#but there’s a whole discussion to be had on building a world where every anxiety and fear of homeless people is real and literal

[rassilon-imprimatur]

I really wish I could say I loved Beau Is Afraid, and I definitely liked it on principle of its confidence, creativity, and intentionality, but fucking hell does it meander like a plodding motherfucker.

[strawberrystepmom]

the one

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

word count: 10k

about: in the aftermath of incredible loss and pain and nearly losing satoru himself, a week long road trip on one of the most famous routes in the world solidifies what you've already known to be true about gojo - he is the one for you & you for him.

contents: nsfw - mdni. established relationship (reader and gojo are engaged), story told through vignettes, major spoilers for ch 220 and beyond although the story is not canon compliant (gojo dies and is revived), major character deaths and discussion of them, descriptions of anxiety, panic attacks, and dealing with trauma, discussions about marriage and engagement, mentions of blood and injury.

gojo has an identity crisis, reader is a teacher and is appointed interim principal of the Tokyo campus, lots of flowery descriptions of nature and of my beloved california (i am not a california girl but i have longed my whole life 2 be one), gojo is referred to as husband, sweetheart, and baby, reader is referred to as wife, angel, pretty, and baby, reader has breasts, small smut scene with sensual and romantic unprotected piv sex, mutual body worship, vaginal fingering, creampie.

notes: if you have made it to this point and still want to read, thank you. this is a love letter spritzed with parfums de marly delina sent directly to gojo satoru from me and i'm very proud of this work.

he's so important to me and i think exploring him when he can't hide behind the veneer of being strong anymore is one of the most worthwhile uses of my time since ever. i hope that you enjoy ♡

wavy divider thanks to @/cafekitsune!!!!

One week.

One measly, little week - 168 hours or seven unique opportunities to see the sun rise and set - is all you’re asking to be granted while promising all but your limbs and hypothetical first born child to the acting principal of both the Kyoto and Tokyo campuses following the deaths of both Yaga and Gakuganji.

Utahime’s arms are folded over her chest and her mouth is set in a firm line while taking everything that has happened over the last month into consideration. Do you guys even have time for a break of any kind? 

Time, as you and her have both learned since that fateful night in Shibuya, becomes more difficult to quantify when you feel it’s slipping away. Every day since October 31st has felt like something each of you have had to earn rather than been given by sheer act of existence. It has been a fight since the moment each of you stepped foot into the railway station and now that it’s over, things feel so undefined. 

What comes next now that the immediate evil is gone? There will always be another threat of danger that appears as soon as one is eliminated and all that’s left of the sorcery community learned the hard way that sometimes that evil proves difficult without the man who has worked tirelessly to keep all of you safe around.

“Please. He needs this so badly and I know if I don’t force him to stop, he won’t.”

Your plea causes her gaze to shift from downward to your face and Utahime’s distaste for the man in question all but disappears when she looks over the concerned furrow of your brow and the dark circles under your eyes. She watched Gojo being whisked away to return to the Tokyo campus, the place where the two of you are sitting and having this discussion, ripped to all but bits but still throwing his thumb up to confirm he’s okay to everyone’s mixed annoyance and amusement. 

Contemplating every aspect of the situation for a moment, she comes to the conclusion that this week is something both of you need and there’s no viable way for her to tell you no. Not when you look so desperate, hands shaking and eyes sunken. 

Despite the mess you will be leaving behind, building debris and rubble the mere surface of the ripples caused in your small community and wider society by Satoru’s defeat of Kenjaku and Sukuna both within days of each other, she feels there’s no other option but to reluctantly give in.

“Okay.”

The tone of her voice is so tentative you’re expecting a but as her very next word but she shuts her mouth with finality written across her face. Grateful, you bow your head and blink back tears but she walks toward you and grabs one of your hands. She squeezes it gently, reminding herself to avoid the spots you broke it in 7 weeks ago and you find the sudden change in her demeanor concerning. 

Did she change her mind? Is he going to have to go from half dead on a cold metal table right back into the swing of things? 

“When you get back, be ready because you’re in charge here.”

The news comes as a shock and she can tell, your eyes widening and hollowing further. Bile rises in your throat and you swallow, blinking additional tears back, ashamed that your weakness is what represents the strongest individuals you’ve ever met and not just the one who your heart belongs to.

Iori doesn’t stick around for long to watch you come to terms with your new position, simply squeezing your hand and patting it with the back of her other one, before dropping it to slink off to her students that stand on the opposite side of the lounge everyone is occupying. 

Shutting your eyes tightly, you use the time to balance yourself and remember that you can deal with the upcoming challenges when you return. What’s most important is the here and now and there are a few things you’re currently sure of. 

First, Satoru is alive and breathing despite the terror you experienced when he was not. Second, you have at least one week to contemplate your own future and in true procrastinator form, you will wait until the last minute to even begin processing the weight of the responsibilities that have been placed on your shoulders. 

“He’s asking for you.”

Shoko’s approach is stealthy and you don’t notice her until she’s pulling a glove off beside you, the snap of the latex making you forget the tidy little list you were creating in your head. She doesn’t look any more morose than usual and you take it as a good sign, awkwardly nodding and keeping your head pointed toward the ground to avoid prying eyes. 

It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know about the two of you but there’s no plausible deniability anymore. No coy smiles and playing it off like it’s no big deal, not when there’s an engagement ring nestled safely in its box on your nightstand at home and when he’s asking for you as soon as he wakes up.

The room is eerily silent as you shuffle out of it beside one of your oldest friends and this is where she finally drapes an arm around your shoulder, stopping you and crowding you off to the side of the hallway. 

“He doesn’t look like himself right now,” she warns and you nod. You expected it, his energy depleted by the time both battles were won, but you still swallow thickly and struggle to get the lump in your throat down. Once she’s certain you are okay, she nods and keeps her arm around your shoulder until you reach the metal door to her domain that separates you and the love of your life.

“I’m going to give you two some privacy but if you need me you know where I’ll be.”

You’re sure she’s grateful for the reprieve, catching sight of her puffy eyes as she turns to walk away. You stop her and she smiles wordlessly, friends for long enough that the two of you know what the other is thinking. 

Thank you, I know, I’m glad he’s okay too.

Pushing the door open you hear an exaggerated groan and a watery giggle bubbles out of you. He just can’t help himself, one arm wrapped securely and safely and the other still oozing through its bandages. His torso is exposed and you can see the blow that killed him firsthand, an unnaturally precise cut across his lower abdomen. 

This is the sight that chokes you up and he chuckles weakly, unable to lift his head more than a few inches. He does look different, covered in scrapes and cuts and blood of uncertain origin, but he’s still himself. Those dimples still stick out against his pale skin when he smiles weakly at you and despite its pinkish hue, his white hair sticks up on end like it always does.

“No crying, baby.”

Sniffling, you look toward the cold tiles below and he tuts from the operating table. Holding his cleanly wrapped arm up he curls a finger toward himself to beckon you over.

“C‘mere.”

Slowly, you do. Each footstep feels as though you’re walking across cracking ice and it makes you cautious, scared that you’ve deluded yourself into believing that he’s here and he’s fine and things are going to be okay and in the midst of the angst, suddenly you remember - he is. 

He’s in front of you and breathing and you can’t stop the tears from falling when you reach the edge of the table, reaching to cup his face in your palms like you always do. 

“Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Another weak chuckle and he wraps his hand around one of your wrists, delicately holding it with his thumb and index finger. 

“Didn’t you say that about the prison realm too?”

Nodding and sniffling, you smile and he smiles back. It’s warm and inviting and all you can think about is how you feared you’d never see it again; that he’d become another loss forcing you to grow colder and colder until the inevitability of becoming a husk like the other sorcerers in your life would come true. 

“Yeah, I guess I did. Maybe I need some new material.”

A chuckle that turns into a wince makes you coo and his half smile instantly turns smug, one corner of his mouth upturned into a smirk. 

“I have always been the funny one, haven’t I?”

Scoffing, you don’t playfully swat at him like you always do and he misses it. The gentle swipe of your fingers across his pec or shoulder or arm to let him know he has entertained you is something he will not take for granted from this day forward. His chest tightens and his loose grip around your wrist tightens.

It hasn’t registered quite yet that he almost never saw you again twice. That realization will come painfully when he’s struggling to sleep some night, wrapping himself around your body to be certain you will never leave his side, as all of his realizations about his own mortality do. 

Until then he’ll embrace the reality in front of him.

“I’m so happy to see you,” he whispers and you see a shadow of sadness cross his face, smirk drooping into a frown. Your palms on his skin leech warmth into his tired bones and he shifts his head to lean into one of your hands, eyes fluttering shut and staying that way until he musters enough humility to say what he wants to say to you the most.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s still the coward's way out but he’s simply too tired and weakened to go into the specifics of everything he’s sorry for. Is strength even worth it if you still managed to save so few people you care about? The weight of the world remains on his shoulders and you carefully lean over him, pressing your cheek to his and shifting your hands from his face to his shoulders. 

“Oh sweetheart,” it’s a nickname you rarely use for him and it makes his heart leap to hear it even when your voice cracks. “You have nothing to apologize for. Never to me.”

He wishes he agreed with you. 

“Well, I am and nothing like this will ever happen again.”

The unspoken truth between both of you is that he said the same thing when he was released from the prison realm weeks ago and yet, this happened.

“You can’t control everything, Satoru.” You lift your cheek from his and glance down at him to see his eyes half open. “Nothing that has happened is your fault.”

Something else he wishes he could agree with. He gives you a small smile and you lean to kiss his cheek, shutting your eyes tightly to keep from breaking into absolute hysterics. You’ve been teetering on the edge for days but you know this is not the time for your usual dramatics, it’s time to hold it together for him like he has done for you so many times.

“But we can and should talk about this more on our trip.”

His half open eyes shoot open and he looks at you with uncertainty etched in all of his pretty features. 

“Trip?”

Currently, he’s in no condition to go anywhere except for hopefully home with you tonight, but a few more hours with Shoko and his cursed energy slowly returning should be enough to get the process of healing going but he knows you know that and wonders what your angle is. 

“Road trip. Very little impact, all we have to do is fly to California and don’t worry, I’ll drive the whole time.”

He smiles and chuckles, reaching to capture your hand in his own and lift your palm to his mouth. Kissing you gently, he sits up a little more now that he’s feeling stronger and you lean on the side of the table.

“How long?”

“I had to practically beg for it but we both have a whole week off. The road trip will be 5 days and we’ll have two days to travel there and back.”

Summarizing the trip aloud makes it feel real despite you having done no work to make it so, eager to see him and how he’s doing before making any solid plans, but you can tell that he’s interested based solely by the look on his face. Still, you worry it’s too soon and too much after everything that has happened.

“Do you want to? We can always hold off and do it another time if you don’t feel up to it.”

He shakes his head and kisses your palm again, molding your fingers to the curve of his face so that he can be held by you for just a little while. Your touch may not heal him physically but it fills the gaps in his soul, the little pieces he has been torn into since October 31st, and he needs it more than he needs another session of energy granted to him from Shoko right now.

“I want to go as soon as we can. Especially if I get to look pretty in the passenger seat the entire time.”

It’s so beautiful to have him come back to you a bit at a time and your heart swells until you’re afraid it’ll burst when you look down at him. His eyes are shut again and his cheek fits perfectly in your palm, just as it always does. 

He lived and now he gets to have a week by your side with no responsibilities. If he weren’t so comforted by your presence right now, certain you are real and tangible and holding him to the best of your ability in his current condition, he would believe that he’s still dead.

“I should let Shoko get back to work,” you say finally and he whines. A little bit more of him comes back with each passing moment and emotion swells again, your eyes burning when they start to well up. 

“I love you,” he whispers and you lean down to kiss him for real, your soft lips hungrily pressing against his dry and split ones for the first time since he left you and came back. It’s familiar and it sends you over the edge, tears breeching your closed eyes and dripping onto his cheek. He laughs, although it’s a bit hollow, and you back your face away from his.

“I told you no crying.”

You laugh and lean in to steal another kiss, his arm wrapping around your body and cupping your hip. The kiss grows in intensity, although it’s more a lazy exploration of each other’s mouths more than it is an earnest makeout session, and his hand slides from your hip to your ass just as the metal door screeches open.

“Save that for when I send him home with you tonight.”

Heels clack across the tile floor and you peel yourself away from Satoru, who keeps his hand firmly cupping your ass, turning your head to see Shoko snapping on a pair of gloves and walking toward her patient. You shoot her a grateful smile and she nods her head, letting you lean in for one more kiss before reluctantly parting.

“Man I love her,” you hear him mutter to Shoko who laughs and shakes her head as you’re leaving. 

“Yeah, I know. You never shut up about it even when you’re half dead.”

DAY 1 - SAN FRANCISCO, CA

Your flight landed three hours ago, 9 hours passing far more quickly than you expected. Satoru held your hand the entire flight and you let him have the window seat, watching clouds obscure the light dancing over his face every time he'd shift his gaze toward the sky outside. Looking at him never gets old, even with a baseball cap pulled over his face to obscure his injuries despite how much they’ve improved since days ago. 

Disembarking and entering the airport felt like going through the motions and you realized while grabbing your luggage that it has felt like that all day. It feels like just going through the motions despite everything and your excitement for the next several days and guilt gnaws at you because of it. Shouldn’t you be living every day, minute, second as joyfully as possible given Satoru is alive and with you? Why do you still feel so bad?

The feeling remains a mystery while the two of you gradually make your way out of the airport and into the cool city lying outside, your rental car already picked up and the keys jingling in your hand as you unlock the door to load everything up. Gojo takes the duties over for you and you smile at him gratefully, heading to the driver’s seat to get settled in.

“You alright?”

He has asked you many times today how you’re doing and your answer has been a polite nod and a smile each time, maybe a muttered “yeah I’m alright” if he’s lucky, but he can tell something is bothering you. Chalking it up to travel anxiety, he slides into the passenger seat and finally takes his hat off, chucking it aside. You watch his wispy hair fall over his face, the dark bruise on his cheekbone finally looking lighter than it did when you left Tokyo this morning and you genuinely smile for the first time all day.

“Hello handsome.”

Satoru chuckles and you laugh along with him, eyes crinkling at the corners. You aren’t sure if it’s exhausted delirium making you feel better but you allow yourself to feel at ease for the first time in weeks, settling into your seat and starting the engine of the mid size SUV that will be your chariot for the next several days.

“Do you wanna go straight to the hotel or did you want to stop somewhere first?”

He hums, thinking, and his stomach growls which gives him his answer.

“Let’s stop and get something to eat.”

You nod, tipping your head toward his phone.

“Your pick. Find a place and I’ll get us there.”

Picking the device up, he smiles at the sight of your face next to his on the screen, matching grins as big as your faces. Hopefully there will be opportunities for more photos just like that one on this trip despite how worn both of you feel right now. 

Even smiling sounds exhausting at this point but he musters one for you, opening the app with a little map as its logo, searching for restaurants near the airport. He wrinkles his nose at the list of chain restaurants and settles on a deli that looks easy to get in and out of, disinterested in a sit down meal. 

He turns the phone in your direction.

“Sounds good?”

You hum affirmatively and press on the screen, a digital voice through the speaker giving you turn by turn directions. You’ve visited San Francisco before and so has he, just not together, and the two of you smile contentedly watching the city roll by and you’ve arrived before you know it, parking on the sidewalk outside of the entrance. He grabs the cap he dropped onto the floorboards and slips it over his head, the bill covering his bruised eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you don’t notice he’s glancing at you until you turn to look at him and his brow is furrowed in concern. You are wound as tightly as he’s ever seen you and he worries this entire trip and the pressure of it is stressing you out more than you already are, the opposite of the desired effect. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, angel?”

Nodding, you plaster on a quick smile and reach for the door handle. 

“I think I’m just tired. I can’t remember the last time I slept well.”

He understands not to push any further despite lingering concern and he opens his door, stepping out into the cool evening and sighing contentedly, stretching his long limbs out. Still a little stiff from his injuries, he waits on the sidewalk for you to round the car and join him and wiggles his arms and hands. 

“You look so cute when you do that,” you mutter with a smile. For a moment, his concern quiets down but your face falls so quickly it comes straight back. Coming to his side, you clutch his hand as if it’s an anchor keeping you sane and nod in the direction of the door. “After you, baby.”

Gladly, he pulls you along with him and the bell over the door dings. It’s a small space and while not packed wall to wall, it’s more crowded than you expected on a weekday evening and you take it in stride, the overhead lighting making your eyes burn after a day spent in mostly darkness. Satoru leans down and kisses the top of your head, inspecting the menu hanging from the ceiling, keeping his mouth pressed against your hair and humming. It’s comforting and you appreciate the gesture, he knows you well enough to be able to tell when you’re struggling, but you can’t focus on what’s happening with the pit in your stomach growing wider by the second.

This room full of people has no idea what either of you have just been through. The weeks of hell, watching the man you love so much you’re afraid it will be your downfall, die in front of you and return like Lazarus himself, your best friend’s death. 

Your hands start to shake and your mouth runs dry.

They have no idea your fiancé just killed the body of a man he loved dearly for the second time or that children he assisted raising both lost their lives in the process. These strangers will never know or understand what happened, their lives continuing as carelessly and freely as they always have, and a lump develops in your throat remembering the responsibilities waiting for you when you return home. 

Your life has changed forever and the world keeps turning, a notion that is suffocating.

It has been years since your last panic attack but you recognize the feeling immediately. The room shrinks and you laugh nervously, balling your fists. Satoru recognizes something is wrong and tries to grab your attention, quietly mouthing words you can’t make out. Shaking your head and blinking, you laugh again and he uses his grip on your hand to gently guide you toward the door. He keeps his steps short and soft to make sure you stay with him until the two of you are able to find a way to slip outside. 

Bending at the knees slightly to come face level with you, he cups your face with your free hand and knits his brows together. If you can't remember the last time you had a panic attack neither can he and he wracks his tired brain to figure out how to make this better. You aren’t asking him to, just for his support, but he has failed to keep you safe and happy so many times he can’t bear to let you fall victim to your own mind while he stands and breathes beside you.

“Come on, let’s get in the car.”

Nodding, you can’t fight the tears anymore and they start to flow freely, dripping down your face and onto the sidewalk below as you let go of his hand long enough to skulk to the driver’s seat of the SUV. Opening the door and sliding in, the door has barely shut by the time you sob aloud, gasping for air and lifting your shaking hands to your face. 

Satoru grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pulls your hands down from your cheeks gently, using his other hand to position your head until you’re facing him. Seeing you like this utterly rends him, his own throat tightening watching you struggle to breathe. Without thinking, he does what he would do for his students in this situation.

“Can you breathe for me?”

Despite how sobs make your shoulders shake, you nod and try to inhale deeply through your nose. It still doesn’t feel like enough air but you panic less once it reaches your lungs, exhaling through your mouth.

“Oh, baby.” He hates that this is the only thing he can think of to say. There has and never will be a point where he’s better at words of comfort than you are and it intimidates him how his blindspots only come to light when people need him the most. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Without thinking, you blurt out the news you wanted to tell him after you returned home. 

“They’re making me principal.”

His eyes widen and he starts to grin but it dims as soon as he sees more tears fall down your face, your sniffling filling the car.

“They picked the best person for the job,” he comforts and you shake your head, refusing to believe that it’s true.

“They picked the easiest scapegoat. They’re going to kill me just like they did Yaga.”

The people who killed Yaga have been permanently removed from their positions by two of your students, their deaths coming just before Satoru’s battle with Sukuna began, but you still worry about what comes next. The clans now hold all of the power and if they’re angry enough over what occurred, you’re the person who will be on the hook to deal with it all.

“No one is going to do that, I would never let them.”

You sniffle and look away, brows furrowed while tears drip into your lap.

“What if it isn’t your choice, Satoru?”

A dark thought consumes the usually easy going man, his stomach turning. Has your faith in him wavered? Do you think he wouldn’t cut down anyone who dared try to hurt or upset you? 

“Look at me?”

You do, just as you do any time he asks, and he sighs defeatedly. Now your hackles are raised because you’re worried about him, sniffling and reaching across the car for him. You clutch onto his t-shirt and he lets you, the fabric spilling between your fingers.

“I will never let anything bad happen to you ever again.” You’ve never seen him look so serious, no trace of humor to be found anywhere. No glimmer in his tired blue eyes, no upturned lip to reveal a dimple. You know he needs this confirmation and you nod, sniffling and pulling him closer to you with his shirt.

“Do you trust me?” You nod but it isn’t enough, his gaze still hardened. “I need you to say it.”

Swallowing to try and wet your dry mouth, you nod again and sniffle.

“I trust you with everything and I always will.” Another sniffle but you feel more normal, your breaths still coming quicker than usual but slowly steadying with each moment that passes. Keeping his shirt in your balled fists, you sigh and shake your head. “This isn’t about not trusting you, it’s about being afraid of what comes next.”

Now he understands. 

Your faith in him is unshakeable, something you have told him more times than you can count and meant every single one, but the future itself is terrifying. Nobody knows what is coming next, least of all you.

“I know but just like you always tell me, things will work out how they’re supposed to and if they don’t, I will kill anyone who is mean to you.”

Finally, this draws a watery laugh from you and he softens, posture slackening. His stomach growls again and you whine, upset that your own antics prevented him from doing what you two came here to do in the first place - eat.

“I’m sorry about this,” you mumble and he leans over the console to kiss your forehead. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’d rather get room service anyway.”

Sniffling again, you untangle your hands from his shirt and turn toward the wheel, positioning yourself to start driving again.

“Wanna go to the hotel then?”

He nods with a soft smile, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“Do you want me to drive?”

You shake your head, face looking far less distraught than it did a few minutes ago, and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Will you really kill anyone who is mean to me?”

He hums exaggeratedly to accompany an animated nod.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he squeezes your shoulder with his arm.

“I’m a nice guy, what can I say?”

DAY 3 - MONTEREY, CA TO BIG SUR, CA

The California coastline glimmers beneath the sun and although you’re driving, you keep sneaking glances toward the edge of the highway, eyes widening every time something beautiful comes into view. You may as well keep them wide open, constantly amazed by the world surrounding you even as it breezes past while you drive.

Day 2 went off without a hitch for the most part, no panic attacks or the like occurring, but you noticed this morning that Satoru seemed quiet. His usual exuberance has been missing from your conversations, instead dimmed down into something that feels like an imitation of the man. You understand this is part of the process of coming to terms with everything that happens but you feel guilty, as if your outburst is keeping him from feeling comfortable enough to be himself.

It could also have nothing to do with you but it’s easier to blame yourself than it is to think about anything else that could possibly be bothering him, your tendency to fall on your sword even worse when it comes to him. The devotion he gives you is returned in full, your natural instinct always to keep him happy and away from anything that could hurt him as unfair as it can be to do so. 

You can’t protect anyone from sorrow, it comes as naturally as the waves wash up on the shore below you, all you can do is witness it unfold and hope it doesn’t become a tsunami.

The two of you have been driving in comfortable silence for miles, occasionally oohing aloud at the cliff sides, but it has become less comfortable now that you’re thinking about how it has been like this all day. You try to think of something to talk about but come up short, focusing on the road, and he captures your attention when he speaks.

“I saw them, you know. When I died.”

You raise your eyebrows but don’t look at him, keeping your focus on the road.

“Did you?”

Satoru nods and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, carelessly sticking his hand out of the small crack in the unrolled window. It isn’t big enough to let the chilly winter air through but it’s just wide enough for him to feel the wind at 40 mph with his Infinity off. 

“Yup, they asked me about you. How you’re doing.”

He doesn’t have to say who he saw but you know, gut churning. It’s unlikely that Kento would ask, given you were one of the last people he saw before meeting his fate but Yu and - as painful as it is to even recall his name sometimes - Suguru would. 

“What’d you tell them?”

“The truth.”

Raising a brow, you focus on the road ahead of you and drum your fingertips idly against the sides of the steering wheel hoping he’ll elaborate on what the truth actually is. The silence sits heavier than you’d like it to and you open your mouth to end it but he beats you to the punch, head tipped back against the seat he’s sitting in. 

“Told them about us and that we’re going to get married.” You smile and he watches your cheek curve, mirroring it with one of his own that fades quickly while he continues speaking. “Told them you’re probably doing pretty badly because I failed to keep you safe. That you have been dead already.”

Shooting him a glance out of the corner of your eye, it’s hard to convey exactly how his words affect you while navigating a vehicle down an elevated single lane highway. 

Sometimes he forgets what it’s like to exist vulnerably. You’ve always been the wall between himself and the world, the place where he has allowed himself to soften and take down all airs, but now he wonders what it would be like if he extended that beyond just you. Other friends, what remains of his family, his students. He could never fully give himself to anyone the way he has to you but it’s something to consider while he spreads his fingers and lets the wind blow through them.

Does he deserve any of this?

He didn’t keep you safe. He didn’t keep Megumi or Tsumiki or Nobara safe. He failed, yet here he sits by your side, cold air chilling the tips of his fingers. In an instant, he feels nothing, turning his Infinity on wordlessly and keeping his gaze locked on the trees rushing by his window while you consider what to say to help him right now. 

“It has never been your responsibility to keep me safe, Satoru.”

He chuckles humorlessly and swallows so thickly you can hear it even with the sound of air entering the car through the cracked window. 

“For my entire life, my only purpose has been to keep people safe. If I can’t do that, what can I do?”

Glancing at the road, you spot the shoulder and decide to pull off to the side, parking and turning on your lights. Satoru has been wordless and still for longer than you’ve ever seen him and your heart breaks imagining how he must feel right now. 

The weight of the world is a heavy burden to carry and he has done it since before he could form full sentences, a fact you forget because he wears the responsibility as though it’s a cloak he can shrug off at any time, but you know that he takes it far more seriously inwardly. His life has been wrapped up in grooming him to be not simply a protector, but the protector, the gatekeeper of the insular society the two of you are a part of.

“Look at me?”

You ask just as he asked you to do two days ago and he does, the quarter turn of his head giving you an actual view of his face for the first time all day. He looks better than he did yesterday, scratches and bruises healing far faster than they would otherwise as he restores his energy. His eyes meet yours for a minute and you catch the shimmer that means his Infinity is turned on and you look away from him to compose yourself. 

His carefully crafted facade has shattered at his feet - he’ll always be The Strongest but his weakness was exposed in the form of bleeding out, severed through the middle, on a battlefield. What is he supposed to do now? 

Your eyes turn toward him once again and you sigh though it holds nothing but concern and you unbuckle your seatbelt to shift your body until you’re facing him, knees pressed against the center console. He half smiles and chuckles to himself seeing you move and get comfortable but it dies as quickly as it came, his head still pressed to the headrest while looking directly at you.

All you can do is help him pick up the pieces and figure out who he wants to be now that he has the ability to choose. 

“You know I don’t love you because you’re strong, right?”

He shrugs.

“I’m sure it probably helps.”

“No, Satoru. I love you because you make me laugh and cry and get angry sometimes. You let me be myself and never ask that I be anyone different even though I’m sure it would make your life easier if I were less stubborn and set in my ways.”

Getting choked up, you stop yourself and his eyes stop shimmering, Infinity off. He reaches across the center console and holds your hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of it and feeling the puckered wounds that are becoming eerily smooth scars. Swallowing, you blink and will yourself to keep it together until you get through what you have to say.

“I love you because you are courageous and that has nothing to do with your abilities, that’s who you are in your heart. You care so much despite how little you try to show it and your devotion goes deeper than the ocean and you are loyal and…”

Trailing off, searching for the words to sum up how you feel about him, he squeezes his hand and you see a peek of him in the soft smile on his face. Tipping his head to the side, he widens his eyes.

“You forgot handsome.”

Despite being near tears, you laugh and he feels warmer just listening to it and witnessing the grin he loves so much spreading across your face.

“You are the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on, even when you’re a little scraped up, don’t worry about that.”

Despite how difficult you have been to understand throughout various points in your decade long relationship with the man, he knows everything you’re saying is true or else you would not say it. You are too honest at times even if it’s sugarcoated to keep from hurting feelings but he knows you give him the most vulnerable form of yourself just as he does for you. 

He scrunches his nose and turns toward you, unbuckling so he can shift his body to face you. 

“Those sound like vows. Have you been practicing?”

Shrugging, you play his question off with a wry smile because he caught you. You still feel teary but blinking keeps any from coming and you idly play with his fingers and allow yourself to indulge in romance despite the heaviness still lingering between the two of you.

“Not necessarily practicing, just trying to figure out how to put how I feel about you into words because I don’t think the words I need exist.”

An arched brow is his response and you roll your eyes, tilting your chin toward the ground to hide your smile. He doesn’t want to coax anything additional out of you but the relief he feels knowing you still want to marry him despite everything that has happened is almost as comforting as the first breath he took waking back up after being healed enough to keep going by Shoko and Yuuta. 

He would be doing you both a disservice if he let you off the hook completely, though.

“So you still want to marry me?”

You scoff, lifting your head to look at him with a raised brow that mirrors the one he just gave you.

“Please. I’d marry you right now if you wanted.”

“Then do it.”

Opening your mouth to speak, you stop when the words won’t come, and he fills in the blanks for you.

“Let’s get married right now.”

“Satoru, we are in a car pulled off to the side of the road on one of the most famous highways in America.”

“So?”

At least his mood seems to have improved, the mischievous glimmer back in his eyes as he looks at where your hand and his take turns smoothing over each other. The two of you are always so sync even if you don’t realize it, seeking one another out like air, and you inhale sharply to keep from getting emotional once again.

“Okay. How do you wanna do it?”

He grins, shrugging.

“I guess we just say it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you shoot at him despite the smile on your face and he leans across the center console to kiss you. It amazes you just how many different types of kisses this man can give you in the span of a few minutes, going from silly to sweet to sincere to sexy, but you’re grateful to be on the receiving end of each one. Your lips mold to his perfectly, no longer split and cracked the way they were a few days ago, and he pulls back from you with raised brows and meets your eyes.

“And you’re my wife.”

For as unceremonious as the event of apparently becoming his wife has been, you feel a rush of heat to your face when he says the word in reference to you and the way his gemstone eyes are gazing into yours tells you that he means it. You are his wife and as far as you’re concerned, just saying it is enough, you can worry about the rest later.

“Does that make you my husband?”

Smiling, he tips his head and leans forward to press his forehead against yours.

“I sure hope so.”

And so it begins, the rest of your trip as makeshift newlyweds, your heart pounding at the realization that this means forever. This is the commitment to one another you’ve both been anticipating and scared to make, you spent years running from him because you knew this was the only outcome, but with noses touching and two sets of eyes blinking at one another it has never been more apparent that you two were meant for this, for each other.

DAY 6 - MALIBU, CA - POINT DUME LOOKOUT

The final day of the trip has passed by at lightning speed, your flight leaving from LAX first thing in the morning. It feels correct that you’re spending your last few hours on some of the most beautiful soil on earth watching the sunset over the horizon in Malibu despite the cool air of the January day. The ocean glimmers and you can’t help but gasp in awe at what you see, feeling like a proverbial goddess staring at the open land below you.

“This is beautiful,” you mutter and Gojo joins your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He has a blanket and spare jacket tucked under the other, something to keep you both warm after the sun fully sets and the air grows colder.

“Almost as pretty as you.”

Rolling your eyes, you swat at his chest and suddenly every piece falls back into place. The past five days have been exactly what he needed to find himself, to return to who he is and who he wants to be, and it thrills him to think for even a moment that he may someday feel completely normal again. It won’t undo the things that have happened but it will help him make sense of them.

“Ouch,” he mutters playfully and you laugh, pulling the blanket out of the crook of his elbow and placing it on the ground below with a flourish and a shake of your hands. You instantly sink to the ground below, crossing your legs and sitting back with your hands bracing you. Satoru follows suit with an easy smile, sunglasses covering his eyes despite his facial injuries now being mostly gone. 

Sighing, you tip your head upward and let the sunlight warm it. 

Things are going to be okay, you tell yourself with an earnestness you couldn’t muster a week ago. This is exactly what you needed.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, contentedly watching seabirds drift by in the distance, but you sit up and turn to face Gojo, smiling wistfully watching the sunset on his features.

“You wanna know what I’ve been thinking about lately?”

He hums at your question, nodding emphatically.

“Of course.”

Turning your face back toward the sunset, you recall a moment you have been thinking about since the moment it happened, the night he called you his soulmate. It was in the thick of an emotional evening after a long day, the two of you indulging in some pillow talk before falling asleep. It was so easy for him to say, as if he never assumed anything else could be true. 

“Years ago you told me you’ve always known it was going to be us and I brushed it off as you running your mouth,” Satoru fakes offense at your words but you smile wistfully, shaking your head and looking down toward your crossed thighs, the sun suddenly becoming too bright to keep gazing at. “But it’s not a coincidence it has ended up being us two, is it?”

You feel guilty for leaving out Shoko and Utahime and the other friends and students you have met along the way but he knows better than anyone what you mean. He smiles back and captures your hand in his, your palms pressed together while watching the sunset over the Pacific Ocean, cold winter waves lapping at the jagged rocks below the cliff you sit on. 

“Add clairvoyance to my list of skills because I called it, didn’t I?” Humor mixed with unwavering honesty, one of the things you love the most about Satoru, peeks through his every word and you feel so full of love it’s hard to do anything but finally stare at him, eyes squinting thanks to the last bright remnants of daylight. “Even back when you thought I was nothing but a pest with freakishly long arms I knew it had to be you.”

Giggling, you think back to those days that were a practical lifetime ago. Time seemed like it was endless, stretching on and on forever in sundrenched days lounging in the courtyard grass at school, and you assumed you had endless amounts of it. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, it’s all the same when you know you have theoretically at least six more decades to live. 

You were reckless with your feelings and even more so with those of others back then, the man next to you a frequent recipient of annoyed eye rolls and scoffs. He knows he deserved them all even if he gives you a hard time about them now, his boyish determination to impress you gradually buffing away your edges until none remained. 

To the uninitiated, it may appear he tamed you, buffed and smoothed you into perfection equal to his own, but anyone who matters knows better. Satoru remade you, as being loved unconditionally does to anyone. He loved you when you were scowling and spitting and swiping, refusing his friendship and certainly his affections, and he loves you now with your palm pressed against his while you gently breathe in brisk ocean air wrapped in his coat.

“Thank you for never giving up on me.”

He pulls you closer, chin resting on top of your head as it always does. No response comes and you don’t need one, content to listen to the soft puffs of air leaving his nostrils that ruffle the top of your hair. Weeks ago, you weren’t certain you’d ever hear them again. Now though, the mix of the roaring waves and his breaths and his heartbeat pounding against your back catch you off guard and you start to cry, a tear trailing down your nose. 

“Don’t do that. No crying.”

Despite the tears, you laugh. It’s impossible to do anything but when he looks down at you with his head cocked, a little mocking pout on his lips. Leaning up, you kiss him gently and he hums into it, thumb reaching to swipe the stray tear off of your cheek. Leaning back from him, you sniffle.

“Just a little? You know how I am.”

He shakes his head. How can he ever deny you anything? You’re his life, his reason, his world. His one.

“Okay, a tear or two for my little crybaby but that’s it.”

Whatever tears were welling up dissipate quickly when you start laughing and it wows you how it seems like everything is truly back to normal. The two of you glancing at one another like lovesick teenagers, the same as you did ten years ago, the same as you will for the rest of your lives.

“You were right, you know. We are soulmates.” 

He grins.

“That’s not something I hear from you often but I’ll take it.”

DAY 7 - TOKYO, JP

The 9 hours back home felt far longer than the ones passing on the way there but after a blissful week and an easy flight, you are home and you are clean and you are comfortable in your own bed.

Spread across the mattress in nothing but a towel, you listen to Satoru hum from the adjoining bathroom while he brushes his teeth, running water mingling with a song that kept playing on the radio during your trip that has been stuck in his head for four days. Giggling, you wonder if he knows you can hear him or if he’s truly in his own little world.

“Turn the water off, it’s wasteful!”

You playfully shout into the bathroom and you hear the water cease but the humming continues. He’s well aware that you’re listening and it’s glorious to see even more of him come home - his happiness returning and stabilizing over the last few days. You worried at the beginning of your trip things would never be the same and they won’t, of course, the losses you’ve both suffered more than any one person should have to, but they will feel good again and already do.

Speaking of feeling good, your husband (who is very insistent that you call him this despite no legal documentation of your marriage existing) saunters into the room with a towel low slung on his hips and you can’t help but let your eyes roam over every part of him. His arms are no longer bruised and scuffed, back to their defined and pristine glory. The face you know every contour of is back to normal as well, nary a trace of anything happening in the first place, but curiously - he isn’t devoting any energy to heal the scars across his torso. Small silvery slashes and the big one where Sukuna split him into two remain visible.

Your mouth waters watching him dry the ends of his hair with a towel and it’s no longer satisfying to merely look, you need to feel; to touch every piece of him to ensure he’s still here despite having done it many times over the last several days. Every touch will be like this for the rest of your life, you think, making sure he’s whole and real and yours.

“Come here,” you nod and tilt your head, flipping from your back onto your stomach and swinging your legs in the air behind you. Gojo hums, raising his eyebrows and sliding onto the bed next to you, leaning onto his side and propping his head up with a hand.

“What can I do for you?”

You giggle almost girlishly, fluttering your lashes for no particular reason other than to let him know that he still has the ability to fluster you a decade together later. Tentatively, you reach toward him and trace your finger over the scar through the middle of his torso, the flesh smooth and pearlescent.

“Keeping that one?”

He shrugs, looking down to see your single finger become an entire palm pressed against his abdomen, your fingers tracing small paths across his abs and chest. The muscles beneath your hand tense with each touch and you pull yourself to your knees, crawling across the bed to kneel beside him.

“Maybe I’ll get rid of it eventually. I have the choice, you know?”

That he does and you nod, understanding. Your hand continues to travel over his chest, smoothing over each of his pecs and your core flutters excitedly when your hand travels from his upper torso to the lower portion, fingers sliding beneath the knot of his towel. 

He looks over your body, the way that your tits are pressed together and spilling over the towel secured over them, eyes trailing from your cleavage to your shoulder where a jagged and angry scar of your own sits. It’s from an attempt to dismember you in Shibuya, to cleave your arm straight from your shoulder, yet you don’t let the fact that it’s there bother you a bit. 

Satoru’s cock starts to harden under his towel merely looking at you and you smile watching it come to life beneath the cotton covering it, pushing him backward and flat onto his back so that you can straddle him. Discarding your towel, you drop it on the floor next to the bed and lean over him, chests pressed together while your knees rest on either side of his hips. 

“Hello there,” he teases and you laugh, leaning down to kiss him and bracing your forearms on either side of his head. There is no time wasted on gentle kisses, opting instead for the type that sear as you pant into his mouth and feel his bulge pressed against your bare cunt. You grind against him, the friction from the towel over his cock making you whimper, and one of his hands finds your hip to hold you steady while you make yourself feel good. 

“You like that, baby?”

Humming affirmatively to his question, you drag yourself across his covered length for only a moment more and choose instead to sit up, giving him a full view of all of you. This is a sight he has been blessed with more times than he could begin to count but every time it feels like a gift, your breasts swaying as you steady yourself. His hand slides from your hip to your waist and even higher, thumb and index finger pinching your nipple and making you tilt your head back and moan.

“To think I almost never saw this again,” he mutters to himself but you hear it, leaning forward enough that your face hovers above his. You kiss the side of his jaw and he groans, cock so hard the towel has shortened by several inches while it fights to sit against his stomach as gravity intends for it to.

Kissing further down his jaw and his neck, you rest your face in the crook of his neck for a moment and sigh dreamily. You're already soaked, ready to slip him inside of you at any moment.

“To think I never saw this again,” you repeat back to him and sit up, reaching behind you to unknot his towel and push it off of his hips, looking over your shoulder and groaning at his pretty pink tip resting against his belly, glossy with precum. You look down at him with a slight pout, leaning in to kiss him while running your hands over every inch of his body that you can.

“Look at you, Satoru. You’re so beautiful.”

He’s no stranger to your compliments but he flusters a bit anyway, chest turning pink as his face heats up. His white lashes flutter as he looks down at you, your mouth pressing kisses into his neck and warm chest. You scrape your teeth over his nipples and it makes him whine, bucking his hips and pressing his heavy cock against your pussy.

"Fuck baby," he mutters, hissing when you press your hips down against him, the wetness seeping from you coating your lips and his shaft in return, your hips gliding easily over him. Your mouth remains occupied, pressing kisses lower down his abdomen and over the scars he hasn't yet healed. It's your responsibility to remind him that every single piece of him is as lovable and stunning as ever and you take it seriously.

"I need you."

The rasp in his words makes you smile and you nod, ceasing your kissing and straightening your spine so that you can press your tits against his chest again. There is zero space between your bodies, just how you prefer it. He reaches for his cock and groans, wrapping his fingers around the base, abandoning it to brush his fingers over your wet cunt.

"All that for me," he marvels, two digits sinking into you with ease and you arch your back slightly, letting him spread you open while grinding your hips down against his pelvis, the direct contact of his body on your clit sending sparks through you.

"Just for you, handsome," you smirk against his neck and he crooks his fingers inside of you, brushing the spot he knows drives you wild. You moan and he pulls his fingers out of you, your cunt clenching in protest only for him to immediately replace them with the girth of his cock, your walls stretching to accommodate him.

"Feels so good," you whisper and he hums, hands coming to your hips to keep them steady while he thrusts upward into you slowly, sinking himself to the base methodically, shallow thrusts pulling him nearly out of you.

He's greedy though, undeniably addicted to the way you make him feel, and keeps enough of himself inside of you that you are unable to even begin to miss the way he feels. Your walls clench around him, keeping him secured inside and your hips grind lazily despite his grip on them.

The pleasure is mind numbing but you keep yourself alert, moaning softly while he throbs inside of you. More lazy thrusts met with slow and passionate grinding make you moan on unison, lips finding each other. Moaning into each others mouths, occasionally brushing tongues and kissing, you're overwhelmed with nothing but pure love knowing you have this to look forward to forever.

Forever sounds like a long time but you can't think of any better way to spend it than with your Satoru.

"You gonna cum baby?"

He asks and you nod, your walls gripping him tightly. His thrusts speed up, the sound of skin on skin filling your bedroom. The mind is a powerful tool and despite this being quite possibly the least active sex the two of you have ever had, you're so in love with him your body does what it does naturally and that's cum around his cock, clenching and pulsing to let him know how much all of you loves all of him.

"I love you," you babble against his mouth and he chuckles. "I know baby, I know."

Your hips still and you let him hold you in place, his back arched as he thrusts fully in and out of you, his own release slowly coming over him. His eyes flutter shut and he stays buried inside of you, ropes of his cum filling you and seeping out around the base of him, dripping down onto the towel below him.

You don't say a word, sinking into his chest while he softens inside of you. Talking feels unnecessary when your body itself says so much but the big mouth is back to normal so the blissful silence doesn't last for long.

"I love you too, by the way."

At least he's being sweet.

Giggling, you kiss him and wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, clinging to him while he moves from your mouth to press kisses into your hairline.

"So," he starts and you look up, hovering off of his chest enough to look him in his eyes. "When are we telling everyone that we're married?"

"Let's make it legal first, yeah?"

He pouts but it is replaced quickly with a wry smile and you sink back down to rest against him, cheek pressed into his collarbone. The news surely won't come as a surprise to anyone but you want to make sure it's set in stone before letting everyone know.

"Let's go first thing in the morning."

His eagerness makes you laugh but you acquiesce, knowing there's no excuse to wait. You spent enough time fighting off the inevitable that for once, you're glad to just sit back and enjoy the ride, especially when you're enjoying it by Satoru's side.

[crustose]

The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, reordered to fit Steddyhands timeline

Pet Sounds is about Stede, Ed, and Izzy. and here's the proof. Listen on Spotify

Wouldn't It Be Nice

Ed/Izzy, Hornigold era. Encapsulates the joy of finding each other, while yearning for better times. Hoping that one day they’ll have it, if they just hold on for a little while longer.  

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up In the morning when the day is new? After having spent the day together Hold each other close the whole night through But happy times together we've been spending I wish that every kiss was never-ending Oh, wouldn't it be nice?

You know it seems the more we talk about it It only makes it worse to live without it

Discussing mutiny, building Blackbeard, together. Longing for the kind of life that isn’t ruled by Hornigold any longer.

I Just Wasn't Made for These Times

Ed “It’s all so fuckin’ boring’ Teach

Every time I get the inspiration To go change things around No one wants to help me look for places Where new things might be found Where can I turn when my fair weather friends cop out? What's it all about?

I Know There's an Answer

Co-Captains? Co-Captains. 

I know so many people who think they can do it alone They isolate their heads and stay in their safety zones

Now how can I come on And tell them the way that they live could be better? [Traditionally, piracy is a culture of abuse, floggings, keelhaulings. And my thought is, "Why?” And also, what if it wasn't like that?]

Here Today 

Izzy, warning Ed against Stede. 

It starts with just a little glance now Right away you're thinkin' 'bout romance now You know you ought to take it slower But you just can't wait to get to know her A brand new love affair is such a beautiful thing But if you're not careful think about the pain it can bring

It makes you feel so bad It makes your heart feel sad It makes your days go wrong It makes your nights so long

Izzy, warning Stede against Ed

Right now you think that she's perfection This time is really an exception Well, you know I hate to be a downer But I'm the guy she left before you found her Well, I'm not saying you won't have a good love with her But I keep on remembering things like they were

That's Not Me

Stede leaves, thinking he’s doing the right thing for everyone. Once he reckons with that, he can return with the confidence that he loves Ed, and that the Revenge is home. 

I had to prove that I could make it alone now But that's not me I wanted to show how independent I'd grown now But that's not me I could try to be big in the eyes of the world What matters to me is what I could be to just one girl [Ed Teach btw]

I'm a little bit scared 'cause I haven't been home in a long time [Stede talking to Ed’s wanted poster] You needed my love and I know that I left at the wrong time

I'm Waiting for the Day 

Stede/Ed/Izzy, at various points. They were there for each other, bridging those times when various iterations of the three of them were broken up. 

I kissed your lips and when your face looked sad It made me think about him and that you still loved him so [S2 Stede to Ed and Izzy, separately] You didn't think, no, that I could sit around and watch him take yo You didn't think that I could sit back and let you go

Izzy, S1, hoping that the duel would get Ed back.

Don't Talk (Put Your Head on My Shoulder) 

Ed/Izzy. Those first moments of reconciliation, when it’s just the two of them. They can’t really talk about it, not yet, but they can sit together, shoulder to shoulder [well, shoulder to upper arm more like], hands gently clasped, and just be. 

I can hear so much in your sighs And I can see so much in your eyes There are words we both could say Come close, close your eyes and be still Don't talk, take my hand and let me hear your heart beat

Sloop John B

Stede/Izzy, that night that Ed left. Stede’s excitement at being respected as a real pirate, giving way to his anxiety over Ed. Izzy helps him through it. 

Around Nassau town we did roam Drinkin' all night Got into a fight Well, I feel so broke up I wanna go home Call for the captain ashore, let me go home

You Still Believe in Me 

Ed/Izzy. Ed’s wonder and gratitude that Izzy, against all odds, stays. 

Every time we break up, you bring back your love to me And after all I've done to you, how can it be You still believe in me

God Only Knows 

Steddyhands. No explanation needed. 

If you should ever leave me Well, life would still go on, believe me The world could show nothing to me So what good would living do me?

[invadernurse]

Catching Flies (Revised) Ch. 13

Chapter 13: Dark Revelations

Overall rating: Teen

Summary: You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. That’s what they say anyway.

Teacher!Reader makes the mistake of trying to help the two most troubled kids in your class. This leads to forming a science club, learning some childhood psychology, adopting an alien older than you, and somehow catching Professor Membrane’s interest.

Afab Non-binary Reader;

The reader does have a last name: Nemo– which means no-name.

Chapter One |Master post |Ao3

You had agreed to meet up with the Professor the next day at his lab. Which meant a few bus rides --more than usual since there were only a handful of buses working for the whole city-- and being filled with anxiety the whole time. After all, this was Membrane Laboratories. You had always wanted to visit and take one of their infamous tours, but never had the time (or money) to indulge yourself. 

And now you actually were. To meet up with Professor Membrane himself and get a new phone. 

Soon you found yourself staring at the gleaming building of Membrane labs; it was so much larger than you had anticipated, even though you had seen plenty of pictures and advertisements featuring it. 

 You tried to bolster your courage and calm your anxieties as you looked up at the gleaming building, but after a short moment of mental rallying it was obviously not going to happen. You ended up forcing your body to cooperate despite the hurricane currently raging in your stomach and walked up the marble stairs towards the doors.  

The glass doors slid open soundlessly as you approached, revealing the pristine lobby. Everything was state of the art, beautiful, and rather blinding. Nothing at all like the Membrane home.

 You felt tiny and insignificant in the wide-open lobby, watching in wonder as the vid-screens covering the walls showed many of the products or upcoming projects of the lab that were bound to revolutionize the world once more. Despite the size, only a few others milled about, usually in pairs deep in discussion and all dressed in white long lab coats. 

“Can I help you?” A tart voice called, bringing your attention back down to earth and over to the receptionist desk where a man and woman (in matching lab coats) sat. The man seemed preoccupied with the computer in front of him, but the woman was glaring at you from behind her glasses, making you feel even more out of place. 

"Hi…" you started quietly as you hurried over, feeling like it was taboo to break the imposing silence. "Um, I’m here to talk with Professor Membrane?”

Her scowl only deepened more as she scoffed;  "And you are?" You gave her your full name, and she barely glanced at the computer screen before replying shortly: "You don't seem to have an appointment."

"Oh, well…” Shit. You hadn’t even thought of that. You had expected… well, you weren’t sure what you expected. Maybe for him to leave a note that you would be by?  “I-I think he’s still expecting me," you continued, knowing full well how weak your excuse sounded. “I'm a, er, friend?" It wasn't quite the truth, and apparently your lie was blatant in your face judging by the sneer on her face. 

"I'm afraid that unless you have an appointment, I can't help you." 

They probably had hundreds of people that came in from the street every day, claiming the same thing.  

 But you weren’t just some crazy fan. Granted you were a fan, and sure you were a little crazy to even be doing this, but that's besides the point. "Please, just call him and tell him I’m here."  

She scoffed, "I am not interrupting the professor's hard work for another fangirl."

The man interrupted his coworker and placed a sleek phone on the counter near you, a smirk on his face. "Call him yourself, if you dare to bear the consequences."

His look made you pause, but you boldly stepped towards him. He dialed a number and placed you on speakerphone.

"I don't hear the alarms," Membrane growled annoyedly as soon as he answered. "I told you not to disturb me when I'm working."

"I'm sorry, Professor. But, um..." Maybe you had been mistaken? Maybe he meant later in the evening?

Before you could doubt yourself anymore he interrupted you, his tone changing completely. "Mx. Nemo, my apologies. I’m glad you came, I'll be up shortly!"

The line went dead, and you realized both receptionists were looking at you with a mixed expression of confusion and shock. You pushed the phone back towards then, your doubt gone and replaced with confidence and a smidge of smugness. "Thank you!"

--+--

You only had to wait a few minutes before you heard heavy bootsteps against the marble floor, making you look up from the magazine you had found. Despite literally waiting for him,  your heart still did a little odd skip when you saw Professor  Membrane hurrying towards you, something clutched in one of his hands. 

"I'm sorry it took so long," he amended as he drew closer, holding out what looked like a simple white phone. "Here is our latest phone, set to go on the market later this year. I was going to give you the newest prototype but it's still prone to blowing up on occasion. This one, however, only rarely blows up and emits very faint gamma radiation," 

You paused for a second, caught off guard before remembering his odd sense of humor. You studied what little of his face you could see and caught the signs of a smile around his goggles, making you grin while a warm pleasant feeling fluttered in your chest. "I won't turn into the she hulk?" You couldn't help but quip back.

You swore his smile had grown, despite not being able to see it. "Theoretically, no. However, I wouldn’t be completely surprised."

There was no stopping the giggles that escaped even as you focused your attention on the phone-- it was nothing like your beat-up flip phone. This was sleek, shiny, and obviously one of the top-of-the-line products. "I really can't accept it though," you protested as your smile fell. "It's probably worth more than I make in a year…"

"Nonsense," he interrupted, pushing it into your hands. "Your current phone is an antique as well as nonfunctional thanks in part to my son. As, I assume, are most of your electronics."

You paused, internally admitting he was right. Everything was  fried. The only other choice you had was to go without, and that really wasn’t a choice at all. 

So you pushed your guilt aside and smiled back up at him as you accepted it. "Thank you, Professor. You're extremely generous."

There was a pause, and you think his eyebrows raised in surprise; though the faint pink on his pale skin was probably just your imagination. He coughed suddenly, as if catching himself. "Right. Let me show you how the Meme-phone 5000 works."

You could faintly hear the receptionists whispering as Professor Membrane led you to a nearby bench, which at best meant to hold two petite people and Membrane himself was no longer the bean-pole as he had been a few years ago and you were...well, you. Yet if he was bothered by your proximity, he didn't show it as you settled next to him, pressed between his side and the armrest. 

He rather proudly went through a demonstration of what the phone could do-- including but not limited to: projecting a holographic screen that you could use in lieu of a computer, download probably every song and podcast known to man and still have room, and free access to the Meme-cloud that had enough free storage for everything you could ever possibly need. Yet despite being amazed at the major upgrade that was now yours, you would find yourself stuck on studying the man beside you with equal awe and interest. 

You could easily see Dib in him. The excitement in his voice and how prone he was for going off on tangents into technical terms that went far above your understanding was just like his son. Honestly, it was to the point you had little doubt that behind his goggles he had the same look in his eyes as Dib had when you allowed him to explain what exactly a vampire-bee or Squid-squash was. 

“And, of course, it can make calls; video or otherwise,” Professor Membrane finally paused for a moment, looking almost...nervous as he swept through the options before pulling up the contact list. “I hope you don’t mind, but I preemptively added both my home number, lab extension, and cell number. In case you need to reach me. Dib’s and Zim’s numbers have been added as well. You won't believe how many times Zim’s little brother Gir has prank-called me,” he added hastily before adding: “I understand if that’s too far, now that I think about it. I apologize…”

“No!” you interrupted, grabbing his hand without thinking to reassure him. “That-that’s perfect, really. I, um, have taken them under my wing a bit, and told both of them they could call me for help if need be.” You hardly wanted to explain the details of covering for Zim’s lack of parent (which was a whole other can of worms). 

However, you weren’t a hundred percent sure getting caught in an awkward moment again with him was that much better. Silence hung between you and you caught sight of his eyes behind the thick glass (plastic?) of his goggles. In the light you were sure they were the same color as Dib’s, but perhaps a little darker. "You remind me so much of Dib," you blurted as soon as the thought crossed your mind, mainly just to end the awkwardness.

You could see him blink in surprise before he continued with a hint of uncertainty to his voice. "I'm not sure how to take that." 

"It's not bad!" You quickly amended, realizing how strange and weird most people saw his son. "I mean that you both have that passion for your interests. When Dib starts talking about his paranormal I don't understand half of what he is saying, but I enjoy listening nonetheless because I  can tell how much love and dedication he's poured into his research. And I can tell you're the same. And, well, I think it's… really cool." You finished lamely. "You're both so unabashedly passionate. I like it." 

To your surprise, you could see the bridge of his nose and ears turn pink as he looked away. "I,um," he cleared his throat as you realized he was embarrassed. "There's never a shortage of praise or compliments regarding my work, but that… those words mean a lot to me. Thank you, Mx. Nemo." 

"Not a problem," you returned, feeling rather flushed yourself. You were still holding his hand, but he was holding it so tight that it dispelled any thoughts of pulling away. 

You were holding the Professor's hand in public.

"I admit, I have difficulties relating to Dib,” he spoke after a moment with a softness to his tone as if admitting a deep secret. “Despite the genetic similarities, it's hard finding any common topics with the boy. This paranormal  nonsense of his is very hard to understand, to say the least." 

"He's twelve," you reassured, squeezing his hand softly. Were you really here giving parental advice to Professor Membrane? "I've studied their age group in college, but it's still hard to understand them. Their brains are still developing, so it's hard for us to relate. But you can still see the adults they’re becoming. Dib and Zim… I would be honestly surprised if they don't carry on your legacy. Their future's so bright it's blinding, so it's our job to help them grow and develop. That paranormal stuff may be nonsense, but he has developed amazing research skills because of it." 

Professor Membrane was quiet for a moment, making you internally scream at yourself for your awkward rambling. Of course he knew all of that! He was a leading scientist! He probably understood the whole childhood-mental-development thing far better than you did! 

 "While not technically scientifically correct,” he stated slowly. “I agree with your thesis. Those two have amazing potential."

He agreed with you. Well, you had kind of assumed he always had, considering the fact he had been helping you. But after the pushback and sneering you received from your peers, it felt nice to have it stated plainly. 

A shrill beeping from his coat pocket interrupted the moment, making both of you jump. You barely caught your new phone as he fumbled for the one ringing in his pocket. “Yes Jones?” he answered in a short but professional command. It was odd to be able to see him switch from the Professor Membrane you had come to know to the one you had seen on television and U-tune as he stood, commanding authority once more. “Again? No, I’ll be there shortly. Make sure to keep track of them this time. I told you the government isn’t happy that we already lost two of them.” 

He ended the call before looking back down to you, “I’m sorry, but I have to return to the lab. If you have any difficulties, please let me know."

You could only nod at watch as he strode purposefully towards the elevators before pausing just a few steps later and turning back towards you. "I always enjoy our conversations, Mx. Nemo. Perhaps we could… get together sometime just to talk some more?"

"I-I would love that," you stuttered, sure your face was on fire from how hot it felt. "Just let me know whatever or whenever works for you." 

"I will," he nodded before he continued to the elevators. 

Once the doors slid shut behind him the silence was broken once more. "Who are you?" The female receptionist asked with a mix of disgust, confusion, and curiosity. 

"No one," you said after a moment. "I'm no one." And yet here you were anyway. A friend of two child geniuses, and one of the most brilliant minds in the history of the earth. Who wanted to get to know you better. 

--+--

When Professor Membrane returned home that evening, things seemed relatively normal. Gaz was playing one of her video games while Dib was sitting at the kitchen table with a new issue of his Swollen Eyeball magazine. A typical quiet evening, which was actually quite atypical in itself. 

Usually, once assuring his children didn’t need anything, the professor would retreat down to his own personal lab to work on his personal projects. Yet tonight your words from earlier had stayed with him, and guided him to take a seat across from his boy. "What's the creature this month?"

He would usually never ask such a question. Usually he would silently despair at his son's insanity, or maybe comment how he wished his son would forget such nonsense. But he had to admit, Dib had proven quite competent at research because of it. 

"New evidence of half-fish mutants living in the mariana trench. Possibly an advanced civilization that moved Atlantis there so they could…" Dib trailed off, realizing what he was saying and to who. The boy looked up at his father skeptically, waiting for his typical rejection and scorn. 

Instead, Professor Membrane sat quietly, waiting for him to continue. Dib narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Aren't you going to criticize and tell me that's crazy or not scientific?" 

Membrane sighed, unused to the small jab of guilt at the accusation. "I had an enlightening conversation with Mx. Nemo today," he explained, "and I have decided to try a new approach." 

If anything, Dib became more suspicious. "And that is…?" 

"To allow you your nonsensical passions, but see if I can assist you approach it from a scientific angle rather than dismissing them outright." 

Dib was sure this was too good to be true, but scooted over after a moment so his father could see the magazine and started to info-dump on him. There was still obvious disbelief but Professor Membrane wasn't outright dismissing him, which meant a lot to Dib. Instead, Professor Membrane held his tongue at the more ridiculous aspects, and asked questions prodding at the facts that seemed more based on science, leading into a rather decent discussion. 

And, maybe he could see a little bit of himself in his son. Granted, the boy was the exact replica of him genetically, but he was finally able to see the similar thought processes and cognitive abilities. 

"So Mx Nemo got a new phone?" Dib started innocently as he flipped through the various advertising that filled most of the magazine.

"Yes, I gave them the Memphone 5000. I believe that was a suitable upgrade from their old…phone." If one could call that a phone, he was pretty sure he could have upgraded that when he was still a child himself. 

"You two get along pretty well, don’t you?"

Professor Membrane completely missed the sly look on Dib's face as he reflected on his relationship with you. "I believe so. While their studies have not been focused on the sciences, they are fascinating to talk to.” You actively listened without your eyes glazing over with confusion despite the fact he could tell you didn’t quite grasp all of the concepts. You provided helpful insight, which was a rarity in itself that he found himself excited for. “I still need to review my schedule to see when an appropriate time would be to meet with them for further discussions." 

Dib frowned, not quite believing what he just heard, while Gaz popped her head in. "Wait, is that dad-talk for he has a date? With your teacher?" 

"It is not a date, Gazleen. It's simply a meeting to continue our conversation." Yet despite his words, Membrane could see both of his children start to smile, looking completely impish. 

"Sure it is, dad," Dib tried not to snicker. "Purely professional?" 

Membrane opened his mouth to answer before pausing as the realization hit him. "Well, not exactly..." It was more personal than a professional, but not an intimate thing like his children were implying. "But that doesn't mean-"

"First dates are usually just to get to know each other better," Gaz said, slipping into the chair beside her brother. His children had twin devilish grins on their faces, which didn't bode well for the Professor when paired with the fact that they were working together. He could feel the foreboding deep in his bones, causing him to be deeply unsettled but trying to hide it from the two.  

"I think you're too young to truly understand…" The differences between romantic and platonic affections? The complexity of interpersonal relationships between adults? The fact their father wasn’t an expert on the subject anyways? 

"Maybe, but she's right." Dib interjected after his father trailed off. "You said it yourself, you like them and you find them 'aesthetically pleasing'. And it's super obvious Mx. Nemo likes you too."

Professor Membrane groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried not to think that maybe his progeny was right. Could this be construed as a date? Did you think it was a date? 

Did he want it to be a date? 

It was extremely rare that a person interested him enough to distract him from the self-admitted obsession with science, yet you had. And he could even admit that his fascination with you couldn’t be strictly considered professional or scientific. He doubted he was experienced enough with personal relationships to understand the complex and subtle differences between platonic and romantic feelings, but he knew that he at least wanted to be friends with you. 

But as far as romantic…

Professor Membrane could remember holding your hand. Even with his prosthetics and gloves, he had been able to feel how warm and soft they were. Small compared to his own.  And thanks to those same prosthetics he could detect your pulse quicken when you met his gaze. It was very unscientific, but he had found your eyes beautiful and had done a mental catalog of the dozens of different hues in your irises. He had unconsciously tried to memorize every aspect of your face from the shape of your eyes, the angle of your nose, and your lips…. 

Without prompting, he suddenly found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss you. The mere thought caused his own heart rate to quicken as he found the idea…pleasurable. 

"Oh," he muttered as the realization hit him like a solution to a particularly difficult equation. His feelings were very unscientific and unprofessional. He did like you, in a way that was quite different than platonic. 

In fact, his feelings were rather similar to how he had theorized romantic and sexual attraction to feel like. 

"Oh dear." 

[maw-and-pawp]

Beneath Veiled Faces pt.1

Disclaimer: Robin's and Alma's views on vore doesn't reflect mine. Robin may come off as a little preachy in that one monolog, but just keep in mind that they have strong opinions formed from their own life experiences, and Alma has (less strong) opinions from her own. It's no way intended to say that one type of vore is inherently better than another- the reason the pred here gets the come uppance is purely plot armor lmao. Also, I've never been to a bar or had alcohol! Can you tell? XD Content: NSF/W vore, alcohol, intoxication, discussion of consent and ethics, panic attack, anxiety, unwilling vore, fatal digestion, hurt/comfort, secret missions, first meetings, secret identities, background murder, past slavery, not too graphic violence, unnamed female pred and unnamed ambiguous prey. Lots of fucking world building.

Robin scans the room once again, ears straining to listen to the wind from inside the mixed bar. The lights are dim this time of night, most patrons having either left or had one too many. The perfect time for most predators to make their move on people too drunk to properly fight back. Or run.

This area of the city has been struck with a string of disappearances, all prey folk. An obvious new hunting ground for an inexperienced pred. No matter. If they do this right, their target won't get the experience to get away with it smoothly.

The bartender gives them a strange look from across the room. Robin had tucked themself into the back booth, back to the wall, ordering only the occasional food. It was, admittedly, good food. They're obsessed with the cheese-stuffed potato skins and the sweet potato fries covered with some sort of sweet glaze. But they hadn't ordered any alcohol in a bar all night, just using a fork to stuff their face with finger food. And they had just been caught looking too closely at the patrons and the exits.

Stars they must look so suspicious. They just know they've got ‘that look’ in their eyes again, as Cedar keeps pointing out, that gives people the impression that they're ‘staring straight into your soul’. Ugh. Guess it's time to go up to the bar and actually order something, or blow their cover.

They hand over their ID and smile without teeth. The bartender eyes them a moment longer, before handing it back. He's a tall pred folk, one that would tower even above other mortal preds. As it is, Robin's palms start sweating in their gloves from having to almost throw their head back to look him in the eyes. They focus instead on the little enameled pin tucked across his collar, a cutesy little ghost saying ‘boo-mbtastic!’. As they start to read the menu for something light to sip, he speaks up. “I saw you looking around a lot tonight.”

“I'm waiting for someone,” they confess. It's not the whole truth, obviously, but they can't lie even if they wanted to. He chuckles. His voice rough enough it makes them shiver. They hope they're not flushing. “Got stood up, huh?”

They move to shake their head, but stop mid-movement. A sweet scent tickles their nose, and they have to swallow thickly against the sudden flood. The stool next to them shifts as someone slides in.

“Heyyyy bestie, no time no seeee,” the stranger says. A young prey woman sits next to them, swinging her feet and leaning her face in her hands. A faery prey woman. What in the world…?

“I saw you yesterday, Alma. Like I see you every night.” The woman - Alma - hands over her ID and smiles with teeth. Her pink nose is flushed red already, her pupils blown so only a ring of spring green can be seen. Has she been bar hopping? “Are they with you tonight, then? You can't keep leaving your dates hanging. This one's been here all night waiting.”

The other faery looks surprised, before turning her face to where he's gesturing. She looks them up and down, and smirks conspiratorially. “They are now! You don't mind, do you?” Robin shrugs. It doesn't matter to them, although now they'd have to find a way to thank her for saving their ass there. The man raises an eyebrow and mutters something fond under his breath about ‘damn kids, had me worried’.

They both order, and the bartender turns to start preparing the drinks. Robin tilts their head at the faint whisper in the wind. It's something to focus on instead of the way their stomach clenches. They've eaten enough food tonight, they don't need more, and they've just met Alma. That's not how it's supposed to go back in the homeland. And they've had enough of the nontraditional way. Never again.

She studies them over the edge of her glass of wine. Seemingly sizing them up in turn. After a moment, she comes to a decision, and hisses quietly in their mother tongue, words having a strange accent to them. “Y'know, I thought I was the only one on this side of the Veil.” She smiles toothily, swaying some. They resist the urge to grab her arm to steady her.

“Me too.” They take a sip of the sangria they ordered, trying to wash her scent down with another sweet thing. They need a distraction, so they ask the first thing that comes to mind to keep the conversation going, leaving one ear pricked towards the wind. “What brings you here?”

She snorts. “To the bar or the jungle? Because if it's the first, buddy that's so cliche to ask What's A Pretty Thing Like You Doing In A Place Like This.” Alma giggles as she downs the rest of her wine. She fully turns to face them, leaning her elbow up on the counter not made for her height. Her upright ears flutter, once, twice.

They roll their eyes. “I'm not hitting on you, obviously. You don’t have to answer that if it's personal.”

Alma rolls her eyes right back. She sobers some as she mulls it over. In a hushed tone, she replies, as if anyone happening to be listening could actually understand them. “I'm not the real Alma Florimell. Well, I am but not. It's a whole deal.”

They hum to themself. “Changeling?” They pretend not to be invested in the answer. Truly, how alone must she feel if she was willing to answer a vulnerable question from a stranger? Or drunk. Probably drunk. They shouldn't ask anymore questions like that, then.

“Yeah. Switched at birth and all. Like in a bad comedy drama. I'm lucky that my hosts wanted me even after they realized I'm not normal,” she rambles. The bartender notices that her drink is empty, and she motions for a refill with a muted smile. She sways again. Maybe she's had enough for tonight… They quietly ask for some water in english and push it towards her. “And, well, the real Alma isn't on speaking terms with hers, so I guess I dodged a bullet.”

“You are normal, Alma. Perfectly healthy and average for someone like you, as far as I can tell. And yeah, the plant thing is a little weird, but you're all just weird to me in general.” 

They decide to look around again, instinct telling them that something was off. Nothing was out of the ordinary at a glance, though. Exactly how it was before they got caught. They frown slightly to themself before turning back. They redouble their split focus towards the hunt at hand.

“Whatever…” she brushes off. There's no reason to believe them, afterall. They don't even know why they said that. Robin glances down to their hands. Half the glass is gone somehow. Oops. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

“It's really common. It would be weird if you didn't feel more at home with plants than people.” 

A momentary silence descends between them. Robin scrambles for something to say. They feel dizzy; from the alcohol or from the sweet treat they're talking to, they can't say. Their stomach rumbles in interest at the thought. They shake their head, realizing they're staring. 

It's Alma that breaks the silence. “So, what about you? How’d a windborne end up here? You're not trooping faeries. It must be hard living in a city, especially with no prey. Unless I don't know anything and I should shut up now. No seriously I won't be offended if you tell me to, I ramble all the time, especially when I've had too many. Like now. Yeah.” She sips her water to illustrate the point. The little preything really could talk, huh? Robin likes the sound of her voice, it's deep and smooth, reminding them of Cedar in a strange way. When he's totally relaxed and not nearly soprano from his anxiety. They take out their phone and shoot off a reminder to take his melatonin gummies while they're thinking about him.

Pocketing it, they finally process her words, and freeze. Well, she might not get it, but maybe they can subtly tell her a partial truth so she can draw her own conclusions… They pull up their left sleeve just enough to reveal the old brand curling possessively up their forearm. Their master’s use-name, written in the faery tongue in bold characters. It's an old and ugly memory, but their master’s attendants made sure it healed cleanly. The only apology they could give them as a child freshly ‘acquired’. They don't acknowledge the gasp to their right as they calmly explain, “I'm a free hound, but I can't ever be sure it would stay that way if I went back.”

They pull down their sleeve and fit it back over their glove snuggly. The leather squeaks as they testingly clench their fingers. Stalling, so they don't have to acknowledge the fear Alma is radiating at their side. Her heart is beating so fast, rushing blood close to the surface, making her scent flood the air. It's soured with terror. So dizzy, and shaky, they get up to leave her alone. It's fine. They get it.

Her fingers shoot out and clutch their sleeve. “It's fine! I'm sorry for reacting like this. Give me a minute, you don't have to go!” 

They rip their arm away, baring their fangs in a snarl. Heart hammering, they can't breathe enough air into their lungs, and their world lurches forward from the rush of adrenaline and oxygen deprivation. The stool rushes up to meet them and they cling onto it like a lifeline. Everything blurs out of their awareness for several long moments.

When they come back to themself, their ears are ringing, and the bartender has come from behind the counter and laid them down flat on the ground so they wouldn't crash and bring glass with them. He's speaking softly to them, and someone next to them is guiding them through a breathing exercise. They vaguely recognize it as the same one they use with Cedar when he has attacks. Their ears ring.

Robin is guided back onto the stool, Alma saying something to the bartender, who after a moment retreats to get them a glass of water. She very carefully doesn't touch them, but she does lean forward into their line of sight, pretty lips softly smiling. It doesn't reach her eyes. 

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you…”, she murmurs. “I didn't know.”

“I should be the one apologizing. Just. Don't touch me suddenly. Don't grab my arms like that. And we’re golden.” They gulp down their water in one big swallow. “Thanks for helping me through that. You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah I did, idiot. I messed up. I fix it. Thems’ the rules.” She leans back out of their space. “I think I owe you something now, though. For being frightened unnecessarily, and causing a situation where you'd panic.”

“You don't owe me anything. It's fine. It's over, and it was an understandable reaction to that. It's fine.”

She tilts her head, regarding them thoughtfully. “What about dinner? You don't seem like you've gotten enough to eat recently. Your presence is weaker than I know it should be. Or well, it's late for dinner. I could be dessert?”

Robin bites back the first three answers. They are not going to make decisions with their stomach, thank you very much. “Don't offer me your body out of a perceived obligation. That's weird. I would be weird for saying yes to that.”

She flusters. “Hey, don't talk about it like it's sex! And it's not obligation! I thought, maybe, that you would be tempted if I said it like that. To be honest, I just want to disappear right now. Be far away from everything. I don't know, the chiropractor is too expensive. I need to get factory reset and no one is biting. It's just fulfilling a need for eachother. And yeah, I am sorry for earlier. I know bloodhounds don't get a choice in what the person on the other end of the leash makes you do. It was irrational. You'd have torn my throat out already if you were still under someone's thumb. And I know that I get the munchies after a panic attack, I thought that it would probably be welcome to offer you a meal.”

They hum in thought for a moment, choosing their words carefully. “It's not inherently sex, you're right. But I need to approach it like it is. It's a lot of the same questions about consent and autonomy about our bodies. It's not like here in the mortal realm, they die from this all the time. They can't have a culture around respecting a prey as a person in the same way we can. It's inherently intimate, at least for me. You're both food and a person, but here it's food or a person. It's so strange to think about it like that. It feels wrong.” They shiver in disgust at the mere thought. “So following that logic, I'm pretty sure we're both too intoxicated to be making that decision right now.”

Alma’s voice turns teasing. “You've had literally one drink. You're not that much of a lightweight, are you?”

“Guilty as charged. It's the bird bones. Can't be too heavy to fly and all.” They smirk. “Who knew hollow bones were bad at making blood, too?”

“Oh boy. Let's hope you never have to go to the ER!”

“Yeah. Let's hope.”

They settle once again into a comfortable silence. At some point they relocate to the booth Robin had claimed earlier. Alma ends up ordering 3 more wines, and they show her the magic of the glazed sweet potato fries. She teases them for eating fries with a fork, and they dare her to wrap her hands in napkins and not get any grease or glaze on them. She fails spectacularly, over and over, until Robin can't breathe because they're laughing too hard. She playfully kicks under the table.

While they're having fun in good company, the other preds at the bar watch in curiosity. Some had been concerned earlier, when the short one had keeled over. Some were watching with bated breath, placing bets on when the little pred was going to stop playing with their food and eat the tiny prey. In anticipation or cynical worry.

And one was thinking to herself that the little pred was weak. That together with the tiny preything, they'd make a filling meal. The tiny prey was drunk, it wouldn't put up much fight. Couldn't walk, let alone run, so all she had to do was swallow the other one first. Oh yes. It looked so tasty. She hoped her prey paired well with the margarita she's been nursing the whole night. 

Her stomach burbled in interest at the thought of dinner tonight. Or perhaps, that was last night's prey still processing. Such a pretty thing, so trusting. It filled her up nice and good. She went home with a squirming gut that night, and put her favorite soap operas on. Rubbed her belly as it purred, bubbling and churning in delight as the little thing screamed for help. Slowly being drowned out by her massive gut roaring to life, thrashing getting weaker as her stomach clenched and melted her prey into nothing. Gods, she can't get enough of it. Truly, this was what she's been missing out on?

She follows them out after they split the bill, and the little pred helps the tiny one walk. They stagger a few times, and the two stop for a moment so the tiny one can bend over a bush. She hears them hiss quiet words to eachother in a language she's never heard before. They sound like snakes, but if snakes were Italian. How interesting.

She slips unnoticed past them with a casual walk. An alleyway was only a bit ahead, where they'd have to pass to call a taxi home. Perfect. Now, just to wait.

Robin sighs in relief as nothing ends up coming up. It's been a long night for Alma by the looks of it, and they mentally prepare to get strange looks from the taxi driver as they carry a nearly blackout drunk preygirl home. She'd probably be fine on her own, seeing as faery prey are fighters when they don't like what's happening. Vicious things. But it's rained recently, and if she passes out in a puddle…

The hunt tonight was fruitless so far. Well, maybe they could take Alma home and come back to continue. The predator has been attacking in a circular pattern across the city, Missing Persons last being seen at a bar and disappearing after the establishment closes, or after they leave. So the culprit is choosing the victims inside the building. 

Of course, serial killers or traffickers aren't entirely ruled out. But the broken antler pieces left in alleys suggest an amatuer predator breaking off the natural defenses of their prey, not wise enough yet to remember to clean up afterwards. Or someone clever enough to make it look like a predator attack to throw off investigators. Not that the police have been any kind of useful to a simple case like this so far. That's why they have to step in now.

They curse their circumstances in their head. If only there were more faery prey - willing prey - they wouldn't have heard about this so late. The wind would've carried the screams for help to them from anywhere in the world. But the longer they go without eating, the more the wind fades from their awareness, the harder it is to maintain the glamour that safely hides away their wings in a pocket dimension. They haven't eaten prey since they were a teenager…

They slowly lead Alma away from the bush as she straightens back up. The designated area for the taxi was just ahead, a little alley between them and the waiting bench.

Someone grabs the back of their shirt and yanks. They feel their body be pulled back into the shadows, reflexively letting go of Alma in the process. Adrenaline shoots up their spine. Something wet hits their face - drool - and they instinctively twist around in the grip of their captor. The attacker is over powered, or caught off guard by their strength, and loses some of their hold on them. Robin strikes out where they're guessing the face is of the predator, and tries not to grin when they feel a crack underneath their fist. They've struck true once again.

The person goes flying. They watch as they - she, bounces off the side of a dumpster and lands on her knees. A vindictive, predatory part of themself purrs in satisfaction in seeing their target brought low. She groans. Growls some generic insult. Or threat. They don't really care what she has to say.

“Found you,” Robin breathes, and Alma slurs. The prey woman leaning on the opposite wall wastes no time in reaching into seemingly nowhere and bringing forth five long purple needles. She throws them. One lands in the dirt by the target’s feet, one in the brick wall, two in the metal, and one strikes true into the predator’s engorged gut. They feel sick as they watch the flesh wobble on impact. The woman goes limp almost instantly.

Robin eyes her for a moment before turning their head to stare at Alma. “What do you mean, ‘found you’?!” They once again say in unison. They shake their head. “You first.”

“I ho arouuund,and…*hic* smell nice. It makes them. It makes them want meeee. So I figired, I've got Para. The stiff that makes you jot move. I trick em into eating it along with me if they're gonna just *hic* take meeee.” Alma rambles. “Yooou turn”

“...I go around and find predators that don't take no for an answer. And I make them take no for an answer.”

“Ohhh you're the killlllerrr. Cooooool”

 “And you’re the cause behind preds becoming paralyzed suddenly. Nice.”

“Yeaaah” She slowly sinks down the wall, and Robin moves to help her up. “I wanna go home now.”

The adrenaline is slowly starting to wear off, and the exhaustion setting in. Robin is tired down to their bones after tonight. All in all a successful hunt, with a new ally/friend to boot, but they've done more emotional work tonight than they have since the night they ran. “Yeah. Let's go home.”

Two taxi rides, a deadweight girl on their back up a flight of stairs, and a worried phone call later, Robin is closing their own apartment door behind them. They're asleep in Cedar’s bed before their head hits the pillow.

[witflitmanict]

Trauma in the Living Place

As stated in the rules, if I miss one day I need to make it up the next day. Whether I missed 1 day or 2 days is a little up for debate because technically I did not think of this idea until I was in bed late on Oct. 1. It may have even been Oct. 2 by the time it truly occurred to me…but also I said for the month and well…it is the 3rd. 

Who cares? Here is a short essay based on a discussion my brother and I had last week.

….

When I was growing up I kinda knew that the world I was growing up in was off. Mostly I felt this because the TV was very good at showing me this. But I was also painfully aware of how cliche it was to compare your life to the people on TV because TV was fiction and life was real. I have always been far too painfully aware of my own existence. 

The thing is I look back on baby me and I think “Damn I was right.” 

The environment I grew up in was kinda fucked up. Not in a horrendously violent way, although it did have these peaks of violence, but more in just the way that every day felt like a battle and it felt like that for me from a very, very young age. And worse, as far as I could tell it felt like that for everyone around me. And I was pretty sure that couldn’t be right.

It was the therapist I started seeing after my most significant manic moment who pointed it out to me. This therapist, a kindly, sweatered, not that old man who had an office in an old apartment building in Japan that smelled like cedar and had sliding windows that opened up towards the railway, was the first one I had ever seen with any amount of seriousness. I had seen others before, but it’s hard to go to therapy when some of the things you struggle with most came at the hands of a therapist. Kinda puts a real damper on the whole trust bit. 

But this therapist, he was different. He didn’t just want to talk, he didn’t want to tell me what I could do to ‘improve my condition’ (shortcut to me - don’t tell me what to do). Instead he had a focused approach he wanted to do - EMDR.

EMDR, for those who don’t know, is a type of therapy that uses what to me, a lay person, comes across as almost a hypnotic approach. EMDR stands for “Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing”. And that is what the therapy is. Some therapists use a sound, some use a motion, others use light…but basically, they give you an external stimulus to focus on. Then, they ask you to share a traumatic memory. They guide you to go deeper and deeper into the memory, asking about details, asking you to locate where in your body you are feeling the memory (ie is your stomach tight, your neck flushed, etc) and then they try to help you relieve that emotion through breathing exercises, visual exercises, whatever. 

Here is a nifty little youtube video that tries to visualize it for you. 

How EMDR works? Look at this animation (English)

The point of this therapy is to try and deal with your trauma. It originated from a woman, Francine Shapiro, who said she noticed while working in the woods one day that moving her eyes side-to-side like this reduced her anxiety (or something like that, you’re on the internet you’ve got Google). She then took this movement and used it when working with trauma victims, and found that there was demonstrable improvement in their flashbacks and the way they reacted to the trauma. Thus, EMDR was born. It is, in fact a bit controversial as some people say it is just another type of exposure therapy but it is also recommended by a lot of health agencies to deal with trauma. And, as a personal aside, I found it incredibly helpful.

So, it was in one of these sessions, that my therapist asked me, essentially, what was the first time I remembered recognizing that the adults around me could not in fact take care of me. He was likely working off the theory that I had to “grow up” at too young an age, and it had left me quite affected. 

And so, I started in on the first strong memory I have of recognizing that adults are useless. I said I was about 9, maybe 8. I was at a friend’s house with my siblings. It was the sort of house that seemed to always have people about, but the mother was a wonderful woman who cared a lot about us, and her kids were about our age. This particular day there was a group of adults and some kids I was less familiar with. I remember this even now, some 20+ years later, that I was particularly curious about a bleach blond lady who seemed off to me. She just seemed like she was trying too hard, and I didn’t really like her…But it didn’t matter, the kids were in kid world and the adults were doing whatever adults do, so I just ignored her.

At least it didn’t matter until suddenly it really, really did. We were playing outside when an adult came rushing out and told us we all needed to get inside right this minute. It was clear this adult was panicked, and we were mostly all old enough to understand that an upset adult meant something dangerous, and obliged. We made our way inside and into my friend's room, the one farthest down the hall on the opposite side of the house. We sat on her bed and were wondering what was going on when we heard a lot of noise and looked out to see a man walking past her window to the back of the house.

The guy, I registered him only as “adult” at the time, had shaggy brownish blond hair, a white T-shirt and jeans. And a look on his face that sent me into a panic. It was intense. He didn’t look our way, instead he seemed really focused on something else. Something none of the rest of us could see. He walked with such purpose towards the back of the house and everything about him screamed danger. 

And in the panic that followed as we all realized that this must be why we had to come inside, I realized that my younger sister was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in the room with us, and as far as I knew she wasn’t with my brother. So I went out and tried to get an adult’s attention. But they were in hysterics. That blonde lady was crying and the other women were trying to reassure her. My friend’s mom had her new baby in one hand and her phone in the other and was calling…her boyfriend. Not the cops. 

This is the moment where I first had the thought that adults really can’t do anything. I understood that we were in danger. That the man I had seen outside was a bad guy and he would hurt people. And rather than call the cops these grownass adults were calling the boyfriend of my friend’s mom who was all the way in Plymouth, a solid 20 minute drive at least. And more importantly, none of these adults seemed to have noticed that my baby sister was standing in the glassed in backroom, directly where that guy had been headed, playing pool by herself.

The guy came around the bushes and headed towards the sliding door of the pool room. And I yelled at my sister to get over here, so scared to go down and get her but desperate to get her out of there. The image of her looking up from chalking the pool stick and seeing me, and then the guy, as he began to kick the sliding door, is still pretty fresh in my head. 

For me, that’s where the memory ends. My brother remembers the next bit. We were all taken into the mom’s bedroom, and told to stay there until the adults came to get us. There was a lot of commotion going on, but my brother and his friend, they were old enough to recognize that they needed to do something to hide it, and put on some dumb 90s comedy. He doesn’t remember what it was, just that we all sat and watched it until the adults came and got us, and we went back home shortly after.

I guess my trauma figures that I don’t need to worry about the part where someone, another child really, took over the situation. But I do need to remember the moment I stood in the kitchen, looking at the adults, and recognized that they were not taking the right steps to protect us. That their flimsy plan of calling a boyfriend who would take at least 20 minutes to get there would not protect us from whatever was happening in that moment. And I remember that after this I began to view other adults with increasing distrust and a distinct impression that they would, in fact, not be able to take care of me or my siblings. 

I relayed this story to my therapist and he was stunned. Normally we would move into talk about how this felt and what I saw when I relayed it, but instead he asked me, eyes a little wide and voice full of concern, if I thought this was typical of my childhood. Did things like this happen often? 

Not really, I’m sure I told him. At least, things didn’t usually explode to this level. I mean sure I can remember other instances of being places where I knew there were dangerous adults. Dads who showed up to softball games they weren’t supposed to be at. Uncles or brothers or whatever of friends of mine that I just instinctively knew to stay away from. I knew that there were parts of the woods you could go to, and parts where the cops had been run over and shot at. But these things didn’t really have to do with my family directly. They were just around us. 

And that’s when he laid down a truth that struck so true that to this day I consider it one of the greatest revelations to have been revealed to me…”That is not a typical environment. It sounds like that whole town and a lot of the people you knew were dealing with a lot of trauma of their own. I think you have a really skewed perspective of what ‘normal’ is.”

Reader let me tell you that in the 27 or so years of my life that I had been grappling with the fact that my life was not like that on TV, never once had it occurred to me that I might actually be correct in thinking that my life was the odd one out. I had simply lived it knowing that TV was not real, and that my life wasn’t as bad as others. After all I wasn’t the kid of the guy who kicked in the back door and shattered that sliding door while a 7 year old ran up the stairs. I wasn’t related to the men who then grabbed him and held him down as they smashed the car door onto his head until he collapsed. Sure, I was friends with the girl whose dad would hit her and her brother with a switch, and I was close with the one whose dad disappeared and reappeared at softball games unexpectedly…but that wasn’t my trauma. My trauma was tame in comparison to that.

Except that, just by being around all that trauma, I had convinced myself that anything bad that happened to me or my family wasn’t that bad because I mean damn look at what the people around us dealt with. And of course my parents both worked in social service-like jobs, so we knew full well the reality of the world around us from a very young age. There were no starving children in Africa who would happily finish the food on our plates, there were starving kids in our town or the homeless shelter down the street. 

But it took seeing this therapist in his safe dusty office 9000 miles away from where I had been born for me to realize that all of this was really, really wrong. And to be clear here, there is nothing abnormal about towns like this. Places full of disenfranchised people whose only outlets, or only chance of survival, are drugs, drinking, and illicit activities exist everywhere, in all countries. But just because they are normal doesn’t mean they are ok. 

Places like the town I grew up in breed generational trauma that no one can get out of. And they distort what is “normal” for the people who grow up in them. And that distortion means that they are more likely to put up with things that are in fact traumatic for the entirety of their lives because, well, it could be worse couldn’t it? 

Except that just because something is normal doesn’t mean it’s the standard to base our lives on. And that then became a through line for so much more in my life. Yeah sure, I only got migraines once or twice a month, and that was a great decrease from growing up where I would get them weekly…but it’s probably not normal to be in that much pain, is it? Or for that matter, it isn’t normal that my stomach hurts and I want to throw up almost every day, or that my joints seem to ache so badly that I can’t move them sometimes…or for that matter, that soy seems to make my mouth feel like it is full of tiny little cuts. 

And once I realized that I needed to stop basing my idea of “normalcy” on what I grew up around and instead see what people outside of it all had to say, I gotta say, my life got a lot better. 

Word Count: 2397

[cratlord]

Prince of the Seas - Chapter 15

Pairing: Bucky x Ruby / Some Bucky x Killian

Summary: Things did not get better for Bucky Barnes after he and Sam had their adventure. They got worse. After years of living only through stolen moments of his own life, he is given a chance to build a life in a whole new world. The catch? That life is going to be a very, very long one. This is the tale of the life built in the Realm that will one day be known as Misthaven, or the Enchanted Forest.

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, Sexual content

The body had long ago dispersed into ashes.  There was nothing left of the woman who had given her every moment to him.  He stood next to the stone, staring at the fire which refused to go out, despite having run out of flesh to consume.  The flames continued to lick up the side of the sacrificial alter before flickering up into the air where the breeze carried them up and out of town, where they twinkled a rainbow of colors amongst the stars.  

There was nothing left.  She was gone.  

Bucky felt his knees hit the ground, the impact creating a jolt of sensation which shattered every vestige of calm carefully built up around his heart.  His ribs felt like they were trying to suffocate him.  Every gasp of breath only served to stoke the flames pouring out his eyes in time with the sobs they pushed out his throat.  Every feeling he had pushed aside regurgitated itself all at once, leaving him feeling somehow like he was burning away to nothing but freezing to death at the same time.  

Blue was the only one left by his side.  The townsfolk had long since gone home for the night, tactful enough to give the grieving god space once the last of his wife burned away into the heavens.  Even his children had gone reluctantly back to their home, the Inn their mother had so loved, at the Fairy Queen’s quiet insistence.  Blue had known Bucky long enough to know what her friend needed.  

She kept her movements slow and predictable as she approached him, finally kneeling so she could hold him in her arms.  And she held him.  And he cried.  

When the sun finally rose, he barely noticed.  His head was cradled in his friend’s lap with his eyes still glued to the white fire.  His tears had slowed, more from dehydration than any relief in the unrelenting pain.  The fluffy blue dress Blue wore was softer than he had ever really expected, even now, crusted as it was with his tears and less savory fluids.  

“I am the goddess of hope,” the gentle fairy said softly as she carded her fingers through Bucky’s hair.  “These last decades though, I must admit that it has been you who has given me hope.”

The raising sun cast the sky in innumerable hues as the townsfolk began to stir again.  The sounds of them raising and beginning their days floated through the town commons and to the two still next to the burning stone.

“Long ago,” she continued quietly, “my name was Reul Ghorm.  When I arrived in this world, the primordial forces from the sundering had not yet settled.  Somehow, it had ended up with myself in the position I now occupy, though there were many I arrived with.  I fear I am the only one now who still remembers those times.”

There was no rush between the two immortal gods in the grass.  Both of them could feel the eyes of the curious townsfolk on them.  Both of them could hear the gossip of the people discussing the still flaming stone and what it could mean.  

“I was never one really for the desires of the flesh, but that doesn’t mean I am immune to the need for companionship.  To see you down here, living in such bliss with people you love, people who love you…  it has rekindled my own love for the people of this world.

“It’s hard though.  I am torn, because to love these humans is to want to help them.  To use my power though, I must feel my sorrow at their pain.  It feels sometimes like it is the price of my godhood to suffer this way, and it feels particularly unfair sometimes when I consider it is a burden I never asked for.”  

Bucky rolled onto his back so he could look up at Reul.  “It’s grief for me,” he rasped up to her.  “My flame burns on the pain of all I have lost.”

They were quiet for several minutes while they both just watched the sun rise.  Their conversations often went like this.  Little bubbles of words with stretches of silence between.  

“When I was a young man I wanted a family more than anything.”  

His eyes were so dry.  He closed them to keep the sandy feeling from burning even more.  

“As I grew older, and the world grew darker, I lost hope that true love was ever something I could have,” he whispered into the warm morning air.  

Reul turned her curious gaze down to him.  “You mean your old world?”  She kept carding her fingers soothingly through his hair.  “You never talk about it.  I didn’t want to ask if it brought up bad memories.”

“That whole world is a bad memory,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.  “I probably should talk about it though.  I got too much pain, I don’t know what to do with it.”

Blue smiled sadly down at him.  “I’m here to listen.”  

Bucky thought back to all of the therapists over the decades who had pestered him to talk.  It had always seemed like a fun game to tell them to fuck themselves, or feed them some line of bullshit.  The well intentioned friends over the years asking him to talk had been harder to blow off.  He’d never intended to keep Sam, Yelena, and so many others at arms length, it was just… he’d always known deep down that unloading on them wouldn’t fix it.  Not when so much of his problem was how he had a nasty habit of outliving everyone, no matter how much he’d wanted to die at times.

Reul was different though.  She was actually older than him.  She wasn’t someone he would ever watch die.  There weren’t any painful feelings when it came to her.  She would never judge him.  

“Would you mind if we had this conversation with a drink?” he asked.  “I’m parched, and to be honest, if I’m going to talk about this I’d rather do it with a beer.”

Reul nodded, and they both pushed themselves up (her far more gracefully).  Fifteen minutes later they were in the White Candle, sitting at the bar with a foaming mug of ale in each of their hands.  The tavern was closed, considering nobody in their family was really up for keeping it opened at them moment, but Elanor and Teddy were still downstairs, looking about as put together as Bucky did.  She was in a stool next to Bucky while Teddy was behind the bar, his own mug in hand half empty.  

Nobody spoke for some time.  The kids seemed to be in a silent sort of shock, with their mother being their first family member lost to death.  His heart ached to know that it was a feeling they would likely experience many more times, if their lingering youth was anything to go by.  

“I was born in a world called Midgard,” he began, his tone loud enough to signal to the kids that he didn’t mind if they heard.  

Elanor blinked rapidly and turned her head to him.  Teddy’s eyes widened and he abandoned taking a drink of his ale with the mug hanging halfway there.  He couldn’t blame them for their surprise.  He’d never told them anything before.

He took a gulp of his own ale and pushed himself to keep going.  “I was born in the middle of the greatest war my world had ever seen.  Ma told me it had felt like the whole damn world was tearing itself apart.  I was still a baby when it ended, but I still remember how for the first years of my life, people were acting like the world was cursed, like they needed to get theirs before it all went to shit again.  I didn’t really get it, cause my family was too poor to be acting foolish and taking risks like that.  We didn’t have the luxury of bargaining the future.

“One thing my Ma wouldn’t compromise on was my education.  Our government provided schools for all the kids if they wanted it, but that wasn’t good enough for my Ma.  She wanted me to go to the same school she did.  It was run by a Church and taught very particular views on how a person should be.  As a kid, I didn’t really know any better, so I just took their word for it.”

Teddy seemed to snap out of his shock at hearing Bucky actually talking about his past and furrowed his brow.  “Is that place why you don’t like churches?” he asked.

Bucky nodded.  “It’s one of the reasons.  I didn’t hate that place so bad though.  It’s where I met Steve…” he trailed off wistfully as the memories of getting into trouble with his best friend reeled across his minds eye.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” roared Sister Mabel.  

James sent one last mean mug to the boy on the ground who now had a satisfying trickle of blood dripping down his face from his nose before turning to look at the irate nun.  His chest was still heaving from the fight and his knuckles stung from hitting the older boy, but he didn’t regret a thing.  

Sister Mabel looked less than impressed.  Of course, the fact that he was barely fifty pounds and only six was certainly a factor.  “You can rest assured that your mother will be hearing about this.  Brawling in the schoolyard is unacceptable behavior.  There is never a reason to turn to violence!”

“But Sister Mabel,” piped in the small blond boy who sat next to him in class, “Billy was being mean.”

“That is enough from you, Steven.  Don’t think I didn’t see you’re part in this,” the nun hissed at the smaller boy who had planted himself by James’ side.  

James glared up at the woman scolding them.  “If you could see his part, then how come you didn’t do nothing to stop Billy from pushing Mary?”

Several of the kids still standing in a loose ring around the spectacle chorused an ‘ooo’ at his declaration.

Sister Mabel’s finger waggled down at them.  “Now don’t you talk back, Mr. Barnes.  You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“And how come Billy ain’t in trouble?  He’s the one who was being and asshole,” James sputtered out indignantly.  

His head spun as a sharp slap echoed through the school yard.  His cheek burned with the sting of the strike.  “I said that is enough out of you, boy.”  The nun stepped around the boys and grabbed an ear of each of them.  “It’s to Father Donovan with both of you.”

James knew he was going to ask Steve to play with him later when he heard the smaller boy mutter from the other side of Sister Mabel.  

“I thought there was never a reason to turn to violence.”

“Who’s Steve?” Elanor asked, speaking for the first time since the previous morning.

He smiled at her sadly.  “My first love.”

Blue hummed softly under hear breath.  “I didn’t know that about you,” she said before taking a drink of her mead.  “He must have been something quite special.  You always had an eye for quality people.”

“I met Steven Grant Rogers in first grade when I was six years old.  Even at that age, that scrawny, sickly little fuck managed to find every single bully’s fist within six blocks with his face.  He had a real talent for pissing people off.”  

He chuckled to himself.  He could still see Steve wiping his bloody lip saying ‘I had them on the ropes’ after the countless times Bucky had bailed his ass out of the fire.  He shook his head and took another drink.  

“I had to learn how to win all his fights just so he wouldn’t keep getting his ass kicked.  Even after school, when we were full grown, he was barely 90 pounds soaking wet.  He’d had asthma his whole damn life, and scarlet fever twice.”  He smiled fondly.  “Even so, he was always willing to fight if he thought it was the right thing to do.  That puny little shit had more balls than any man I ever met.  Between that and his gorgeous blue eyes, I was sunk.”  

“Steve,” he whined.  “Come on!  We’re gonna miss the start of the picture!”

It was Friday, and for some reason, Steve was loitering by the gates to the school instead of fleeing with the rest of the sane kids eager to start their weekend.  Bucky just shook his head at his friends odd behavior.

“Just a minute, Bucky,” Steve replied, as if every 8th grade boy just loved standing by a fence and doing nothing on a Friday afternoon.

No sooner had Steve said that than the Bucky realized exactly what stupid reason Steve had for wanting to stand next to the damn gate for ten minutes.  The classes for the day had been let out an hour ago, and now the last of the clubs were getting released.  The doors to the chapel opened and the girls choir bustled out.  

Bucky let his eyes pass leisurely over the girls, flashing a cocky grin at a few of them as they passed by and dispersed onto the sidewalks into the city.  He got a smug satisfaction when a few of them actually batted their lashes and giggled back at him.  

He turned a snarky grin at his friend which faded the moment he caught the look on Steve’s face.  It was a particular dopey eyed look he’d seen on any number of their classmates right before they’d gone all girl crazy and been absolutely insufferable.  His stomach fell.  Steve had a crush on a girl.  Suzie by the looks of it, based on where his eyes were glued.  

Why did it hurt so bad?

His expression fell.  “Course, two men loving each other was frowned upon on my world.  Seen as a perversion.  Between that and the fact that Steve only like girls, I just kept it to myself.  It wasn’t so bad at first.  I just pretended I didn’t feel anything, and tried my best to find a nice girl.  I never really wanted to string a dame along though, and it didn’t really feel right trying to use them to forget about him.  Eventually, I tried just avoiding him.”  

Bucky closed the door behind himself as he let himself out of Steve’s room.  The little punk had finally gotten to sleep.  It had taken a few hours, but Bucky had patiently read to him until he nodded off.  The damn cough didn’t help.  

He set the dreadfully boring philosophy book from the library onto the table in front of the short couch.  Sarah Rogers was sitting tiredly on the couch reading a book of her own, a steaming mug of tea in a cup on the side table next to her.  She set her bookmark and closed her book as he approached and patted the couch next to herself.

As soon as he sat down, she leaned over and leaned her head on his shoulder.  “I take it he’s finally asleep,” she whispered into the silence of the room.  

Even the clock had been stopped because the ticking had irritated Steve’s migraine.  The windows were all tightly curtained and the radiator was on as warm as it would go to fight off the early spring cold snap. The room was as clean as Bucky had ever seen it, as Sarah had obsessed over getting rid of the dust just in case it helped with Steve’s cough.  

He wrapped an arm around the woman he considered an aunt after all these years.  “He’s out like a light.”

Sarah fidgeted her fingers as tension rolled through her body.  Finally she shifted away from him and looked up into his eyes.  “I remember a time when I had to look down to talk to you.”  She gave him a sad smile.  “You’re all grown up now.  In a few months you’ll graduate and go out into the world and make your fortunes.”  

A tear escaped her eye.  

“Hey, Aunt Sarah, none of that.  Steve will bounce back from this.  No problem,” he said with a gentle smile, doing his best to sound like he believed it.  He looked slightly down at the kind face of the short woman who by this point had basically half raised him.  She wasn’t looking at her son’s room.  She was crying while she looked at him.  “What’s the matter?”

She bit her lip, her strong eyebrows so like her son’s when they bunched up in the middle of her face.  Another tear slid out.  

“Bucky, I would like to say something to you, but I want you to promise you won’t flip your lid, and that you’ll listen till I’m done before you interrupt.”

It was clear in every terse line of her body that she was very serious about whatever she wanted to say.  Bucky had no tolerance for crying dames, especially Steve’s Ma, who was about the sweetest lady he’d ever met.  He nodded, then wiggled his butt on the couch to signify he wasn’t going anywhere while he mimed zipping his lips.

She collected herself before she finally reached forward and grabbed his hand which was closest to her with both of hers.  She met his gaze earnestly.  “Buck, I know you’re in love with my son,” she started.  

He instantly made to pull his hand back but she only tightened her grip.  Tension roiled through his back and abdomen.  His eyes felt like they were going to burst out of his face and his ribs seemed unwilling to expand to facilitate any sort of meaningful breathing.  

More tears slipped out of her eyes as she saw what he knew was a clear confirmation of her statement in his reaction.  

“Thank you.”

The statement only confused him.  His mind didn’t seem to want to comprehend that she had just thanked him for… he opened his mouth.  He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.  About a million thoughts were jumbling themselves in a heap between his ears.  Before he could say anything, she held up a hand.

“I’m not done yet.”  

She carefully wiped the wetness from her eyes then held his eyes hostage with the kindness in her own.  Despite himself, he felt his shoulders begin to droop as his chest finally loosened up enough to let a shuddering breath in.  His own eyes began to burn with the complicated mix of shame, guilt, and grief that so often plagued him when he thought about his feelings for too long.  

“Thank you for seeing in my boy what I do, for recognizing what a great man he could be, the strength in his heart.  You’re a good man, which for a man as young as you is no small thing,” she said with confidence, even if it was barely above a whisper.  “You’re a good friend to Steve, and just good for him in general.  Nevertheless, I wish you would stop doing this to yourself.”

He couldn’t keep holding her gaze anymore.  He turned away and looked at his own knees.  He didn’t try to escape again, knowing she would only pull on his hand if he did, but that didn’t mean he would be a willing participant in this conversation.  

She wasn’t willing to stop though.  She took a breath and forced herself to continue.  “I’m not upset with you.  I’m honored that a man like you would take such and interest in my son.”  

She reached a hand forward and hooked her fingers around his jaw so she could pull his face around again to look at her.  “Bucky, there is nothing wrong with you, no matter what those blowhards at that school say.  You are not broken, you are not a perversion, and you are not unnatural.  This sort of thing ain’t nearly as uncommon as people like to say.”

Everything she said sounded so nice.  So tempting.  It felt like a knife slipping slowly into his chest.  For the first time in years, he felt tears falling down his face.

She continued relentlessly on.  “But just because it’s not wrong, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”  

She let go of his hand completely and grabbed his face with both of her hand, pulling him forward until she was certain he couldn’t avoid her words.  “Steve is going to die.”

He pulled back out of her hands and stood up, retreating several steps away from her.  More tears poured down his face as he shook his head.  

Sarah was crying freely, but in a way that sent shards through his heart.  Her shoulders were slumped and her hands collapsed in her lap.  The grief pouring out of her expression said everything he needed to know.  

She had lost hope.  

“Bucky, there is no point denying it,” she said softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear.  “Even if he makes it through this, he will never get any stronger.  His heart is weak, his lungs barely work, his spine is curved, and he’s half the weight he should be.  His list of ailments is longer than most seventy year olds.”  

“On top of that,” she paused and bit her lip for a moment.  She took a fortifying breath then continued on.  “On top of that, he will never love you the way you love him, and you deserve better than that.”

Her words carved out a hollow place inside him.  He knew she was right.  The tears kept coming, but he couldn’t come up with an argument against what she was saying. Steve liked girls.  Only girls.  He had never once even entertained the notion that he’d ever thought about the idea of men being attracted to men, let alone shown any attraction to one himself.

And he was dying.  It would be a miracle if he saw twenty-five.

Sarah crossed the room while he was having his internal meltdown.  Her hands delicately framed his face, letting her thumbs wipe his tears away.  “You’re a good man, and you deserve to be loved by someone as fully and deeply as you love them, and I’ve seen how deeply you love people.”  She sniffled wetly.  “Nobody would blame you if you took a step back, gave yourself some space.  Broken hearts hurt real bad, but they do heal if you allow them to.”

“How?” he whispered brokenly.

She patted his cheeks.  “You just leave.  I love you like a second son, Bucky, and I want what’s best for you.  I want you to leave, and not talk to Steve for a while.”

He licked his lips.  “But…”

She shushed him.  “I am his mother, and I will take care of him.  And you need to take care of yourself for once.”

He nodded silently.  She shooed him and without another word he left with nothing more than one last brief glance back.  

“Did it work?” Elanor asked, blinking innocently at him.

He pursed his lips.  Both of his kids had never really shown any interest in settling down.  He wasn’t sure either one of them had ever had more than a passing crush on someone.  It was odd considering how he was… but it could just be that they were normal and he was the odd one.  He did tend to hold onto people a little too tightly.  

“Not as well as I’d have hoped,” he said before downing the rest of his beer and gesturing for Teddy to pour him another.  His throat finally a bit wetted, he continued on with his story.

It had been eight months since a classmate named Sal had invited him to his uncle’s boxing gym.  Apparently it had gotten around the school that he hadn’t been in a fight in a few months, and Sal figured he’d want to keep up his form.  

Turns out, he was pretty good.  Sal’s uncle Tommy was a trainer and took an instant shine to Bucky, said he had a lot of raw talent.  As he sat on the bench unwrapping his hands, he pondered what it meant to have talent at this sort of thing.  He hit hard, fast, and with an accuracy that belied the number of times he’d been in fights with fellas way bigger than himself.  He was also very good at dodging.  

More than that though, he had anger.  And grief.  It had been nearly a year since he stopped hanging out with Steve.  Almost a year and he wasn’t sure if he was getting any better.  Every attempt at relationships had flopped pretty miserably, to the point that he had started going out to get laid more than to actually make any real efforts.  

He had made a lot of new friends, something that had been more difficult when he hung out with Steve considering Steve’s habit of pissing people off by pointing out all their hypocrisies.  His new friends didn’t really feel like friends.  He knew if he told them something about himself they didn’t like, they would be out the door faster than he could blink.  He was starved for good conversation too.  Turns out, most men didn’t really talk about anything of substance.

He could play the part of vapid playboy well enough, but it was kind of exhausting.  It didn’t really feel like anybody knew him anymore.  It felt like all he did was work, read, and hit things.  And now Sal was asking if he would consider hitting things for money.  

He put his bandage ball in his bag and pulled out his fresh clothes to hit the showers.  He pondered everything that had happened in the last year as he washed the sweat away in the frigid water.  The cold never really seemed to sink in.  Or maybe he just already felt cold.  It was hard to tell.

After a quick bye to Tommy and the boys, he slipped out into the cold winter evening.  He hustled down the sidewalk in the direction of home, head down and collar up like everyone else on the street.  He barely saw the others on the sidewalk as people.  It kind of felt like nobody was a real person anymore.  Or maybe they were real people, but he didn’t feel like one.  All he did was work and hit things.  

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a dark little miserable lump on his stoop.  The lump looked up at him with familiar big blue eyes as he approached.  He looked like absolute shit.  He was even thinner than he had been when he was sick and his eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed.  His hand was clenched around a bottle shaped paper bag.  

“Becky told me where you lived,” he rasped out.  “I didn’t know you’d moved out.”

Bucky nodded and gestured to the door.  “Yeah, several months ago.  Lets get inside before you catch a cold.”

Steve pried himself up off the cold steps then shivered as a frozen gust of wind pierced his shoddy thermal defenses.  They both meandered through the door then Bucky led the way up the creaking stairs slowly, knowing Steve wasn’t much for cardio.  He was on the fourth floor and he didn’t want him to keel over before they got there.  

Steve stood listlessly behind him as he got the door open.  Neither one of them spoke as they entered the shit hole apartment.  

“It’s not much…” he trailed off, trying to think of some way he could build on that statement.  “Yeah.  It’s not much.”

And it wasn’t.  It was a studio with barely enough space to be considered more than a closet.  There were two cabinets and a counter with a sink next to an old fashioned ice box and oven.  He hadn’t used either much and the dust on them showed.  There was a single radiator next to the bathroom door, with his small single sized bed on the other side of the door.  His clothes were at least kept up, with the clean ones hung neatly, the folded ones in a medium sized chest next to the rack his shirts and pants were on.  In the center of it all, pushed up against the foot of his bed, was a small two person couch that had really seen better days with a stack of library books beside it.  It was off green with the fabric near worn through in a few places, and so lumpy you could see the dips and bulges long before you experienced them.  

“Why?” Steve asked, finally breaking his thousand yard gaze to look into Bucky’s eyes.  

The overwhelming grief in Steve’s eyes left little room to pretend he didn’t know what the vague question was referring to.  Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he gestured to the couch as he made his way into the room and tossed his shed coat onto the bed.  Steve kept his on for the moment, but still made his way to the lumpy couch.  He sat, then shifted several times attempting to find a comfortable position, gave up, and just leaned his head back miserably to stare at the dingy ceiling.  

“You’re couch is shit,” he mumbled.  

Bucky didn’t bother commenting.  The couch really was shit.  He sat next to Steve and grabbed the bottle, popping the cork out and taking a swig.  He shuddered and had to force himself to finish swallowing.  “This gin is shit.”

Steve shrugged.  “It was cheap.”

They were both quiet for several minutes.  Just when Steve was ready to give up on this whole thing, Bucky finally spoke.  

“You were asleep.  Your mom and I had a…” he trailed off.  There was a lump in his throat thinking about it.  He swallowed it down and continued, ignoring the sting in his eyes, pretending he couldn’t feel the cold tracks down his face.  “Tough conversation,” he finished delicately.

At Steve’s curious glance, he clarified.

“She verbalized a few things I’d been avoiding thinking about for a while.”

Steve looked away and bit his lip.  His eyes followed the line of a crack through the plaster wall all the way to the ceiling.  He looked back when he heard Bucky sniffle.  His stomach sank.  He’d kind of suspected but they’d never really discussed it.  

He grabbed the bottle from Bucky’s hand and took a swig himself, forcing the foul swill to stay down.  “So all those girls, were they just for show?”

Bucky wilted even further into the couch, becoming one with the lumps.  “No.  I do like girls.  I just…” he shrugged, “also like fellas.  It’s more like, I’m more attracted to the whole person instead of only the equipment.”

He turned the full force of his own puppy dog eyes on Steve.  “How long did you know?”

“Puberty,” Steve replied crisply.  He shrugged.  “I could never prove it.  You were always more subtle than most people, but we’ve been friends a long time.  I suspected.”

Bucky’s chest felt like it was going to cave in.  Steve knew.  He’d basically always known.  

“You don’t hate me?” he asked in a quivering voice.

The sounds of his neighbors fighting drifted through the silence between them.  They could make out a few of the words and neither party sounded like they were behaving like they wanted a resolution.  

Steve brushed off the vulgarities drifting in from the wall and turned back to Bucky.  “You’ve been my best friend since first grade.  There’s not much that would make me hate you, and even less that I would believe you actually did, if that makes sense.  I don’t care if you like men.  I know you would never force yourself on someone who didn’t want it, and that’s all that matters to me.”

He reached over with the bottle offering it back to Bucky.  “What happened to you?”

Bucky grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig, the third one going down far smoother than the first had.  “I made it home after talking to your mom.  Dad could tell I’d been crying.  We got into a fight.  He said he didn’t have a son.  I only got my stuff cause Becky packed it for me and carried it out into the hall while Mom told him I at least needed some clothes so I could hide my shameful nature.”

“Your own parents kicked you out?” Steve said indignantly, his usual passion shining through his expression for the first time in their discussion.

Bucky’s voice sounded flat, despite the tears running down his face again.  “Downstairs neighbor heard the whole thing.  Had a fella over at the time who’d had a similar experience when he’d been my age.  He let me crash on his couch for a few weeks while I got some scratch together for this dump.  They didn’t unenroll me, so I just kept going to school and pretended like everything was normal.  Becky covered for me a few times till graduation, then I went to working full time.  Haven’t talked to them since.”

Steve tightened his fists in his lap.  He bit his lip and looked down to his own knees.  “They shipped Mom off to Riverhold last week.  She died this morning.”

The next morning, Steve helped Bucky pack up his apartment of his scant few possessions so they could move him into Sarah’s old room.

El’s head gently rested on his shoulder and he lifted his arm to wrap around her.  “Papa, that wasn’t fair for you.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head then leaned his own head on it.  “My love life hurt, but it was the least of my worries.  When I was twelve, the global economy collapsed.  The reasons are complicated, but that didn’t make the hunger any harder to understand.  There just wasn’t enough to go around, and even years later, keeping enough food on the table for me and Steve, especially when he was sick, was almost more than I could handle.  I ended up boxing professionally for a while on the weekends just to make some extra cash.  I was actually a champion.  The money helped, but it always managed to get sucked up in bills or food or something.

“To top it off, the whole world was going to shit.  After over a decade of desolation, people snapped, and another war started.  My country was deciding still if they wanted to join with their allies or try and stay out of it.  I read about the invasion just a few days before my title match.  I remember cause that was the day I found out my Ma was going to die.  She got cancer.”

The bell rang.  

He stood looking down at his opponent.  Hank was a good guy.  He felt a little guilty for the concussion he clearly had.  He was writhing on the floor completely unaware of his surroundings.  He’d get better… probably.

He felt his arm lifted and the world suddenly hit his senses again.  The crowd was screaming their heads off and Dizzy’s voice was echoing through the arena announcing his win by KO.  Tommy would certainly be giving him an earful about his lack of showmanship on this one.

Usually he was one to give the crowd a show, but today his heart just hadn’t been in it. The last few days had barely felt real.  Everything seemed to be happening all at once, and it left him feeling disconnected.  He knew this was just the quiet in his head before the oncoming fist collided with his face.  He felt a lot like… like Hank, writhing on the floor unaware of where he was.  

At least he’d made a bet on this one.  He locked eyes with his bookie as he felt the robe being placed over his shoulders.  Tommy was holding up his new trophy.  Third one Bucky had brought to Tommy’s gym.  Bucky was more excited about that payout.  He’d get a bonus for winning the Championship, then he’d get that sweet cash from the long shot bet he’d placed that he would KO Hank before the end of the third round.  

He stood there while Tommy grandstanded for a minute, going through the motions.  He smiled for the camera, cracked a few shitty jokes, smoozed a bit.  Finally, Tommy threw his arm around his shoulders and started leading him out of the crowd and in the directions of the showers.  

The noise of the crowd crested again as they hit the door out of the arena show floor as Dizzy started talking again.  Winning the world championship in his class was great and  all, but it didn’t change the fact that all most people cared about was the heavyweight class.  He could win three championships in a row and most people still didn’t know who he was.  That bet though.  That bet was real money.  That money would spend well.  All Steve’s doctor bills would get paid, rent was taken care of for the month, and there would still be a few dollars left over.  

For one brief moment, they were caught up on everything.  He wished he was in a state to appreciate this rare event.  Instead, everything only felt more surreal as the doors closed behind them and the noise diminished even further.  Everything got more quiet as they made their way down the stark white hall towards the furthest locker room.  

Tommy pushed his shoulder down guiding him to sit on a bench across from the showers.  He looked Bucky up and down then squatted down in front of him to put his face in Bucky’s line of sight.  

“Hey Kid,” he started in a subdued tone.  He sighed and ran his fingers through his graying hair.  “I know shit’s rough for you right now, so I get why you ended that so quickly.  I ain’t mad.”  He tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his fist.  “Don’t keep all that bottled up, kid.  Come by the gym and hit the bag for a bit.  Let it all out.  That shit will kill you otherwise.”

He gave his mentor and coach a weak smile.  “Thanks, Sal.  I’m gonna get cleaned up and head out of here.  I got work tomorrow still, and we’re three hours from Brooklyn.”

Sal nodded and pushed himself up from his knees, then left the room.

It was silent in the locker room.  Quiet enough to hear a dripping faucet in the showers.  He leaned forward and let the quiet sink into his bones.  Everything had been so loud lately.  Europe at war.  Title match.  Other things.  

He felt the tension cinch his back and took a deep breath to try and head it off.  He was still in the damn arena.  Not the location to fall apart.  He undid the straps holding his right glove on with his teeth then pulled it off in the crook of his elbow.  With one hand free, he took off the other glove and set them aside.  He rested his elbows on his knees and began the slow ritual of rolling up his hand bindings.  The familiar motions soothed him better than anybody’s words could.  

“For a three time world Champ, you don’t look too thrilled,” came a cocky, but mildly familiar voice, followed by the creak of very nice shoes on the smooth concrete floors.

Bucky looked up to see two men file into the locker rooms whose very appearance made his gut plummet.  One was an older gentleman, clean shaved, a touch of gray at his temples.  His crisp dark green uniform showcased the bars of a colonel, and his eyes betrayed his years of experience. His expression was neutral, but it was clear he was focusing intently on taking everything in.  

The other man, the one who had spoken, was Howard Stark, genius millionaire weapons developer, scientist, and owner of Stark Industries.  His dark hair was perfectly coiffed, with a well shaped and uniform length mustache and big, dark eyes which were an endless fountain of curiosity and energy.  All that sitting on top of a perfectly tailored suit and shoes so shiny they looked entirely out of place in a grimy locker room in Philly.  

Bucky took all this in with a stoic gaze before going back to unwrapping his hands.  “What can I do for you fellas?”

The older man stepped forward and extended a hand down to Bucky to shake, which he did.  

“My name is Colonel Chester J Phillips.  I’d like to speak with you privately regarding a job offer.”

Mr. Stark bounced on his toes in his position behind the colonel.  “Yeah, so get cleaned up and we’ll give you a ride back to New York if you like.”

He untucked the end of the wrap on his other hand and started the process of rolling it up.  “Okay.  I’ll just take a shower and meet you in the hall.”

He listened to the two men exit the room and sighed as he tucked the rolled bandages into his bag.  He pulled out his street clothes and hit the showers.  

Barely twenty minutes later he was opening the door to the hall, bag in hand, to meet the two men who were, unfortunately, still waiting for him.  They looked up at him as he walked through the door and stopped their whispered conversation.  

“I gotta grab some cash from my bookie, then I’ll be your captive audience till we get back home,” he said with a twitch of a smile.  With that, he led the way back down the hall and through the arena, now filled with fans screaming Joe’s name.  Bucky ignored all that and made a beeline for Ken.  One hushed conversation later, and he was carefully tucking a sizable wad of bills into his jacket pocket.  

He nodded to the Colonel, who was surprisingly waiting patiently.  As soon as he got a signal, Colonel Phillips turned and led the way out a side door where a long black car was waiting.  A well dressed gentleman inclined his head as they approached and opened the door to the back for them.  The two other men nodded their heads in thanks as they slid in, then Bucky followed, tossing his bag in first to the seat facing backwards across from where Phillips and Stark were.  He slid in next to his bag and waited quietly for the two of them to say their peace.  

“You know, there are guys who say you might be the best fighter the ring’s ever seen,” said the Colonel as the car started and began to pull forward onto the street.  “Between your speed and power, you also got accuracy and a flawless form.  I can tell by watching you though, the real reason you’re so good is cause you learned to fight before you learned to box.  You got the instincts of a man used to fighting with higher stakes than a trophy.”

Bucky shrugged.  “You got good eyes, Colonel.”

The older man leaned back and narrowed his eyes.  “We did some digging on you.”  He reached his hand to the side and Mr. Stark handed him a manila folder.  He opened it to a details page with a picture of Bucky at the front.  “Graduated from St. Mary’s top of your class on a school granted scholarship.  Tell me son, why did your parents stop paying for school?  It was one of the best in the state, and I know they could afford it still.”

Bucky forced himself to breath through the sudden sharp pain through his chest.  “We had a philosophical disagreement, and I was disowned.  I haven’t spoken with them since.”

Stark looked at him curiously.  “About that.  Your whole building knows about some big fight you had with them, but nobody would say what it was about.”

“It’s because I like fucking men,” he stated bluntly, too tired to beat around the bush.  “My parents are very Catholic.  I’d already strained our relationship by coming out as an atheist.  Then I had the audacity to actually read Marx and develop an opinion on socialism that didn’t stop at saying it was evil.  Them realizing I was in love with a man was the last straw, and now I have no parents.”

Colonel Phillips pulled a pen out of his pocket and started taking some notes on the paper in the folder.  “So, you’re a homosexual?” he asked casually, holding his pen steady and waiting for an answer.

Bucky froze.  He’d never actually used that word out loud about himself.  He’d never really used any label.  He licked his lip and bit it while he considered what he would describe him as.  

“Well…” he started, tone uncertain still, “I wouldn’t say that.  I do actually prefer dames, and I have been with a lot more dames than I have fellas.  Every now and then though, a fella just stands out.  More the exception than the rule.”

The Colonel just nodded, like he’d just shared his favorite color or brand of tea, then jotted down a quick note and looked back up at him.  “Would you call yourself a communist?”

“Eew,” he accidentally blurted without thinking.  He blushed slightly at his outburst and the smirk Stark gave it.  He cleared his throat.  “No, sir.  I do believe that Capitalism is a more feasible system, especially considering out cultural norms and diversity of our population.  I’m not sure communism could actually work in a population which wasn’t homogeneous, and I don’t believe there is any ethical way to take the steps which would be required to solve that dilemma.  But I do also believe there is a lot of middle ground between the two systems.  Some industries are just so cumbersome, yet essential, that in my opinion it just makes more sense to have them owned and ran by the government.  Things like the mail and the railroads.  I think an argument could be made for healthcare as well.”  

He was slightly confused at the calm and dignified way the man was just taking notes about his answers.  He wasn’t freaking out, making faces, scooting away from him, or making any indication that anything he’d said was abnormal at all.  He’d just blatantly admitted to being a man fucking socialistic atheist, and he was just calmly writing it down like this was a normal job interview.  

“What special skills to you have?” Phillips asked, again giving Bucky an emotionless and bland look.  “And please be specific.  All skills can be useful in the right context.”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair and considered what would count as a skill.  He ignored the bumping of the car as it made the last turn till it entered the highway.  The road was still relatively new so once the driver had made it there, it was quite smooth still.  He looked back to the well dressed men across from him.  

“Well, boxing, obviously,” he said, watching as they both nodded and the colonel wrote it down.  “I’m a carpenter, real steady with a knife, and I got some mechanic skills for all the machines we use.  I have to fix them pretty often.  I play the piano, have since I was five.”  He thought about what else may be useful and shrugged.  “I’m a good endurance fighter, not that I really showed that tonight, but cardio is actually my strong suit.  Um… I am proficient in Italian.”

“Any other languages?” the colonel asked.

“No sir, but I would love to learn more.”  He twiddled his thumbs and readjusted his feet in the space between them.  “I’ve been working on my Italian for a few years now, and Sal and Tommy say I pick it up fast.  I always dreamed of being a polyglot someday.”

“Any other skills you can think of?”

Bucky looked out the window and began thinking several less appropriate thoughts.  “Not sure if I would brag about it, but I am good at blending in when I want to.  I got the ability to direct people’s attention where I want it usually.  Sounds kinda manipulative to word it like that…  And I’m pretty good at math.  Geometry and trig, to be specific.”

The colonel wrote that down, then asked the next question.  The questions ranged from broad, like asking his skills, to extremely specific, like asking his thought processes in very particular situations.  Sometimes the questions were very personal, like where he’d stayed when he’d been kicked out, and other times it had been his opinion on specific events or people.  He wasn’t entirely sure what the point of all of it was, or why he was bothering with it, when he didn’t even know what the damn job offer was.  He was far too tired to bother lying about anything though, so he just kept it brief and sometimes painfully honest.  

They were over two thirds of the way back to Brooklyn when the Colonel finally put the damn folder away.  Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.  All the questions had left him a bit off footed and raw, and he was very much looking forward to his bed.  Unfortunately, there was still nearly an hour left in their drive and was stuck in the car with these two nosy bastards.  

Phillips readjusted himself in his seat and kicked his feet forward, crossing them at the ankles and leaning back comfortably in the well padded seat.  “I know I mentioned this is a job offer, and that interview was the last step.  Congratulations, Mr. Barnes, you passed.”

Stark, who had been staring out the window looking miles away shook his head and turned to fact Phillips.  “Oh man, you’re finally done.  My turn?”

Phillips rolled his eyes, but gestured for Stark to go on.

Stark grinned.  “About time,” he muttered as he rubbed his hands together and leaned forward to peg Bucky with an intense stare.  “Let me tell you about our organization, then I’ll let you know about what I want you to do.”

Bucky gave him a quizzical look, but just rubbed his eyes and nodded politely.  

“We are starting an international intelligence organization, funded and manned by the US and her allies.  Our purpose is to discover, predict, and counter as many of our enemies scientific and intelligence advancements as possible.”  

Stark was well known for being a charismatic businessman on top of being a genius.  Bucky was two sentences into his pitch, and he already understood the man’s appeal.  The more interested he was in the subject, the more attractive he looked.  He did his best to ignore the thought and pay attention to what he was being told.

“In order to accomplish our goals, we need the best of the best. We need men and women with a variety of skills and abilities, to fill all roles.  Considering the complex and delicate nature of some of our specific objectives, we need people who are more than just brainless fighters.  We need smart people, who can think on their feet, and most importantly, stay alive to give their reports.”

His grin stretched even bigger and he was nearly bouncing on his seat.  “And we want you to help us build that team.”

“Build it?” Bucky replied, the skepticism clear in his tone.  “You sure I’m qualified for something like that?”

“Mr. Barnes,” interrupted the Colonel before Stark could get going again, “you may be one of the most qualified men your age I’ve ever seen.”  He laced his fingers together and looked intently forward at Bucky.  “You are the best fighter in any class, and I’m half convinced you could take down the damn heavywieghts.  On top of that, your academic record is impressive, even with your personal issues.  Your teachers, even after five years, still rave about how brilliant and quick witted you are.  Every man you have ever worked for has similarly enthusiastic compliments about your work ethic, problem solving, and leadership potential.  I don’t think you realize how rare all those qualities are in a man who can fight as well as you do.”

Bucky’s eyes couldn’t get any wider if he wanted them to.  That they had already talked to his teachers and bosses had him a bit floored.  He wondered at how long they had been watching him.  And they had gotten good reports from them.  Even his teachers.  His teachers who had regularly told him he would burn in hell.  Those teachers had told the army he was brilliant and quick.  

“Oh,” was what his stalled out brain came up with as a response.  He turned back to Stark who was giving him an encouraging look.  “So, what exactly would I be doing?”

And there was that million dollar Stark grin again.  “Officially, you would be part of the 107th, in the Army.  Really though, you and your immediate subordinates would travel with them regionally, blend in with them when you aren’t needed, but when you are, you would break off and fulfill missions for the SSR before returning back to the 107 to report.  The regular rank and file of the 107 wouldn’t know a thing, so you and your boys gotta blend in.  While you’re there, you need to work on making your boys as good in a fight as you are.  You got a leg up, and we need a combat specialist with your people skills.”

A bubbling suspicion rose in his gut.  “And what kinds of missions would these be?” he asked hesitantly.  

The colonel jumped in again.  “Mostly going behind enemy lines to acquire supplies, intel, or human resources.”

“It’s very dangerous work,” Stark conceded, “but it’s work that really needs doing.”  At Bucky’s uncertain look, he continued on.  “It ain’t like you’d be dodging bullets tomorrow.  We ain’t even in the war yet.  None of us are naive enough to think we won’t end up in it though, and you got till then to get your team as ready as they can be.”

Bucky was silent as he thought about it.  The Colonel and Stark seemed content to let him mull it over, so he did.  What followed was a rather depressing series of conclusions.  

First, Aunt Sarah had been right.  Distance would have been way better for getting over his feelings for Steve.  He’d been living in her old room for over three years now, and nothing had gotten any better.  If anything, he was even more hung up on the scrawny little fuck.  It hurt.  It hurt every day.

Second was the conclusion that he really didn’t have any real reason to stay.  His job was alright, but also something with consistent enough demand that he could pick it right back up.  More importantly though, nothing he made at work was really what he wanted to make.  He loved creating things, but most of what he made was plain and boring shit which took minimal skill and resources.  He had no family, or at least none that would be caught dead talking to him.  His friends felt more like acquaintances really.  The only thing he really gave a shit about in Brooklyn was Steve, and that was kind of the problem.

Third, he didn’t like what his life had become.  All he did was work, read, and hit things.  When he got home, the best he could hope for was that he would be too exhausted to think too much.  He wasn’t proud of his life or anything he’d accomplished.  Sure, he and Steve had plenty of good memories together, doing fun stuff and being mischievous hooligans, as single young men should, but when the time came every night to lie down in his bed, all those memories brought him was a deep aching pain.  Pain that he would never have what he wanted most.  Pain that he knew Steve was falling apart, getting more sickly every year.  Pain that his own parents didn’t love him.  

His mind flickered to the letter he knew was at the bottom of his bag.  The letter Becky had written to tell him that her mother was dying.  She had implied that the stress of his sinful ways and the shame it brought her had somehow contributed, but that was fucking stupid and he knew it.  Stress didn’t give a person cancer.  It hurt to know that Becky thought of him that way though.  He had hoped that someday his sister would grow out of the bullshit their parents spouted, but instead she had just fallen in line like a good little Catholic.

This job though… it could be a fresh start.  Something new, something different.  Maybe even something he could be proud of, if he survived.  If he didn’t, well, he’d be dead.  Dead men didn’t give a shit one way or another. If he survived though, being an officer could open a lot of doors for him.  Maybe he could leave Brooklyn, have a whole new life somewhere new.  Maybe this SSR would even go on past the war and he could do neat intelligence things, which sounded a whole lot like cool spy shit.  

It wasn’t really a choice.  He looked up to meet Stark’s eyes.  “Sure, why not.  I’m in.”

Bucky shrugged.  “I was shipped off to training within the week, and an officer on the front lines less than a year after that.”

His voice stuck there.  It was hard enough talking about Steve and his family.  Hydra was a dark place in his memory.  He turned his attention to his drink instead.  

Silence filled the room as everyone muddled their thoughts.  Outside he could hear the bustle of town, unchanged from the events of the previous day. It had been the same on Earth in that regard.  No matter how his world crashed in on itself, everything else just kept going relentlessly forward.  Time just kept marching on, leaving him further and further behind.

He pushed his freshly empty tankard forward and silently bid his son to fill it.  Teddy nodded and turned to refill it with Bucky’s preferred ale and set the foamy beverage back on the counter.  

Bucky was lost in memories of blood and mud.  “I made it through three battlefield promotions fighting through the closest thing to hell I think any man can get without dying first.  The weapons on Midgard had advanced to the point where they were almost too effective.  Everything died in their wake: the men, the trees, even the weeds.  Fire and explosions rained down from the sky and our enemies shot projectiles at us which could tear a man to pieces from hundreds of yards away.  Between battles, the pained cries of the wounded were even worse than the dying screams of the men left on the field.

“But our enemies were such that we couldn’t turn back.  Tyrants who saw people as obstacles in their path to a utopia where everyone left alive looked and thought exactly like them.  It was a war for the very soul of our world.”  

His words trailed off as his gaze lingered off into an invisible middle distance.  “I was captured for a while, but I’d rather not talk about that.”

Blue smiled at him, sensing that this was his limit for the night.  “Thanks for sharing, Bucky.”  

Teddy looked up at him with the same big eyes that always spelled disaster for Lis’ restraint.  “Will you tell us more later, Papa?”

He shook his head.  “Well, I don’t know why you would want to know.  It’s pretty ancient history.  Not even this world’s history.  Also, almost entirely depressing.”

“Please!” El begged, her own eyes getting big.  

Between the two of them, he knew it was only a matter of time.

Next Chapter

Chapter List

[tryst-art-archive]

Feb. 2012: Interview About Roleplaying

A friend was doing a project about roleplaying that they interviewed me and my FWB for. These were our answers.

----Interview Follows---->

Why do you roleplay?

When I roleplayed with M[...] back in the day, RP took the place of more conventional social interaction by enabling a collaborative creative act that brought us closer together while allowing us to discuss our own thoughts and opinions. Every character we made ultimately represented some part of ourselves so that we could discuss just about any issue through the lens of the RP. For example, by its end we had developed a plethora of LGBT characters who allowed us to explore questions of gender and sexuality without ever risking anything physically or emotionally in the real world. In that way, the RP acted as a sort of blanket for us. It was entirely possible to get a glimpse into a particular society, a particular taboo, or a particular experience without opening ourselves up to any outside judgment. On the surface, of course, it was all about fun, and at some point the RP got around to occurring while we were actually carrying on normal conversation so that our IMs back and forth looked a bit like this:

“n[...]: (S[...] and I[...] are doing well.) Kyth: Oh hey there sexy man.

r[...]: (Aww, they’re so adorable.) Kriam: *frowns and edges closer to Craie

Craie: *snorts*

n[...]: (I know. I love them.) Kyth: *sidles up to the both of them* How’s it goiiiin’?” (etc.)

But that RP went on for something like seven years so it was many different things at various points, and while Mare and I no longer actively RP, nearly all of the characters I created over the course of it I have since co-opted for various writing projects.

I haven’t roleplayed a whole lot outside of that particular seven-year-long stint. Some of the earlier online encounters came down to a sense of loneliness coupled with sheer social anxiety and awkwardness such that playing pretending with strangers on the Neopets forums was much more comfortable for me. Later in life I’ve mostly done it as an effort to spruce up character writing (since I haven’t given a damn about a single character I’ve made since the seven year RP ended) and otherwise get back into something I used to loved, but it doesn’t generally last very long as most RP sites are communities and I don’t have the energy to invest in that these days.

What parts are most entertaining?

I’ve always been a fan of world creation, so I suppose those increasingly rare moments when two RPers can collaboratively build a world spontaneously are the best bits. This would represent any occasion where person A says “Krytha is from a city built on the back of a colossus” and person B says “Oh, yes. Johann went there once when he was 13, and he was particularly fond of their use of damask designs” where neither person has previously so much as mentioned these things. That sort of improvisation can be amazing, especially when the result is a world and a set of people who feel real. I suppose that’s what made the seven year RP so wonderful – at the end we each had an array of characters who felt completely real, and no wonder; they’d been interacting with one another for seven years. Just that ability to step out of your present life and go live another one (or several hundred other ones) with an equal feeling of reality is liberating and glorious.

Why do you keep doing it?

Nowadays I only really RP when DnD is going on, so it’s become more of a general gaming reflex. I play DnD for social fun times and also because I’m a nerdy gamer escapist. DnD is partially about escapism – being someone you’d never be in real life and then saving the world. Part of it is game – you roll the dice, you build your character so that they have the best attacks and skills to get through challenges – but it’s also partially RP in that you act out their conversations with the other characters, both player characters and non-player characters, and you make decisions not based on what you want but what makes sense for the character you’re playing. For example, I play Leaf and Craie, respectively, in my group’s two campaigns. Craie is a sullen, angry bull of a guy whose usual response to problems is “punch it in the dick.” Leaf, meanwhile, is basically Jesus as a druid. Of the two, Craie is more fun for me to play, largely because he allows me to respond to frustrations in exactly the way I would not normally but would absolutely love to – with violence. Leaf on the other hand talks his way out of things and has an overly idealistic moral code which means playing him requires a great deal of thought about precisely what he would do. It’s much less visceral and generally less fun because overthinking is something I do anyway. All the same, the RPing in DnD provides a form of escapism, and I’ve always embraced that. It’s a way to get out of what is and go into a place that’s a bit more accommodating.

Do you relate it to writing?

Hardly at all. Roleplaying’s connection to writing, for me, is purely incidental and largely technical. The seven year RP has provided lots of fodder for my current-day writing, that’s true, but at the time we wrote in a pseudo-script format and weren’t aiming to produce beautiful phrases. It was written because we were on IM and had about fifty characters apiece at any given time. There was never a coherent story or arc, just one hundred some-odd people who existed in our minds living out their lives. In forums it tends to be a bit more writerly, but when you wind up with such a huge array of skills with writing and styles, it gets a bit frustrating and , in order to enjoy the experience, you really can’t be there intending to actually produce good writing. You can only have a good time. (For example, many message boards have about half the RPers writing in past tense and half in present tense. Most will write third person but there’s almost always one who insists on first. It’s absolutely infuriating, and I can’t really RP on those sorts of forums because I spend the whole time wanting to throttle everyone. Roleplaying requires camaraderie, not competition.) In the case of DnD, there is not physical writing, but there is a story arc and individual character arcs. In the latter sense it relates to writing, but again the two areas are divorced in my mind. Roleplaying isn’t about writing, it’s its own field.

Do you think it improves your storytelling?

No, but I think it improves my characters. I find actually storytelling is trying in RP situations. People get distracted, and egos get in the way, most of the time. In DnD storytelling works primarily because the DM is there to tie everything you’ve done into one big arc. Without the DM, though, it’s just a bunch of people running around trying to be more important than everyone else. That being said, character development is greatly aided because it forces your idea of a character to actually interact with others whose responses will be unpredictable (unlike any encounter you could write between two characters who are both under your own control) and otherwise face circumstances you may never think to subject them to. In that way, RP enables your characters to develop the same way people in reality do – by dealing with the unexpected and coming out the other side. Thus, an RP character is much more likely to wind up feeling like an actual, rounded person than a character you made up one day because you need to write a short story for your writing class and it’s due tomorrow.

Do you think you use roleplay as a form of dream-fulfilliment?

Hmmm… not really. I do use it as a form of escapism, but not as dream-fulfillment, I don’t think. My understanding of dream-fulfillment is that it  boils down to wanting to do a particular thing and then enacting that. That isn’t how RP works for me, at least, at all. I don’t go in specifically planning on doing a particular thing or enacting a particular idea. Rather, I find a setting that sounds intriguing, possibly a plot that looks entertaining too, and I enter into that setting with a character who I hope will prove interesting and fun to play. It’s a means of leaving this world for another, more interesting one rather than acting out a particular scenario.

Has there ever been anything you couldn’t do in reality that you then used roleplay to do?

No, not that I can think of. On the one hand, I have opportunities to do general sorts of things I wouldn’t normally (such as be aggressive when playing Craie), but all in all roleplaying is basically acting. I make up a character and take on their role – everything I do in an RP is predicated on who that character is and how he/she sees things, feels about things, what would be best for him/her. As such, my desires don’t factor into it because I’m not the one doing the actions. I’m simply not there.

Do you use roleplay in order to better understand literature?

Nope. The way I see it, if you’re roleplaying in a literary setting, you’re still roleplaying in the typical way, it’s just that your locale of choice happens to have been published. In that sense, one can’t really use it as a means to understand literature because you’re too far removed from the original work’s storyline and themes. You’re just borrowing its setting.

Have you found that you better understand literature or the author’s perspective since you started roleplaying?

See above, hoo hoo. But I guess to elaborate further, if  one were to RP a pre-existing story as a means of better understanding literature, one would need to stick to the original story. I think that would be incredibly odd and wouldn’t represent the collaborative processs of roleplaying anymore. Rather, it would be simply acting, as one would act out a play. I suppose I’d just draw a distinction there.

C[...]'s responses:

1) The simple, practical, and boring answer to 'why I roleplay' is simply habit. It is a hobby I picked up and have not yet put down. I started when I was around five and the game stuck- the reason it stuck is no doubt a little more complicated.

2) For me, the living breathing fantasy aspect of DnD has always held the most appeal. Even the most well produced fantasy film retains the flat, non-interactive qualities implicit to the format. DnD, on the other hand, is an equally imaginative enterprise which REQUIRES interaction. Not only do you get to enjoy the escapist narrative escoursion into another time and place, but you get to do so yourself. Actively. 3) I keep doing it likely because I haven't found anything better. There is an itch, DnD scratches it, moneys by the door. I suppose if it ever stopped satisfying me, I'd stop playing. 4) I relate it to writing inasmuch my writing and my desire to play DnD stem from similar, if not the same, places. I write because there are people and places rattling around in my head that need out. I play DnD because sometimes I want to experience those people and places in a more active way than simple recording. 5) I think improving my storytelling improves my enjoyment of the game. Maybe its practice, maybe it isn't- the two things require a different pacing. DnD is episodic. You play for about two hours, and that's it. Narrative tropes matter less than the simple maxim of 'is it fun?' 6) Fantasy fulfillment might be a little more accurate. Fever-dream fulfillment, too. DnD allows me access to a world that only exists within mental confines. It gives that world tangible qualities through which I can participate in it. Its rarely more compicated than that.

7) Nope. 8) Not really. Roleplaying doesn't transpose like that for me. To put it another way; never have I understood something in literature only because I understand roleplaying. The two are divergent consequences of similar creative impulses, but at the end of the day, empirically different ones. 9) Again, no, for most of the reasons already listed above. Its a conflation of causality to say that I roleplay because I write, or write because I roleplay. There is certainly a correlation, but to equate that with causation is a classic faux pas in the statistical sense. The correlation exists because of a progenating factor, from which both literature and roleplaying extend themselves.

[obscure-imagines]

*Horror genre/smut warning*

-He’d be very tentative to catch feelings for anyone because he’s a very depressed boi

-quiet guy is hard to get to know, especially after an apocalyptic event

-Even if you’re survivors together, he’s just kind of going to be floating around quietly, so if you want to get to know Hyunsu, you’re going to have to make an effort

-Hyunsu is drawn to beautiful things, things that inspire hope (music, kids, etc...) and he can enjoy pleasurable things for a time, but Hyunsu is always terrified that good things will be torn from his grasp, so he never wants to let himself love something too easily

-Boy has his found family, so being accepted by his loved ones would be really important.

-It would be the elder survivors like Han and Gilseob who notice the connection between you and Hyunsu first

-i’m talking hard core pining, long looks, Hyunsu’s eyes finding you any time you enter a room, but you’re both oblivious to each other

-It’s a tough situation because Hyunsu is still treated like a monster at times, and people are obviously scared of his dark side

-Hyunsu can’t even imagine getting close to you, for fear that he’ll hurt you

-his monster alter ego even toys with him by mentioning you sometimes, further increasing the poor boys anxiety

-He’d get growingly agitated any time you have to put yourself in danger, and always ends up going places with you just to make sure you’re protected

-it starts with him just kind of shadowing you when you head up to your apartment for something one day

-the building is pretty much safe, but when you catch Hyunsu out of the corner of your eye, you almost have a heart attack, which he apologizes profusely for

-he goes with you to your room and is kind of awkward at your door because you’re a pretty girl and he’s about to go into your apartment, even if it is a post apocalyptic world, boy has manners

-He’s also just very big and tall, so even though he kind of hunches over, he sticks out like a sore thumb in your apartment

-he’s so quiet, but once you find something you both mutually enjoy to talk about, he begins to loosen up

-he continues shadowing you, he’s pretty much your designated monster survival partner 

-at dinners you start to eat together and everyone is low key hoping you both work out, but are also worried about what it could mean for you if Hyunsu turns full monster out of the blue one day

-He’s very hesitant to allow you to touch him, so you’d have to start small

-like maybe you offer to help him clean up some residual blood left on his skin after he’s healed from a fight

-Hyunsu all but holds his breath while you wipe his skin

-big uwu boy, heart eyes to the extreme

-he honestly just needs a good cuddle and one day, after a particularly rough event where you almost die, Hyunsu is too tired to be in full control of himself, so when you crawl into bed with him, wrapping your arms around his frame, Hyunsu allows himself to enjoy it

-the biggest soft boy is the small spoon sometimes cuz he really needs it

-he falls asleep in your arms and it’s the most peaceful sleep he’s had in maybe years

-when he wakes up, he rolls to cuddle against your chest, still half asleep and unaware of what he’s doing until he can hear the beat of your heart under his ear and realizes you’re not just a pleasantly warm pillow

-boy practically jumps out of the bed and needs to be pulled back into your embrace

-if you start massaging his scalp and holding him to your chest- he’s going to die, like, he’ll never be happier

-He craves your cuddles like nothing else in the whole world, and allows himself more and more to be happy when he’s with you, and to be with you often

-seeing him smile is so odd, people are shook

-the first day you grab his hand in front of people makes his heart melt

-the two of you are simply waiting for dinner, and you grab his hand, playing with his fingers casually

-you don’t even notice how impactful the gesture is

-after dinner, Hyunsu finds himself swept away by the key men of the group, Han thinks it’s all very cute, Gilseob agrees with Han but he’s worried like Eunhyeok that Hyunsu could be a danger to you. Sangwook is just there because they dragged him along

-Hyunsu is still worried he could hurt you and you notice him pulling away after his discussion with the guys, which leads to him fully communicating to you all his fears about being a monster and not being good enough for you

-squash all his anxieties with a kiss

-Hyunsu will melt against you, your lips are the best cure for his busy mind

-if you tug a little at his hair boy will be whipped forever

-once he opens up to you, he’ll tell you everything

-time spent cuddling and just talking

-tracing his scars and kissing them, telling him you’ll never leave him

-him being worried about becoming a monster but you’re so determined he won’t- and you won’t let him try to avoid you for your ‘own safety’ so he’s pretty much just stuck with loving you and accepting that you make him happy and he’s allowed to be happy

-helping him cut his hair and being shook by how much younger he looks

- “do you like it?” he wants to make sure you still like his new hair

-he’s so much more boyish- it honestly makes it worse when his hair is short because people have been straight up offering him up to really hard jobs because he ‘cant die’

-like, you’re going to be fiercely protective of this boy, just as he is of you

-yeah he’s the one that ‘cant die’ but if someone tries to be even slightly mean to him, you’re jumping in and throwing fists

-’oh? you guys think it’s a good idea to sacrifice him to the military/government for our survival? time to meet my fists’ you’ll jump in swinging i swear to god

-you would probably be down to fight Eunhyuck on the daily for how he treats Hyunsu like his watch dog/hound

-low key everyone is prepared to wake up and find you and Hyunsu just gone one day

-he looks at you with the biggest heart eyes, like, boy is so in love with you and anyone can see it

-he’s going to cherish any time with you

-nights are for cuddles and memorizing your face in the moonlight that comes through the windows

-will find you cute little gifts, like, if he knows you like certain books or stuff like that he’ll keep an eye out for things to amuse you when he’s looking for supplies 

-being way too fucking cute. like. this is an apocalypse and this man is just out here being a full fucking simp for you im-

-be careful as he gets more in love with you though because if someone threatens you, his monster side will pop out

-you’re feeling fragile one day and someone says something rude about Hyunsu and ‘how much time he has left’ and when Hyunsu finds you crying, his eyes go black and his monster side demands you tell him who he has to go kill for you

-after that, you can be certain his monster side won’t ever hurt you, which makes Hyunsu feel a lot more relaxed

-boy finally lets you touch him for longer than like five minutes because he’s not scared of loosing himself when he’s with you anymore

-ok, let’s be real, ya’ll would find ways to fuck even during the apocalypse

-boy deserves it. he DESERVES IT I TELL YOU

-soft honey boy, starts so soft, so much kissing and foreplay

-you’d really have to initiate things going farther than just kissing, and he’d worship you if you undressed for him

-10/10 will tell you he loves you while buried completely inside of you

-lots of gripping and passion, breathless kisses, hand holding and finger squeezing

-let him burry his face in your neck

-the sweetest aftercare filled with cuddles, hugs, kisses, and sweet words of affirmation

-he’s super shy about petnames, but you pet your ass that this big soft boi is going to let ‘jagiya’ (honey/sweetheart) slip every once and again.

-super shy about pda around other people, but you purposefully like to show how much you love him to make everyone else think twice about being mean to him or prejudice because he’s ‘infected’, whatever that even means.

-stealing his massive clothes

-taking care of him in ways that count, like making sure his depression doesn’t get the better of him being able to complete basic tasks, like cleaning him after a fight and making sure he eats properly

-being Hyunsu’s proof that humans can live with monsters, because you’ll never let him go and you love him

-i mean, not even going to lie, 10/10 Hyunsu would make living in monster world worth it

[bokettochild]

Violet

So y'all remember this animatic? Yeah?

I wrote a thing based off of it.

I'm not entirely sure how I fee about it, but y'all have shown how much you like my crack in the past, even if I wasn't sure about that either, so...

Here's Legend getting mistaken for a mom and pulling his brothers into a terrible impromptu acting adventure.

There are many things you do not do in Castletown.

One of those things, apparently, was taking Twilight with you, and next time he had a chance Legend was seriously considering muzzling their wolfish friend, in his shadow form or not.

He wasn’t the only one with that thought either apparently, although likely the only one who was thinking it out annoyance rather than utter and complete terror. Honestly, Twi needed to cut that protective streak of his in half, or he was going to be regretting it even more than he was going to regret this!

They’d all met thieves before, on the road, in villages, even here in Castle Town, and unfortunately Warriors’ central city was particularly full of them. The captain had explained it ages ago, something about the war displacing people and stirring up unrest with the refugees. It wasn't uncommon that someone got tired of relying on the crown for help, which, the captain had admitted sorrowfully, was rather slow in coming, despite all of Artemis’s efforts, to provide any sort of relief to the starving and displaced victims of the war. Legend had winced at that. Poor blokes, it had been similar in his own Hyrule when those trapped in the dark world emerged again, and even back in their Hylian forms, many of them had struggled to readjust to a world that had moved on in their absence.

It was little wonder than that those in the captain’s time faced the same struggle, especially after a bloody time war, but even so, it bothered him to no end that their group specifically had been the one that the idiot of a man chose to target. Honestly! They were all carrying swords for pities sakes! How did the sod even think he was going to catch a bunch of warriors unawares to steal from them?

Maybe it was because they were split.

It only made sense, after being dropped in the captain’s time, that they restock supplies. Both for practicality and to avoid suspicion, they’d divided the group into two to better run their errands, Time taking those less accustomed to bustling cities with him to gather food and potions, and Warriors leading the rest of them, those who could stand crowds at least a little bit better, to visit the blacksmith, fletcher, and tailor shops.

True to form, the captain strutted ahead with his scarf waving behind him, Wind tagging along beside him and chattering excitedly about something or other at the soldier. He and Four, however, had chosen to trail after, not for any particular reason other than both being extremely tired and maybe just a bit emotional.

In his own case, he hadn’t slept in a good sixty-three hours or so, and combining that with the stress of wandering around in an unknown place, he was a little more sensitive than usual and a bit put out as a result. Similarly, Four was fighting off his usual headache from their sudden switch, and ever since they’d pulled themselves out of the alleyway Hylia dumped them in, the shortest hero had worn his hood pulled over his eyes, mumbling softly under his breath in a way that was, unfortunately, unnerving Legend further and making him want, very much, to beg the other to stop.

That wasn’t an option of course, so he did something he hated almost as much as the saunter Warriors was using to get down the road.

He made small talk.

It helped, surprisingly, and while the four of them had run their errands, he chattered amiably with the smithy, who’d been willing to talk as long as he didn’t have to think too much on things. Legend could agree with that, and the two had spent the last half hour discussing if Four’s tunic really was red, green, blue and violet, as the smithy claimed, or red, green, blue and purple as Legend thought it was.

“It’s violet.” Four huffed, pushing the last bundle of arrows into his pack as they departed from the smithy’s shop and made their way back to the fountain at the center of town, where they'd agreed to meet with Time and the others.

“But it’s not!” He insisted, shifting the bundle of fabric in his arms and meeting the smithy’s gaze. “Violet is softer, duskier, a bit closer to grey or blue. That’s purple, plain as day!”

Warriors and Wind, for once, didn’t say anything, only exchanging grins every so often that the other two ignored.

Talking with Four was surprisingly pleasant, and ridiculously easy in comparison to talking with the others. For one thing, neither had to look too very far up or down to see the other, and as they’d found since their first dinner at the ranch, it was easy to say a lot with just a look. Subtle communication also went a long way further with the smithy than with anyone else, and it was a relief not to have to explain everything for once. Additionally, Four also liked reading, and unlike with most of their other brothers, they could actually have intelligent conversations with each other.

Not that that’s what they were doing when they’d trailed after the other two towards the fountain, but when they heard the snarl and resulting scream, the look the two heroes shared had carried as many words as a full two-hour lecture, while all at once conveying a single thought.

Oh boy, what did Twilight do this time?

What Twilight had done, he found out later, was spring a thief who had attempted to snatch the Sheikah Slate from Wild, who’d been a bit busy trying to calm his anxiety to really notice that one of the humans pressing close all around him was actually trying to steal it. That, naturally, was all well and good. The problem was the way Twilight had chosen to handle it and Legend swore there were days that Twilight forgot what form he was in; rather than pushing the thief away or grabbing ahold of them and confronting them, the gracious rancher had chosen to fling his entire body weight at the man and bite his arm.

Of course, that was only what Legend found out later, what he saw when the four of them managed to peek through the crowd, was Twilight standing there in full sight of the entire market with blood on his teeth and a man screaming in pain and terror at his feet.

Bravo, Rancher, bravo.

“Oof.” Wind winced. “That’s not good.”

“Shit.” Warriors swore, glancing around nervously and ripping his scarf off to hide in his pack.

Realization sprung on the vet like Twilight had the poor thief; Warriors was the hero here. If anyone noticed him, or any of the knightlier looking ones, they’d probably try and have them arrest Twilight. That was all well and good of course, as it would make a reasonable excuse to haul the rancher out of the way, but they’d be expected to call for help from some soldiers, and while they’d been planning on meeting with the queen while they were here, having Twilight presented to her as a feral, potentially insane, and definitely dangerous criminal was not the approach they were aiming for.

They needed a distraction, fast.

So, like the reasonable and totally mentally secure Hylian that he was, Legend shouted the first thing that came to his mind. “Violet!”

His three companions stared at him, and had he been capable, he would have stared at himself, but a desperate glance Fours way had the other drawing back, nodding slowly as Legend shouted again. “Violet? Honey?”

Warriors looked at him like he’d lost his head, gripping Wind’s shoulder firmly as if worried he’d have to pull the kid back from the apparently mad veteran.

Thank Din for teaching him acting years ago, even if it was all stage performing, but he was counting on it to get him, and Twilight, out of their respective messes, even if that meant building his higher before he could escape. At any rate, he’d caught the attention of a few people with his panicked shout. Turning to the nearest Hylian that wasn’t one of his group, he gently tapped the woman’s shoulder, letting his panic and everything in general spill over into his face and voice as the woman met his gaze with a startled look.

“Ma’am, I’m looking for-” Oh Four was going to hate this. “-My child, Violet. Have you seen a blonde Hylian child, so tall?” He lowered his hand to approximately where Four’s head would reach. “I’ve been looking everywhere!” He forced a fake sob into his voice, glancing from the woman to the surrounding crowd, and Warriors and Wind in its midst.

Wind was stifling a laugh behind his hand while Warriors stared in utter shock.

“Oh my,” The woman touched her cheek, clucking lightly and patting Legend’s hand in a consoling manner. “You poor dear! I haven’t seen a thing but just give me one moment.” The burly housewife turned, still patting Legend’s hand gently as she murmured something to the women behind her, before turning back to Legend with a sorry expression. “None of my friends have seen your little one, dear. But-” The woman turned and, with all the force and volume of a cow, hollered at the top of her lungs to the crowd as a whole. “Hello? Yes, this woman is looking for her daughter!”

Woman?!?!?!

“Her name is Violet! She’s-” The woman blinked, looking to Legend with a worried look as several other market goers turned to stare, many of them women with looks of pity and understanding that was making him wish he’d stayed silent. Fortunately, his ruse had startled them out of staring at the sight of a mauled thief as worry for a poor young mother and her lost daughter took its place. “She’s how old?”

Legend fought the protest of female pronouns, both on Four’s part and his own, but only in his head. Outwardly however, he covered his face with the hand not being smashed by the farm-wife's own. “She’s four.” Shoot him, he was saying whatever came to mind because he was panicked, alright?

A snort could be heard behind him, earning disapproving looks from the crowd that soon shifted to pity as Wind too joined the act, turning his snort into pitiful sniffling as he clung to Warriors’ hand, looking for all the world like a child who’d been to the market too long and wanted to go home, but was also panicking at the loss of their sibling. “Have you all seen my sister?” The sailor blubbered softly, actual tears spilling down his face as he pouted, expression making his act so believable that no one even questioned his height. As if to make the act more convincing, Warriors wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulder, his own face stiffening into something that could either be gas or worry, Legend was a bit on the fence.

“What’s going on here?” Legend wished that was Time stalking towards them in full armor, but it wasn’t, it was a Hylian Soldier, staring at the crowd with a grim frown on his face as he turned to Legend, standing in its center.

Oh well, those who crack under a tough audience get tomatoes to the face; he just hoped Wars would keep playing along. “My daughter,” He sobbed into his hand, pulling the other free from the housewife to properly cover his face. “She- My baby- I can’t find her anywhere, Sir!” Later, Warriors would begrudgingly admit that the look Legend shot the soldier was enough to break any heart as the vet stepped forwards, grabbing hold of the man’s arm with all the desperation of a worried mother. “Please tell me, have you seen a little girl? She’s in her favorite dress, the colors of the goddesses, red, green and blue?” He motioned down at his own tunic, skirt, whatever one would call it. “There’s a violet corner too, I made it for her myself- oh my poor baby! I can’t seem to find her anywhere!”

The grizzled soldier quickly melted under the power of tearful violet eyes, and he too gently patted Legend’s hands as if he thought it would do any good. “I’ll have my men look for her right away, ma’am. How old would you say she is?

“She’s four.” He reaffirmed. Might as well stick to his original story.

“So tall?” The farm-wife motioned, hands lowering a bit more than Legend’s had, but the woman was trying to help, so he couldn’t really be upset with her for getting it wrong. At this point though, he was a bit worried about where Four actually was, because he’d expected the shorter hero to make an appearance sooner rather than later so the act could end.

“Right.” The man nodded, pulling himself loose as Legend brought his hands to clasp in front of his chest in an imitation of the maids he’d seen worrying about the halls when Fable went missing. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your little one, madame, you have my word.” The soldier bowed, kissing the back of the vet’s hand graciously before moving back into the crowd and snapping orders at the soldiers stationed around the market.

People buzzed by, spreading the word of ‘little Violet’s’ disappearance as Warriors and Wind pushed forwards to where Legend stood.

“Really, vet?” Warriors murmured lowly.

“I panicked.” He admitted softly, as to avoid anyone noticing as he wrung his hands. “But seriously, where is ‘’Violet’? I thought he’d have appeared before it became a big thing.”

The captain frowned, settling a hand on his shoulder carefully and standing on his toes to look over the crowd as Wind giggled at the scowling veteran. The minute he shot a look down at the sailor though, the kid had picked up his role as smoothly as if he’d never dropped it. “I’m worried, mom.” Wind blinked past fake tears, and had he not needed to remain in character, Legend would have scowled and flicked the kid’s nose for the tease.

“I am too, honey.” He sighed instead, ruffling the sailor’s curls and looking over to where the others had been. Time and the others had disappeared into the crowd again, likely trying to keep a low profile and laughing their asses off at Legend’s expense while Time and Sky scolded Twilight.

“Mama?” A small voice called out, and the crowd, and he meant the whole crowd, the whole freaking crowd of several hundred people, froze as a small face peeked out from an alleyway, the smithy’s hand coming up to rub at his shimmering purple eyes with a sniff. “Mama?”

“Violet!” All three heroes surged forwards, Legend sinking to his knees and wrapping Four in a hug, taking the opportunity when his face was hidden from the crowd to scowl. “About time you showed up.” Aloud for the crowd however, he let sobs pitch his voice hysterically. “Oh honey, you can’t run off on mama like that! I was worried sick!”

And as if to put the icing on the cake of shame, one of the men in the crowd smiled softly, patting Warriors’ back with a friendly smile. “Your wife is quite the caring mother, isn’t she? Ah, you’re a lucky man, Mr.”

Legend forced himself to not blow their cover, no matter how little they now needed it with the others safely out of sight. Breaking character meant causing drama that they didn’t need. ‘Violet’ had been found, the cute little family would depart, people would calm. But if the worried mother turned out to be a screaming teenage boy and the lost daughter to be a smithy apprentice with a height problem, people would likely riot. So instead of turning around and giving the man a piece of his mind, he pushed forwards, hefting Four in his arms (the smithy sank into him with a sigh that couldn’t have been faked) letting the smaller hero nestle against him, hood hiding the smithy’s face from view as he pulled them both up, adjusting his arms so as to not drop the other.

Man, he was glad he’d put on power bracelets today.

“She is indeed.” Warriors forced out, a strained smile on his face as he settled his hand on Legend’s waist, stiff, cold and incredibly awkward. “We’d probably better head off, dear.” If the captain smiled any harder, he’d break his teeth. “Or the inns will all be full.”

It should have ended there, it should have. Legend was so ready for it to end (although Four was warm and a calming presence as the smithy began to doze against his chest), but because fate loved to mess with him, it didn’t.

“You’re looking for a place to stay the night?” The Man-Who-Needed-To-Be-Kicked cocked a brow. “I run an inn here, just across the square. I’m sure we can find a lovely little family like yourselves a place to rest, you and our wife must be exhausted after such worry!”

Warriors, sages curse and bless him, nodded along stiffly, gently pulling him along by is waist after the Blasted-Innkeeper-Who-Would-Be-Kicked as the man chattered about family discounts and free dinner. Legend’s shoulders only lowered when a free trip to the bath house was also thrown in ‘complimentarily’.

He regretted it when someone pointed him to the ladies’ side of the bath-house (think heavens it was empty that early), and he was about ready to strangle something or someone when the others joined them inside, stuck with a regularly priced room, and the smithy and vet both were bombarded with teases as Warriors sat looking utterly and completely disgusted.

“They thought we were married....”

Legend groaned, flopping over on the other side of the bed with a grimace. “Gross, right?”

“Yeah.”

"We’re forgetting this ever happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Regardless, no one ever let them forget it happened.

Legend was buying Twilight a muzzle, and he was pretty sure Wars would be willing to help.

[callmeshakespurr]

Hey, if you're requests are open could you do a Rick Flag × Male Villian Reader (fluff) idk something cute where Rick Flag ends up falling in love with Male Reader, and the feeling is mutual. Idk you can fo what you want with it. ❤

Rick Flag x Male Reader

Requested: yes

Category: fluff, just a little bit of angst

Warnings: slight torture (?), i mention a knife like,, once

Note: I haven’t watched Suicide Squad in some time, so this could’ve turned out just the tiniest bit yandere, I hope you don’t mind! Also- I kinda struggled with this cause its my first time writing an actual one shot, but I hope you enjoyed it anyways (:

Tysm for requesting, hope you enjoy it <3

“Where is he?”, Amanda Waller called out as she walked down the hallway, towards the high security room you were currently kept in — Colonal Richard ‘Rick’ Flag not far behind her.

Her call grabbed the attention of the two guards, who stood in front of your cell.

“Is he in there?”, Amanda asked again, approaching the door with fast steps. One of the guards nodded and opened the thick metal door to let the director and the colonel in.

Amanda Waller had tried to get her hands on you for almost five years now, after you first made an apperiance in a club, killing two people. After that, several assassinations followed. Nobody knew who you exactly were, what you looked like, who you worked for; you were like a shadow — what people then came to call you, Shadow.

The major reason of why nobody could get a hold of you even in the slightest bit, was because you always vanished before anybody could even spot you.

After two years of not being able to catch you, the police gave up on further investigation in your cases. Amanda didn’t break so easily though. She wanted you in one of those cells she kept so many freaks in already, and she wasn’t going to give up until she had you sitting behind one of those metal doors, unable to escape her.

After all these years of going after you, she did manage to find out two major things about you. Why you always managed to escape without anyone catching a glimpse of you, and what your weakness was.

All these things led to the present situation.

You sat in a dark room, the only light source being a small lamp, dangling from the ceiling. Your ankles were tightly cuffed to the chair you were sitting on, on your wrists and neck you felt something cold and heavy, which seemed to send small electric shocks through your body every few seconds.

You weren’t sure where you exactly were, since you passed out before they got you. Hell, you didn’t even know who ‘they’ were.

You closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on your thoughts, which was not as easy as you hoped it would be. To say that you were in pain was an understatement. The electricity flowing through your body kept you from thinking straight, and send a wave of pure pain through your limbs with every shock you got.

A female voice ripped you from your trance, and you slowly opened your eyes again, head still hanging low. You knew that voice and you knew that you didn’t stand a chance anymore.

“Your powers won’t work anymore, unless i allow you to use them, so don’t even try.”, that voice belonged to none other than Amanda Waller, probably the only person on this planet you actually feared. You were never scared of what her minions could do to you, no. You were scared of what she could do to you if she ever managed to get you — which almost happened on several occasions.

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the pain that came over you again, as you frantically tried to somehow sort your thoughts and find a way out of this, but nothing seemed to work. There was no way out of this. There was no escaping this. The feeling of helplessness washed over you, a feeling you didn’t like at all.

“You’re Y/N L/N, you’re a teleporter, thats how you managed to always vanish before the police got to the crime scene”, Amanda spoke, watching you as you sat there on the chair, staring at the ground, unable to move a single muscle. “It took me some time, but i managed to figure out how to block your powers”, she continued, taking slow steps towards you “Teleporters are extremely sensitive to electricity, some mightve even already died due to the constant pain if they were in your place.” She stopped right in front of you, looking down at your slumped figure, the only thing restraining you from falling over being the thick metallic handcuffs that kept your hands tied behind the chair.

Amanda grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. Your sight was blurry and it cost you a lot of strength to even keep your eyes open, but you did manage to make out the silhouette of a rather tall person standing at the entrance of the cell, watching the whole scene, before your focus was back on the woman in front of you. “You’re actually a very pretty boy, Y/N, and very smart too, it’s a shame that you decided to end up like this.”, she said, before letting your face go. “Rick, take him to get the injection, then get his things and introduce him to the team. After that, you can take him to his provided cell.”

The man standing at the door — Rick, you assumed — made his way towards you, as Waller left the room, leaving you to the colonel.

Rick helped you out of the cuffs, that kept you strapped to the chair. Looking at you, he almost felt bad, you looked so drained and helpless. He had never exactly agreed with anything Amanda Waller did, but seeing what just a few hours under her control did with you was another level of not agreeing with something she did.

“Can you stand?”, the colonel asked and you nodded, slowly rising from the chair. Your legs wobbled beneath your weight and you instinctively grabbed onto whats next to you, which just so happened to be Ricks Arm.

After making sure you had gathered enough strength, he began to walk with you towards the door.

time skip

It’s been a little over a week now since they’ve brought you here — you think. Every day was the same. Sitting on the cold floor of your cell, staring at the camera in the corner of your ceiling, some guard bringing you food, you not eating it, some guard taking it away again and reporting everything to someone, more staring at the camera, someone bringing you food again, you not eating it again, the guard taking it away again and reporting everything, all over again, everyday.

The only slightest bit good and entertaining thing was the colonel — Rick Flag, as you learned was his name — checking up on you every now and then when he didn’t have anything better to do. You didn’t quite understand why Rick was making efforts to look after you, just for you to not answer his questions anyways, but you appreciated it. It made everything a little more bearable.

Of course, you were one of the bad guys, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a life outside of assassinations.

When you weren’t working for other bad guys, you loved to just sit in your apartment and read, you loved to go onto high buildings and watch over the city. You dreamed of leaving everything behind and exploring the world someday. You worked at your favourite coffee shop, hell you even had a cat. The thought of your only friend being probably already dead or suffering made you sad, but what could you do about it?

Sometimes, you wish you hadn’t picked the path you were on, but looking back at the time you chose to work for the bad guys, you didn’t really have a choice.

Your train of thoughts was interrupted, when you heard the door to your cell open. Hoping it would be Rick, you looked up, your eyes only half open from the lack of strength you had. What you did not expect was to see Amanda Waller standing in front of you, Rick Flag behind her.

“Stand up”, the woman demanded. You listened, as it was of no use to resist her orders. You slowly got up on your feet, which didn’t last long, since you almost immediately fell over, landing painfully hard on your knees. To your suprise, Rick immediately rushed to your side, helping you stand up again.

“I don’t need him on missions like this”, Waller spoke as she watched you lean onto Rick for support. “Take him to the base, the council and I will be waiting there in the meeting room for him.” With that, Waller left again.

The way to the car wasn’t long, but with you almost not being able to stand on you own, let alone walk on your own, it took a little longer, which only fueled your anxiety. The ride to the base was even worse though, since nobody talked and you had five guards sitting around you.

Finally arriving at the door of the meeting room, which was located in the base, the two guards standing in front of it immediately opened the door as soon as they saw the colonel.

The room was quiet at an instance, when you stepped a food inside, Rick following very close behind you — just in case something should happen.

Amanda Waller stood in front of a group of suit wearing men who all sat at one big round table, most likely discussing something. She gestured you to come next to her, to which you complied.

“And who is this now, Director Waller? A new addition to your group of- freaks?”, asked one of the men as he looked you up and down, probably doubting that someone like you could be much of an good asset.

“This, Gentlemen,”, she grabbed your arm and moved you a little forward, making you almost tumble “is Y/N L/N or ‘Shadow’, he was an assassin for almost five years now, working for several other bad guys. Nobody got a hold of him till now due to his teleporting ability. He has over a hundred confirmed kills and not once did anyone ever get near him. I’m using these electric cuffs”, she grabbed your arm again and lifted it up to present the metal cuff, which was secured around your arm “to block his powers, which means he cannot teleport, as long as the electric shocks are on full power. As soon as I turn down the power a little, he can use his power, it is more draining and limited to a certain radius, but it works. I have him under full control and I want him on the team.” Murmurs broke out between the people in the room, as soon as she finished.

“I’m sorry, director, but do you really think it’s a good idea to put another- another misfit on that team? They’re bad guys and will always stay bad guys, and their freaky abilities make them even more dangerous.”, one of the men in suits spoke.

“As I said, I have him under full control, gentlemen. Let me demonstrate.”, Amanda spoke, turning to you, as the people sitting at the table sat back.

Waller took out some kind of remote and tapped on something. First your body tensed due to all the stress and pain you were under at the moment, but as soon as Amanda tapped on the remote, the electric shocks suddenly weren’t as intense as they were before, and your whole body relaxed, your eyes almost watering due to the wave of relief washing over you.

Rick was more than tense while watched the whole situation, only realizing in how much pain you actually were when Waller turned down the intensity of the electric shocks emmitting from the metallic cuffs you were wearing.

Waller looked you in the eyes with a serious expression on her face. “You disobey, you die, got that?” And suddenly you remembered the injection they gave you, when they first brought you here.

Seeing you had no other choice than obeying her, you simply gave her a small nod and looked around the room, taking in every detail. You looked at the small table in front of you, spotting a sharp knife, which you figured was put there by Amanda specifically for you in this exact situation.

With fast movements, you grabbed the knife and teleported to the other side of the room, holding the knife to one of the mens throat. Everyone in the room stiffened even more, and you heard at least three guns clicking.

Looking up, your eyes met Rick’s, before you looked over to Waller, who was already fixated on you. You slowly pressed the knife more against the man’s throat, wanting to see what Waller was going to do. The next electric shock came and you almost yelled out in pain, letting the knife fall, teleporting back to Waller and falling to your knees, clutching the metal around your neck.

Rick wanted to rush to help you, but was quickly held back by Amanda, gesturing him to wait.

“As you can see, I can control his powers however i want to, and should he disobey in any way, or should his powers bolt”, she tilted your head with her finger, than pressed onto the spot on your neck where they injected you, “he dies.”

Still staring at the ground, you swallowed harshly. You’ve never wanted to go back in time and undo all the bad things that happened so badly like in this specific moment. Maybe if you’re parents hadn’t ever found about your ability, you would still be at home, with your family, not here, being tortured by some government lady who wanted to use you as a weapon.

“There’s one more thing. I don’t need him on any mission in this shape. He needs to recover, quickly, and while doing so, I want him under Rick Flags complete supervision. It might cost a little more effort, but think about of how much use he will be for us”, Amanda said, a mischievous expression crossing her face for a few seconds, that going unnoticed by you and pretty much everyone else in the room.

time skip

Three whole months had passed. You’ve been staying with Rick ever since Amanda Waller announced that he had to fully supervise you.

The time you spent with Rick made you feel as if everything wasn’t so bad after all. Occasional talking here and there, Rick cooking something for the both of you every now and then, you almost felt normal again — weren’t there the electric cuffs reminding you of what was real every few minutes.

Over the past three months, your sleep only got worse. You got used to the constant pain by now, but the electricity didn’t only affect you physically, it also messed up your thoughts like hell. Sometimes you didn’t know where up and down was anymore, everything was all over the place inside your mind.

That was also the reason, you were up right now, in the middle of the night, sitting at the big window in your bedroom, looking over the city. You hugged your knees tightly to your chest, and rested you chin on them, letting a few tears slip. You hadn’t cried in a long time, but you were just so exhausted. You were never this close to giving up than right now. Nothing seemed to ever be okay again, you couldn’t do anything but accept your fate.

Being to entangled in your own thoughts, you didn’t hear your bedroom door open.

It didn’t take Rick a long time to spot you in your place at the window. He just came home from a mission that Amanda Waller had wanted you on, but Rick insisted on giving you a little more time to deal with everything.

The tall man closed the door as quietly as he could behind him, which seemed to not be quiet enough, since you jumped slightly at the noise, quickly standing up and turning around. Rick gave you an apologetic look, before slowly walking towards you, “I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked, I just wanted to check up on you and see if you’re alright-“ “It’s fine, I’m fine”, you interrupted him, wiping your tears quickly, taking a deep breath.

Rick frowned, he had never seen you cry before. He cared too much for you and he knew it, he just couldn’t help himself. Stopping in front of you, he looked down at you, only for his eyes to meet yours. For a moment, you both got lost in each others eyes, before you ripped your gaze away, looking to the side.

“Do you want anything else from me?”, you asked shakily, getting a little nervous with his burning stare on you.

“I actually do, yes-“, he hesitated for a moment. You looked up at him with a questioning expression. “Close your eyes”, you complied, closing your eyes slightly, one hand moving to hold onto Rick’s shirt so you didn’t lose your balance. You felt him lean down slightly, till you could fell his warm breath on your cheek. You surpressed a shiver, as he carefully tilted your head.

Now, you didn’t really know what to expect; you and Rick had gotten closer but you weren’t sure, if there were actual romantic feelings, or if he just pitied you, so a kiss wasn’t exactly what you expected. But you definitely would’ve expected it more than what happened next.

A small ‘click’ echoed through the dark room, the next thing you knew was, that all the pain suddenly disappeared. Your eyes watered when you felt Rick’s fingers carefully removing the heavy metallic cuffs around your wrists and neco, pure relief washing over you. Your leaned your body onto Rick’s, unable to support your own weight for a few moments.

When you had finally gained control over your own body again, you moved back a few centimetres and looked up to Rick, who met your confused eyes. “I couldn’t bear to see you in so much pain any longer, so I triedmy best to convince her and I’d say I’m lucky that she trusts me with you.”, the colonel smiled a little, raising a hand to softly carress your cheek. Your eyes widened. He quickly removed his hand again and apologized, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Rick took a step back, still being careful so you didn’t lose balance again, “I should go, and you should sleep, you need to be well rested and-“

You were fast to interrupt him by taking a quick step towards him, getting a little on your tiptoes, before pressing a small kiss to Rick’s lips. You carefully looked him in the eyes again, “I don’t know either, but it just felt like the right thing to do.”

It took the man a few seconds to process what just happened, but when he did, he was quick to kiss you again, his soft lips over yours, moving slowly, as you kissed back. He put his hands on your waist, while you locked yours behind his neck. You kissed for a few moments, before the both of you had to breathe again. “Thank you”, you whispered against Rick’s lips, before receiving another small peck. “Sleep with me tonight?”, he asked quietly, getting lost in your eyes again. You gave him a small nod, allowing him to pick you up and carry you to his room, both of you smiling as you fell onto the mattress.

[alltooreid]

Call It What You Want

Everyone around them is trying to discover the true nature of Y/N and Spencer’s relationship. Little do they know Y/N is trying to figure out the exact same thing. 

A/N: Sorry this took a lot longer than I wanted it to.... Mental health is hard but here it is!! I hope you guys love it :)) Additionally I added a lil garvez to this... but for it to work with the timeline we’re all just gonna pretend Lisa doesn’t exist... ok great!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (with a little splash of implied Garvez content for my personal joy)

Requested?: Yes!! :)) “can you do a one shot based off call it what you want??”

Type: Fluffiest Fluff

Word Count: 3K

Content Warnings: None! 

“My baby's fly like a jet stream High above the whole scene Loves me like I'm brand new So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to”

The team was sure something was going on between Y/N and Spencer, they just weren’t sure how to prove it.

Every sign pointed to the two dating, but the pair hadn’t said anything about it. Maybe they were trying to keep it a secret, but at the same time they didn’t appear to be being very secretive about it.

So ever since Penelope saw Y/N giving Spencer a ride home a week ago, she has been determined to uncover the truth, and hopefully the truth was her two best friends were in the world’s cutest, most perfect relationship.

She was using her technical brilliance to gather data when she was caught by none other than Luke Alvez.

“What are you doing in here?”

“This is my job Luke, I have to be in here,” she rolled her eyes.

“Well, I know that! I mean what are you doing right now, we don’t have a case.” he smirked “Are you committing any cyber crimes? You know you could get in a lot of trouble for those, the FBI won’t help you. You should let me help.”

She smiled, “You do know I got my job here from committing cyber crimes right? I don’t think I would need your help. Besides, I’m working on a personal project.” After some thought she decided Luke might actually be helpful “I’m trying to find out if Spencer and Y/N are dating.”

“I swear I saw them leaving together yesterday, that seems like pretty good evidence! I could be very helpful to you.”

“I’m way ahead of you, but I guess you can help,” she pulled up a new tab, quickly constructing a timeline while Luke pulled a chair next to her. “So our favorite pair’s relationship would, based on my intense experimentation and surveying, begin here,” she traced a circle around the start of the timeline with her cursor, “on that night we went out after the case and then wouldn’t stop talking to each other.”

Luke and Penelope discussed all the things they saw that led them to believe that Y/N and Spencer were more than just friends, from how keen Y/N was to listen to anything that came out of Spencer’s mouth no matter how difficult to follow, to Spencer’s willingness to touch her. After about 15 minutes however they were interrupted by none other than Y/N herself. Penelope quickly switched tabs, so that it now appeared she was just showing Luke a funny kitten video.

“Hey guys! What are you doing in here?” “Oh you know, just wasting time. . . What’s up?” said Luke.

“I was just checking to see if you wanted to go to lunch! If you have any opinions as to where that would be great too because no one out there can make a decision . . .”

“Of course I want lunch! I’ll be out there in just a sec,” Penelope smiled and started closing her work done as soon as Y/N left, almost forgetting Luke’s presence.

“Um, Penelope?”

“What is it Luke?”

“Do you think you’d ever do anything like what Y/N and Spencer are doing?” he asked.

“Like what? Keep a secret? You know I’m terrible at that stuff.”

“No, no I mean like . . .” he took a deep breath, “You know, like dating a coworker?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Now hurry up and come to lunch, we can keep working afterwards,” she replied.

Luke awkwardly smiled, and they both left.

Little did Luke and Penelope know that as they debated and pieced together aspects of Y/N and Spencer’s relationship, trying to uncover if they were dating, Y/N was doing the exact same thing.

Her and Spencer had been on three dates, each more boyfriend and girlfriend than the last. They got coffee one day, then went to a movie, then a nice restaurant for dinner. Tonight Spencer wanted to keep it a surprise, but that just made her even more confused.

Sometimes her and Spencer would sit next to each other at the round table, and now when they did that he would reach over, not to hold her hand, but just to link their pinkies together.

She didn’t know what that meant.

Sometimes Y/N would go on a tangent and realize she had been talking for almost an hour about nothing in particular, and when she realized Spencer was the only one still listening would apologize for wasting his time. To which he would reply, “Why would I be upset about spending time with you?” She didn’t know what that meant.

And one time, on her and Spencer’s first “date” they were about to part their separate directions, and Y/N had no idea what to do with her body or her hands, Spencer wrapped her into a hug, and she swore she felt his lips brushing against the top of her head.

She really didn’t know what that meant.

Which is why she continued to let Penelope and Luke have their fun trying to decipher her and Spencer’s social cues. She knew as soon as she was about to enter to ask about lunch, Penelope was not exactly quiet and Luke wasn’t any better, but she let them believe they were being sneaky.

Besides, maybe if they found the answer they could let her know.

When the team returned from lunch she couldn’t help but continue to contemplate this issue further, Spencer hadn’t really said anything to her at lunch. Were they still just friends? Were they dating but not telling anyone? Were they going to tell anyone?

“Y/N! Are you excited to hang out tonight?” Spencer asked.

Hang out. So it definitely was not a date. . .

“Of course! Right after work right? Your place?”

“Yep! It’s a date,” he smiled and walked away, leaving Y/N in a state of confused panic. What was this? For someone so logical and scientific, Y/N wished that Spencer Reid would just tell her the kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, and genus of their relationship.

Maybe then she could stop dissecting it to try and figure it out.

　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　

As Y/N stood outside Spencer’s apartment building, she struggled to muster up courage to go inside. It’s not that she was nervous to hang out with Spencer, it was just Y/N knew she needed to have the “what are we” talk with him for her own personal sanity. And she just wasn’t sure yet what his answer would be.

She had made her way into the building and gotten to Spencer’s floor when she ran into the man of the hour himself.

“Oh there you are! I was about to come down and get you,” he said.

Y/N glanced at her phone, “I’m sorry, am I late?”

“No, no, no. You’re perfect, I just got excited.”

That confused Y/N even more, she couldn’t decide if that leaned more towards friend or date territory. However all of her anxieties were forgotten for a moment as soon as she entered Spencer’s apartment.

Almost all the lights were off, except for several strings of lights shaped like stars, strung in different directions across the room. In the corner were several folded up blankets and sheets, and pillows were spread out across the room.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, although if I’m being honest I don’t really know what it is . . .”

“13 months ago we were on a case, the one were the unsub was killing couples when they went out camping so that no one would look for them for days, and you said that you used to go camping all the time but you didn’t think you could go anymore. So I bought stuff so we could go camping together, right here.”

Y/N was left almost speechless, “I- I don’t even know what to say, Spencer this is incredible.”

He beamed, instantly satisfied with that answer. “I tried to find a tent, but all of the stores I went to said I should order one online . . . I figured it would be more fun to build a fort instead.”

Spencer brought over the supplies he had bought and gathered, various sheets and comforters, pillows, his leather couch cushions, sleeping bags, a large collection of clothes pins, and some more lights. Except Spencer left a single bag in the pile, the only one from a craft store.

“Do you want me to grab that one?” Y/N asked.

“Oh um, no don’t worry about that one. I saw something stupid on that site JJ and Garcia really like while I was passing JJ’s desk. . .  Pinterest? Yes that’s it. And I tried to make it but even though I memorized the instructions I couldn’t get it to work. . . I kind of just gave up and threw everything in there.”

“Can I try it?”

He nodded, and Y/N got up and glanced into the bag, in it was a push light, warm toned tissue paper and a couple empty paper towel rolls, all stuck together, but also somehow falling apart. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, “Were you trying to build me a campfire Dr. Reid?”

“Well you said that your family used to have this big bonfire every year, and that it used to be one of your favorite traditions until you couldn’t handle going anymore, so I thought I could make one that would be a little safer for you. Turns out that you actually need four PHDs to be good at crafts though.”                    

“Spencer this whole date is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me . . . Thank you.”

“Of course, I really want you to enjoy yourself when you're around me Y/N.”

“Spencer, I’ve never not enjoyed myself when I’m around you, and you were with me when I got shot. You’re my favorite person, you do know that right?”

He blushed, “You’re my favorite person too Y/N.”

So the two lovers built a blanket fort, draping sheets over string lights and shoving the inside full of pillows and blankets, giggling the entire time. Y/N taught Spencer the simplicity of DIY projects, and how sometimes the directions needed to be adjusted slightly based on personal preferences and ability. Soon the pair were cuddled up together on the ground, no other space to be except for right next to each other, as the rest of the fort was covered by snacks, pillows, their homemade campfire, and Spencer’s vinyl record player.

“Did you do this on purpose? Making me be so close to you?”

“No, I would never, it’s not my fault this area is so small . . . “

“Mhm, although I’m sure a genius like you could figure out how to make an adult sized fort, I’m very glad you didn’t,” she said, giggling and squishing herself closer to him. They smiled and kissed each other, before Spencer spoke.

“You make me so, unbelievably, happy. I never thought I could feel like this until we met Y/N.”

Y/N smiled even bigger, “Spencer I really, really like you,” she paused, it was now or never, “but um, what do you want to call this, like what we’re doing.”

“Well what do you want this to be? Because I want you to be my girlfriend.”

She smiled, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“Well then that’s what we’ll be,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

“Well you do know the team, particularly Penelope and Luke have the exact same question.”

“Well I think more than Luke wondering if we’re dating, I think he’s just wondering if Penelope will date him. . . So I say let them have their fun for a little while, before we tell everyone.”

She smiled, “Perfect. They’re profilers, they’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Well, I think we should watch a movie. . .  Although I mostly enjoy my cinema in Russian, tonight is about you and I don’t want to give you a headache. What’s your favorite?”

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

“I promise I will not laugh at you darling.”

“High School Musical 3.”

　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　

So Y/N spent the rest of that night explaining the plot of the first two High School Musical movies, then explaining why the third one was the clear winner, and then finally showing Spencer the third one off of her phone, where she had it saved to her cloud for emergencies.

And although singing and dancing adults pretending to be teenagers was not exactly Spencer’s favorite genre, he loved how happy the series as a whole made Y/N. So he latched onto it, and learned as much as he could about it.

One particular scene however, in one of the earlier films, seemed to make Y/N extra excited, as she spent the longest amount of time talking about it. So Spencer decided he knew exactly what to do to prove to her he was in this relationship for the long haul.

Spencer could tell she was anxious before their date, and it didn’t take him long to guess that it was because she didn’t know how serious everything was to him. Yet, he didn’t want to be too obvious that he wanted her to be his, because if he had assessed wrong he would make a complete fool out of himself.

But when she asked him, she seemed so nervous, so small, he knew he had made a mistake in waiting, and now he wanted to make it up to her.

So as she was walking in the next day he caught her. “Y/N!”

“Hi Spencer! What’s up?”

“I have a present for you. . .” he said, handing her a small box wrapped in shiny gold paper.

“For me? Why?”

“Oh you know, just because. . .”

As Y/N unwrapped the box, Spencer got more and more nervous… What if she hated it? What if she thought it was stupid or too soon or didn’t get it or-

“Oh my god Spencer I-”

“You know what it’s stupid, I don’t even know why I got it for you. I can return it and find you something you’ll actually like-”

“I love it Spencer, it’s perfect. Will you put it on me?”

Spencer hooked the chain around his new girlfriend’s neck, the small “S” pendant shining in the light.

“It’s like Gabriella’s. . . I love it. I can’t believe you would care to remember something like that…”

“Of course I would remember that. I have an eidetic memory. Did you know that although the original purpose and origin of initial jewelry was largely unknown, they date back to the 14th century?”

“No, I just mean… It’s very thoughtful Spencer.”

He smiled, “Well I’m sorry to kill the mood, but I really have to go to the bathroom. I drank 3 cups of coffee this morning and I was standing here waiting for you for 18 minutes and 4 seconds before you came in.”

She laughed, and then hugged him, “Well don’t just stand here! Go!”

Spencer ran off, leaving Y/N to walk into the bullpen alone. As Y/N was making her way to her desk, she was stopped by none other than Penelope Garcia and Luke Alvez, Penelope up front, Luke standing a foot or so behind her, ready to back her up.

“Y/N! We know your secret, you and Spencer are secretly dating. . . We figured it out this morning. You can’t hide from us anymore,” Penelope said, Luke nodding behind her.

“Well yeah we’re dating, but it’s not a secret.”

“What? Excuse me? You haven’t told anyone!”

“Yeah but we haven’t really made any effort to hide it? We told everyone about the time we went to the movies?”

“Yeah but- Um, we just thought we were being sneaky. . .” Penelope said.

“You might wanna get a little better at that guys, the Bat Cave is not soundproof.”

“Dang it, I really need to work on that…” Penelope said. “Well Luke Alvez, I suppose our quest has been conquered.”

“See! We were right, I told you I’m great help,” Luke said.

“Oh don’t get it too twisted, this was almost all me.”

After a moment of playful banter, Y/N stopped them “So when are you two going to start “secretly” dating huh?”

“Uh hmph, I don’t know what you talking about. I would never,” Penelope said.

At that moment, Spencer returned from the bathroom, and came up upon Y/N hugging her from behind and leaning to rest his head on her shoulder. “What are we talking about?”

Penelope threw her head back in defeat, “Nothing, 187, we were just talking. . .”

“Don’t you think Luke and Penelope would make the cutest couple Spencer?” Y/N smirked.

“You know what? Yeah I do!” Spencer played along, “Have you guys ever thought about that?

Luke was beaming behind Penelope, while she looked like she was trying to hide her enthusiasm. “No actually I haven’t,” she said.

“Well you definitely should,” Y/N said, giggling as her and Spencer walked to his desk.

“Hey, wait come back here! What does your necklace have on it?” Penelope asked, half running after them, Luke closely behind her.

“Whatever you want Penelope, whatever you want.”

“I want to wear his initial On a chain round my neck, chain round my neck Not because he owns me But 'cause he really knows me”

Thank you so much for reading!! Please reblog and let me know what you think :)))

holly’s tiny taglist: @reidingmelodies @hercleverboy @rigatonireid @muffin-cup​ @takeyourleap-of-faith @wheelsup​ @s1utformgg​ @averyhotchner​ @widow-cevans​ @rotinireid​

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed :))

[creativepromptsforwriting]

hello !! so ive been writing for years, right, and like everything about my writing style and grammar and world building and characterizations and all that have all developed and became better over the years and i’m super happy that it did (especially since im a non native english speaker) but the one thing that i’ve always had a problem with is conversations / interactions between characters. i’m a very awkward person, im introverted and i have bad social anxiety, i never considered myself as witty and i have no clue how to write in pop culture references or just references in general to make conversations more interesting.. basically i’m hopeless with it and i don’t know how to change / improve that. do you have any clues? or should i just give up completely? hahah not really but.. im feeling very helpless right now and i’m desperate for help. thank you so much !!

Hi :)

Definitely don’t give up. I’m not the best at this in English either, I feel much more confident in writing dialogue in my mother language. But I will try to give you a general overview on how to write conversation and I hope this will be helpful for you.

How to write conversation

fictional dialogue: it gives your story and characters life and breaks up the bulk of actions and descriptions; it makes your character more believable and relatable, but be careful to remember that fictional dialogue is not like real-life conversation. People tend to talk a lot and often get lost in their own talking and don’t finish their sentences. A lot of ‘useless’ information gets exchanged. So even if you feel like you are not the best at conversations in real life, the conversations you write are just impressions of normal conversations. A fictional conversation is merely trying to look normal, but follows a lot of different guidelines.

don’t spell everything out:

start at the important parts

don’t write every little thing out

only use small talk when it is making a point

make your dialogue short, but impactful

reasons for dialogue:

furthering the plot

your characters coming to conclusions

finding out information

showing personality, beliefs and feelings of characters

show conflict:

conversation where everyone agrees the whole time is boring

conflict can go from actual fighting to discussing what’s for dinner

make your characters have conflicting goals

let someone voice doubt or hesistancy in agreeing to something

if it’s pleasant talk to show their happiness, keep it short and sweet

find their voice:

everyone talks differently

not every character needs a completely unique way to talk, but you should be able to distinguish who talks and how they feel

list of different ways to talk:

accents/dialects

slang

educated/snobby

being very terse

talking in metaphors/references

talking slow, fast, slurred,...

silence:

sometimes people don’t want to participate in a conversation

try to show what they are doing instead

let the other person react to them being ignored

dialogue tags:

you don’t always use them when you already established who’s talking

when you use them, you can use a lot of different words to illustrate how someone speaks (list of examples I found)

but don’t use them too much, said is often fine

break it up by describing what someone is doing while talking

how to get better:

read your dialogue out loud and see if it flows or sounds too stilted

read different types of dialogue in literature and look how it gets utilised and how different types of people talk and get their feelings across, etc.

Good luck!

- Jana

[nerdzzone]

-More Hearts Than Mine-

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

Especially when a global pandemic is sweeping the world.

With lockdowns and stay at home orders looming on the horizon, the uncertainty of their situation becomes almost too much for Whitney Taylor to handle. Chris suggests that they quarantine together to avoid any potential separations but, given what happened the last time they spent more than a few brief moments in each other’s company, that could cause more problems than it solves…

Chris Evans x OFC

Sequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Part Two

____

Part Three

I did my best to take Scott's words to heart. It was eye-opening and, while it didn't change my concerns about how Grayson would be affected, it helped me soften my guard a little bit when it came to Chris.

We were both in over our heads, stuck with feelings that we didn't know what to do with and insecurities that left us unable to fight for what we wanted. I had doubts and I had questions, but if what Scott had divulged was true then I did have some sympathy for Chris because I knew exactly how he'd been feeling for the last few years.

So, I decided to talk to him. To hash it out, lay it all on the table and see what he had to say. I wasn't entirely sure I would change my mind about the situation, but I wanted to give him a chance to explain his thoughts and feelings unlike how I'd shut the conversation down after Christmas.

But I didn't count on how chaotic it was to be trapped in a house, all day every day, with a child who was almost three. Even with three adults, there were days when it felt like we were the ones who were outnumbered as we took turns trying to keep him constantly entertained and stimulated. To our credit, it was working and we were managing to keep Grayson from being bored, anxious to go out to a park or noticing that things were all that different, but it meant that I had no time or energy to deal with heavy conversations. Things were fine between Chris and I, we were getting along well enough with no more noteworthy disagreements, but there hadn't been a good time for any kind of heart-to-heart.

Things only got more complicated about a week and a half into our lockdown when Chris had to start doing interviews. He had a new show, Defending Jacob, coming out in a few weeks and he had to start the promo for it.

Most people who were working from home these days with small children running around had way more difficult situations to balance than we did, but we knew it would be tricky to keep Grayson from getting curious and barging into an interview. He'd proven to be quite sneaky when he wanted to be and Chris was anxious about the whole thing. He wasn't a big fan of interviews at the best of times so doing it over Zoom made him even more nervous. He spent the whole morning fretting about it being awkward, concerned that he wouldn't be able to relax and act natural, and it seemed like he was channelling his anxiety into his worries about Grayson. He very much liked to be in control of what the world saw of Gray and having him crash an interview wasn't what he wanted. I completely agreed and assured him several times that I wouldn't let that happen, but I could tell he was still stressed about it as he dragged himself off to get ready.

For the first hour or so that Chris was working, things went well. We read a story and played with some Lego, activities that wouldn't get Grayson too excited and noisy, but when Scott suggested that he curl up on the couch and watch Finding Nemo with him, we ran into a problem.

"Okay!" Grayson cheered, jumping up from where we'd been playing on the floor. "Be right back!"

He took off down the hall and I leapt into action, calling his name and stopping him just as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Where are you going, buddy?"

"To get my bear!"

Grayson's room was upstairs, next to Chris' office. He knew where Chris was so I knew there was a good chance he would stop by to say hello on his way past the door.

"Why don't you go get settled on the couch with Uncle Scott and I'll get your bear so you don't miss any of the movie?" I suggested. "Is he in your room?"

"No," he shook his head. "He's in Daddy's office."

I held back a groan, knowing that Gray would not be happy if I explained that he couldn't have his bear for the movie because we weren't allowed in Daddy's office right now. But I also knew that now he'd decided that he wanted to watch a movie, it wasn't likely that he would settle doing anything else either.

"Well, Daddy's very busy in his office right now," I explained. "But I'll go upstairs and see if I can sneak in and get him, okay?"

Grayson agreed to that suggestion and ran off back towards the living room as I glanced at the clock on the wall quickly and hoped that Chris was between interviews. I knew he wouldn't be done for the day just yet, but he had a few lined up so there was a chance that he wasn't currently on a call.

As soon as I pressed my ear to the door of Chris' office, my hopes were dashed. I could hear the sound of laughter echoing through from his laptop so I knew he was in the middle of something, but just as I was about to walk away I heard something that caught my attention.

"You have a son of your own, don't you?" The interviewer asked and I cringed, knowing that it wasn't something Chris liked to discuss. His character in the show was a father though so I wasn't surprised it had come up, it gave them a segue that they hadn't really had before. "How is that going with this lockdown?"

Ever the professional, Chris didn't even hesitate before he answered even though I knew he would be annoyed by the line of questioning.

"Oh, it's great! He's staying with me until all this is over so it's great that we get to spend so much time together," he told the interviewer. "I'm lucky enough to be in a situation where I can just take a few months off until things cool down without too much worry so we've just been relaxing, building blanket forts, watching movies and getting in some bonding time that I miss out on when I'm busy. It's had some challenges, but it's been really nice."

I knew I shouldn't be listening, it was rude to eavesdrop even if the conversation would shortly be broadcast to the whole world, but again, the interviewer's next question had me too intrigued to walk away. Despite all the talking points that he could have chosen from Chris' answer, he zeroed in on one thing.

"He's staying with you for the entire lockdown? Is there a rekindled romance we don't know about?" He asked. "Or is his mother no longer in the picture?"

My jaw dropped. I didn't know who Chris was talking with today, but it wasn't like his team to set him up for any interviews where he would be asked questions like that and most interviewers were too polite to fish for the kind of gossip you'd find in a trashy magazine.

"Oh, I'm not gonna get into all that." Chris' tone was much more clipped than it had been moments before - he was clearly not impressed by the question either. "It's not anyone's business really, is it? But I will say that she is definitely in the picture and one of the best moms that I know. She's staying here with us too."

My heart melted a bit at his compliment even though I knew the words he added at the end meant that we were in for a whole new gossip storm.

It suddenly felt like I really was overstepping by standing at the door listening to this conversation without his knowledge so I headed back downstairs. As I got back into the living room, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent a message to Chris:

It would appear that you have a stowaway. I know you're busy, but please return Mr. Bear at your earliest convenience.

I put my phone away as I explained the situation to Grayson, but luckily, he was too interested in the movie to pay much attention to what I'd said. By the time Chris came down with the bear, it was like he'd forgotten that he ever cared about it in the first place.

Most of my attention was on Chris at that point though. The way he scurried into the room, avoiding looking in my direction at all. He looked ashamed and withdrawn and I couldn't hold back a sigh when he left the room quickly as I knew that he was beating himself up over the conversation that he didn't even know I'd heard.

-

Chris was sullen for the rest of the day. He perked up around Grayson, but whenever Gray was distracted there was a scowl or a frown firmly planted on his face. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know how without confessing that I'd overheard his interview. Given his mood and the ease with which we fell into disagreements these days, that seemed like it would cause more issues than it would help.

The news broke at about eleven that night and I knew because I was suddenly inundated with texts from friends and with follower requests on my private social media accounts. I pulled up the video and watched the interview, feeling another wave of empathy when I saw the annoyance written all over Chris' face as he answered the questions. He'd found a subtle way to shut the interview down almost immediately after the incident and I was proud of him for handling it so diplomatically.

I added it to the list of things that I needed to talk to Chris about whenever I got the chance as I pulled myself away from my laptop and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. However, when I got into the hallway, I noticed a light coming up from downstairs. As far as I knew, everyone had gone to bed almost an hour ago, but I had a good idea whose thoughts would be keeping them awake so I headed down to investigate.

My suspicions were confirmed as I walked into the living room and saw Chris on the couch, his phone in his hand and his brow furrowed.

"Uh oh," I started, making his eyes snap up towards me. "Are you doomscrolling?"

The angry look on his face softened slightly as he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Doomscrolling?"

"Yeah," I shrugged with a smile. "That's what the kids call it these days when you spend too long scrolling through the news or Twitter, just soaking in all the bad shit in the world."

Chris chuckled as I moved into the room and sat on the opposite end of the couch that he was on, tucking my feet underneath me.

"I didn't know you were so down with the kids these days."

"I'm getting old, Chris. I'm almost thirty-two, I have to stay cool somehow." I shot him a wink. "But anyway, what are you reading that's making you look so grumpy?"

Chris sighed and locked his phone, putting it on the end table next to the couch.

"I said something in an interview today," he admitted. "Something that I shouldn't have said."

I watched him for a moment, waiting for him to look at me and elaborate, but when he didn't, I spoke up.

"I hope you're not about to tell me that you regret saying what a good mom I am or I'll be really disappointed..."

That comment brought Chris' gaze back to me, his shock evident on his face until it faded into a grimace.

"You heard what I said?"

"I watched the video," I admitted. "I had a flurry of Instagram activity that tipped me off."

"You didn't read the comments, did you?"

There was worry written all over Chris' face when I shrugged.

"Of course I did. Can't have my self-esteem getting too high, can we?" I was teasing, but his look of gloom only deepened. "Chris, it doesn't matter. I'm no supermodel, they're not saying anything I don't already know."

"See, this is what bothers me," Chris snapped. "My so-called 'fans' are out there spewing all this crap about you and you're acting like it's all true, so who cares? Well, I care because it's bullshit and you don't deserve it!"

"I didn't mean it like that," I assured him, keeping my voice quiet in an attempt to cool the situation.

We'd been here many times over the years and I knew how enraged the comments made Chris. He saw right through me, he knew that I took some of the things that had been said to heart, but who wouldn't? It's hard not to take it personally when someone points out your biggest insecurities, the things that you hope no one else notices, the things that you tell yourself can't possibly be true or as bad as you think in your head. It's impossible not to let it get to you a little bit, but I was well practiced at dealing with it and had grown a thicker skin.

At least, when it came to the comments about my appearance. The comments about how I'm not good enough and how Chris could do better always struck a cord, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.

"No?" Chris huffed. "What did you mean then?"

"That I know I'm an easy target because I'm not stick thin with a boob job," I answered, wanting to diffuse the situation before Chris got too upset. "They're cruel and mean, but they're just jealous because they think their dream boyfriend is taken now."

"Well, anyone who claims to be a real fan of mine wouldn't talk like that about someone I care about," he grumbled. "I shouldn't have answered, I should have just ignored the question."

"Actually, I'm glad you didn't. I'm glad you set the record straight rather than have everyone think I've abandoned my child. I would probably get even more hate for that."

"He shouldn't have even asked about it," Chris continued. "It was so out of line. Why can't people just mind their own business?"

"Because everyone adores you and has a burning desire to know everything about you," I teased, stretching my feet out to nudge his leg gently. His lips twitched briefly into a smile, but it faded as fast as it appeared. "Even my friends were all messaging me, asking if it was true like gossiping teenage girls. Everyone wants the Chris Evans scoop."

That comment earned me a chuckle and I relaxed slightly, hoping that he was starting to calm down.

"I'm sure your friends were more interested in the gossip about your life, not because of me."

"I dunno," I shrugged. "They always liked you."

Chris smiled, but a sigh slipped from his lips as he draped his arm over my feet where they rested on the couch next to him. We sat quietly for a moment as I continued watching him, wishing there was something I could say to ease the worry in his mind, but his next words left me a little bit speechless.

"I do get it, you know?" He said, his eyes still fixed firmly on the ground in front of him. "I get why you wouldn't want to be with me. I get that it's a lot to deal with."

My heart sank at his admission and I scrambled to figure out what to say.

It wasn't ideal - discussing our relationship, while he was already feeling quite murderous - but he'd brought it up and it was hard to say when we'd get another chance. Once again, I found myself fighting the urge to bolt for the door, but I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, hoping that this would be a civil conversation.

"Chris, it's not that," I insisted, my voice soft in what I hoped would be a soothing tone. "Maybe they didn't do anything to ease my concerns, but the bullies on the internet aren't what scared me away."

"No?" His eyes flicked up to meet mine. "Then what did?"

He sounded so defeated and I bit my lip to keep my emotions from bubbling up. The truth was that I didn't know where to start. There was too much floating around my head, too many questions and too many explanations that made less sense now that I knew what I knew after speaking with Scott. I was scared, but it was a very justified fear that could only be made sense of by answering his question with another question.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were in love with me?"

Chris raised an eyebrow, but shrugged off the question.

"You didn't seem like you wanted to hear it, Whitney. I told you that I was all in after Christmas and you shut me down pretty fast," he pointed out. "I didn't think blurting out a confession of love would do much to change that."

Had that been what I was referring to, it would have been a fair argument. However, I was referring to long before our latest incident so I shook my head.

"I talked to Scott," I confessed as a slight look of betrayal slid onto Chris’ face. "Don't be mad, he'd had a few drinks and was feeling sentimental. He told me that you were in love with me long before Grayson was even in the picture, but you never told me."

"I slept with you, didn't I?" He questioned, a defensiveness creeping into his tone. "Doesn't that make someone's feelings pretty fuckin' clear?"

"Hardly," I scoffed. "People sleep with people they're not in love with all the time and it becomes even less clear when they meet up afterwards to have a discussion about their relationship and that someone makes no mention of being in love."

"Was it really a discussion? Or did I show up at your apartment just to hear you lay out the ground rules?"

I faltered slightly as I thought back, but after a moment of reflection, I nodded.

"It was a discussion."

"I believe the first words out of your mouth were 'I think we both know that we're better off as friends'," he informed me. "Doesn't leave much room for debate."

"I was scared." That confession came out less confidently, but I found my voice again quickly. "And I assumed that's what you wanted too because you never pushed back."

He cocked his head to the side, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"You weren't the only one who was scared."

"I was the only one who was pregnant," I retorted, my tone growing harsher as my frustrations started to rise. "I was the only one who was trying to make a massive life decision while hormonal and growing another human being inside of them."

"That's fair," Chris nodded, his voice much calmer than I expected after my burst of annoyance. "But I wasn't about to pour my heart out and tell you how I felt when you kept talking about what a mistake we'd made as if you'd never regretted anything more in your life."

"Getting pregnant was a mistake," I clarified. "I love Grayson and I wouldn't change it for anything, but we can't say it wasn't a mistake at the time given our situation."

"A situation that you didn't want to change."

"Only because you never told me how you felt," I shot back. "I didn't want you to commit to something out of a sense of obligation. I didn't want you to put up with me for a few years until you dumped me for someone more in your league who you actually cared about."

There was a look of surprise on Chris' face at that revelation as it became more and more obvious to both of us that we hadn't been as good at communicating as we may have thought. It seemed we'd both been so convinced that we knew exactly how the other person felt that we hadn't bothered to actually ask them.

"But I did care about you," he assured me. "And you never told me how you felt either."

"I slept with you, didn't I?"

There was a smirk on my face as I threw his words back at him despite the anxiety that was bubbling inside me.

"A wise woman just informed me that sleeping with someone doesn't necessarily mean anything," he teased, a soft smile on his face. "But I think it's safe to say that we were both cowards."

"Again, in my defence, I was pregnant," I reminded him. "I was trying to make a logical decision while my brain was muddled with hormones."

"But you could have told me after," he pointed out. "We lived together for year after he was born, Whitney, and you never even dropped a hint."

"Oh, please," I snorted out a harsh laugh. "Do you remember what that year was like? We had a newborn baby who never slept for more than ten minutes at a time and you were flying in and out for the first six months, filming one of the Avengers movies. I was delirious, exhausted and emotionally wrecked. I wasn't in the right head space to give much thought to our relationship."

"So, if I had made a move back then? Would it have made a difference?" He asked. "Because it didn't seem to matter much a few months ago."

This was the real issue at hand.

It was all well and good to talk about the past and how we'd managed to come this far so oblivious to each other's feelings, but the real discussion was where we were at now. And the truth was, that I didn't know.

I opened my mouth to answer, but shut it as my words escaped me. I shifted nervously, shrugging under his stare until a sigh fell from my lips.

"I'm not sure anymore," I admitted. "If you'd told me how you felt back then, if you fought for us to be together then I might've been swayed."

"But now?"

"Now, I think we made the right decision for Grayson."

Chris was still staring me down, his eyes locked on mine as if he was looking into my soul. It was an intensity that was hard to endure and I was relieved when he spoke again, despite how his words made my heart ache.

"But what about the right decision for us?"

"That's not what's important," I insisted. "I've seen so many of my friends struggle through their parents' bitter divorces, I don't want that for Gray. I don't want us to lose our ability to work as a team and put him first."

"Yeah, you mentioned that several times," Chris huffed. "But I don't see why you're so fuckin' convinced that we'd end up hating each other."

His frustration and impatience was shining through and I felt my panic rising again. Chris had made his stance clear and I knew I needed to make a decision soon or my lack of decision would decide for me, but I felt like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The thought of not being with Chris made my heart ache especially now that I knew the extent of his feelings, but the thought of being with him and the consequences that could come from that set every anxious nerve in my body on edge.

I found myself scrambling for something to say that was non-committal, but would placate the situation. I floundered until, fortunately, a tiny voice from the doorway saved me.

"Daddy said a bad word..."

I leapt off the couch, desperate for any excuse to get away and Chris raised his eyebrow at my swift reaction. I ignored him as I looked at Grayson, who was rubbing his eyes with one hand and clutching his bear in the other. He looked so small, standing there in his little flannel pajamas and I smiled at the sight.

"That is a bad word," I agreed. "Daddy shouldn't have said it. But what are you doing up?"

"I had a bad dream."

His voice was small as he was still half asleep and Chris stood, following me over as I walked towards him.

"I'm sorry to hear that, buddy," he said, lifting him up in his arms. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Grayson shook his head. "It was scary."

"Awe, I'm sorry, sweetheart," I frowned as I rubbed his back, my heart melting at how small he looked in Chris' arms. "Do you want me to tuck you back in or Daddy?"

He rested his head on Chris' chest and pulled his bear so close that his answer got muffled by the stuffed animal's fur.

"I want to sleep in Daddy's bed..."

I looked up at Chris, letting him decide if that was okay, but he was already nodding his head.

"Sure, we can do that," he assured him. "But don't hog all the blankets this time, okay?"

Grayson giggled and I smiled as they headed to the door.

"Goodnight, boys," I called to them before they disappeared. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight." Chris paused to answer me and flashed me a look that made me feel like a schoolgirl being scolded by the principal. "This conversation isn't over."

It felt like a foreboding warning and it left me so flustered that all I could do was nod before he turned and continued on his way to his bedroom.

He was right.

Our conversation couldn't end there unless we wanted another four years of miscommunication and mutual longing, but I didn't know what to do. I wasn't trying to be difficult, but both options seemed destined to lead to heartache. Of course, I had no evidence to prove that we wouldn't live happily ever after, but he was Chris Evans. He was the man that women all over America, all over the world, would kill to be with. And I was just me. Once I fell off whatever pedestal he'd put me on in his mind and he realized how ordinary and unremarkable I was, it wouldn't last.

And I couldn't spend the rest of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

With a sigh, I headed to the stairs. My head was a mess despite my hopes that talking to Chris would bring me some clarity. It seemed I was starting a pattern of coming away from late night conversations with more questions than answers, but I was beginning to think that might be due to the fact that I would never be told what I wanted to hear. No one could make this decision for me and no one could make it a fool proof choice.

There was always a risk when it came to love. I just had to decide if that risk was worth it and start being honest with myself about why I was so scared. Were my intentions really as noble as I wanted everyone to believe? Or was I using Grayson as a shield to protect my own heart from pain as much as his?

-

Part Four

Tags:  @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Spencer Reid x Reader

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.”                  

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.”                       

PART ONE HERE

A/N: It came out fast!!! I had lowk already started it, so that’s why this update came so quickly. Please don’t expect them all to come this fast LMAO. I usually write slow as fuck. Anyway, I really hope you guys like this part so I can maybe just maybe turn this into a mini series. Please lmk if you guys like :) 

CONTENT WARNINGS: KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF SEX (lmk if i missed any please) 

I paced the bullpen as the team spoke to Penelope. The shock of her pregnancy was starting to wear off, and now I could think more clearly. How could she? What was she thinking? 

Recently, I’d found myself thinking about it more, a baby her and a mini-me. A family of my own, with the love of my life. It was exciting and like a lovesick fool it made my stomach fuzzy. But she wasn’t ready and I couldn’t do that to her. So how could she do it to herself? She hadn’t finished school, hadn’t started her career. She could barely take care of herself! I wasn’t mad, absolutely not. Just disappointed at her self-sabotage and the fact she’d made the decision completely without me. I couldn’t think about it for long though, because I was swiftly reminded by my surroundings that right now, there was a chance I’d lose her, our child and any children we wanted to have in the future. That was the priority. 

“Garcia, check her credit card records, we need to see where she last was.” Hotch said. 

“Uhm, okay,” Penelope took a deep breath while clicking away, “Let’s see. Her last purchase was last night, 6:49 at a CVS Pharmacy, oh--” 

“What Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“She was um, picking up her monthly case of birth control.” 

JJ broke the silence, “Spence…” she started towards me. 

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god.” 

“Thank god?” Morgan questioned. 

“She’s 23.” I wiped my face, “Whole life ahead of her.” The team understood what I was trying to say. Rossi’s hand fell on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 

“So why would she tell Brook she was?” Garcia asked. 

“I uh, I..I don’t know.” I spat out. I really had no idea.  

“Think Reid.” Rossi told me. “You guys ever talk about kids or pregnancy?”

“She might be trying to send us a message,” Emily added. 

I thought back to the last time we discussed starting a family. 

--FLASHBACK-- 

We were surrounded by timeless pieces of art and history, and yet the true masterpiece was still her. She was always beautiful to me, a perfect being, truly. But today, something about the way she looked today specifically, made her look like the kind of beauty you see in a painting. Had she been a painting, her creator must have been skilled. Each stroke of his brush creating every divine curve of her face and body to produce a work of magnificent art, one that I so proudly hung on the walls of my heart. 

I remember exactly what she wore, and how it felt to take it all off. The painter had an eye for color. Her denim skirt, the length or lack thereof making me embarrassingly wary, was blue like the Mediterranean Sea, complementing the pigment of the skin of her legs. A white button down made of silk, not worn properly, of course. Too many buttons were left open at the top, as to draw attention to the gold adorned on her chest, but in the spell of temptation she procured to cast upon me, my eyes wandered to admire territories of her body they shouldn’t have. Not in public, at least. The buttons at the bottom were left untouched as well, revealing the soft skin of her stomach. She looked like an angel, but of course, went out of her way to instead be my temptress.

My affinity for her beauty aside, the wide eyes in delight at the museum artifacts and careful attention to my commentary were what made our excursion wonderful. The feeling of her smaller hand in mine, and the giggles and the teasing “You’re way too nerdy to be so stupid hot Dr. Reid.” made it absolutely perfect. 

In exchange for her listening so attentively to my historical facts and stories, I took her for ice cream. She insisted we ate it on the greens of Lincoln Park. Who was I to deny her that? What came next--I expected. She’d devoured it. Made a mess of strawberry ice cream on her white shirt. 

“It was the wind!” She insisted as the first of many drips of ice cream fell down her chin. 

“No it was not!” I argued back while wiping it, “You just never learned how to eat ice cream properly.” I gently removed the cone from her hands and into mine, taking an overzealous bite. “This, lovey, is how you eat ice cream.” 

“Give it back, you...you dickass!” She snorted. We laughed like two lovesick teenagers. 

“Dickass?” I asked, eyes watery from laughter. 

“Yeah dickass, give me back my damn ice cream.” I took another bite, “Stop! You’re eating it all!” She pouted. Pouts were unfortunately my weakness and I handed it back to her. However, in her rush, the pink scoop had fallen directly on her blouse. 

“Way to prove my point,” I started to take off my cardigan, “You want dickass’s sweater?” 

She wanted to be mad but couldn’t contain the wince of a smile. “Please.” 

We carefully removed her shirt from under while simultaneously putting the cardigan in its place. 

“Spence don’t let me flash! There’s kids and judgmental old ladies here!” 

I laughed and shushed her, “I know, I know.” I moved all the fabrics quickly and it was done. Her sticky pink shirt was replaced with my soft sweater. “There.” 

“My hero,” She kissed me, “Truly.”

She leaned back on our picnic blanket on her shoulders as we observed our fellow park goers. “So many kids.”  

I nodded my head in agreement. “Yeah…” 

“We should bring our kids here one day.” she said, instantly breaking my haze from the crowd so I could only see her. 

I smiled again at the thought, “Yeah, and tell them how their mom is the world's clumsiest ice cream eater.”

She looked at me with disdain before shoving her shoulder into mine. “Shut up.” 

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.” 

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.” 

I toppled her so we were laying down, facing each other. She kissed me hard, and my hands went to the sides of her face, only pulling back to say “I can’t wait for it, you know. My two little girls.” 

She smiled, “But I’ll always be your favorite right?” she asked sarcastically. 

I laughed, “Oh of course. Always.” 

“I’ll have a big ol’ belly, you know.” I nodded, “You’d still be perfect.” 

“We’d have to go to the mall, buy me a shitload of new clothes. Do ya know how dirty malls are Spence?” I winced at the thought of thousands of strangers bacteria on every surface and she laughed, “Got ya.” I shook my head, “Nope! I uh, I’ll just bring hand sanitizers and uh, to the Maternity section we’ll go.” 

“Non-stop Panda express eating.” I nodded again, “I’ll be non-stop Panda Express buying, then.” She smiled so hard her nose scrunched. 

“I love you Spencer.” 

“I love you too. I am so in love with you.” 

--FLASHBACK ENDS--

“Yeah but it was trivial.” I said. 

“Maybe not,” Hotch argued, “Was anything mentioned specifically?” 

“A name she liked?” Prentiss added, “Maybe a craving she thought she might have? Anything at all?” 

I nodded, “Not a food, but a fast food place. Panda Express.” I doubted that would be helpful. 

“It’s a stretch but, Garcia, check for any dilapidated buildings within 10 miles of a Panda Express.” 

“Yes sir,” She typed away and then said, “No, guys. I’m sorry. All of our Panda Express’s are in pristine malls or new developments.” 

“Mall!” I shouted, “She said we’d have to go to the mall! She knows I hate the mall.” 

Morgan pointed at us, “The tiles in that room look like they could be from some 80’s Bloomingdales.” 

“Garcia-” I said. 

“Already on it.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pregnancy ruse was either going to get me killed, or save my life. It was a moment of panic and I just wanted to throw her off. I know it did, but in what direction? 

She was still crying, her demeanor with me was still laced with bitter animosity, but she was calmer now. 

“How long have you known?” Brook asked, the contents of her flask now empty and her words slurred. 

“I found out yesterday.” I lied through my teeth. 

She shrugged her shoulders, “Had you guys talked about it?” 

“Vaguely.” I admitted. 

“What’d Spencer want? Boy or girl?” I debated on whether or not to say, and she caught on. “Don’t fucking lie.” She stated harshly. 

“Girl.” I breathed out. “He wants a girl.” 

“What do you want?” she asked. 

“I don’t care.” I said. That was true. 

“How come?” 

“I just want to start a family with him. Don’t really care about the gender…” That was true as well. 

“Oh.” she nodded her head, “Why’d he want a girl?” It was strange, her  genuine curiosity. It freaked me out, but my alternative was being stabbed. I chose to just answer her questions, regardless of how much I really did not want to.  

“He liked the idea of a little girl who looked like me.” 

She winced, eyes tearing up further. “Right.” I was beginning to realize her feelings were very real. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. My head was still looking for an answer as to how she could be driven to do something like this. 

She clasped her hands together, her anger returning.  “Don’t fucking start. You know nothing of what I feel for Spencer.” She came up closer and tugged at my hair, “Fucking nothing.” 

“Okay,” I grimaced at the pain from the force at which she pulled my hair, “I-I’m sorry.” 

She let go, “You should be. You really, really fucking should be.” She sat back down, pensive for a while. I wish I knew what she was thinking about. 

My heart had not stopped it’s fast pace ridden with anxiety since I gained full awareness of my situation, but now, it felt like it was going to burst through my chest. Was she planning on just killing me now? 

My anticipation ceased when she got up and brought back the camera with her again. “Hello BAU. There has been a change in plans. Your beloved,” The words reeked of sarcasm, “Y/N here, will be returned eventually. . She’s gonna be fine. However, it is now in everybody best interest if this video feed was cut out. Sorry.” She said before mouthing, “No I’m not.” She shut the camera off. 

She turned to me, “I hate you. Fucking despise you.” Figures. 

“But I would never hurt Spencer. Or his child. Even if it is being carried by a whore like you.” 

She began to pace once more, “You’re obviously a mistake on his part. You clearly tricked him with sex and...no just sex I think. You're not really smart enough to be capable of anything else. Regardless, he’s probably already thinking about abortions or adoption. There’s no way in hell a man like him could ever want to start a family with a girl like you.” She shook her head, “Absolutely not.” 

I could only nod my head at her delusions. This woman was so far up her ass. 

She pinched my cheeks together with her cold hands, “You tried to trap him. How’d that go for you?” 

I was silent.

“I asked you a fucking question!” She held my face impossibly tighter. 

“Poorly.” I got out, “Poorly.” 

“In 9 months, I’ll help you deliver your baby. And then, you can go.” Brook backed away and let go of her tight grip on my face. “I’m keeping the kid. Raising it.” She smiled, “I’ll be the mother Spencer’s child will deserve. And then-” A giggle creepily reminiscent of a schoolgirl’s left her throat, “He’ll love me!” 

Brooks intention had twisted from wanting to murder and torture me as revenge for “taking” Spencer, to a now twisted maternal desire for his (hypothetical) child. But if Spencer and his team couldn’t find me before the time I was supposed to be showing, I was fucked. Utterly fucked. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Taglist: @britishspidey

(Let me know to be added)

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.2

Pt. 1   Pt. 2    Pt.3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: Here is part 2! I might upload part three tonight. I’m so excited to see where this goes. It seems that the first part is doing pretty good so I might upload them faster. As always requests/asks are open! Just give me little time to get to them. Enjoy! 

Word count: 1.8K

Walking through the town, you felt an inordinate wave of liberation flow through not only you but also through Loki. It felt as if the weight of the world released itself from your shoulders. Confidence and strength soaring through the air. Loki lost his stiffness, his typical carefree nature restored once you became more grounded. 

“See, not so bad, right?”

Shaking your head, a cynical chuckle escaped your throat

“For you maybe. All these eyes on us is kinda gross.”

“It’s only because the most attractive prince has finally decided to show his face.”

You looked at Loki, amusement absent from your face. He laughed, a belly laugh almost. It was a free sound you had yet to hear from him and when you did your face painted your emotions before you had the chance to process them yourself. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes, but you, my dear, tolerate it. So who's really at a loss in this situation?”  

“Well, it’s not me.”

“It couldn’t be me Y/N.”

“Looks like we’re both losers then Loki.”

You were approaching the main entrance of the palace and began to wonder if Loki was considering bringing you inside.

“We lost when we fell in love with each other Y/N. Listening to the heart is the most foolish thing one can do and yet here we are. Charging full speed with our eyes closed hoping we don’t trip over anything.”

Guiding you up the steps of the massive golden structure Loki called ‘home’ your nerves struck up again. 

“Seems to make sense that if we’re going full speed, might as well exploit our courtship in the place where you will eventually be spending all your time in. And with all things considered, sneaking you in is...counterproductive, to say the least.”

Exhaling, you brought yourself together and walked in front of Loki. His hand rested on your lower back escorting you inside. Grabbing fabric in your fists, you hiked your dress up a bit making sure you didn’t step on it. Walking through the main threshold, you realized you were worrying for nothing. The halls were massive, the ceiling stretching higher than you ever imagined.

 It would be a miracle if you were to run across someone you knew in a place so vast.

 You looked around in shock at everything you were being hidden from. The thought of it hopefully being yours to share with Loki in freedom and not in constraint was illuminating. One day to not only be openly in love with him but to call him your husband. Your partner for life was the solace you needed. Everything looked new to you because you had only ever seen the hallways in the dead of night to share evening visits with Loki, being as slick as one could, and it always working in your favor.

“Wow, it looks so different here with the sun shining through. Always felt like a runaway sneaking through the backways and balconies to get to your quarters.”

“And now you get to walk there like every other person in this place. Quite fancy isn’t it.”

“Okay, I didn’t ask for the smart mouth, you ass.” 

“Comfortable, are we?” 

“With you? Always.”

Finally, you two had walked up to Loki’s quarters. Opening the doors he welcomed you in and you welcomed yourself to his bed. Flopping down on the edge of it, the edge of your dress flying up and you went down. Hearing the door shut, you lifted your head up to face Loki at the door, only thing was he wasn’t there. Furrowing your brow you sat up on your elbows and by the time you looked behind you, it was too late. 

“Boo.”

Your body reacted before you could control your response. Your stomach fell to your ass, eyes widening and a sharp inhale all followed one another before you finally shook off the anxiety and realized that Loki had popped up behind you. 

“You asshole! What if I screamed, huh?”

Loki laughed falling over on the bed, your reaction to him obviously something of hilarity to him. You rolled your eyes and pushed his shoulder in and began to pout. He caught his breath and calmed down enough so he could respond back to you. 

“You’re only screaming for one thing and unfortunately, darling, the sun’s still out. So, someone will have to wait, considering they’re so concerned about being caught.”

Loki raised his eyebrow and your mouth was agape. You squinted your eyes and an idea popped in your head. Rolling over on your knee you placed yourself on top of Loki's lap, resting your hands on his chest stealing his smirk for this moment in time.

“I can control myself...you on the other hand, once you start you can't stop.”

To emphasize your point, you rolled your hips into his and brought your body down to level his. Reaching his ear you whispered

“If you can find containment within yourself, a prize will await you this evening.”

You moved from his ear and hovered in front of his face, your lips ghosting one another. You pulled back a little bit to stare into his eyes. They were hypnotic no matter how many times you saw them. Loki’s hand trailed up your backside squeezing the mound of your ass before continuing up your back. His hand finding refuge at the nape of your neck. He pulled you back to his face, a gentleness about the entire interaction, and kissed you. 

There was a different kind of spark in this kiss, it felt electric, coursing through your veins and settling in your brain as a memory you’d never forget. Losing yourself in the thrill of it all, your hips began moving against his. Your building arousal creating a fog between you. The more you ground into the god below you, the more apparent his bulge was. Flipping you on your back Loki now held the reins of the situation. 

“Now, don’t tempt me Y/N. You have a habit of teasing and where does it always leave you?”

“At your mercy.”

“Clever girl. So if you like to save this accolade you mentioned for later, mind your manners, my love.”

He leaned down to kiss you as to punctuate his words, ending the discussion with the pull of your lips between his teeth. Hissing through the pleasure you couldn’t help but roll your hips up towards him, now being the one desperately craving friction. Testing the waters, you wanted to see how far you could push Loki to his limits. Your hand found the scruff of his neck and scrunched his hair. Sucking a breath in between his teeth, he pulled back a light laugh following. 

“I’m aware of what you’re attempting to do Y/N, and I think it would be fair for you to know that it’s a feeble attempt. Reason being, now you’re the one left in ardor.”

Loki pulled off of you but made sure to drive his point home by sliding down your body and resting between your thighs before fully standing up. You lied on the bed in slight agony of your current predicament. You sighed and brought yourself up on your elbows. Looking ahead of you, you saw Loki sitting in the massive throne chair that was in his room. It was gothic in nature yet still regal with the back of the chair rising well up behind him and the arms of it embellished with Asgardian design. 

His position in the chair was more than purposeful. His legs were spread wide, his arm resting on the arm of the throne and his hand propping up his head to look not only at you but out on the balcony. The late evening sun illuminating his eyes, bringing a whole new meaning to golden hour. He looked breathtaking and it was as if you were falling in love with him all over again.

The lust you were previously feeling was now amplified but also accompanied with adoration for your lover. You raised yourself from up off the bed and waltzed over to him. A fire behind your eyes and in your presence but you had yet to act on it. Coming in front of him, you kneeled in front of him and looked up. Two could play at this game. Your hands slid up his legs, paying special attention to his thighs and feather lightly rubbed on this. His eyes were boring through yours and you felt small under his gaze. 

The silence between you was telling, that if you were to continue with your actions there would be no waiting until later. You wanted to enjoy the silence between the two of you, so you turned your back to him now sitting on your behind, and crossed your legs. You leaned your head back so it fell in between his legs, but before fully getting settled you reached for the two books resting on the side table in front of the chair and placed them in your lap. You wiggled your hips and settled into a comfortable position. 

Resting your head back, you craned it further attempting to look at Loki. He rolled his eyes knowing exactly what you were asking for. 

“You know, if I knew how often you’d beg for these I would have never indulged in your initial request.”

“You and I both know this is enjoyable for both parties.”

Loki huffed, a silent agreement without saying explicitly that you were right. Loki began to rub your temples. You closed your eyes enjoying the sensation and the loving intent of his actions. You finally felt calm and safe compared to the rest of the day which was riddled with anxiety and panic and the nagging fear of all the ‘what ifs’ you came up with. You had exhausted yourself and this simple action put you at ease. You opened your eyes for a moment and glanced down at the books in your lap trying to decipher which one was Loki’s. 

Catching a glimpse on the side you realized the one on the bottom was Loki’s current project at hand. Grabbing it, you twisted your arm behind you and slid the book into Loki’s lap knowing that sooner or later you would end up dozing off and you figured that getting this out the way would make it easier for both of you. 

“You are truly something else.”

“And you love me for it Loki.” 

“Can’t argue that one.”

A small smile painted your face before it fell back into its relaxed state and you began to drift off. Every little thing that had happened today made you feel that you were a few steps closer to getting what you so desired with Loki.