain smiled, and leaned forward, kissing them on the cheek. The hero giggled and blushed. 

The food came and the villain spoon-fed them some soup. They fed the villain a bite of their salmon. They paid the bill—the villain always tipped well, the hero had noted—and then they left, the villain’s arm wrapped around their waist. 

“Let’s go home, hmm?” The villain nipped at the hero’s ear. The hero nodded with a smile. 

They walked down the sidewalk, the stars above them gleaming, blinking in and out of existence when they passed streetlights. The hero’s heart was pounding. One year, and it was about to be over and done. 

They said hello to the doorman at the first floor of their apartment building. They walked to the apartment that they had shared for four months now. The villain unlocked the door, and walked inside. 

This was it. 

The hero stepped inside, closed the door and spun the villain against the wall. They might have chuckled had the point of the dagger that the hero had worn all night at their ribs not been aimed right at their heart. 

“One move, and you’re a goner.” 

“Quinn?” The villain’s voice was frozen as they watched the hero’s features, eyes steely and face expressionless. 

“You’re a goddamn monster. The truth serum? Doctor Brookes? The plans to blow up the apartment building because your ex lived there? The plans to assassinate your parents because they begged you not to do what you’re doing?” The hero shook their head. “I knew you were terrible. I didn’t think it was this bad.” 

The villain’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” 

“Take a guess,” the hero answered. 

“Hero.” 

The hero nodded. They were prepared for scathing words or a proclamation of a painfully slow death. 

“So it was a lie, then.” The villain exhaled. “Every hour. It was all just—leading up to this. You didn’t mean any of it. Any of the ‘I love you’s or the ‘I’m so glad I met you’s or the ‘You made my day better.’ You wanted to get close to me, and learn all my secrets. And then you wanted to kill me.

Is that why my base was wiretapped when I got back to it three weeks after our late-night walk? Is that why Cindy suddenly got arrested for some trumped-up charge that they published in the news? Is that why Brookes got his license revoked and he’s waiting for his trial? 

I let it all slide,” they said hoarsely. “I thought that maybe you were... who you really are. I had some hope that even if you were, maybe there was a chance. A sliver of a chance.” There were tears, now. “But there never was, was there.” 

The hero shook their head mutely. They had definitely not been prepared for that.

“Everything was a trick.” 

They nodded. 

“Say it. One more time,” they asked. “It was a nice lie while it lasted. Let me believe it until I die.” 

The hero swallowed, adjusting the angle of the dagger. “I love you.” 

The blade slide home. 

The villain had been a monster. But they had been a monster in love. 

Looking silently down at the dead body on the floor of the apartment, the hero wondered if it really was a comfort or not to know that the love was a lie just before they had died. 

— 

if you like my work, please consider buying me a coffee! 

[astronomoney]

IDK if you're still taking requests or not, but the latest fix on D. Wayne was 😍🥰. For part 2 can you add the prompts 11 from fluff, 6 from angst and 20 from neutral pretty please?🥺🥺

Pairing: Damian Wayne x fem!reader (age 16ish)

Prompts: Prompt list ☁︎11- “Hey hey hey, it’s ok i’m here. It’s just me ok, you’re safe.” ᜊ6- “I don’t care about you anymore.” “i’m starting to think you never did.” ⚛︎20-“Please be quite, i can’t even hear myself losing my will to live.”

Summary: After the fight you had with Damian things have been tense but sometimes bottling up your emotions only make things worse (i can’t do summary’s to save my life) enemies-to-lovers because i’m a sucker for that shit

Warnings: Blood, swearing, kinda character death i guess, Damian being a dick as always, angsty teens being angsty teens

A/n: this is a part 2 but you can find part 1 here once again this took waaaay to long to write literally i could not figure out what to do but whatever because i did it and i’m proud of myself for it (Masterlist)

Word count: 3k jeez these are getting longer

Tag list: @battlenix @pleasestophoney wow look at that multiple tags

Part 1

Love and War pt2

Spending spring break in Wayne manor had its ups and downs. Ups included a huge library in the south wing, delicious homemade meals every day, and the best water pressure you’d ever experienced. The downs included 8 hours of training daily, getting lost while trying to find a bathroom, and having to spend way too much time with your arch enemy.

Technically he's not your enemy. At least he’s not supposed to be. After the fight you had last week you couldn’t be sure. You’d had fights with Damian before but this felt different. Usually after a fight he'd sulk for a few hours but then it would go back to normal, but this time it didn’t go back to normal. Damian had been avoiding you for almost 8 days.

You knew the fight ended too soon and you both had more to say but if he was going to act like a child and ignore you then you weren't going to stop him. You still had to patrol with him but it was considerably quieter. The manor was big enough for the both of you and after a few days you'd figured out his schedule and how to get around him. Tim let you train with him, so as long as you stayed on your side of the gym and Damian stayed on his you didn't have to interact with him at all.

It wasn't until the 4th day of break that you had to talk to him. Bruce had to go meet with the league for the day so training ended early. You had a couple hours before dinner and decided reading would be the best use of that time. You walked down one of the many hallways lazily dragging your hand along the wall until you reached a door. You couldn't remember exactly where you were but you were about 75% sure there was a couch in this room, so you pushed the door open.

Inside you found tall ceilings paired with dark wallpaper, a tall window with the thin white curtains pushed out of the way, and a couch. Actually it was three couches but after 4 days staying here you'd gotten used to the large number of furniture that was there for no reason.

The couches formed a square with the open side facing the window lined wall. The first two couches were empty but when you stepped farther inside the room you saw someone sitting on the third one. Of course the one room you picked to go into also happened to be the one room Damian was sitting in. He looked up from his sketchbook and immediately frowned.

There were two options in front of you. You could back out of the room and leave him be but then you'd be backing down from something that might not even turn into a fight which made you seem weak so really you were left with only one choice. You straighten your back and closed the door behind you, officially leaving you in a room alone with Damian for the first time since the fight. You walked over to the couch facing the windows head on and sat down on the side farthest from him. He watched you the whole time but you paid him no attention, instead you simply opened your book and began reading.

You felt his eyes leave your form and you let out a quiet breath. You heard a page turn and a  pencil being dragged lightly across paper. It had been over a week but nothing seemed to be getting better between you and him. Patrols were a nightmare beforehand but now that he'd switched from constant criticism to almost no comments you found that you preferred the former.

Damian's pencil against the paper was the only sound in the room and yet the silence seemed so loud. You hated it. You hated having to avoid him all the time. You hated not being able to talk to him anymore. You hated how far away he felt even when he was right next to you. Above all you hated that you didn't hate him as much as you used to.

You never realized how much you talked to him until you didn't. It was a weird feeling to miss someone when you hadn't even known you cared about them. You honestly just wanted to apologize and let things get back to normal but as you sat there staring at your book you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.

After three to many nightmares where Damian got hurt, you finally realized how badly you needed him back. So you took a deep breath, swallowed your pride, opened your mouth, and prayed to god that something would come out.

"Look-"

"Damian-" you both spoke at the same time. "Sorry, you go first." You apologized.

"No you can go first." He replied almost nervously. That couldn't be right, he never got nervous.

"Uh I was just going to say, well i've been thinking lately,"

"You?" He asked sarcastically.

"Oh haha really funny. Will you just listen for a goddamn second." He was not making this easy. "I know we haven't been talking much ever since, well you know and uhh." You couldn't find the right way to word it. You were still too stubborn to outright apologize but you knew he would never say sorry unprompted. "You've just seemed... off, lately and if it has something to do with me-"

"It doesn't." He cut you off. "I'm not 'off' and even if I was you definitely wouldn't be the cause." His expression was blank but calculated.

"Well jeez you don't have to be so rude about it." You sneered back at him. "What were you trying to say anyway." So much for your apology.

"I've convinced father to change our partners." His voice was flat and he seemed bored with the conversation.

"You what?" You stood up. You couldn't believe he actually did that without talking to you first.

He stood up as well and was a few inches higher than you. "We don't work well together, you can't tell me you don't agree."

"I don't! We've been a great team! Remember the Penguin pen raid or Mr Freeze's death ray thingy." you exaggerated your point by waving our hands through the air. "We stopped those. Together. You can't just go around changing things without asking me first!" You were fuming.

"Sure I can! We only stopped those villains because of what I did, you just got in the way." he pointed at you.

Here we go again, the blame game. The endless cycle of 'he did this she did that'. You were so sick of it. "That's bullshit and you know it. I can hold my own on the field just as well as you can. And you know what! I don't even want to be your partner anymore."

"Neither do I! You can go play hero with someone else while I do all the real work. I never wanted you on the team in the first place!" He stared you down and if you weren't so fired up you'd probably be intimidated.

"God you're so annoying!” You threw your hands up in frustration. “You think you're so great and no one can even come close to you but in reality you're exactly like the rest of us!"

What were you doing? This wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to apologize and make things right but now here you were screaming at him again. You almost couldn't help it. Fighting him gave you a sort of rush that you craved. It was like a drug and you were addicted to the pain. You didn't want to fight him but it was the closest thing to a conversation you'd had in over a week and at this point it was enough to satisfy your need.

"I'm going to prove that i'm better than you. I'll do it on my own too!" You told him.

"Go ahead and try! You can do whatever you want because I don't care about you anymore."

You stepped back, stood as tall as you could without going on your tiptoes and took a breath. "I'm starting to think you never did." You said calmly, it seemed to catch him off guard and he didn't retaliate. You grabbed your book and turned towards the door. Dick was standing there, completely still and staring at you and Damian.

"Woah." He said awkwardly. He clearly didn't know how to handle the situation he'd just stumbled on.

You pushed past him and into the hallway. Tears were building up in the corners of your eyes so you had to move fast, the last thing you needed right now was for them to see you cry. 

Damian watched you walk out before turning around and groaning. "I can't believe her," he muttered to himself. "I'm starting to think you never did. That doesn't even make sense."

"Because... you do care about her?" Dick asked. It probably wasn't the best choice of words.

Damian looked back at him with an almost offended expression. "That's ridiculous! I don't care about her, that was basically the whole point of our conversation."

"Was that a conversation? The part of that 'conversation' I saw seemed more like her yelling at you and then you... yelling back." He stated the obvious.

"That was completely her fault," Damian defended. He seemed angry but it wasn't his usual kind. Usually it was directed at someone or something and usually that thing would get acquainted with his katana but this time he was mad at himself and he couldn't understand why. "I don't care about her." He repeated quietly almost trying to remind himself more than anything.

You spent the rest of the day hiding in the guest room. You planned on staying there forever and letting yourself fade out of existence but the universe had other plans. 3 hours, 5 episodes of your favorite show, and a nest made of blankets later you got a call from Tim asking you to come to the cave.

He didn't tell you why he needed you, he just said to meet him in the lower level of the cave so when you got there you were very surprised to find him and Damian standing in the hallway. You groaned internally and considered turning around and just walking away but Tim spotted you before you could. Damian's back was to you so he didn't know who it was until he turned around and you saw his face fall.

'Nice to see you too asshole' You thought to yourself, walking over to stand near him but still keeping your distance. "What did you need?" You asked, wanting to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. You kept your eyes ahead trying not to look at Damian and you had the feeling he was doing the same.

The entire mood of the dimly lit hallway had shifted from the moment you locked eyes with him and the tension was noticeable. Tim looked between the two of you before clearing his throat and bringing the attention back to him. "I actually don't need anything."

"So then why did you call telling me to come down here?" Damian asked, clearly annoyed that Tim was wasting his time.

Tim smirked in response and opened the door before Jason, who was behind you apparently, pushed you both into the room before either of you could react. You landed on top of Damian with a grunt. Once you realized you were on top of him you felt your cheeks turn red and you stood up quickly. You could have sworn you saw the slightest bit of a blush on him but you were too preoccupied with the now locked door to think about too much.

"Ok love birds here's the deal, you're petty hormone fueled fighting is driving us crazy and now we're doing something about it." Jason told you from the other side of the small glass window. "We said you were gonna lock you in a room until you figured out how to get along and now we're following through." he smirked.

"I swear to god if you lock me in this room with him,"  you motioned towards Damian, "I will drop kick you into the sun."

"If you let us out now maybe I won't kill you," Damian threatened alongside you.

"Maybe if you’d learned to talk to each other like normal people you wouldn’t be here in the first place," Tim said. "We'll be back after patrol so you've got about," he looked at his watchless wrist "4ish hours. Have fun." And with that they both walked away.

"DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWA- and they're gone. Dammit." You cursed and hit the steel door which hurt a lot more than you thought it would. "Shit," You shook your hand.

"Well that was just stupid," Damian scoffed at you, taking your hand to examine it. He always did that sort of thing on patrol so you didn't pull away or even really register what he was doing.

"Oh i'm sorry, is my frustration not smart enough for you?" you sneered back. "What even is this place anyway," You looked around the small dark room, determined to not look him in the eyes.

"A containment cell for metas, we haven't used it for a while so the power blockers are probably turned off." he told you before releasing your hand. "You definitely bruised it but you'll be fine."

You reluctantly thanked him and turned back to the door to see if you could get it open somehow. "Ok so how do we get out?"

"We don't."

You flipped around, surprised to hear him give up without even trying. "You're kidding right? There's gotta be some way out of here. We're superheros, a few walls can't hold us,” you exclaimed. “Can't you use those ninja skills you're so proud of and like... kick it down, or something?" You watched him walk to the back of the small cell and sit down on the floor.

"No," he replied simply. "This room was built to hold the most dangerous people in Gotham and I don't know if you've noticed but we don't have any of our gear." He glared at you and you rolled your eyes.

"So we're just supposed to wait here until they get back? We can't just sit here all night," You tried to convince him to do... anything really.

"Well if you're so keen on getting out then let's hear your genius plan," He leaned forward with all the smugness of billionaires son, daring you to say something.  "That's what I thought. Now will you please be quiet, I can't even hear myself losing my will to live."

"Fine whatever we'll just stay here in complete silence," You muttered sarcastically under your breath. Damian remained quiet as you started pacing back and forth but you could tell he was watching you.

After pacing for about 30 minutes you realized how tired you were from training so hard the past couple of days and sat down in the corner. You spent so much time over the last week worrying about Damian that you hadn't let yourself relax long enough to get any real rest. The little sleep you did manage to get mostly turned to nightmares.

At first you didn't even realize you were asleep. It all looked real enough except for the fact that you'd somehow been transported to a rooftop. You scanned your surroundings but everything was just slightly out of focus so you couldn't tell exactly where you were. When you turned around you saw him. Damian was there, and behind him was a shadowy sort of silhouette.

The shadow raised a knife and you realized what was happening. You tried to warn him, you tried to scream or yell or move but it was no use. The knife plunged into Damians back and you were helpless to stop it. You felt the pain he felt, you felt the blade slice through you. Finally you could move again but it was too late. The shadow disappeared but you didn't care about it, all you wanted to do was get to Damian. You ran forward but it was like running through water, your body moved in slow motion and you watched the blood start to pool underneath him.

Suddenly you were falling. Damian was gone, the roof was gone, everything was gone, it was just you and a black abyss trying to swallow you up. You screamed again but no noise came out, it was like all the air was being sucked from your lungs. It was silent and dark and empty nothingness until you saw a faint light. Then you heard something, your name being repeated, someone calling you and then you were pulled out of the void.

You shot up and gasped for air and frantically looked around but your eyes hadn't adjusted to the light yet. You heard a familiar soothing voice pulled you farther out of your trance.

"Hey hey hey, it's ok i'm here." The voice was calm and concerned at the same time. "It's just me ok, you're safe," Rough hands gently turned your head and the first thing you saw clearly was a pair of worried green eyes. You're breathing slowed and you're heart nearly skipped a beat.

Wrapping your arms around his chest you pulled him closer. He hesitated for a moment before folding you into his embrace. It was soft and delicate and it seemed like he was scared of holding you too tightly. Neither of you said anything else, you just sat there on the floor of a meta containment cell in each other's arms.

Time stood still and you finally admitted the truth to yourself. The real reason you hated Damian was because you loved him.

A/n: might fuck around and make a part 3 with the classic “because i love you!” confession scene

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Fragile (S.R.)

Summary: Disabled!Reader. Spencer has to stay behind on a case and gets to know the new technical analyst. Request: Spencer/Reader with a physical disability, such as mild cerebral palsy? Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Fluff (T, 16+) Content Warning: None! Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

I’m a very proud person. I like to do things for myself, and for the most part, I’m perfectly capable. Even when things are difficult, my problem-solving skills have gotten me far in life. So when I say that my plan to carry my cup of coffee and donut to my desk was foolproof, I need everyone to know that it would have worked.

However, that being said, I acknowledge that it did not look all that foolproof as I was hobbling along with one and a half elbow crutches, a cup of practically boiling coffee in my hand, and a donut shoved in my mouth. Still, I could avoid most of the judgmental stares from the coworkers who already knew better than to ask me if I needed help.

All but one.

“Hey.”

If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have stopped. I would have mumbled a muffled greeting through the pastry and continued on my way. But it was just too hard to resist the temptation to talk to Dr. Spencer Reid. I’d only worked here for a few months, and I’d rarely gotten the chance to talk to him beyond quick questions on the phone and conference room meetings.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, either. I had gone to every single event that the team had gone to; it was Spencer that didn’t go. At first, he had said it was because he wanted to spend the little free time he had with his girlfriend (one of the most significant bummers of my admittedly relatively short existence), but after a few weeks, I found out that they’d broken up.

And, being the kind and understanding soul that I am, I’d decided it was best to give him some space before I made my move. After all, it would suck to be a rebound for your coworker. I insisted to myself that was the only reason, but I knew I was also a filthy, stupid liar.

Because as I stumbled against the empty desk behind me, dropping the crutch I had tucked under my arm onto the floor and practically spilling the coffee along with it, I still tried to look like I wasn’t a goddamn disaster.

Pulling the donut from my mouth and not even trying to wipe away the powdered sugar that covered my cheeks, I smoothly replied, “Hey, yourself.”

Spencer gave an absent nod, standing with his hands tucked safely in his pockets as he inspected the chaotic scene in front of him. Then, as expected, he asked the question I usually loathed to hear.

“Do you need help?”

The world paused, just like it did every time I got the question. I had to weigh my choices carefully, knowing full well that one errant decision would ruin my day for many days to come. I could either accept the offer and risk that person forever viewing me as someone who both wanted and needed their help, or I could deny the offer and risk that person watching me make a fool out of myself.

And as awful as the former sounded, I just really didn’t want him to see me fall on my ass.

“Need it? No. I’ll take it though, if you’re offering,” I nervously laughed, trying to steady myself as we both bent over to grab my crutch at the same time. Ignoring the urge to call it a meet-cute, considering we’d already met and I did not look very cute at the time, I let him do at least that much for me.

He went to trade the crutch for the cup of coffee, but I held up my pinky in pause, wagging it at him as I cautiously warned, “But only if you’re doing it out of the kindness of your heart and not out of pity.”

Spencer peered over the top of the cup, clearly recognizing the smell as his favorite blend of coffee. Not that I’d been stalking him or his preference, or anything, I’d just noticed the few times that we’d been in the kitchen together.

“Why would I pity you? You got the last cup of the good coffee,” he astutely pointed out, taking the cup from me when he earned his sought-after chuckle.

“So is that why you offered? So you could swap our cups when I wasn’t looking?” I returned before I popped the donut back into my mouth, starting in the direction of what my predecessor had lovingly deemed ‘her lair.’

I could tell that Spencer was at least a little bit surprised by my speed, having to jog just a little to catch up to me once I started moving. When he was safely beside me again, I saw him bite his bottom lip.

“I was actually wondering if it would be possible for me to hang out with you today.”

Although the donut was just stuck in my mouth, I still nearly choked on the sugar as I gasped at the question. Luckily for me, Spencer didn’t see that because he was too busy opening the door for me. He patiently waited for my answer, too, standing behind the other chair in the room as I took my seat in front of the computers.

Having had more time to formulate an at least somewhat put together response, I smiled as I finally took the most satisfying bite of a donut I’ve ever had in my life.

“Are you lonely, Dr. Reid?” I finally asked, crossing my legs and spinning around in the chair to see the man more clearly. He still held both cups of our coffee, and his face tried to hide the sly grin on his cheeks as his eyes darted over my cheeks that were probably still dirty from the donut.

“A little bit, yeah,” he admitted, clearing his throat and handing me the cup of coffee. Sure enough, when I took it, he used the free hand to tap his cheek, alerting me of the presence or powdered sugar on my own, which I frantically wiped away.

“Then by all means, have a seat, darling,” I instructed, kicking the chair backwards into his legs. I knew it was his least favorite part of the year; the team had insisted he take a vacation, which was scheduled to start the next day. So, naturally, when they’d been assigned to a case that morning, they’d promptly forbidden him from traveling with them, knowing that if given the option, he would cancel his vacation too quickly for them to protest.

“Thanks.”

And then came the expected, dreaded awkward silence. At least, I thought it was awkward, but from Spencer’s casual sips of coffee, I don’t think he was that bothered by it at all. Even worse for me, I could feel his eyes watching the screens in front of me. Which meant that he would see everything I could see and was probably going to judge how long it took me to read stuff. Also, I couldn’t screw around per usual.

After a few moments that felt more like hours, I spun my chair back around to meet the gaze that I thought had been affixed to my screens. But when I did, I realized that Spencer was looking at me, not my screens.

Clearing my throat, I gathered the courage to present the question I had been planning on asking when I turned around.

“So what’s the other reason you wanted to hang out in here?”  

He tilted his head to the side, chewing on his bottom lip before mumbling, “What other reason?”

“You’re a technophobe who just entered the mother of all dens of technology. There’s got to be another reason,” I laughed, gesturing to the flickering lights that looked more like a city skyline than an office.

But Spencer didn’t follow along, his eyes darting down to his coffee as he defensively squeaked, “No there doesn’t!”

I might not have been a profiler, but I knew a cute boy caught in a lie when I saw one.

“Spit it out,” I ordered, leaning forward and tucking my hands between my knees. My eyes narrowed as they tried to locate those damn clues they always talked about, but as soon as his eyes met mine, all coherent thought went out the window.

“Okay, fine. Truthfully?” he offered, playfully puckering his lips.

“Mhm?”

Spencer raised a hand, beckoning me closer with a small wave. I tried to obey, but found he was too far away to get as close as he wanted me to be. Luckily for me, he seemed dedicated to solving that problem.

Before I even knew what was happening, Spencer’s foot tucked around the base of my chair. He pulled the whole thing forward, the wheels easily carrying me forward until our knees bumped together.

And if he saw the signs of embarrassment written all over me, which I’m certain he did, he didn’t seem bothered by them. If anything, he kind of looked like the cat that got the cream.

“I don’t have another reason.”

“You’re a liar!” I shrieked back, not noticing how loud my voice was until it echoed back into the tiny room.

Thankfully, based on his equally loud laughter, Spencer seemed entertained.

“Okay, if I did have one, which I don’t,” he paused, raising a finger as if to emphasize the defense, “it wouldn’t be related to information technologies.”

“Did you just avoid saying the acronym IT?” I snorted. I‘d known the guy was old-fashioned, but I didn’t realize just how far that silliness went.

“They’re not difficult words to say,” he defended, crossing his arms and trying to hide his pout behind an obviously feigned confidence.  

“Dude, it’s 8 syllables.”

“I refuse to take criticism from someone who calls me ‘dude,’” he immediately shot back. Then, mimicking my earlier unease, he began to spin his chair away from me.

But I wasn’t about to let that happen, leaning forward and grabbing the arm of his chair and pulling him back closer to me as I sarcastically corrected myself, “Fine. It’s 8 syllables, Dr. Reid.”

He looked down at my hands, and I saw something flash over his features for just a second before he returned to the somewhat suave man that I’d been assured he wasn’t. I wondered why it was that he seemed so much more confident than people gave him credit for, but figured it was just a matter of my seeing him through rose tinted glasses.

“Maybe I just wanted to talk more and ran out of things to say,” he suggested.

The idea alone was enough to make me flustered, and hearing the words in his voice sent me to another plane of existence. Then, once again, Spencer was grinning at me with a devilishly satisfied smile that made me question whether he meant anything he said, or if he was just trying to rile me up.

So, I fought back. Just in case.

“You? No way,” I teased, pushing his chair away, knowing he wouldn’t go too far considering his feet were still resting on the legs of my chair.

“You’ve never talked to me!”

The implication made me pause, because we had talked before— on several occasions, actually. It was the words he didn’t say that mattered to me.

I’ve never talked with him… alone.

He raised his eyebrows in a challenge when I didn’t respond, too busy lost in my own panicked thoughts.

“I-I don’t need to. That’s how much you talk,” I said, sticking my nose in the air and hoping that it gave me some semblance of a proud appearance. Because while the comeback was honestly very good, I had also stuttered while saying it.

“That’s fair,” he replied with a gentle nod I saw through my peripherals.

With shakier hands, I continued to click buttons on the screen and pretend like I was doing something. But all the intelligent thoughts were gone, and the screen in front of me seemed like a bunch of gibberish.

Spencer was quiet then, rolling his chair over to sit beside me rather than stay awkwardly behind me, and he watched the windows as I dragged them over the monitors. That lasted for maybe 2 minutes before he stopped, looking back to me again.

“What if I told you that’s the real reason I came in here?”

That was enough to stop me in my tracks, which seemed to be a habit around the doctor.

“What? To talk?” I asked once I was able to make my traitorous hand move again.

“To talk to you.”

My heart stopped, and I had to double check that I was still connected to the chair, because I felt like the world was spinning around me. I turned to him after he said it, spotting the slight insecurity in his eyes before I could even come up with a quip to return. Because he’d meant it. Spencer just wanted to talk to me.

There were so many things I could have said. I could have flirted back, could have asked him to clarify, or just given him a knowing look to sympathize with his own anxieties over the situation we had placed ourselves in. But I didn’t do any of those things, because before I could pick one, we were very rudely interrupted by the insistent screaming of the telephone.

“Hello, this is (y/n),” I said much too loudly into the receiver once I managed to actually answer the call.

But, naturally, it was just the assholes from the second floor, demanding paper copies of files I knew they could have easily procured online, or by taking a short walk to the file room themselves.

“Uh… Yeah, I can bring you those it just might be a min–“ I mumbled absently, my mind still reeling from the sudden confession of Spencer, who now sat aloof and unbothered next to me.

The less interesting man whining incoherently into the other end of the call continued to cut me off, explaining the importance of the files. Which, if you asked me, was more of a reason they should have just gotten the damn things themselves.

“Yes, I know that it’s urgent, but if you want physical copies, you’re going to have to be patient. Yep. End of the day. Got it,” I curtly replied, slamming my finger on the key to cut off the call in a huff.

“Asshole,” I sighed, somehow almost forgetting the presence of the second person in the room. “Sorry! Not you, Reid. I meant the guy on the phone,” I quickly explained, tapping my hand over the earpiece to demonstrate something I’m sure he already knew.

He didn’t bother responding to any of that, though, instead focusing on the crux of the problem in his usual helpful manner.

“I can take the files for you.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it. He can wait.” My face twisted into a grimace, and I regretted that Spencer could see it, but he sort of just giggled at the sight. He looked away for a minute, down at his fingers as they picked at the printed label on his coffee cup that always made me smile.

But then he was back to looking at me. And I realized that was what got to me about Spencer Reid: he looked at me.

So many people, both at work and outside of it, either saw through me or couldn’t see past the braces and crutches. But Spencer was never like that. When he looked at me, I felt… whole. It felt like I was just waiting for his eyes to find me again, and once they had, my body could relax into the comfort of his company.

It was intoxicating and addicting, and I just really wanted to know if he felt the same. But how could I ask him that? I mean, did he ever feel that way? He had to, right? He was an open and notorious savant in a space where those qualities were easily taken advantage of.

How did he stay so kind, so calm, so… innocent wasn’t the right word.

Spencer, unaware of the massive monologue I was waxing poetic in my head, ripped me from the thoughts with an awkward laugh.

“You know, the last time I was in here for this long was after I was shot in the knee.”

“Were you an adventurer before?” I said with a clever smile  and received an absolutely perplexed put in return.

“What do you mean?”

I burst into a small fit of giggles at my own stupidity, which only confused the poor guy more. But really, it was my fault for making a vague video game reference to the man I’d literally just described as a technophobe.

“Never mind. It’s a bad joke.”

He accepted the answer, although I think I might have embarrassed him a little bit. There was no reason for him to feel bad about it, though. I was the one who’d made a joke that didn’t land. It figured that he would feel bad about that, though. Spencer was just sweet like that.

“I kind of drove Garcia crazy.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I announced with a hefty dose of sarcasm that I hoped would be enough for him to pick up on. And sure enough, whether it was the sarcasm or just the overall body language I was displaying, Spencer knew something was up.

“Now who’s lying?” he murmured under his breath, sipping from his coffee with those cute little quirked eyebrows.

My mouth dropped open at the forward accusation, and throwing a hand over my heart, I over-dramatically gasped, “I am not lying.”

“Maybe…” he whispered, poking his head forward and scooting his chair around me to get a better look at all angles of my face, which I presented to him the way I imagined a model would. Still, the jerk just chuckled, “It’s too hard to tell.”

But he didn’t move away. Instead, he got closer, his hands finding their way onto the arms of my chair as we sat only a few inches apart. I tried so hard to hide my trembling hands in my lap as my body shrank  in on itself just a little bit. Although I would later claim that I was just trying to be coy, I was really terrified by the fact he was even more attractive up close.

Trying to maintain my pride and nonchalant reputation, I barely managed to develop and deliver a quick quip to get me out of the boiling water I’d landed in.

“Hey, egghead, instead of analyzing my micro expressions, how about you do take those files down?”

“Avoidance. A typical trait associated with deception,” Spencer said, shaking his head with apparent disappointment as he pushed himself back into his chair. But he also obviously used way more force than necessary, which led to his chair slowly spinning away from me as he excitedly started to speak again.

“Did you know egghead wasn’t originally an insult? It was originally a term very similar to highbrow, and although it quickly developed negative connotations, it was mostly a result of American politics.”

I glanced back to see him still spinning, albeit a bit happier now that he was in control. If he was trying to look like he’d meant to do it, he was doing a remarkably good job of it. But I knew the truth.

“Sounds like the kind of thing only an egghead would know.”

Shortly after I said it, I heard a distinct crashing sound behind me that I didn’t dare turn to look at. Soon after, Spencer popped up next to me again, this time on the other side.

“Didn’t you call yourself Humpty Dumpty last week?” he asked, grabbing hold of the counter that was cluttered with papers and trinkets to stop himself from spinning away again. It would have been cuter if he hadn’t just tried to compare me to an egg.

“I’ll have you know, Dr. Reid, that Humpty Dumpty wasn’t explicitly described as an egg until Le-“

“Lewis Carrol’s 1871 book Through the Looking Glass,” he cut me off, finishing the sentence with more detail than I would have given.

He didn’t need to know that, though.

“I would have gotten it right. I know things, too,” I haughtily replied. And although I wouldn’t ever admit to it, it did make the butterflies in my stomach  flutter at the thought of him finishing my sentences. I was sure it would eventually get old, but right then it just made me feel like we were straight out a cheesy Disney production.

But Disney also wasn’t really the mood I wanted our relationship to be based on. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Disney or that I thought everything revolved around adult themes and sex — both of those things could be wonderful in their own way! It’s just that disabled people are always seen as innocent, asexual beings that could never want and desire like the others.

I just wanted him to look at me and see me for who I was, the way he always did. And the real me included the ridiculously awkward but super fun flirting. So, with one final pep talk, I reminded myself that we’d never get anywhere if I was scared of the goofball who’d literally just spun circles around me.

“And for the record, of the two of us, I still contend that I’m significantly less fragile than you,” I lightheartedly teased, reaching a hand over to tap his adorable button nose.

I couldn’t tell if the flirting went over his head or if he was just too caught up in the competition, but he responded with a question.

“What’s your criteria?”

“That’s top secret information,” I said quickly, now having backed myself into a promiscuous corner with a man who might or might not know we were there at all.

“I have top secret clearance,” he answered within seconds.

Before I looked at him, I assumed that he was taking my words literally and answering them the same. But when I did turn, I saw an undeniable playfulness in every subtle movement he made. From his fingers tapping against the counter to the way his eyes bounced between my eyes and lips, I saw the charm only an equally romantically clumsy fool could give.

I chuckled, using the same finger that had messed with him before to tuck a strand of his unruly hair behind his ear. Spencer’s face turned a pleasing shade of pink at the continued physical contact, his eyes following my hand past where he could see.

But I wasn’t done. I knew how to really get to him. It also had the possibility of ruining my career. That would be worth it though, right? It definitely felt that way at the time. So I leaned forward, bypassing his very kissable, flushed cheeks to whisper in his ear, “Then maybe we should go to the SCIF and I’ll tell you all my secrets.”

Then I waited. I don’t know how long I waited because time warped so quickly into an existential vacuum that consisted only of me and the boy on the other end of my words. But I knew the world continued on, because I felt Spencer’s breath against my cheek just as ragged as my own. I heard the jumbled mess of thoughts that we expressed in that somewhat silent moment and I prayed that he would do something to make it more.

“(Y/n)—“ he started, his voice as soft as I imagine clouds would be.

Unfortunately, no matter what he was planning to do, it would have ended poorly. I know this because shortly after my name made its way to his mouth, the door opened, flooding the little dark room with fluorescent light and the regular timeline of reality.

“Dr. Reid?” Anderson announced.

Spencer and I tensed up and shot back so quickly, I’m surprised our chairs didn’t literally drift apart, too. Thankfully, Anderson was none the wiser, having required those precious few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness I usually kept myself in.

“What’s up?” Spencer answered, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but in my direction.

“I just got a shipment from the Alexandria police that I could use your help with.”  

They both turned to me, and I got the strangest feeling that they were asking me for permission. Unsure of what else I was supposed to do, I just nodded and smiled. Although in my heart, I was doing anything but. Really, I was screaming at Anderson in my head for ruining my very cute moment with the very cute doctor for something as stupid as organizing files from a department that should have done it before they ever sent them.

“Right. Sure,” he said, getting up from his seat. He must have felt my eyes following him out, because Spencer stopped at the door and gave a small, sad wave and a smile before swamping me in the darkness and technicolor lights once more.

The rest of the day passed so much faster without the distraction from work, but I had way less fun than I imagined I would have had with Spencer. To be fair, though, there was no way of me really knowing that he would have returned my blatant flirting. Everything up until that last comment could be written off as jokes. I probably shouldn’t have done it, I thought, but what was I going to do about it? An apology seemed like the easiest solution, and I had plenty of time to dream it up as I made my way down to the file room to grab the records that I’d printed for the assholes on the second floor.

I was originally planning on dropping them off on my way out, but lo and behold, the files weren’t there. It didn’t take a genius to know where they’d gone. I looked down at my watch and saw that it was nearly five and prayed that he hadn’t left for the day. Because once he was gone, I would have to wait two damn weeks to yell at him.

I was in such a rush to get back to the BAU’s bullpen that I didn’t even notice the person in front of me waiting for the elevator. But luckily, Spencer noticed me.

“Hey!” he greeted with a smile stretched over his cheeks.

I tried to ignore how cute it was that he seemed so excited by my sweaty, out of breath self. I was mad at him, dammit.

“You took the files down. I didn’t need you to do that,” I huffed, trying to catch my breath while also trying to prevent the elevator doors from closing between us. Spencer put his hand out to catch it, but then also stepped over my crutch to stand beside me.

“I did. Sorry,” he freely acknowledged with a shrug. “But in my defense, I didn’t do it because I think you’re incapable. I did it… out of the kindness of my heart. And another slightly selfish reason.”

“What’s that?” I immediately demanded the explanation, not realizing just how worked up I’d gotten. It’s like my mind was running on inertia and assumptions that had already been discredited. I’d been so angry about the idea of him doing my job out of pity that I had forgotten to remember that the wasn’t that kind of man. Which meant...

“Because I knew that if I did it, you would confront me about it, and I would get to talk to you again.”

If you could have put a microphone to my thoughts in that moment, you would have heard the familiar dial tone of a computer still trying to connect. Spencer, on the other hand, just averted his gaze from my dumbstruck, flattered expression, back to the comfort of the back of the elevator doors, wearing what I’d come to think of as his signature smirk.

“So you’re flirting with me?” I thought out loud, only halfway turning to him as I muttered the question. If he struggled to understand the slurred, muffled words, he made no show of it.

Instead, very confidently and with a little bit of sass, he replied, “Sorry, was I not obvious enough about it? Yes, I am flirting with you.”

“Why?”

As soon as I’d asked the question, I regretted it. It sounded so pathetic. Why would someone flirt with me? I knew the answer to that question! It was just those stupid insecurities bubbling up from beneath the surface, threatening to spoil a day of lighthearted fun with Spencer. But the boy wonder just shrugged, his smile never once leaving his face.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The elevator came to its stop at the parking garage, and as he stepped off after me, I realized he was planning on walking me to my car. Although for a brief second I worried he might get caught in commuter traffic on my account, my heart rioted at the thought of  letting that distant concern ruin the moment.

Sure enough, Spencer stayed next to me down the familiar path to my car. As I unlocked it, the small beep resounding in the large garage, he stopped me from going too far with another gentle confession.

“It was fun hanging out with you today.”

I turned back to face him, nodding my head back and forth in contemplation before I settled on an only slightly insulting joke back, “Yeah, I guess it’s not so bad listening to you talk.”

Spencer smiled at the jab, taking a few steps closer to stand in front of me. “I barely got a word in all day.” He tried to complain, but we both knew it was nonsense. Just because he hadn’t talked as much as usual hardly meant I’d been spewing soliloquies. .

“How much do you expect to talk in any given conversation, Dr. Reid?”

He mirrored my earlier signal, his head lolling from side to side until he answered, “Until there’s nothing left to say.”

“We’d be here all night,” I chuckled, repositioning my crutches so I could sway closer to him in the already quickly narrowing gap between our bodies.

“Doesn’t have to be here,” Spencer returned with a shrug and a smirk.

We were fast approaching dangerous territory, and I struggled to try and decide just how much of the conversation was for fun and what was serious. I knew that he wasn’t exactly the most perceptive person, and so that younger, scared version of myself screamed in the back of my head that someone like Spencer would never see me as anything more than a friend.

But there was an easy way to test those boundaries. I could challenge those rude, self-hating thoughts with as much repartee as he would allow. And if today was any indication, he would let it go on for a long time. Hell, he’d practically said as much.

“I don’t think we need a more romantic atmosphere for a conversation,” I said, challenging him with the strongest eye contact I could muster without giving away just how scared I really was.

It didn’t work. My mounting anxiety was so obvious it might as well had been written on my forehead. Spencer, trained in the art of recognizing when people were lying to themselves and others, saw it immediately.

“Not everything that should be said needs to be spoken,” he assured me, looking down at the asphalt. And in that simple, seemingly pointless motion, I felt the same insecurities projected back to me. It became clear to me that the two of us were playing the stupidest game of chicken, and both of us were too petrified of rejection to make that final jump.

But he was trying. He was trying so hard, his eyes slowly making their way back to my face and finding my precarious smile.

“In fact, some of the most compelling statements don’t involve words at all,” he proudly opined, finding comfort in the similar thoughts displayed in each other’s eyes.

“Come here,” I called.

First, Spencer just looked down at my finger as I released the crutch and beckoned him closer, as if to ask me how that was possible. We were already close enough that I could almost feel his body heat. But I cleared my throat, bringing his attention back to where it mattered and motioned for him to lower his face to mine.

Once he did, I didn’t give him a chance to reconsider, swiftly connecting our lips in a rather chaste kiss, considering what I actually wanted to do. Spencer jumped at the contact, his hands jumping forward to grab my hips to stop himself from falling on top of me in his shock.

I hadn’t planned for it to become a full-fledged make out session in the FBI parking garage, but it seemed that Spencer had different plans. Bringing one hand up to my face, he pulled my whole body against his as he kissed me again.

And although hard and rushed, the kiss wasn’t rough in the slightest. It was patient, tender, and comforting. His lips felt like they were always meant to be there, and even in the Virginia heat his warm hands felt like heaven. He was sweeter than the sugar that had been stuck to my cheeks, and I wished that I could start every morning with him, instead.  

I giggled into his lips as the kiss came to its sadly inevitable end, my face following his as he pulled away.

“Looks like you were right,” I said through the laughter, biting down on my bottom lip that still tingled with his touch.

Spencer laughed, too, leaving his hands on me even as he pulled back.

“That’s two to nothing in my favor,” he pointed out as we both tried to slow our racing hearts.

“You’re keeping score?” I said, playfully throwing my shoulder forward to knock into his arm. He let his hands fall away, using them instead to run through his hair and smooth down his shirt that had become rumpled in the fray.

“To be fair, you haven’t tested my biggest theory,” I objected, raising my eyebrows as I finally opened my car door and removed one of my crutches. Spencer continued watching me, albeit a little sad now that there was a piece of metal between us.

“Which one is that?”

Tossing both crutches into the car, I turned back just long enough to answer.

“That I’m not as fragile as you might think I am.”

Once I climbed into the car, Spencer finally joined me on my side of the door, resting his hand on the car to prevent me from closing it before he got all the answers he wanted.

“How do you propose we test that theory?”

“You’re a genius. Why don’t you figure it out?” I cheekily shrugged.

He glanced around the immediate area, probably to avoid an HR disaster, before he said in a lower, and dare I say sultry voice, “I have a feeling that one might require a more romantic atmosphere.”

“Not romantic. Just... private,” I corrected with a coy grin.

The poor guy’s face started to turn red again, and I only felt a little guilty for getting him worked up when I knew I probably wouldn’t see him for two weeks. Then again... A vacation was the perfect time to get to know him, wasn’t it?

Spencer, clearly reading my mind, suddenly blurted out the least smooth but most endearing, genuine compliment I’d ever received. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met. Let me take you out for dinner.”

The sudden question caught me so off guard that I almost pinched myself. I chose to ignore the offer at first, my brain still convinced this was all some elaborate joke or something I’d dreamed during a nap at my desk following my eighth cup of coffee.

“That’s not private at all,” I countered, nervously starting my car so that my hands would have something more productive to do. I was worried that if I hadn’t given them something, they would have tried to drag him into the car right then and there.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, trying to hide his childlike enthusiasm behind the more promiscuous banter, “I have a few more theories to test before then.”

“Fine. I guess you’re worth the wait,” I sighed, finally allowing myself to reach up and grab his tie. I considered pulling him down to me, but to my surprise, he made the motion for me. That time, the kiss was short and sweet. It was the first of what would hopefully become too many to count.

Before he left me completely, though, he stopped with his hands on the door. He looked down at me like he always did, so effortlessly beautiful and comforting in his sincerity. I saw so many things in his eyes, but never pity or remorse. I saw joy, compassion, and a future that I would very much like to explore.

“And for the record...” Spencer said, reading my mind one more time before the day’s end, “I really hope your theory is right.”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.4k 

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg​, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week. 

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent.  He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you.  Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.  

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 3 of 27: Honesty

Summary:  Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHAPTER 2

A/N: I’ve come to the realization that I’ve changed so much in this story during the past few days and added some chapters that it can probably already count as a slow-burn fic. I guess. Not sure. Have fun! Thanks for the lovely feedback! I love you all to death <3

Words: 3583 Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!Reader, post-war Warnings: mentions of sex, light swearing

It was weird being back at Hogwarts. Something about it still didn’t feel right. After the war, it was unimaginable for you to come back here and finish school. But they took their time and closed it off for over a year. The school got rebuilt, the victims buried, the survivors tried to heal and move on. On the first anniversary of the end of the war, McGonagall – the new headmistress of Hogwarts – publicly announced that the school would open for the coming year and the seventh graders were given the chance to repeat their year.

You were excited about coming back and seeing your friends again, gaining a little bit of normalcy. School, homework, petty drama – you wanted nothing more than to be busy with all of those things. Yet something felt different when you stood in the Great Hall for the first time after your arrival. Something had changed. You had changed.

“You’re daydreaming again, Y/N.”

Ginny’s voice pulled you back into reality. Your best friend sat across from you with her eyebrows raised, chewing on a croissant.

“Tired,” you replied and smiled briefly.

“From what?”, she asked. “You left super early last night!”

“Yeah, because it was super boring.”

The redhead shook her head. “It was not! There was a fight between two Hufflepuffs and that’s the best indicator for a fun party.”

You chuckled. “Is it though?!”

“Or,” suddenly she put down her croissant. A devious smile appeared on her face and she began talking with a lowered voice: “Did you leave the party early with your date to –”

“I beg you to not finish that sentence, please!”

Ginny laughed. “Oh come on! McLaggen is kinda cute!”

“He’s awful.”

“He doesn’t need a good character to –”

“Ginny!” You playfully threw an apple at her. She caught it, laughing. “You’re the worst,” you said and shook your head.

Just when you wanted to change the topic, someone else started walked in. You stopped midsentence, staring at the couple who were coming down the hall, holding hands.

Ginny saw them too and she knew what you were about to do next. “Don’t, Y/N,” she said softly. “Stay here. At some point, you’ll have to face them. They’re our friends. He’s my brother. We have classes together now.”

You knew she was right. Yet, running away still seemed like a better option to you. Ginny sensed that, reached over the table and squeezed your hand. “Stay,” she repeated.

Ron and Hermione sat down right beside you, cheerfully wishing you a good morning. You didn’t reply but smiled at Harry instead who sat down next to Ginny and gave her a kiss. They were a cute couple and you were happy for the both of them. They finally found each other.

The four began to talk right away. It was still exciting to be in the same year as them, to finally share classes and spend so much time together. Well, not for you to be honest. You could happily live without seeing Ron every day.

You tuned out their conversation after a while, still debating whether or not you should leave the table. Your eyes drifted over the other students in the Great Hall and got stuck at the Slytherins. Not many people sat there as most of them had already finished breakfast. Before you knew what you were doing, you noticed he wasn’t here.

You felt a little sting of disappointment and frowned. Where did this came from? As if you cared about seeing Malfoy.

Saying that you didn’t replay that kiss in your mind over and over again would have been a lie. When you left the small room last night, you felt dizzy and confused. Yet you repeatedly told yourself that the kiss meant nothing. It happened so you didn’t get caught. Good god, it was Draco Malfoy, probably the last person in this school you wanted to kiss (well, besides McLaggen). So no. This kiss didn’t mean anything.

“Y/N?”, you turned your head when Hermione said your name.

“Why are you staring at the Slytherins?”, she asked.

You shrugged but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “No reason. I was thinking.”

She frowned. Ginny and Harry looked at each other in confusion.

“So? What is it?”, you asked.

“Right, um, we wanted to ask if you’d like to come play Quidditch with us?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you play Quidditch?”

“Ron taught me over the summer,” she smiled at her boyfriend. “Besides, they have to try out for the team in two weeks anyways so why not practice a little.”

You looked at Ron who stared at his plate. He probably felt as comfortable with the thought of you playing together as you did. The way he avoided your eyes made you angry though.

“No, sorry”, you quickly said and suddenly stood up. “Homework.” This was it. You had to leave.

 ***

You gritted your teeth angrily as you made your way up the stairs. God, you still hated him for how he treated you three months ago. You were supposed to be friends and he fucked it all up. Now you could barely stand the sight of him and every encounter left you feeling like you needed to punch a brick wall.

Being so lost in your thoughts, you almost ran around the corner, crashing into someone.

“Watch it, Y/L/N!”

Great.

“Watch it yourself, Malfoy!”, you snapped.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of you, one hand in the pocket of his pants, the other gripping your arm to prevent you from falling down. It must have been out of instinct because as soon as he realized he was touching you, he let go as if you were a hot plate.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” he stated dryly.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, lowering the tone of your voice a little. “And let me through.”

He did neither. “Did McLaggen find you after all?!”

“None of your business, Malfoy!” With that, you pushed him aside and continued walking down the corridor. You were too mad for Malfoys bullshit.

“Y/L/N!” Apparently he was particular talkative this morning.

You ignored him.

“I couldn’t care less for your obvious boy troubles –”

Who did he think he was?!

“– however, I still have something that belongs to you.”

This made you stop dead in your tracks and turn around. “What?”, you asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

He smirked. “Your shoe.”

Oh. Oops.

Annoyed, you shrugged. “So give it back to me.”

“It’s in the Slytherin common room.”

“I’d rather die than go down there.”

“I’d change the attitude if I were you. After all, you want something from me,” his voice grew colder.

You were unimpressed by that. “Make me,” you shot back.

There it was again – that look on his face. The same look he had yesterday as he gazed over your body in the small room. It made you shiver – and for a second you weren’t sure if it was the good or the bad kind of shiver.

Then he smirked again: “Quidditch field. Tonight after dinner.” And while he already started walking backwards he added: “I’d rather die than be caught talking to a Gryffindor.”

Goddamn Slytherins.

***

It was unusually cold for a September night. You shivered and zipped up your jacket, regretting that you didn’t bring a scarf. No student or teacher seemed to be outside at this time, only the occasional crow flying above your head and the rustling of leaves accompanied you on your way to the Quidditch field.

The reason why Malfoy chose the Quidditch field of all places to give you back your shoe was beyond your knowledge. Yet you didn’t complain. In about half an hour, your friends would join you. Before the war, this was one of your favourite spots to just hang out and talk.

When you arrived on the field, it took you a while to spot Malfoy. He sat way up on the bleachers. You groaned and made your way up the stairs. Malfoy didn’t notice that you came as he was busy writing something in a small green notebook. Huh. Interesting.

He flinched when you sat down beside him and quickly closed the book.

“What are you writing?”, you asked curiously.

Malfoy pretended not to hear your question and instead reached inside his bag. “Here,” he pulled out your shoe, handing it to you.

“Thanks,” you put in the small bag you brought. “So what are you writing?”

He looked at you with an annoyed expression. “You have what you want so you can go.”

“You’re no fun, Malfoy.”

“Says the Gryffindor.”

“Excuse me?”, you raised an eyebrow. “We’re more fun than all the Slytherins combined.”

“Right,” he scoffed.

Still, you didn’t move or leave so with a sigh, he added: “Do you have no friends to bother?”

You grinned. “I do. In fact, they’ll be here in –”, you took a look at your watch, “– twenty minutes.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Perfect.”

“Why did you tell me to meet you here?”

“I was gonna be here anyways,” he shrugged. “Easier to make you come to me.”

You ignored his sly remark. “You were going to be here anyways? Alone?”

Another shrug.

Leaning back, you watched Malfoy from the side. He had dark circles under his eyes and kept his gaze focused on the field, his fingers playing with the sides of the notebook. Something (beside you sitting next to him) bothered him.

“So what was up with you this morning?”, he broke the silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “As if you care.”

“No,” he admitted. “But you’re obviously not leaving until your friends come and that question might make you stop staring at me.”

You chuckled softly. Then you realized that he was actually waiting for an answer. “Nothing important.”

“I figured.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Probably,” Malfoy stated without any emotion in his voice.

You were silent for a few seconds. Part of you wanted to get up and leave. After all, Malfoy was probably the last one you could trust. He didn’t care and it was literally none of his business. You didn’t even like each other. Keeping it simple and vague was probably the best approach: “Dumb stuff, really. Like you said – boy troubles.”

Malfoy shifted without noticing it, turning his body more towards you, leaning in a little. “Well, now I’m curious. Who managed to make Y/L/N this mad and can he teach me?”

“I don’t know if you’re keen on Ron being your teacher,” the sentence just slipped out. You regretted it right away.

Malfoys eyes widened. “No fucking way.” Then he began to smirk – that evil, ‘I’m-better-than-you’-smirk he had perfected over the years.

Your face felt like it was on fire and you were glad it was getting dark already. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the blush. “Oh, be quiet!”

“Weasley?”, he scoffed, not believing it. He stared at you with quite the interest now. There seemed to be a lot more to you than he would have guessed. “How the fuck did that happen? Isn’t he dating the … isn’t he dating Granger?”

You knew what he wanted to call her but were surprised that he stopped himself. That never happened before.

“Yes, he is,” you mumbled and gave him a suggestive look.

This caused Malfoy to laugh. It was a dry, short laugh. He leaned back a little. “You’re kidding, right? Fucking hell, Weasel managed to not only screw you but do so while dating Granger?”

“I like how eloquently you phrased that,” you said sarcastically.

He ignored you. “How did that happen?”

“Okay, first of all”, you began, “… they weren’t dating when it happened. I’m not a homewrecker, that’s probably more of a Slytherin thing.”

“Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“Does Granger know you two f–”

“Geez, Malfoy, watch your language,” you interrupted him quickly, before you added: “And no.”

“So cheating isn’t a Gryffindor thing but lying is?”, Malfoy concluded, smirking again. “Good to know.”

“Oh, shut up,” you raised your chin. You were right about this in the beginning – you shouldn’t have told him anything. How were you supposed to get this right? Even though there was no reason for you to explain yourself to him, you still felt the need to: “They were going through a crisis and broke up and well … I spent a few weeks with their family and I always considered Ron a good friend but … but something happened. And then he ended things with me and got back together with Granger. Well, he got back together with her first and announced it in front of everyone, including me.”

“That’s how he told you that you two were over?”

You nodded. “Yup.”

“Phew,” Malfoy let out a whistle. “Wow. I must admit, I’m impressed.”

“Sure you are.”

Suddenly Malfoys facial expression changed from amusement to confusion. “So what’s the big deal now? You two screwed a few times and now he’s playing house with Granger again.”

You sent him another suggestive glance which caused him to let out another laugh.

“Please don’t tell me you got feelings for the Weasel,” he said in complete disbelief. Then his eyes suddenly began to wander further down and you realized he was looking at your … body. Rude. Before you got the chance to put him in his place, he simply said: “You can do a lot better, y’know.”

Oh. This was unexpected. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks again and felt actually a little flattered by his words. Yet, they confused you. Why would he give a Gryffindor a compliment?! Was there a hidden insult in it? Maybe a slight undertone you didn’t notice?

“It goes without saying that this conversation stays between us,” you cleared your throat. “No one knows about this whole mess except Ginny. And you.”

Malfoy nodded. “You put an awful lot of trust in me.”

“Don’t disappoint me then.”

The two of you were quiet for a few moments. It was almost completely dark by now and a nervous glance to your watch made you aware that Ginny and the rest of her friends might appear any second now. The silence grew uncomfortable after a while.

“What’s up with that whole engagement thing, you mentioned yesterday?”, you wanted to know, remembering that weird comment of him. “And don’t act all mysterious again. I told you my mess now you have to share yours.”

Malfoy snorted. “Ask away.”

This was easier than expected. “Are you dating the little Greengrass?” Totally understandable if he was – Astoria was the perfect mixture of smart and drop dead gorgeous. A lot of guys were into her.

“No.”

“She called you ‘honey’.”

“Yes.”

You frowned. “I’m confused.”

“Do I really have to explain to you how pureblood marriages work?”, Malfoy said with a mocking undertone.

“Of course not. I just thought we left that behind us when the war ended”, you remarked.

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “As if hundreds of years of tradition can be forgotten with one war.”

“So you’re forced to marry her?”, you tried to understand the situation better.

“No, it’s an arranged marriage which is not even official yet,” Malfoy shifted slightly. “Mother would like it because the Greengrass family is still respected and …”

“… rich.”

He glanced at you quickly. “We lost a lot.”

“I bet,” you scoffed.

Abruptly, Malfoy got up and grabbed his bag. “I should leave.”

Out of instinct, you extended your hand to reach for him but stopped just inches in front of his arm. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that”, you apologized. Feelings of guilt and pity appeared inside of you as you didn’t expect him to be so openly hurt by what you said. “I heard … well, everyone heard about the trials and your parents and all that. Sorry.”

Malfoy hesitated but then sat down again. His whole demeanour had changed in just seconds. He had almost been … approachable but now the look in his eyes was as cold as ice again.

You cleared your throat. “Do you want to marry her?”

He didn’t answer right away. You wondered what went through his head in this moment.

“I don’t ask myself that.”

The answer didn’t surprise you. “Why not?”, you tried to dig deeper.

Again, a few seconds passed before he mumbled: “No, I don’t want to marry her. I hardly know her.”

“Hmm,” you nodded. “Does she want to marry you?”

“I don’t know”, he gave a half shrug. “She had a thing with Zabini over the summer so I guess … I’m probably not her first choice.”

The answer to all of his problems seemed so easy, you thought. Yet it would be met with much apprehension. Traditional pureblood families like his were difficult when it came to this stuff.

Knowing what his reaction would be, you still had to say it: “So don’t get engaged.” Before he could reply, you raised your hand. “Yeah, I know, traditions and all that bullshit. Why don’t you just start breaking traditions?”

Malfoy shook his head. “My family works a little different than yours.

“Not that different to be honest”, you whispered under your breath.

He heard you and you were met with a very confused look. When you didn’t elaborate, he continued talking: “Anyways, I can’t. I could try to postpone but I’d need a very convincing reason.”

“Like?”

“Another girl from a good family.”

“And?”

“And what?”

A grin appeared on your face. “There are at least ten girls I can name right away who’d love to get a shot with you.”

Seriously, even most of the Gryffindor girls your age had been crushing on Malfoy at least once. He was very attractive and clever and that whole ‘bad boy’-act made quite a few girls weak in their knees. You had noticed this too but being so close friends with Ginny and Harry those thoughts never found room to grow inside of you. In your mind, Malfoy had always been an arrogant jerk. Still is, you corrected yourself quietly.

“Have you spoken with them since I became a –”

… a Death Eater, you finished the sentence in your head. Looking at the young man in front of you, wearing his school scarf while sitting in a sports stadium, the whole concept of him being a dangerous criminal just seemed absurd to you.

“Besides it’s a dumb idea”, he continued. “It would be a fake relationship and no one in their right mind would agree to that.” He let out a dry laugh. “Only a Gryffindor can think of something like that.”

In that moment, your eyes met. Never before did you notice the unusual colors in them like you did now. The piercing grey reminded you of storm clouds on an autumns day. Yeah, a fake relationship. Who in their right mind would … Unless …

The sudden thought that appeared in your mind made you flinch. He seemed to be thinking the same when he quickly broke the eye contact, straightening up and staring over at the field.

You got up in a rush, swinging your back over your shoulder. To your big relief, Ginny and your friends had just entered the Quidditch field. Their laughter echoed through the whole area.

„I should go. There’s Ginny.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“Thanks for the shoe.” Could this situation be any more awkward?! You doubted it. Hastily you turned around and almost stumbled over your own feet when you made our way back to the stairs. Something else came suddenly to your mind.

“Oh, and Malfoy?”, you stopped. He didn’t turn to look at you but you knew he heard you by the way he slightly moved his head. “I know a lot of fucked up stuff happened and pureblood families are the worst but … but don’t spend the rest of the year sitting here alone. I bet that there are still quite a few of your Slytherin friends that want to spend time with you.”

There was nothing you expected him to say in response to that so it surprised you when he suddenly said your name. “Y/L/N?”

“Yes?”

“Get over Weasley. It’s beneath you.”

You were glad he didn’t see the big grin on your face.

 ***

Ginny was surprised to see you coming down the stairs and running across the field. She wondered what you did up there and frowned when he saw a guy sitting there with the all too familiar white-blond hair.

“Is that Malfoy up there? Were you talking to him?”, she wanted to know when you finally reached the group.

“Oh, um,” you stuttered. “We ran into each other.

Ginny squinted her eyes. “Right”, she doubted. “How did you –”

Bang! You let out a short scream at the sudden noise.

“Sorry!” Someone shouted and a very distressed looking Seamus Finnigan appeared behind dark smoke.

“What the hell did you do?” Ginny squeaked and with that she forgot all about Malfoy.

You looked back up to where he was sitting just a minute ago. He was gone now. A weird feeling was left inside of you after the rather unusual conversation you had with the Slytherin. You shook your head, trying to get rid of it and turned your full attention back to your friends.

***

I hope you like it! I’d love to hear what you thought about it! <3

CHAPTER 4

“Choose Me Instead”-Masterlist HP-Masterlist Tag List: @writerdee1701​, @youareinllve​, @sjmahoney​, @detroitobsessed​, @takura-rin​, @jadam268​, @wynterwind​, @mina672 , @renaissance-confiance​, @harpoon999​, @doitforthevine67​, @rinasrights​, @flowerpowerpixie​, @gold-flowing​, @starkssnarks​, @bookcornerkins​, @harpersmariano​, @markedsweetly​, @iraniq​, @pointlesscoconut​, @hvrcruxes​, @pillowjj​, @idkatee​, @jungjxxhyun, @magicwithaknife​, @graystherapy​

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! <3

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.10]

Pairings:  Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death. **Smut.** 18+ please and thanks. 

A/N:  This chapter has my whole Goddamn heart. I wasn’t planning on posting. I am just going to see how this goes y’all. As always  my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky​​​​​​ made sure this wasn’t trash and I adore her. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

The last month has been the hardest thirty days since Steve died and the heartache you were feeling had nothing to do with that loss.

Things between you and Bucky have been awkward since his late night confession. You didn’t know how to feel about any of this. Bucky admitting he loved you when you were kids was not something you ever saw as a possibility. Or maybe you convinced yourself it wasn’t one. Looking back now, there were moments that it was obvious. Right there in your face, shining brighter than the sun, and you chose to ignore it. Even after you married Steve, there were times you caught Bucky staring in such a way it stole your breath; he never tried to hide it, or at least he wasn’t great at hiding it. He became angry with you every time you attempted to set him up with someone, and then there was the night out, everyone had been drinking and things were said that shouldn’t have been. The jealousy you felt at the thought of Bucky finding another girl pretty enough to take her home still stings. You hadn’t realized it was jealousy until now, but it was. The anger in Bucky’s eyes that same night when he told you not everyone could be as amazing as your husband — he couldn’t be Steve. 

You’ve never wanted Bucky to be Steve. Now you were wondering if he even knew that?

While the truth made everything a lot clearer, that didn’t mean that any of it made sense. If anything, things between you only became more complicated now that you knew his secrets. Bucky felt the divide as much if not more than you, and began spending more time away from the house. It started with taking his bike out for a drive that would last several hours at a time. He would come home long after you had fallen asleep and you suspected it was so he wouldn’t have to talk about all the things that needed to be said. You didn’t want to talk. You just wanted to lay with him. 

Things quickly spun out from there.

More and more, his days were spent with Sam or visiting his mom. What could you say? Please stay here with me instead of visiting your mother and sister? It wasn’t like when he first came home. Not that you were anywhere close to being healed or normal or whatever everyone around you expected you to be, but you could get up and live. You didn’t need him to be the crutch that kept you breathing. You could breathe all on your own. So, you let him go without a word, hoping things would go back to normal. Or, a new normal? You didn’t want to forget everything that was shared or pretend you weren’t feeling the way you’ve been feeling these last few months. You did want Bucky; you wanted him back home with you. You know how selfish it made you, and you didn’t care. 

That selfishness quickly turned into desperation. You were desperate to have him back, you tried over and over to make plans. Resorting to scheduling time with your best friend, the man who lived in your house just to get some time alone with him, but it was next to impossible. There have been more canceled plans than plans followed through the last three weeks. Bucky was avoiding you. There was no point in sugar-coating it to spare your feelings. Most nights he spent away from you were spent with Sam, and you knew that. Still, it hurt to know he simply didn’t want to be around you. When Bucky finally makes his way home, he always smells like bourbon. Those evenings you spend alone, but on the rare occasions he does come back in time to sleep with you, he sleeps facing you so you could rest your forehead against his chest or bicep. 

Even those moments were few and far between lately thanks to an incident two weeks ago. Bucky stumbled into bed thinking you were asleep, and in his tipsy state, he whispered some things that will forever be etched into your memories.

“I should have chased after you—that night. I should have made sure you knew I loved you,” you could hear the disgust in his voice, and you wanted to sit up and tell him you were awake. You shouldn’t be listening to this when he never meant for you to know these secrets. “I should have told Dot to go find someone else because I belonged to you. Had since we met. Wouldn't have changed much, though. Once Steve kissed you, I could see it, it was like you woke up or somethin’. I’ve never seen you smile at anyone like that. Let alone at me.” 

It was silent after that, and you thought he had fallen asleep, but then you felt him press a kiss to the side of your head, and he whispered into the dark, “Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to tell you when you’re awake.” 

He didn’t know how much you knew, but it was clear just saying the words out loud pushed you further away. You hated this and wished you could take it back. You wished you never brought up that night and kept your childish notions to yourself. If only you could take it all back, change the way you felt then maybe things would be okay again. 

The house was quiet when you snuck in the back door. You told Bucky this morning you would be gone all night, out with Wanda for a girl’s night so that he could have the house all to himself. That part was genuine. You had gone out, but the longer you were out, and the more time you spent away from Bucky, the more you wanted to be with him. You ended up calling it an early evening and waited in the dark until you saw Bucky head out onto the back porch with a small glass in his hand. 

He hasn’t wanted to see you lately, anyway. 

Steve’s hidden stash of whiskey was on the counter, and your heart hurt at the sight. You catch sight of Bucky leaning on the back porch, red dot glowing between his lips and three fingers of amber liquid floating in his glass. You quickly scurried upstairs and crept into your room, opening the door just enough to slip in because the squeak in the hinge will give you away. You heard the glass doors off the kitchen shut and a glass clinking against another, you closed your eyes and forced yourself to stay put and get ready for bed. There was nothing you could do to help him when he didn't want to see you. 

Bucky trudged up the stairs, carrying his bruised and beaten heart behind him. The soft yellow light spilling into the hallway from your bedroom had him stopping. Your door cracked several inches. It wasn’t like that before. He slowly moved towards the open door enough to spot you standing in front of the long dresser on the far side of your bed by the bay window. You were slowly undoing the buttons of your shirt after shimming out of your jeans, and Bucky couldn’t move even though he knew he shouldn’t be watching you like this. You didn’t need to hear the tiny exhale he let out to know he was standing there. You could feel him. Standing there nearly naked with your grey flannel (Bucky’s shirt technically) unbuttoned and hanging open leaving your black lace bra and black cotton boyshorts on display, you should feel embarrassed or self- conscious. You didn’t. You glanced up from the floor, locking eyes with him. Neither of you says a word. Bucky slowly stepped one foot into your room, making sure it was okay before moving any further. When you make no move to throw him out or curse him for even considering this to be okay, he slowly moves across the wood floor with careful steps on bare feet. 

His eyes fell to the black lace taking you in as if it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you. Bucky looked back up and met your eyes as he slowly reached out, running a thumb down the soft, thin material covering your breast. You inched forward, settling your hands on his ribs, clutching the worn navy-colored fabric of his shirt between your fingers. Bucky’s head tilted his head just enough so he could run his nose down yours, and he smiled when you tilted your chin towards him. His hands came to rest on the sides of your face, and he let his lips ghost over your skin. They hovered over your cheeks, the corners of your mouth, but never touched your lips. When your mouth fell open, lips barely parting he took his chance and tentatively pressed his lips against yours, softly letting them linger there for the longest three seconds of your life. Bucky scanned your face looking for any sign of regret the moment he pulled back, and when he found none, his lips claimed yours again this time without hesitation or uncertainty. 

The kiss was gentle despite the desperate want behind it and not at all what you thought kissing Bucky would be like. He was in no rush for this to be over. His lips moved over yours, slow and delicately. He tasted like whiskey from the bottle you knew was still resting on the counter downstairs, and there was a faint smell of cigarettes lingering on his shirt. He always smoked when he was distressed and hurting, and you hated it. With the way he was gently parting your lips with his own, smoking was the last thing on your mind. You honestly didn’t know what you expected but, kissing him like this made you dizzy, and when your knees went weak from the high, Bucky kept you from falling.

His right hand fell to your back, pressing firmly into your skin as he walked you backward until you bumped into the dresser behind you, giving your shaking legs support. The lamp that sits atop the old wooden chest wobbled and fell back into the curtain, dulling the soft yellow light, leaving a more delicate peach hue to fill the room. It stayed where it fell. Neither of you daring to let go of the other. Bucky hands have yet to leave your skin, much like his lips and you wanted it to stay that way. You didn’t have a lot of experience kissing, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never reached inside and grabbed a piece of you, stealing your breath and maybe a bit of your soul. 

A sweet sigh led to several short soft kisses that allowed you to catch your breath. With closed eyes, Bucky pressed one last honeyed kiss to your lips, and his forehead fell onto yours. You were trembling but not in the way you thought you would be when you found yourself here again. Bucky looked apprehensive when his eyes opened, the hand on your back pressed further into your skin, and he took a deep breath. 

“We can blame it on the whiskey,” Bucky whispered, his breath warming your swollen lips. 

That would be the easy thing to do. Blame all of this on the alcohol; tonight and the bonfire. You could end whatever this was before it became messier. Tell Bucky to leave, sleep in your bed for once, and wake up in the morning, pretending that Bucky didn’t just steal your heart with a simple kiss. You could do all that, and Bucky would act as if it never happened. There would be no guilt or shame he forced on you for wanting to take it all back. He would still love you the way he always has. That was the right thing to do, and that’s what you should tell him. 

“I haven’t had any,” you whispered back instead. 

Bucky gave you a sad smile and shrugged his shoulder. "We could still blame it on the whiskey." 

There was the out if you wanted to take it. You weren’t sure if it was an out for you or him. It was hanging there in the air regardless. If only things were as simple as walking away and forgetting. You’ve been straddling the two lives, two versions of you for long enough, and you were so tired of faking it. 

“I don’t want to be sad anymore, Bucky. I’m tired of being sad, and I’m so tired of pretending.” 

“Pretending?” Bucky questioned. You could hear his heartbeat, you could swear it. It was hard and fast, pounding with uncertainty against his chest. 

“What part of you has been pretending?” 

It’s terrifying how one simple question can change everything. 

“The only part of me that’s real is one tied to you.” 

You were playing with fire, but you’ve always had a way of finding trouble, and Bucky’s always been fond of the kind of trouble you were made of.

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that so he let his hands say all the things he couldn’t. They brushed gingerly down your sides, lightly running down to the top of your thighs and playing along the edge of the black cotton covering you. You wanted to memorize the way his fingertips felt on your skin in case you never again get the chance to feel them. His hands were rough in the right places and soft where they needed to be. The roughened calloused thumb and forefinger and that thin line running down his middle finger through his right palm to his wrist -- an incident with a knife while they were deployed a few years ago. 

He reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head, and your hands immediately found his skin trailing soft fingers over the various scars. New ones you’ve never seen and some old ones that made your skin crawl from the haunting memory. The scarred skin on his left shoulder left you with that queasy feeling. You almost lost him that time. They nearly took his arm, and you could still hear Steve’s voice in your ear, desperate and tear-filled coming down a scratchy satellite phone to tell you that Bucky may not be coming home. 

Your lips brush over the scar from the bullet that ripped through his shoulder nearly taking him from you and Bucky’s breath hitched at the contact. You wished you could take that pain for him. You know how much it still bothers him, especially when it’s cold, and there are nightmares tied to the scars that won’t leave him alone. If you could, you would take those, too. You slowly pull back to find him watching you intently. There’s a long pause from you both. Did he need the assurance that you both wanted this, and it wasn’t a mistake? Did you? His breath heavy, the desperate want between you making the air thick and hard to breathe. The silence in the room was overwhelming, and it was the confirmation you both needed. 

Bucky’s left hand came up to grip your hair, and he pulled you forward with a gentle demand, swiftly claiming your lips. Rough fingers push the sleeve of his flannel from your shoulders enough that it fell onto the floor on its accord. There’s a kiss to each shoulder as he nudges the straps of your bra off your shoulders, unhooking it with one hand and letting it join the pile at your feet. You briefly wonder how many times and with how many other women he's done this. How many of his one-night stands has he touched like this? The thought was quickly extinguished when you felt his lips gently land on the tip of your nose. He bumped your noses together, wearing a small smile when he kisses the corner of your mouth and presses a sweeter, softer kiss to your lips. 

He’s never done this before. He was making sure you know it’s never been this way with anyone. He's never held anyone the way he's holding you now, nor does he want to. 

Bucky urged you back towards the side of your bed, stopping right before the mattress could brush the back of your legs. He hesitated, glancing from the bed back to you. It was a question. Did you want to do this here? Because he would understand if you didn’t. There wasn’t much of a question in your mind despite his worry. Your fingers land on his belt, slowly undoing it and pulling it from the loops. It was okay to want this, and it was okay to want this here. Bucky wasn’t a dirty secret or something shameful you had to keep hidden. 

There was nothing shameful or dirty about what you felt for Bucky.  

Kicking his jeans to the side, Bucky dropped to his knees in front of you, he grasped behind your knees and pulled your legs out from under you dropping you back onto the bed. You squealed softly and Bucky’s deep chuckle followed, making you shiver. With thumbs hooked in the waist of your panties, he slowly tugged them down, kissing each ankle as your foot slipped free. The room felt hot. Maybe it was the fan spinning on low or the heat of Bucky’s shoulders under your legs. It could be how he was staring up at you with his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen and his hands sliding up to cup your ass, lifting your hips to meet his mouth. 

A lecherous moan bounced off the walls and Bucky hummed against you. It didn’t take much. The first feel of his tongue and your legs were quivering around his ears. The intention was to taste you, not tease you until you were begging for release. It was easy to tell with the way he devoured you from the moment his lips were on you. He wanted to savor the sweet taste on his lips. You simply couldn’t stop your pleas for more. You couldn’t fight it. The burn from his beard on your thighs and the strokes of his tongue had you squirming. He didn’t relent until you were writhing and coming undone under him.

Bucky stood between your legs, panting, and still wearing the evidence of your orgasm glistening on his lips. You couldn’t take it another second. Leaning up onto your elbows you tangled the chain from tags around your hand, pulling him to you. The kiss is wet and frantic. Not like before. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it only spurred you on. Your hands were steady, rushed but steady, as you tugged his boxers down. Bucky’s hand lands on top of yours, slowing your movements. He needed this slow. You both did. There was a breathy, please that fell from someone’s lips. Neither of you are sure whose. 

With a gentle push to his chest, you guide him to sit back against the headboard. His necklace fell back to his chest, gripping his biceps with both hands to steady yourself as you straddle his waist, and Bucky’s hands came up swiftly, gripping your hips and halting you from sinking down on him. His eyes frantically roam your skin, his thoughts were racing and you could hear every one of them as if they were your own. He’s searching for the truth in all this. Is this all something he imagined? If he takes the chance will you fall with him or is he on his own? It’s the same thought making your legs tremble. You pressed your forehead against his and took a deep breath.  

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You can fall, Bucky. I'm right here with you.”  

Something about your words made the tension he was holding dissipate and left him with an easy smile. His grip on your hips slowly loosened, the shake in his hands steadied as you pressed a kiss to his lips and you sank down on him. His head tilted back against the headboard and his mouth fell open at the feel of you clenching around him. You didn’t move for a moment, giving you both a minute to adjust. Allowing your head a chance to catch up to your heart. The hand on your waist slid around your backside, urging you to move with a gentle tap. Fingertips wandered every inch of your skin, exploring every inch of you as he watched you breathless and rocking against him. 

His palm comes to rest over your heart, closing his eyes as your heart thumped against his palm letting him know this was real. You were here with him, and this was no dream. 

It was quiet save for the creek of the headboard, your heavy breaths, and Bucky’s soft, guttural moans he couldn’t stop. You came apart first. The sight of your mouth hanging open, gasping for breath, and quivering in his arms pushed Bucky over the edge. He came clutching your thighs and whispering your name. It was a pretty sight.  

Your bottom lip was still trembling long past the last wave when you asked if he felt the same thing you did. 

“Did you fall, too?” 

Bucky smiled at your question and cupped your face in his hands, kissing you sweet and sure between heavy breaths. 

“Yeah, Trouble. ‘Bout fifteen years ago.” 

You rest your forehead against his jaw and press a kiss to his neck—Bucky’s lips land on your shoulder, his beard tickling you enough to make you wriggle. Bucky grinned, wrapped an arm around your waist, and slipped down low enough to cover you with the sheet. There was a brief worry that you were cold, but you simply burrowed further into his chest, assured him you hadn’t felt this warm in a long time. You would both need to leave this bed and get cleaned up at some point, but for a few minutes longer, you could stay right where you were. 

Bucky had every intention of soaking in this moment that was never supposed to be. 

A conversation needed to be had. There would need to be explanations and assurances. None of this was planned. You hadn’t meant to fall for Bucky. He loved you in a way you didn’t fully understand. You wanted to though, if he was willing to show you. You wanted to let him love you. None of what you were feeling was intended, and it was never meant to be a replacement for what you had. He was different. It was something new—a new kind of old you never wanted to lose. 

New was nice, it turned out. 

Previous // Next 

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 3:  Quicksand

AN:  Okay, so this admittedly goes a little slow at the very beginning, more snooping and such, but I promise it picks back up about halfway through.  And will pick up from here on out.

Characters:  Levi, Vampire!Reader, Erwin, numerous BG characters

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Vampire!Reader

Warnings:  Language, Peril (Temporary)

Word Count:  6940

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

*Levi’s POV*

You could tell a lot about a person from how they treated animals.

For the Scouts, it was the horses especially that mattered, as they were one of the few lifelines out beyond the walls.  With how the horses had avoided L/N with everything they had, people in the vicinity would mutter about how she would never go beyond the walls at this rate, or how she had to be a bad person and the horses were sensing it.

That was one theory to go with.

However, as Levi continued to watch her, he never once saw her get angry or frustrated with them.  Sometimes there was sadness, or it looked like she was on the edge of admitting defeat, but she continued to approach them with patient understanding, as if she knew exactly what they were afraid of, and was asking them not to be because she couldn’t change it.

Gradually, the dappled grey allowed her to come closer and closer.  They started having problems giving someone else the job of cleaning the stables because she was spending so much of her free time in there, and she would clean while there to allow her to spend more time around the horses and give her something else to do besides just sitting there waiting for skittish horses to calm down.  She was smart enough to know that she needed more than just one to calm down around her, though she was still putting in the work to form a bond with at least one.  In case she was ever in a position where she needed another horse, though, it seemed she wanted the other horses to at least be comfortable with her presence--hence all the time spent in the stables.

If she wasn’t out in the field walking with the mare, then she was inside by the horse’s stall, leaning against the wall or sitting against the door.  Then, at long last, she could be seen walking around side by side with her horse, the lead short and fairly loose.  And after a few days holding a treat into the stall and waiting for the horse to feel comfortable coming up to her to eat it out of her hand, she finally made it /into/ the stall.  Her hard work was paying off, as now she could be found inside the stall, gently brushing the dappled grey mare while she spoke in soft tones to the horse, continuing to build up the trust and bond between the two of them.

As Levi stepped into the stables, he could hear her speaking softly with the mare, her words underlined with each thoughtful brush stroke.

“There we go...that’s a good girl...see, just like I said, nothing to be afraid of.  I know I’m scary, you all remind me every time I come in here, but I’m not going to hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt anyone--I’m just here to help.  See, that feels much better, doesn’t it?  I’m not going to hurt you.  I promise as long as I’m around, nothing’s going to hurt you.  There we go...Steady...Shh…”

Levi’s head turned slightly at the subject of her rambling, his gaze following down the line until he spotted the stall his horse was in, not far from L/N’s horse.

“You don’t mind all my rambling, do you, Zephyr?  It’s nice to talk to someone, even if they’re not going to talk back.  I haven’t had anyone to talk to in…”  She grew quiet, and even the brushing stopped for a moment.  Curious.  “...too long,” she finished, her voice hardly above a whisper.

She seemed to quiet down entirely as Levi risked stepping into the stables, and he realized he had been heard, or at the very least she’d become aware she wasn’t by herself.  Continuing forward casually, Levi turned his head to look into the stable as he passed, spotting L/N with the brush set off to the side and currently working on undoing any tangles in Zephyr’s mane.  Their eyes met for a moment, and Levi paused.

“Will she let you ride her, yet?”

She turned away, the faintest touch of red entering her cheeks at the mention of her trouble with the horses.  “Not yet.  But I don’t think it will be much longer before she does.”

Levi’s gaze swept over the stable, kept immensely clean with fresh straw, water, and food, and the coat on the horse smooth and lustrous.  At this rate, the mare was going to be more of a show horse than a war horse.

“You’re not slacking anywhere else, are you?” Levi asked as his gaze slipped over the pristine stall and back to her.  A stall didn’t get that clean without a lot of constant work.

“No, sir.  This is where I was lacking the most, so it’s getting more of my attention.  But I’m making sure other parts of my training aren’t suffering.”

Well, he’d be the judge of that.  With the way she held up in training, any degree of slipping would be easy to spot.

Levi resumed what he was doing, walking deeper into the stables to check on his horse, which he planned to take for a brief ride to stretch his legs.  “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” he added before L/N left his field of vision.  The stable was quiet for a few moments, broken only by the sound of Levi getting his horse ready to go.

So quietly he almost didn’t hear it, Levi got a reply.

“This one I can keep.”

Earlier in the day, Levi had jumped on the chance to get a more personal glimpse at L/N, taking over the cleanliness checks in the barracks, much to everyone else’s dismay.  He was well aware that his standards were far above everyone else’s, but today they were just going to have to deal with it, and step it up.  On the bright side, as he walked down the lines of beds, he was able to see who was terrible at doing a decent cleaning job and who had potential.

He gave criticisms at every bed--dust, missed spots, trying to hide part of the mess under the beds, half-assed jobs, on and on the list went.  When he got to L/N…

Now this was starting to get creepy.

His practiced eye swept over her space as she stood at attention just off to the side, taking in the bed spread smoothed of wrinkles, the dusted and wiped down surfaces, everything tucked away, floor swept and clean in her area--even a little into the surrounding spaces.  There wasn’t anything in the way of personal effects, though--not out in the open, anyway.

It was immaculate.  Up to his standards practically to a T.  It was an unexpected discovery, amongst the many things he thought he’d see.  He thought he might see a personal effect here or there that would give him a bit more on her personality, but there was nothing he could see during a cleanliness inspection.

He’d have to come back later.

Shit, I’m starting to sound like a goddamn stalker.

Carefully, Levi ran a hand on the underside of the bed, the nightstand, anywhere there might be dirt left over, and came away with nothing.

She was the only one he walked by without saying anything, because he had no critiques to give.  He wondered if she was always this clean, or she’d heard he was doing the inspections and pulled off a miracle.

He went back when there was no one around to do a more thorough search, still believing that she might have something that would tip him off a little more.  Frankly, if he continued to find a complete lack of personal effects, that would bolster his suspicions as well, because it signified something to be hidden or something that was trying to be forgotten, or a preparation to run at a moment’s notice.

He didn’t know what he would find, if anything, but if it was another lead, he would take it.

The barracks were currently empty, and he had made sure they’d be empty for a while, choosing the time there was a morning drill going on for the new recruits to sneak in and do some digging.

First he checked the footlocker at the end of her bed, opening it up and carefully shifting through.  Mostly it was made up of uniform clothes, a pair of nice plainclothes, a pair of casual plainclothes, a couple more comfortable workout clothes, a plain black cloak--

His hand paused on the cloak.  It looked like it could be the one being worn by the person he’d pursued and lost that one night.  Not a confirmation, but it was further evidence she was sneaking out at night, even if he hadn’t seen her face.

Finding nothing else suspicious in the footlocker, Levi checked under the bed and found only dress shoes and casual shoes, and then moved onto the nightstand.

Here, he found a book from the library on herbology with a bookmark on custom tea blends, as well as a tin of some of the said tins.  There was quite a bit of chamomile and mint from the whiff he was immediately hit with upon checking inside the tin, with a couple other blends--but mostly the chamomile and mint.  Inside, he also found a tightly bound bundle of white sage in a cloth covering, blank sheets of paper, more writing utensils than he would have expected, and a leather bound folio.  Opening it revealed no official documents missing from her background, no personal letters or intercepted reports.

Inside, it was gorgeous artwork.  Sketches of the horses in various poses of rest or activity, of the scenery around Wall Rose, a sketch of one of the few mansions in the district, and--

Levi paused, eyes widening as he stilled, the silence in the room pressing in on him.  His mind flashed back to just the other day, when he’d seen Zephyr out in the field away from the other horses, laying down and looking contently about, but not moving.  He’d only been able to make out part of L/N through the long grass, leaning against the horse with her knees pulled up, looking lost in something.  He’d assumed it was a book from the distance where he was once more leaning against the wall in the shadows of the stables, or that she was writing something.

Amongst the more recent drawings of the horses, there was a portrait of him, leaning against that wall at the stables, arms crossed, head slightly bowed but eyes centered on the observer, or, in this case, the artist.  Even the shade was accounted for, making the features a little more difficult to make out, but they were still clear and detailed.

She’d seen him well enough at that distance to make out and sketch his features in this detail?  Or had some of it been visualization?

More importantly, it was pretty much confirmation that she knew he was watching her.

Levi closed the folio, putting everything back in its proper place with care, feeling intrusive and out of place now that he’d failed to come up with anything malicious in nature.  There were only a couple things that made him uneasy with the implications, never anything that proved to be outright dangerous, as always.  And he couldn’t exactly say anything about the sketch of himself without her knowing he’d gone through her belongings.

Levi was gone long before the recruits returned to the barracks from their drill.

She’d slipped away from the main group after the next combat training session, hanging back and going a different direction than the rest of the group.  Levi had a brief moment where he thought she might be slipping away to the same place she went at night, and had followed her on the off chance that was the case.

She ended up going to a quiet corner of the Scout headquarters, at a corner of buildings near the forest that no one bothered with.  Once there, she kneeled down, tending to a cluster of plants that was lined up in the familiar form of a small garden.  It was fairly new, too, from what Levi could see, which told him she probably planted them herself not too long ago.  How long had she been working on this little side project?

Just another one of his suspicions turning out to be harmless activity.  He was just about ready to write off his uneasy feeling as paranoia.

He could have just walked off and left her alone, but he lingered, waiting until she finished what she was doing and left before he quietly approached the garden to satiate his own curiosity.

Kneeling down, he realized that the tiny garden was made up of plants, mainly herbs, that could be used in tea making.  There were brushes of mint, chamomile, and lemongrass as the most notable plants, and near the corner where they would get full sun and could help hide the little herb garden there were even three freshly planted bushes, hibiscus, raspberry, and rose, with the flowering bushes meant to support the raspberry in the middle.  The soil was dark and the leaves had beads of water still on them that shined on his thumb after a careful stroke against a leaf to see it healthy and strong, showing that L/N had been by to water them.  They were doing fairly well, from what he could see, even though the plants were too young to harvest anything from.

Was she attempting to grow the materials to make her own tea blends so she wouldn’t have to spend much of her salary on tea?

Standing to leave as that pesky feeling of intrusion started to worm its way back into his mind, Levi caught sight of a small collection of white sage, directly out in the sun and recently planted, but noticeably far away from the other plants.  It was curious, the way it was planted so that it couldn’t be missed and could be easily avoided.  At the same time, though, it could just have been an aggressively growing plant that would take over the other plants if it got too close to them.  While he knew it could also be used in teas, it wasn’t as common...and he’d seen a bundle of the sage spikes tightly bound and covered in her nightstand.

What was so special about it?  Why did she have it?

Levi shook his head, turning to leave and mentally filing the questions about the white sage under “personal questions” instead of “suspicions.”

His suspicions weren’t entirely gone.  While he was getting a stronger sense of her character that caused his doubts about her to waver, he still had some glaring questions he couldn’t ignore that caused his wariness to endure...for now.

ODM gear training--another essential part to life in the Scouts.  At this point in time, it was a chance for officers to get a feel for the skills of the cadets first hand instead of just what it said on paper about their Cadet Corps training.

The trees here were thick, allowing perfect cover for their Titan dummies spread sporadically throughout the woods.  At the highest points in the trees, the officers stood on platforms to observe quietly, moving from platform to platform as needed while the recruits moved through the trees, watching the cadets zip around the forest looking for Titans.

Levi’s eyes, however, were drawn to the fact that Erwin was out here.  He knew for a fact that Erwin had better things to be doing than watching rookies try to hunt down dummies, but for some reason he was always near the same spot Levi was, his gaze fixed complacently in the same area, flickering in disinterest past most of the cadets.  If any of the rookies knew he was here, the word would spread like wildfire, and they might shift their attention to trying their damndest to impress the Commander instead of doing the drill properly.

But there was a gleam in Erwin’s eyes.  He was here for a reason.  Levi just didn’t know what it was, which unsettled him, but didn’t distract him from watching the recruits.

Erwin’s gaze caught Levi’s, and the faintest, unsettling smile appeared on his lips, gone in the next second as his attention was drawn towards an oncoming recruit who was high in the trees, apparently trying the high-ground tactic to spot a Titan before the others.  A terrible approach, really, since it allowed more tree cover for the Titans by adding more branches and foliage below the individual.

Levi started to turn away in disinterest, hearing the sound of another fast-approaching recruit coming towards them.  While the recruit was still in his peripherals, they disengaged the cables, ready to fire them into another tree to make a sharp turn.

Except the cables didn’t deploy.

The recruit let out a shriek and plummeted towards the ground from a dangerous height, gear malfunctioning and not sending out the cables to catch them on their way down.  Levi whipped around, hands flying out to his holstered ODM controls--

--Erwin didn’t look surprised by what was happening--

Someone darted in low and fast.  It was one of the recruits, the one that had already been moving in their direction, and as such, was in the best position to react first.

Of all the people it could have been, it was L/N.

She wasn’t using any gas, her falling momentum casing her to come in low and fast to the ground, cables deploying at the last moment to even out her fall and propel her forward, her back running parallel with the ground as she shot towards the falling cadet.  When she was close enough, she angled herself back up to intercept the recruit, gas propelling her up into the air instead of her momentum.  There was an audible thud and grunt as they collided, L/N’s arm wrapped around the fallen recruit’s midriff as she twisted to fire another cable to bring herself up to safety.

The only problem was that there were two dummies in the direction she was flying, and the training didn’t stop because of a hiccup.

One of the dummies swung down and towards her, on a clear collision course if she didn’t see it and couldn’t react fast enough.  At least now it would hurt like a bitch but it wouldn’t be fatal.

L/N let loose a sudden burst of gas to speed up and rolled so she was facing the ground, back upwards and exposed to the falling dummy.  For a second, he thought she was going to take the brunt of the blow--which would mean death if this had been real.  She pulled herself upright at the last second, sailing right underneath where the dummy titan’s mouth would be, her body twisted out of reach of the dummy, and she kicked off the side of its neck to give herself another boost, cables firing upwards high into the trees and causing her to sore upwards, another brief burst of gas allowing her the momentum to keep her going upwards with the added weight still tucked against her side with one arm.

The second dummy swung out from behind the trees, fast enough to knock someone clean out of the air.  Instead of going under like she did the first time, she twisted again, keeping the recruit in her arms safe from impact.  She arched over him in an upside U, cables firing up and out to bring them safely onto a tree branch.  She set the other recruit down, a hand on their shoulder as she said something to them, checking their gear with them before waving for one of the other officers to come over and get the recruit.  Once the recruit who fell was guaranteed to be alright, she kicked off, doubling back to slice through the Titan dummy napes before disappearing back into the forest.

Levi looked back over at Erwin, able to immediately recognize that gleam in his eyes as Erwin looked out in the direction L/N had taken off towards.  It was the same look Levi saw in the Underground, back when they met.  Ulterior intentions or not, Erwin was going to do his damndest to make sure she was on their side in the end, and speaking from experience, Levi knew it was possible.

Releasing his grip on his ODM controls, Levi’s gaze flickered back over to the recruit that had fallen, that look he’d seen on Erwin’s face moments before it happened flashing through his mind.

I know you can’t guarantee finding the answers to all of your questions in such a short amount of time, but you could at least find out if she will have the back of her fellow scouts on the first expedition.

That had been planned, hadn’t it?  He wanted to test if she had her comrades backs in a moment of danger, and she had responded immediately and without hesitation.  Levi had to trust that there had been some kind of backup plan to make sure that recruit didn’t end up dead--Erwin wouldn’t have done something like that without having someone waiting in the wings in case L/N acted selfishly.

He was sure everyone was impressed after what she’d just pulled off even with someone under her arm, but part of him...wasn’t really surprised.  Then again, Levi was the only one who’d had a first hand taste of how strong she really was.  This was a reassurance that her other training had not slipped while she put so much effort into the horses, and was further confirmation at the asset she could be to them as a member of the Scouts.

Let’s hope she could keep that even head when it was Titan jaws snapping at her and not just wooden figures swinging her way.

He felt absolutely drained.

It was the night before the next expedition, and Levi found himself sitting alone in the mess hall, a cup of steaming tea resting on the table in front of him with his fingertips lingering lightly on the rim of the cup.  Ever since that first night he’d caught L/N sneaking out, he’d been staying up as much as possible to try and catch her sneaking out again.  He was already used to not sleeping much, but even he had his limits.  His eyelids were heavy, and his focus kept slipping, even as he tried to get down a cup of tea to help him sleep more soundly tonight so he would be at his best tomorrow.

He would finally get to see L/N in the field.  Erwin was still planning on keeping her in the formation where Levi would have her in his sights at all time so he could see how she did when it wasn’t training anymore.  Not to mention, he was looking forward to it.

His suspicions had started to die down in the back of his mind, giving way to glowing embers of a curiosity he figured would be satiated with time.  Perhaps that uneasiness in his gut had nothing to do with her trustworthiness, and he had simply been caught off guard by her abilities.  Perhaps the thought of a rookie already able to go toe to toe with him had unnerved him, and that was where the feeling originated.

The more he pried into her as a person, the less of a reason he found to be doubtful of her intentions.  The recruits who’d been in class with her had described her as cold and unsociable, someone up to trouble that was never discovered and far more skilled than she let on.  However, when he observed her and came within proximity to her, she was warm, and careful, and considerate, although he still did not miss the hesitation, the way she was ready to pull away at a moment’s notice and increase the distance once more, the way she seemed to always be holding something back…

But that didn’t mean she was a bad person.  If anything, he was worried about her because she seemed far more empathetic under the surface than she let on.  He’d seen the garden she tended to quietly, seen her artistic hobby, seen how she interacted with her horse Zephyr now that she was able to ride the mare.  Even if she didn’t have any close friends in the Scouts, she was close with that horse, spending most of her free time with Zephyr, brushing her, laying with her in the field while she drew or read, simply walking with her.

She seemed...gentle, at heart.  Before he knew it, he was softening towards her.  How could he see all of that, and not start to let go of his suspicions?  It’s why watching her had suddenly felt intrusive, why this final night he had stopped staring out the window watching for a hooded figure and come into the mess hall to seek tea to help him sleep instead of forcing himself to stay up all night again to keep an eye out for her slipping out into the night.

The silence was comforting, his limbs feeling heavy, head tilting downwards, fingers going limp around the empty cup as he slowly...nodded off…

He was so exhausted...

*Reader’s POV*

Your steps down the darkened halls of the Scout Headquarters were silent, your hood still drawn as you made your way deeper into the stone building.  While your face was still hidden in shadow, your hand did a careful rub around your mouth to be sure that you didn’t have any trace of your meal lingering on your face.

You hadn’t needed to sneak out for another bite, but considering you were going on an expedition tomorrow, you’d decided to play it safe and sneak out again to make sure you were fully satiated.  You needed to be at peak performance, and you needed to make sure your bloodlust was fully satiated in case you found yourself in the middle of a bloodbath.

The last thing you needed was to lose control in front of everyone and feed off of a fellow Scout.  All the pleading and rationalizing in the world wasn’t going to save you from a vengeful blade or banishment in that kind of situation.

Once you were sure there wasn’t any blood on your face, you lowered your hood, quietly making your way into the barracks and retrieving one of your bought chamomile tea bags before slipping away to the mess hall.  The only sounds in the castle was the faint talking of guards at the entrance, the huffs or snickers of the horses in the stables, and the soft breaths and heartbeats of the sleeping scouts that filled Headquarters.

The closer you got to the mess hall, however, the more you could make out a singular heartbeat and soft breathing, the familiar sound of someone fast asleep.

In the mess hall?

Once you were close enough, you managed to catch the faintest scent that immediately told you who was asleep in the mess hall.  That scent had been following you since your sparring match.  It had wafted on the wind from the distance as he watched you from beside the stables or across training grounds, had lingered on your personal effects after you came back from a morning drill, had briefly lingered amongst the perfume of herbs and flowery plants in your little garden, and had cut through your senses the last time you’d snuck out for a bite, informing you that you were being followed long before you heard his breaths and heartbeat.

You’d known Captain Levi was watching you closely, and as such, you’d learned to attune yourself to his scent so you would know when he was nearby.  He was always clean, with traces of tea and mint lingering despite the strong scent of soap, either from cleaning his surroundings or himself.  But there was also the scent of his blood, sometimes unique for people with potent bloodlines, whose blood would be exceptional if you dared to partake.

Of course, Captain Levi, Commander Erwin, any of the Scouts were a hard off limits, so that was never something you were going to give into, never a taste that you would know.  But that didn’t mean you would fail to pick up on the rich aroma his blood gave off.

God forbid his blood was ever spilled in front of you.  That would be a challenge to resist.

Able to tell that he was asleep, you entered the mess hall quietly but without reservations, determined to make your cup of tea even if there was someone else in the room.

He seemed to have fallen asleep at the table, head slumped over into his chest, one arm still lying limply next to a cup of tea that, due to the scent that still had traces in the air, had been meant to help him sleep.  His hair fell carefree into his face, lips parted slightly for his quiet breaths to slip between.

Good.  He’d been looking exhausted recently, and you knew it was because he was keeping such a close eye on you.  It was almost like you couldn’t go anywhere without Levi one step behind you.  The rumors said it was because he was thinking of having you join his squad, but you doubted that was really the reason.  Your suspicion was that he’d grown suspicious of you after your spar, and he was trying to figure out what you were hiding.  If he’d simply been looking to have you on his squad, he wouldn’t have gone poking around your personal effects or been following you whenever you were by yourself.

You didn’t hate him for it--he was just doing his job, and he had every right to be suspicious.  Hell, if his instincts had told him there was something wrong with you, that there was something dangerous about you, they weren’t wrong.  He was right to follow them and poke around.  It was just for your own sake that you hoped you could dodge him until his suspicions disappeared and he could accept you weren’t here out of malice.

You really were here to help.  Your intentions were genuine, even if you had some personal monsters you were trying to keep in the dark.  You just weren’t so sure you could convince them that you weren’t a threat if they were to ever find out what you were.  You didn't even want to think of what Captain Levi’s reaction would be if he ever found out, especially if he found out while armed and in the same room as you.

There were already those who knew about your species, and considered you to be a far more lethal threat to humanity than Titans, one that needed to be expunged indiscriminately.  The fear was always there that if someone discovered you, they would see things that way, that they wouldn’t hesitate to put down a clear threat to humanity.

Shaking the dark thoughts from your mind, you focused on the here and now instead of what ifs that might never come to pass.  Instead, you carefully removed your cloak from around your shoulders and approached Levi quietly and carefully, draping the dark cloth around his body to keep him covered up.

You’d just been outside, so of course you were aware that it wasn’t the warmest night.

You paused just short of lifting your hands, hearing a shift in his heartbeat and breathing that suggested he might wake up.  It figured he would be a light sleeper.  Maybe you should have just left him alone instead of risking waking him up.

Well, either way, it would be more awkward if he woke to you just standing there next to him--if he did wake up.  There was still the chance he would slip back into sleep.

Attempting to stay silent so you wouldn’t disturb him anymore than you already had, you slipped away into the kitchen, going about making your cup of tea as quietly as you could, movements exaggerated with how slow you were going in an attempt not to let the kettle and other dishes rattle.  While you made your tea, you could hear the slightest shift of fabric, hear a pause, his heart rate and breathing back to normal waking pace.

Well, shit.  It looked like you’d managed to wake him up with your act of kindness now gone wrong.  You should have left him alone instead of disturbing his sleep.  And now you were going to have to be social when you left the kitchen.

Well...maybe that was a good thing.  With all this watching from a distance, maybe it would help to put his mind at ease if he was to simply talk to you, just a little.

Though you could also very likely end up headed towards a conversation you weren’t ready to have, one you couldn’t answer even though they were so simple, like ‘where did you come from’ and anything related to family.

You let out a soft sigh as you poured your tea into your cup, resigning yourself to the incoming late night conversation with Captain Levi.

As you walked back into the eating area of the mess hall where Levi had fallen asleep, you could see him sitting up properly again, your cape folded up neatly and sitting on the tabletop with his hand resting thoughtfully in its center, a small frown on his lips.

He looked up when you entered the room, and something flashed in his eyes, gone as soon as it appeared.  It made you uneasy.

Was there blood on your cape?  No, you were certain there wasn’t any blood--you knew what you were doing, and you knew how to eat without spilling any blood or making a mess.  There wasn’t any blood on your cape.  So what was that look for?  Was it just from his suspicions?  Had he figured you had just come back from sneaking out again?

“What are you doing up?” Levi asked bluntly as you approached, teacup in hand

As much as you wanted to turn the question around on him, the one who had fallen asleep in the mess hall, you knew better.  You were trying to stay on his good side, not antagonize him, which was already difficult when the odds were already so stacked against you.

You took a seat, raising the cup slightly as both your hands curled around the hot cup to cradle it in your grasp.  “I was feeling restless, so I came down here to get something to calm my nerves,” you told him honestly, taking a slow sip of tea once you’d finished speaking.

“And you felt the need for a cloak on the way from the barracks to the kitchen?” Levi asked skeptically, eyebrow cocked challengingly.

You shrugged, outwardly unfazed by his question.  “I tried walking it off first.  Didn’t work out like I’d hoped.”

“Are you nervous?”

Your eyes flickered his way, meeting his steady gaze and briefly wondering if he was actually referring to tomorrow, or if that was meant to double as referring to him always watching her, asking if she had a reason to be nervous about it.

“I suppose I should be.  Afraid, even.  But whenever I start to get worried I tell myself whatever happens, happens.  I’ll do what I can, when I can.  If I come back, wonderful, if I don’t...I won’t be going out quietly,” you said, grip tightening slightly around the cup as you stared down at the water colored by the chamomile blend.  “Maybe subconsciously I am nervous, and that’s why I’m restless tonight.”

Levi was fixing you with a hard look at your rather passive answer, eyes probing, reading every muscle twitch looking for a lie or a deeper meaning.  “Aren’t you itching to kill Titans?  Or at least shitting yourself at the chance to go outside the walls?”

“Except I didn’t come to kill Titans, specifically.  Going outside the walls, seeing what’s out there, that’s a bonus.  I came to help.  Whether that means killing Titans, guarding carts, playing messenger or lookout, or mucking out stalls.  As long as I feel like I’m doing something to help.”

Levi leaned back in his seat.  He didn’t look particularly impressed with your attitude.  “Why did you join the Scouts?” he asked bluntly.  “Why not the MPs or the Garrison?”

Images flashed through your mind.  Drunken garrison members stationed in Wall Rose who only sat around gambling, drinking, and ignoring their duties.  Your eyes lifted to the raven-haired man in front of you, and you had the faintest memory pass through your mind of a black haired youth pressed into the ground by Military Police, about to beat the kid to a pulp to teach the Underground gutter rat not to steal, even though it was the only way the kid was going to get something to eat.  Corruption, complacency, and current uselessness in the fight against the Titans, that’s all you thought when you heard Military Police or Garrison Regiment.  You knew it was a harsh viewpoint, and a blanket one that didn’t truly apply to everyone in either branch, but that impression had been made so strongly on you that you couldn’t resolve it, not at this point.

Also, this was a good chance to plant the seed that she really did want to help, that she really was an ally and not an enemy.  Just in case she was found out.

“I wanted to go somewhere I could actually do something, where I could put my skills to good use and do something worthwhile.  I know that’s not the general public feeling about what the Scouts do, but I knew if I went to the Garrison or the MPs, I’d be wasted there.  Complacency isn’t for me.  I knew the Scouts was the best place for me to go if I wanted to do something that could actually help.”

You quieted again, taking another sip from the cup.  Once more, it was true.  If you wanted to use your vampiric abilities to make a difference, the Scouts was the best place for you.  You were tired of existing in shadows, of letting days slip by without making any kind of impact on the world around you.  No more complacency.  You wanted to take action and do something with your abilities other than hunt and eat people.  What better way than to go out and fight the Titans?  They were still a threat to you, you couldn’t regenerate like a Titan, and decapitation from teeth would kill you just as surely as a stake through the heart.  But you had a better chance against the Titans than the average human, and you wanted to use your better chances to give humanity a better opportunity to fight back.  That would make your existence feel...worthwhile.  Instead of parasitic.

Down at the other end of the table, Levi sighed, pushing himself up onto his feet, likely to head back to his room before he fell asleep in the mess hall again.

*Levi’s POV*

Levi wasn’t too enthused by most of her reasoning for joining the Scouts.  He had seen far too many pointless deaths to optimistically say that she wouldn’t die pointlessly in the Scouts.  Hell, she had a higher chance of dying needlessly in the Scouts than anywhere else, especially if she had the wrong attitude going out there.  A hero complex could get her killed just as easily as complacency.  She should be focused on survival, and how casually she spoke about what could happen tomorrow made him uncomfortable.  He’d be more at ease if she was displaying a determination to come back, some kind of fire, a spark.  Instead, it felt like she thought there was something she needed to prove, and he worried it was the wrong priority.

Hopefully, her attitude would change once she saw the hell of the Titans up close.  If not, he wasn’t going to have much hope for her going forward.

Getting to his feet, Levi grabbed his teacup to clean up in his chambers, leaving the cloak folded on the table for her to retrieve when she was finished down here.

“Make sure you come back to tend to those plants.  They’ll die if there’s not someone around to take care of them,” he said in a monotone voice before turning to leave.  He made it almost to the door before she spoke up again.

“Captain Levi?”

He paused, but he didn’t turn or say anything, waiting to hear what she wanted to say.

“Just because I’m not open with everyone, doesn’t mean I’m a threat.  There’s just some parts of myself I would like to keep to myself,” she said softly.  His head twitched to the side at the unexpected comment, catching the sight of her forlorn expression as she gazed down at the cup just in front of her lips.

He didn’t say anything, instead continuing down the hall and disappearing from her immediate sight.  Once he was within the safety of his chambers, a hard glint flashed in his eyes.

The scent of blood and shit unique to one place within the walls lingered on her cloak.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn​ @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus​ @sunny-flo​

Wings in the Dark Tags:  @regalillegal​ @animeluver23​ @theshylittleelfgirl​ @queenthorin1​ @dilucs-thighs​ @sociallyanxiousmouse

[creacherkeeper]

so i’m planning on doing a monster of the week one shot about a southern werewolf family because i was explaining to my friends how like. just Looking At The Facts it’s really stupid my moms side of the family like. ARENT actually werewolves??? and just thought it might be something tumblr would enjoy

some Facts about my family:

we all have ridiculously good senses of smell (for example we can tell what family members came to visit hours ago even if they weren’t wearing perfume/cologne)

we all have very bulky strong jaws and incredible bite force (one of my cousins went to the dentist and snapped the bite force measuring tool in half)

despite our great jaws we tend to have weird teeth. i had to get 4 baby teeth and 4 adult teeth removed when i was a kid because they were way way too big for my mouth. braces were painful and took forever because my teeth were so strong. my braces cracked off several times

all the older members of my family are Haunted By Things They Won’t Talk About. there’s big parts of their lives and childhoods they totally avoid

many of us struggle with insomnia

very strong value of Family Is Most Important/Family Sticks Together, even though my family members are frequently erratic or violent. my aunt was immediately accepted back into the family after trying to break into my grandmothers house and almost murdered my mother. she attacked several people, and left huge claw marks on my mother’s arm that she still has the scars from. i was not there to witness this because i was left a few doors down with a baseball bat

my cousins are all pretty tall and bulky. they also grow facial hair very quickly and easily. one cousin was so huge, mature looking, and grew a beard so young, that my aunt had to carry around his birth certificate to get child’s prices at restaurants. his nickname was “werewolf child”

i grew up with biting as a very common and accepted form of affection. literally didn’t know it was weird until i left the family. if you’re feeling loving and someone’s within reach you just grab them and bite their hand or arm or shoulder. leaving marks meant you were really happy

my cousins put away a ridiculous amount of food. my aunt could feed them a full huge meal, leave to spend time with her sisters, and less than two hours later they would call her asking if she would come home and cook because they were starving. one cousin can eat an entire pan crust large pizza in less than five minutes (despite eating so much, and frequently junk food or heavy meat, theyre all on the scale from thin to muscular. none of them are really overweight)

lots of paranormal stuff tends to happen around us. almost every member of my family has had one or more ghost encounters (frequently unexplainable things happening in front of multiple people who all see it while none of them have consumed alcohol or drugs. this has ranged from seeing people in their house, seeing people float/fly, seeing things move when no one touches them, hearing objects talk, and seeing black shapes in the corners of the room, even one time seeing a black orb fly out of their stomach the night before they had a miscarriage). i have been present and witnessed a good handful of paranormal things myself

like!!!! i’m just saying !!!! if we were a fictional family it would be SO OBVIOUS we were werewolves. and kids this is just ONE of the many reasons i can’t take nonfiction classes. no one ever “understands my metaphors” when i’m just writing about my real actual goddamn life

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Unjust

Prompts: Prompt for ya if u like! Ur so talented, big fan of your stories!-->>> Arthur is forced to come to grips with how little Merlin's life matters to society when Uther refuses to even discipline the nobles who beat him, dismissing Arthur with the words that will change how he sees the world forever; "Stop being so dramatic, he's only a servant. I'll get you a new one." - anon

The last fic you just wrote with h/c and merlin's duties as a servant WAS SO GOOD AND SO PAINFUL. Could we get a sequel? Maybe the knights trying to deal with the aftermath or the first time it happens again and Merlin trying to figure out what's something he's supposed to tell Arthur about v. actually his job? I don't know - anon

Ah yes more of these bois always

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: implied/referenced abuse, uther is an absolute gobshite, merlin gets hurt quite bad

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2624

Arthur thought it couldn’t get worse.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin looking at all of them with a completely serene expression on his face and telling them he’s been abused since the second he set foot in Camelot. That he could look at all of them and be absolutely sincere, calm, almost resigned about the torment he’s been put through.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin being confused when all of the knights immediately protested, that yes, Merlin, this is systematic abuse, that has been allowed to pass unseen for too long, that there are no consequences for things like this but damnit there should be. That Merlin, somehow, knew that this was wrong but didn’t call it abuse.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin looking at him, right at him, and telling him that Arthur has abused him, since day one, and that he doesn’t feel it’s his place to stop him. That Arthur has been complicit and has helped people abuse him because he thought Arthur didn’t care enough to help him realize that it was wrong.

No, Arthur thought they were past the worst of it.

Now Arthur tells Merlin bluntly that he’s not supposed to be the servant to any visiting knight. He’s supposed to walk them to their chambers and leave, right then. There will be other servants who will help them get settled the rest of the way. One will see to the bed. One will see to the food. One will see to the armor if, and only if, it is requested. Merlin will not spend a second more around the knights than he has to.

Merlin looks a little afraid when he tells him that and Arthur can’t stop himself from taking the man into his arms and asking him what’s the matter.

“They’ll be angry,” he mutters, studiously avoiding Arthur’s gaze, “they’ll be angry I’m not staying.”

“Then they can come and talk to me.” Arthur brushes Merlin’s hair out of his face. “But they don’t get to harm you.”

Leon enforces it the first time a knight decides no, he’s going to get upset when Merlin leaves. Leon’s temper does not flare often, nor does it flare particularly high, but he’ll never forget the way Merlin rushes to his side and tells him he swears Leon’s eyes flashed red for a second. Leon tells him later that he…persuaded the knight to be grateful that there were servants here to help him at all.

He makes sure to be nearby the next time, just to see Leon slam the knight against the wall.

Leon bustles Merlin down to the armory, passing it off as the need to clean the weapons, when Arthur knows full well it’s an excuse to hoard Merlin to themselves and keep him safe.

Sometimes Elyan takes it a step further, comes between whatever knight thinks it’s a good idea to accost Merlin in the armory and tells them back off. He makes a show of Merlin knowing exactly where all the weapons are and exactly how often one of them will come down to find him. Merlin returns to Arthur’s chambers after the first time with a soft ‘you’d really come look for me?’ Arthur doesn’t quite cuddle him to sleep that night but they don’t move from the hug for a while.

Percival, of course, turns the protective hug into an art form. The man is huge, certainly much larger than the average knight, and watching him glare at someone over Merlin’s shoulders is quickly turning into one of Arthur’s favorite past times. He’s no stranger to the way Merlin will sometimes scoot closer to someone when he’s feeling overwhelmed, but it’s something else to see Percival almost mold into shape when Merlin’s by his side. A soft word in Percival’s ear and you couldn’t drag him away.

Lancelot is never far from Merlin’s side. Merlin jokes one day that he and Arthur have some sort of alliance or pact; one of them is never allowed to be further than a few paces away from him if the other isn’t around.

“That’s not true, Merlin,” Lancelot chuckles, nudging his knee with his foot, “the two of us don’t have that pact.”

No, Arthur smiles privately to himself, the six of us have that pact.

And sometimes Merlin can’t come to Arthur. That knowledge still burns when he remembers it, but it makes sense. Arthur holds a position of power. Arthur has—whether he feels sick with regret or not—contributed to Merlin’s abuse. Arthur is not always there for Merlin the way he needs to be. But Lancelot is.

And when Lancelot isn’t, Merlin always has Gwaine.

Arthur is not too proud to admit that he and Gwaine butt heads more often than they don’t, certainly when it comes to Merlin. But where Merlin’s safety and comfort is concerned, they never fight. It is Merlin who dictates where he feels the safest, whose side he wants to stay at for a while. It is Merlin who decides where he will run when he’s upset. They never fight about it. It’s always concern—what can they do to help? When was the last time he ate? Does he want to talk about what happened? Merlin notices it the first time Arthur accidentally walks in on him lying in Gwaine’s arms and there’s nary a barb tossed between them before Arthur is softly asking if he’s allowed to stay too and Gwaine tucking him into the embrace alongside them.

“Did you two finally learn how to get along?”

“Only for you, Merlin,” Gwaine says quietly, “only for you.”

And yes, there are absolutely nights where Merlin shakes more than he usually does or one of the visiting knights makes the mistake of cuffing him where they can see and they all end up piled into Arthur’s chambers. After the knight’s been humiliated on the training field by every single one of them and blacklisted from any future tournaments.

Merlin doesn’t always ask for them, but when he does, everyone drops everything. That’s the unspoken agreement. Merlin so much as sniffles and their afternoon plans are dust. Arthur will never forget the day Percival swept into his chambers with Merlin in his arms, the other knights in a guard of honor as Merlin threw his arms around Arthur’s neck.

“Shh, shh,” Arthur murmurs, lowering them to the ground as Leon tells the guards to leave them be, “you’re safe, I won’t hurt you, you’re alright.”

That’s a promise.

So yes, Arthur thought it couldn’t get worse.

As always, leave it to his father to make everything worse.

Merlin is missing. Arthur strides out of his chambers before the guards even realize the doors have been thrown open. Merlin is missing and that’s all that matters. His armor clanks loudly in the hallway and the other people jump to the side to get out of his way.

Good.

He knocks on the door of Gaius’s chambers. Gaius looks at him like he’s just grown another head. It doesn’t matter. Where is Merlin?

“I thought he was with you, sire.”

Merlin is missing. He leaves with strict instructions to find him whenever Merlin turns up. He stalks to the armory and runs into Elyan and Percival. Where is Merlin?

“Haven’t seen him,” Elyan mutters, already rushing off, “I’ll ask Gwen.”

Percival falls into step behind him as they hustle down the corridor. Leon comes out of one of the halls and immediately assumes a position on Arthur’s left.

“What is it, sire?”

“Where is Merlin?”

Leon doesn’t say another word. If all the guards decide to flatten themselves against the wall as the three of them go by, that’s their business.

They find Gwaine muttering curses as he storms toward the tournament grounds.

“Where is Merlin?”

“If the way Godefroy was looking at him is any indication—“ and they’re already seeing red— “then we need to move.”

No need to tell them twice.

Arthur leads the charge down to the door. He throws it open and all the training knights freeze. He glares around at them, looking for Merlin, Merlin, you’re not Merlin.

“Godefroy,” comes Leon’s clipped voice, “where?”

“This way.” They turn to see Lancelot stalking toward the training ground, the other recruits parting like smoke as they storm forward.

Arthur feels it before he hears it.

Smack!

The other knights are caught in the maze of weapon racks as Arthur darts through the armory.

“Stupid, worthless boy, needs to be taught a lesson.”

Smack!

The wounded yelp makes him push faster. He rounds the corner and—

Godefroy. On top of Merlin. His hand raises to smack him again. Merlin on his back. Hands up. Defending but not defending enough.

His teeth are not bared.

His expression is resigned.

He does not spit in the knight’s face.

The knight moves to strike him again.

Not on my goddamn watch.

“Get your hands off him,” Arthur snarls, the blade singing as he pulls it from the scabbard, “get your hands off him!”

Godefroy looks up. “He’s just a servant, he needs to be disciplined properly.”

“You must not have heard me—“ why is he still too far away?— “I told you to get off of him.”

Godefroy rolls his eyes but complies, because Arthur is the prince and his word is law but that doesn’t mean the knight has to agree.

Merlin doesn’t move.

Arthur snarls again, readying his sword for an attack only for Godefroy to stand there, not readying himself for the blow.

“How dare you strike him,” he spits, “how dare you raise a hand to him.”

Godefroy says nothing.

“Are you too much of a coward to defend yourself?” Arthur hefts the sword. “Are you?”

“Arthur,” comes a steel voice from the other end of the hall, “what is the meaning of this?”

He turns.

Uther strides toward him, looking down his nose the way Arthur looks at the muck on his boots. “Surely you have some explanation for your behavior.”

“He hurt Merlin,” Arthur growls, gesturing at—oh, Merlin, why are you still on the floor?

Uther scoffs. “I understand being possessive of your property, but really, Arthur, there’s no need for such childish behavior.”

“Childish—Father, he hurt him.”

“So?”

So?

So?

Fucking so?

“He’s just a servant,” Uther says, waving a dismissive hand, “stop being so dramatic. I’ll get you another one if Godefroy breaks him.”

Godefroy steps around Arthur, looking far too smug, and leaves.

Arthur stands there, panting, as his chest roils with anger too deeply buried to come out as anything other than agony.

This. This is why Merlin didn’t believe him.

Distantly, he hears the other knights rushing down the corridor and he turns, sheathing the sword and crouching, all but ripping off his rough gloves to cradle Merlin’s head in his hands.

“Merlin,” he calls softly, “Merlin, can you hear me?”

Merlin nods, his eyes still a little dazed.

“Good. Try and sit up. Lean on me if you need to.”

By the time Lancelot rushes forward to fall to his knees beside them, Merlin is propped up against Arthur’s shoulder, his head far too red for his liking. Gwaine mutters another curse as the knights spill protectively into the hall.

“Merlin,” Lancelot calls, “Merlin?”

Merlin shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he corrects, taking Merlin’s hand, “it’s really not.”

“It’s better me than someone else.”

Arthur buries his head in Merlin’s neck. Because Merlin’s right.

How many other servants have had to go through this? How many people has the mighty wheel of Uther Pendragon crushed underneath its weight? How many times has he turned the corner into a hallway where someone was beaten just for being a servant?

Merlin has him. Merlin has the knights. Merlin has Gaius. Merlin will be protected because they know about Merlin.

Who don’t they know about?

“This stops,” he grits out, “right now.”

“You can’t stop everyone,” Merlin mumbles, still slumped against Arthur, “you can’t, Arthur.”

“I’m the Crown Prince of Camelot,” Arthur says, holding Merlin tightly, “if I decide that there need to be consequences for actions, there will damn well be consequences.”

There are.

Merlin is shuttled back to his chambers with Lancelot and Elyan. Gwaine and Percival return to the training grounds with twin looks of determination. Arthur and Leon go straight to the steward.

The steward blinks up at them, clearly taken aback by the question. “I’m terribly sorry, sire, would you mind asking one more time?”

“The servants,” Arthur says, “how many of them are mistreated? How are they mistreated? I want to know.”

“Well, sire…all of them.” The steward fiddles with a stack of paper, moving it aside so he can lean on his elbows. “They do not have…there is not the power to protect them the way there is to protect you or the knights.”

“And how do we give them that power?”

“Come again, sire?”

“They are people,” Arthur says firmly, Leon’s unwavering presence at his side, “they are people and they should be treated as such. How do we ensure that happens?”

“W-well, sire,” the steward says slowly, “any large reforms would need the consent of the King. But there are…there are smaller ways that we can arrange for their treatment to…improve.”

“Such as?”

The steward looks at him strangely. “Forgive me, sire, but…I did not expect this behavior from you.”

Arthur shifts in the chair. “Perhaps I’ve been refusing to look for too long.”

“It is an admirable shift, sire.”

“It’s common decency. Now what do we do?”

Some knights start finding it hard to run into servants in the hallways. Some knights don’t receive chambers with proper insulation. Some knights are beaten down on the training ground over and over. Some knights find it impossible to stay.

Some knights figure out what’s going on quickly. Some knights have kind words and soft questions and thank-yous. Some knights start to push back when they see another knight be too brash, too rough, too callous.

Some knights get it. Some knights don’t.

Those that don’t either leave fast or learn faster.

Godefroy finds himself the training dummy, pelted with arrows, clubs, staffs. The other knights find he has grown cocky over sparring with whatever servants have been dragged out to the field and do not hide their interest when Leon offers to help him regain some of his prowess.

He never gets within five feet of Merlin again.

Uther is beside himself, wondering where all his servants have gone, where all his knights are going, and why no one else seems to be the least bit concerned about it. Arthur smiles privately to himself as he watches the steward explain calmly that if he wants to know what’s going on with the servants, perhaps he could try talking to them.

“After all, sire, servants are people too.”