#but yes now we have the correct number of children in the bunch

[healerelowen]

Baby fever go brrrr

So very self-indulgent eloist librarian kids time

-They differ in age based in groups of 4 considering that they were made in batches of 4. I'll give a list of em from oldest to youngest and also I'm going with @ratherpekewliar's idea of naming them after literary subgenres.

-Group 1(Eldest); Fantasy, Romance, Sci-Fi, and Mystery.

-Group 2(Second eldest); Dystopian, Adventure, Horror, and Thriller.

-Group 3(Middle); Literary, Magic, Memoir, and Bio.

-Group 4(Second youngest); History, Travel, Guide and Spirit.

-Group 5(Youngest); Cozy, Quiet, Mythic, and West.

-Small note for some of the names, a few of them had been condensed since, you know, it would be a bit weird if you named your kid 'Magical Realism', plus I think it just sounds better.

-All 20 of them are curious, busy bees. All day, every day is spent finding and discovering new files for their mother and my lovely wife, the Archivist, to archive.

-The fifth group is still getting used to things, considering that technichaly they weren't really a thing until just recently. So they're still little infant babies in robot terms. As in they can walk, they can speak a few coherent words but otherwise are still babies <3

-Sparky is an aunt of 20 niblings now I guess./vvv lh

-Very curious about organic life, and having a father who is such a thing never fails to fascinate them. Archivist sometimes has to pry them off whenever they pile up on me though.

-They really enjoy it when I or their mother tells them stories, especially during bed time.

-Speaking of bed time, we all just kinda collectively sleep in a large pile together. It's very cozy.

-I love being a father of 20 fictional kids :)

[slaymitchabernathy]

Beating Heart

| "And I don't know where I'm going, but I know it's gonna be a long time. 'Cause I'll be leaving in the morning, come the white wine, bitter sunlight." |

The Dauntless compound reminds me of a dark cave. 

I didn’t realize how much I took natural sunlight for granted until walking through the countless corridors that serve as a way to move around the compound. Everything is dark and wet, with blue lights serving as illumination. 

The group of initiates follows someone through the maze of corridors until the person in front of me comes to a stop and I end up running right into him. I rub my nose and secretly wish I were taller. 

“Alright, Dauntless born go with Arachne, transfers stay with me.”

I recognize the deep male voice, it belongs to the boy who helped me off the net. A good half of our group trickles down another corridor, I suppose they won’t require a tour compared to us. With a smaller group, I’m able to push my way to the front and Dorothea and Lucy Gray Baird follow right after me until we’re standing in the front.

The tall boy’s eyes meet mine for only a second before he scans the group, “I’m going to be one of your instructors during your initiation process. I usually work in the control room. My name is Four.” 

Lucy Gray Baird snorts next to me and I warily eye her, Four doesn’t seem like the type of person you want to upset. “What, like the number?” She asks, and Four presses his lips into a thin line, “Yes, like the number. Now, I’m going to show you all to the Pit, it’s mainly compos–” 

“The Pit,” Lucy Gray Baird cuts him off with another laugh, “Y’all sure have a clever way of naming things around here. Were One, Two, and Three taken?” 

I close my eyes and wait for the reprimand, she has to learn to be quiet. I expected this type of behavior from Candor, they always speak their minds but Amity are usually more quiet. When I open my eyes, Four is standing right in front of us, Lucy Gray Baird more specifically. He looks scary. 

His jaw is clenched and his blue eyes pierce into her like he wants to snap her in half.

He probably could.

“What’s your name?” He asks quietly, which for some reason is much more scary than him yelling at her. Lucy Gray Baird swallows but she stands her ground and raises her chin, “Lucy Gray Baird,” she tells him matter-of-factly. I can’t help but admire her confidence. She’s very pretty, with pink blush on her cheeks and her curls styled nicely. 

I must look so plain standing next to her. 

Four leans a little closer to her, “Well Lucy, the first lesson you’ll need to learn about being Dauntless, is to keep your mouth shut. Got it?” 

Lucy Gray Barid furrows her eyebrows, “Lucy Gray,” she corrects. Four straightens up and raises an eyebrow, “Keep your mouth shut, Lucy Gray.” 

He’s walking away before she can even come up with a reply and he waves at us to follow him down a corridor. Lucy Gray scoffs and gives Dorothea and I a look, “Well isn’t he a ray of sunshine?” Dorothea smiles and shakes her head, “Just gotta stay out of his way until initiations are over. He’s probably sick and tired of training a bunch of initiates.” 

I nod, she’s right, Dauntless initiation is bound to be more intense than Abnegation’s initiation. You spend thirty days performing community service acts and then on the last day, existing members of the Faction wash your feet and then you all eat a meal together. 

As we approach what is called the Pit, I can already tell that this will be nothing like Abnegation.

The Pit is something else.

It’s huge, wide and open. There are paths and ledges running all up the Pit, with people running as if they won’t fall to their deaths. I see children skipping near the edge and resist the urge to tell them to be careful. 

“Wow,” Dorothea whispers, her brown eyes wide in awe. 

I nod because there really isn’t much else to say. People are milling around below us, some are fighting although it looks more like playful banter and others are talking, laughing, and drinking. Everyone is covered in tattoos. I look over at Four who doesn’t seem to have any tattoos but maybe they’re smaller and less noticeable. 

I don’t think I will get a tattoo. 

Next, we’re taken to what looks like a bridge of some sort, made of grates with a metal railing. Below is a large river that rushes so quickly that I don’t think even the Dauntless would try to swim in it.

“This is the Chasm,” Four yells over the water, “do not fall off of this bridge unless you want to take a swim with death. Someone takes the plunge every year, it’s happened before, and it will happen again. You’ve been warned.” I swallow and edge away from the ledge that instantly drops off into the Chasm. 

We follow Four down a few more corridors and I notice a tattoo peeking out from his shirt. Dorothea elbows me, “He sure is scary huh?”

Intimidating is the word I would use but I’ve only just met him. “He’s…something,” I finally say before he pushes open two large doors. The room we’ve been led to looks like our sleeping quarters. Four walks down the few steps and turns around to look at all of us with an unimpressed look on his face, as if we’ve already disappointed him. 

“This is where you’ll be sleeping until initiation is over,” he tells us, “the bathrooms are over there.” One of the boys in our group pipes up, he’s tall like Will but his hair is a lighter shade of brown, he’s from Candor, “Is this dorm for the girls or the boys?”

A small smile appears on Four’s face, “Both. You have five minutes to get changed and go to the mess hall.” 

A murmur passes through our group at the premise of all of us sleeping together in the same room. I’ve never slept in the same room as a boy before, or anyone for that matter. 

This is what you do in Dauntless, I tell myself as I claim my bed next to Lucy Gray’s, you sleep in the same room as boys and you don’t care. But I do care, and I miss my father and my hurts from where I cut it. But none of that matters now.

꧁ ꧂

I follow Dorothea and Lucy Gray over to the bathroom where clothes have been provided for us. Dauntless clothes. 

They’re baggy and unflattering but I know that we have to conform as soon as possible. I feel somewhat self conscious as we all change, even though no one looks in my direction. Once we’re dressed we throw our clothes into a fire pit, forever burning away my last ties to Abnegation. 

I linger for a moment, watching the gray clothing that used to be my identity burn away into ash. Lucy Gray doesn’t hesitate to chuck her colorful clothing into the fire and even dusts off her hands before leaving to go find the mess hall. I bite my lip but follow her, I can’t afford to get lost.

꧁ ꧂

The mess hall is the loudest room I’ve ever been in. 

Everyone is yelling, gesturing with their hands while they eat. The room falls silent once our group walks in and Casca stands up from his table, his voice booming throughout the room, “Here’s to this year's initiates!” All the Dauntless members repeat the phrase as they raise up their cups before turning their attention back to their conversations and I suddenly have no idea where to sit. 

“Let’s go over there,” Dorothea nods to one of the tables near the back that’s empty. I nod, “Good idea.” We all squeeze through the crowd and when we finally reach the table I’m surprised to see that Four is sitting there as well. I thought he might eat with his friends but maybe he prefers to be alone. 

We sit on the other end and the girls immediately go to fill their trays with different types of food. I grab a round piece of brown meat between my fingers and furrow my eyebrows, I’ve never seen this before. Lucy Gray is already eating and tilts her head, “Have you never seen a hamburger before?” She asks, her mouth full. I shake my head and put it on my tray, “I think we have very different diets in our Factions.” 

Dorothea hands me a small dish of red sauce, “Load some ketchup on it, makes it taste much better.” I give her a grateful smile, I already feel like I’m falling behind and we haven't even started yet. “Can we sit here?” I look up to see Will from Erudite and another boy next to him, the boy who asked about the dorms. Lucy Gray flashes him a smile, “Sure you can.” 

It’s strange to sit with so many different people from different Factions. 

“Do you miss your Amity clothes?” Dorothea asks Lucy Gray, “I always thought you guys had such pretty colorful clothes.” Amity is always so colorful and cheerful. I could never fit in there. 

Lucy Gray shakes her head and grabs a tomato from the plate in the middle of the table, “I will miss the colorful clothes, the Covey love color, me more than most, but I knew I had to leave, get a taste of somethin’ different.” I understand that to some degree, the desire to get out. 

Will takes a bite of his burger before speaking, “The Covey? What’s that? I never read about it in any of the textbooks.” Dorothea rolls her eyes, “Why am I not surprised that you spent most of your time drowning in textbooks?” Will scoffs and points at her, “There’s no shame in wanting to be educated, at least I don’t say the first thing that comes to my mouth.”

I watch the two bicker back and forth in fascination because while they’re arguing, there’s no animosity between them and they’re both smiling. Lucy Gray holds her hand up, “All right y’all are gonna drive me nuts with the bickering. And the Covey, my friend, are a band of traveling musicians. We traveled all over the place before the first war but after the second war, couldn’t go anywhere.” 

Will hums and taps the table, “So if you lived in one of the Districts, you most likely would’ve been in a southern one, like Eleven or Twelve.” Lucy Gray shrugs, “The way my cousin Barb Azure tells it, the Covey traveled all over the Districts before there were Districts if that makes sense. Then we all got rounded up and now what’s left of us are in Amity.”

 

Hearing about other people’s families is fascinating to me. I’ve grown so used to it being just my father and I that I’d forgotten that there are larger families out there with long ancestral trees. 

“My parents say we would’ve been in District Four,” the other boy says, his name is Jessup and he’s from Candor as well. Dorothea takes a sip of her water before speaking up, “Mine say we would’ve been in Two.” Lucy Gray sighs, “Wish we could go anywhere and everywhere, but my other cousin Tan Amber says we would’ve been stuck in Twelve.”

Lucy Gray has a lot of cousins.

Will is still eating so I guess it’s my turn to share, “We would’ve been in Twelve too,” I say quietly and Lucy Gray grins, “Then we were bound to be friends,” she decides.

I haven’t ever had a friend before, but maybe that might change here in Dauntless.

“We would’ve been in Nine,” Will says while eating his burger, “they specialized in Grain production.” Dorothea giggles, “Would’ve pegged me for District Three considering how smart you are.” 

I glance at the other end of the table at Four whose eyes are trained on his tray although I’m sure he’s been listening. “What District would you have been from?” I ask before I can shut my mouth. I don’t know what compelled me to ask but it’s too late to take it back now. 

He looks over at me and pins me down with his gaze, “What makes you think you can talk to me?” He asks, his voice cold and harsh. We all go quiet at his question but I don’t back down, even though I should, I don’t.

“Must be because you’re so approachable,” I say, “like a bed of nails.” 

Lucy Gray snorts into her cup of water and my ears turn hot as I wait for the backlash and the lecture about talking back to my instructor but instead, he just grabs his cup of water, “Careful Soarynn,” is all he says before turning back to his food. 

“You my friend, have a death wish,” Dorothea whispers. 

I shrug, maybe I do, maybe I don’t. 

Jessup and Dorothea launch into a funny story about something that happened at Candor headquarters and while they’re talking I see Casca from the corner of my eye. He’s walking towards us. Four, more specifically. He sits down next to me but doesn’t even acknowledge me. 

“Just the man I was looking for,” he says, slapping Four on the back, too hard to be playful.

Four grunts, “Can I help you Casca?”

Now that I’m as close as can be, I notice that Casca not only has several tattoos on his face, but piercings as well. Rings through his lips and eyebrows, and the holes stretch when he smiles. “Max has been looking for you, asking for you. Says whenever he goes to your apartment you aren't there.” There’s animosity behind Casca’s words, like he’s bitter about something. 

Four nods, “Tell him that I am satisfied with the job position I currently hold.” 

Casca raises his eyebrow and I inwardly cringe at how his skin stretches around the rings. Piercings can not be a fun experience.

“So he wants to offer you a job,” he concludes. Four hums, “Guess so.” Casca turns to look at me and I immediately look down at my tray, I don’t want to be caught staring. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me Four?” 

All of us are quiet as we watch Casca and Four. I can’t tell if they’re friends but the way Four acts, I don’t think they’re friends. 

Four sighs and looks down at all of us, all wide-eyed. “This is Soarynn,” he nods at me, and Casca smirks, “The Stiff, how could I forget?” My fingers wrap tightly around my fork and I resist the urge to stab him in the neck with it. “That’s Dorothea, Will, Lucy Gray, and Jessup,” he finishes, “and I have somewhere to be.” 

I don’t want to be left alone with Casca who looks like he’d want to punch little kittens for fun but he stands up before Four does and clears his throat, “I’ll let Max know that you’re not interested,” he says before walking away. 

I can’t keep my mouth shut today it seems because I’m asking another question before I can stop myself, “Are you two friends?” 

The look Four gives me could turn me into stone. “We were in the same initiate group together. Lights out at ten o’clock,” he tells me before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jessup lets out a low whistle, “I wonder if part of the initiation is to learn how to be a complete asshole to everyone you meet.” Everyone but me laughs because I don’t think Four is…an asshole. He seems guarded. 

I would do well to be the same. 

| Part 3. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| Divergent x Hunger Games |

[entertext]

HGSN 18-1

Chapter (Japanese)

(Please hit the green thumbs up at the end of the chapter to show support)

Rough translation by me

==

P1

Matsuura: ...

Matsuura: Yes...that's right. She was my mother...

Matsuura: In the end, she died before I had a chance to see her again...

Yoshiki: Oh...

Yoshiki: I-I'm sorry for your loss...

Matsuura: You were interested in Kubitachi's history, right? Have you looked at this yet?

P2

Hikaru: Dictionary of Japanese Place Names...

Yoshiki: Kubitachi Village. Name of a village in ○○ District. Originally, ●▲ Domain.* From 1607 onwards, ●◆ Domain.

Although originally a single village, it is believed to have split into Kubitachi, Udekari, Udeiri, Ashidori, and Darumasute (now Kibougayama) in the initial part of the Early Modern Period (1700s). In the middle part of the Meiji period, Udeiri was merged into Darumasute.

In 1749, the village was nearly destroyed due to a large number of deaths from famine and epidemic disease. However, the population has gradually recovered until today...

(* -  Feudal domains under daimyo; see wiki)

P3

Hikaru: ...huh? That's so long!

Yoshiki: So originally it was all one village...

Yoshiki: Kibougayama... and Kubitachi and the others too...

Yoshiki: I'd vaguely heard before that Kubitachi was almost abandoned after a bunch of people died, but...even though it's my own village, I didn't know anything about it...

Matsuura: The people of Kubitachi don't like to talk to their children about the village...

Matsuura: It seems the mass deaths were quite a big incident at the time.

P4

Matsuura: Many people died in strange and bizzare ways...

Matsuura: Well, ultimately, the deaths were caused by famine and illness though...

Hikaru: ...Um, Matsuura-san...

Matsuura: Yes?

Hikaru: Do you know what "Nounuki-sama" is?

Yoshiki: -gk!...

P5

Matsuura: ...

Matsuura: ...Was that something my mother said to you?

Hikaru: Yeah...we wanted to know what it is...

Matsuura: ...about that even now...

Matsuura: This isn't a good place to talk. Let's move somewhere else.

P6

Matsuura: My mother spoke about "Nounuki-sama" very often.

Matsuura: Honestly, to an abnormal extent

Matsuura: Apparently, when she was a young girl, she snuck into that mountain and experienced something terrifying.

Matsuura: And so, she was adamant that I was never to go up that mountain

Hikaru: ...So as expected, I-... "Nounuki-sama" is some kind of monster on the mountain.

P7

Matsuura: No...she said it's a god... or something of the sort.

Matsuura: ...and that it has been there since before the village was split up...

Matsuura: "Nounuki-sama" - the god on the mountain

Matsuura: Something that would bring blessings in exchange for a particular kind of offering...that's what it was, it seems...

Hikaru: A particular kind of offering?

Matsuura: I can't say... I don't know what they offered.

Yoshiki: When you say "that's what it was"...

Yoshiki: You mean, "now it isn't", right?

==

Next chapter: 2023/06/13

Twitter Extra (link):

Hikaru: Uwah! I can't read all that small print!

--

T/N: From my research, what's referred to as Early Modern Period for Japanese history seems to generally start in the late 1500s/early 1600s and ends in the 1850s/1860s so either way you interpret it, "1700s" seems a bit late to refer to as "initial" but IDK, that's what it says. If there's a correction later, I'll fix it.

[asexual-hugger]

Chapter 5: The Flight

SA KA FETE RESTAURANT

ST. LUCIA

Everett didn't say a word as Test Subject Number Twenty went from timid and scared to open and talkative within five minutes. She explained everything, from being taken away at the age of six to becoming a lab rat and a trained soldier over a course of two decades. She left nothing out. She even explained being born with her unusual powers.

“That’s why the men wanted me,” she finished. “They’re training us as weapons of war in a dark and deadly game. No one knows what we’re training for. Boss thinks it’s some kind of apocalypse where the Earth will be consumed in the Age of Flame.”

“Wow.” Everett gaped, shaking his head in wonder. “So that’s why you’re so crazy powerful. You nearly gave me a migraine. What was that voice in my head anyway?”

“Telepathy,” Twenty explained. “I can connect to your subconscious and communicate with you without using my voice. It’s the perfect area of exploitation. Once Boss found out that there were children that possessed these gifts, he did everything he could to round us all up and hold us in the facility. Our powers have grown so strong now that the warriors of the Age of Flame will be completely taken off guard.”

“So let me get this straight, and correct me if I'm wrong,” Everett started. “Your hair changes color with whatever emotions you’re feeling, you can move stuff without touching it, and you can connect with people through their thoughts. Now you’re saying that you are actually one out of twenty other people with the same exact abilities, all of them innate, and you’re on the verge of some freak-show destiny to fight against a bunch of fire lords that are going to bring about the end of the world? And you’ve been training since you were SIX???”

“Yes,” Twenty replied. “That’s basically it. I haven't been in the outside world in twenty years. This is the first time I've escaped successfully.”

Everett had seen the marks on her body when she’d been changing in the bathroom. He’d gasped in horror at the sight, but he hadn’t been sure how to approach the issue. Now was a good time to bring it up.

“T, I saw the injuries,” he confessed. “You had bruises and burns all over your back. Was that from when you tried to get free before?”

“Yes,” Twenty nodded. “They punished me every time I attempted to escape. They placed tracking chips in all of us to keep us in line and make sure we didn’t disobey orders. Everything those two men told you was true. They tracked me here through the code on my chip. They aren’t police officers. They're agents with the International Weapons and Warfare Agency. That’s why I panicked when you tried to report me being abused. You’re risking your life. I can’t let that happen. These are powerful people working under the government.” Pause. “So now you know my story. As I said, you can do what you want. Call me crazy, kick me out of the restaurant, the choice is yours. I don’t have anywhere to go other than the facility anyway. I was practically raised there.”

Silence. For a long time, Twenty believed that he would kick her out. Her story was so crazy even she didn’t believe it at times. She waited for him to lose his temper, just like he had done on television, call her a freak, and hell, even insult her.

None came. Instead, he reached for his phone. She had placed it on the counter when he’d given her the towels and chef’s uniform. Her red hair instantly changed back to purple when she saw him unlock his screen.

“Don’t worry, I'm not reporting you,” he said in a monotone. He held the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Cam?” All business now. “Hi. It’s Everett. Yeah. Uh, is the jet available, by any chance?” Pause. “No, I know I'm not supposed to be back yet. There’s been a change of plans. Can you inform my pilot that I need the jet over here ASAP? I'm at Sa Ka Fete. Tell him to meet us over at the St. Lucia Airport immediately.” Another pause. “Yes, I said ‘us.’ I'll explain later. Just let him know. Thanks.”

He hung up.

“What?” Twenty asked curiously. “Are you sending me away?”

“Yes, but not like you’re thinking,” he replied. “That was Cam, my assistant back in LA. I have a home there. I contacted him to send my private jet down here to fly us back. I'm not scheduled to shoot another episode of ‘Taste of the World’ until another couple of weeks. I've decided to come back early due to all the craziness here, and you’re coming with me. I've heard enough information about you to know it is not safe for you here. You are never going back to that godawful research lab. That hell is a prison.”

“Wait.” Twenty stopped him. “You’re...you’re not getting rid of me?”

“Hell, no!” Everett responded quickly. “I'm not letting anything happen to you, T. Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me. Who in their right mind does science experiments on kids and turns them into superhuman fighters just because they have special abilities? And to think the government is behind it? That’s downright sick.”

His phone buzzed and he picked it up.

“Everett Flynt.” Pause. “Fantastic. We’re on our way now.” He locked his gaze on Twenty. “Ever fly on a plane before?” he asked her.

“Once,” she replied. “When I was a baby.”

“Well, you’re about to fly in style,” he told her eagerly. “My jet comes with all the amenities a new flyer can hope for. This will be a trip you’ll more easily remember. Let’s get you out of here before those creepers come back for you.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the restaurant, turning off the lights as he went. “I guess you'll have to meet my family some other time,” he said to her. “Your safety is all that matters to me in this moment.”

They walked together quickly out into the dark night. The rain had died down, but there were still clouds blocking out the moon. Everett seemed to know the way by heart.

“How far is the airport from here?” Twenty had to almost run to keep up with his long strides. “Can we walk to it?”

“Pretty much,” was Everett’s response. “Hold on to my hand. I don't want you to get lost.”

Twenty was on high alert, listening for any sounds of soldiers. The night was quiet.

The jet was waiting for them on a platform when they arrived, and a flight of stairs descended from the side, ready to go. A flight attendant stood in the entryway.

“Mr. Flynt. Welcome.” She greeted him. “Your message sounded urgent. Is everything all right? It isn’t like you to leave your island home in such a hurry.”

“Yeah, I know,” Everett replied. “Normally I wouldn’t, but this was an exception. Thanks for coming.”

He led Twenty up the steps. The flight attendant looked at her curiously.

“It’s a long story,” Everett explained. “As I told Cam earlier, I'll explain everything once we land in Los Angeles. I hope there’s space for two on this flight.”

“There is space for as many as you wish, Mr. Flynt,” the flight attendant told him. She smiled at Twenty. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she said in a low voice.

“Thank you,” Twenty answered shyly. Her eyes grew wide the instant she stepped into the cabin. It was definitely not going to be an economy-class flight.

Just as Everett moved to follow after her, however, the attendant gripped his shoulder. Her gaze flicked to the young woman for a brief moment. “Who is she?” she whispered. “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Neither have I, until she showed up in front of the restaurant all alone and soaking wet,” Everett responded. “She appeared lost and cold, so I took her in. She’s my new sous chef.”

“What?” The woman was taken off-guard.

“Trust me,” Everett insisted. “I've never been wrong about anyone yet. Go with this one, okay?”

“Of course, Mr. Flynt.” The woman nodded. “You two enjoy your flight, and if there’s anything I can do to make your trip comfortable, just ask.”

“We will,” Everett promised.

He found Twenty standing by a table near the back of the plane, looking awed but hesitant. Her face brightened when she saw him.

“Everett.” She spoke his name in a relieved tone.

“Hey, T.” He greeted her. “Shall we sit?”

Twenty carefully sat down on one of the benches, and he sat on the one across from her.

“This is your jet?” she asked in wonder.

“Well, it’s not exactly mine,” he revealed. “It belongs to the network that runs my show. It just feels like mine because I'm always using it for travel.” He nodded out the window. “This isn't an ordinary flight,” he explained. “You can stretch your legs, and there’s a bed in the back section if you want to lie down for a bit. The flight to LA is going to be kinda long.”

Twenty looked out the window. Everything was pitch black. Somewhere out there, IWWA was looking for her. Her tracker chip had already given Michaelson and Abrams her location. Now, thanks to her telekinetic blast, they were probably lying unconscious somewhere in the woods.

“I am a bit tired,” she admitted, stifling a yawn. “But I'm scared.”

“Scared?” Everett drew back. “What are you scared of?”

“The bad men coming back,” she replied. “They already found me at the restaurant. They won't stop hunting me until I'm back where I belong. They can track me from all corners of the world. They’ll find me again and again, as long as the tracking chip is active.”

“There is no reason to be scared now.” Everett gently placed his hand on top of hers. He could feel it trembling. The plane began to jolt as it rose into the air.

“Attention, passengers.” The pilot’s voice came through the intercom. “This is your pilot. Feel free to enjoy the amenities offered on our jet as we head for Los Angeles. It will be a long flight, so get comfortable. We predict sunny skies in California.”

“Told you.” Everett grinned, hoping to relieve the tension. “It’s going to be okay, T. You’re free now. As long as I'm here, no one will touch you. I have connections. The security on my show set is rock solid. I'll make sure no one breaks through. There is nothing to be scared of anymore. When we get to California, I'll see what can be done about that tracking device, but for now, get some rest. You've been up for far too long. I'll show you to the bed.”

He got up and placed his hands on her shoulders, guiding her out of the seat. She allowed him to walk her down the cabin.

“They'll wake up,” she was muttering. “They’ll go back to the facility and they’ll report in. It’s what they’re trained to do.”

Everett clicked on the light in the back room, revealing a comfortable-looking sleeping space with a rather wide bed. He led Twenty over to it and helped her lie down.

“Are you going to be close?” she asked him, lifting her legs up on to the mattress.

“Yes,” he answered. “I’ll be right outside the room. I'm going to stay up a little longer and tend to things out here. No one’s going anywhere. We’ve already lifted off, so those agents can’t chase you even if they tried. And don’t worry; the pilot is a smooth flier. The ride will be very gentle for you.”

Twenty seemed reassured by these words and shifted her body so her head was lying on one of the fluffy pillows. She felt more tired than she’d realized. She yawned again, her cheeks flushing at the fact that Everett was right there.

“Good night, Everett.” The words came out quiet but audible.

“Good night, T,” Everett answered, standing up and walking to the doorway. “We’ll all be here if you need anything. I'll wake you up when we arrive in LA.”

“Mhm.” Twenty murmured and rolled over on to her side, her eyes closing almost instantly. The bed was so comfortable, it was like sleeping on feathers. The bed in her room at the research lab was nowhere near this high-quality. It was comfortable enough where she could sleep on it, but not so much where she could stay asleep.

The door closed, the light from the cabin disappearing. She didn't even notice. Exhaustion had overtaken her.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

Are you ever just browsing random Internet and you find just... the worst take in a surprising place? So, Youtube suggested someone's video about the jokes and perils of Generation X, probably because I've clicked on some kind of Gen X jokes thing before. Yeah, I'm old. I'm a late Gen X-er, a "Xennial" as it were, as in if I was born just a year later, I would have been a Millennial. Still, the Gen X stereotypes apply to me bigtime. I clicked this video about the "Commandments that Gen X Kids Lived By" and got nostalgic, because, why yes, I wore a key around my neck when I went to school because most days both of my parents were working and getting into the house after school required me to be keyed. And, yes, parents really did just let us play outside unsupervised at almost all hours ("Until the street lamps come on" but I lived in the country, so for me it was sunset). I made the mistake of clicking on one of this guy's other videos "Gen X is not to blame" expecting a little rant about being mistaken for Boomers or something when we were / are the first generation to really suffer under the "Boomer economy." (see my little latchkey "Thanks," Regan) above. Instead, I got the guy ranting about Gen Z being a bunch of soft little whiners and talk about how a number of Boomers had Gen Z children, not just Gen X and how certain chains of political correctness were started. He has this ANNOYING brag about how "Gen X has been through as much shit as combat veterans." - Okay, buddy... (Just because you were apparently a hard partier who lost a lot of friends doesn't mean we all were) - I am IN this generation and I don't like such brags. And all about how our generation is "tough, not whiny, can take it." - Um, I was a whiny-ass kid and am in therapy now (probably because of people like the guy... he gave me a lot of vibes that reminded me of my also Gen X abusive older brother as well as my childhood and teen years bullies). And then he talked about how his Gen Z daughter is smart and doesn't give in to all of the Gen Z crap and launched into a transphobic rant about how "All the people at her school are saying they're nonbinary or trans and no one is just gay, this leads me to the conclusion that trans people are homophobes because they can't accept that they're just gay and in denial of what they really are / not letting people be just gay anymore." Ugh...how common is this, trans community? (I'm cis, I'm just wondering how common this accusation of Spiderman-point - No UR the homophobes!" is). Just... bad takes all around. He got into an anti-environmentalist rant, an anti-vegetarian rant of all things (personally I agree that I like meat, it was just weird...) and was speaking for Gen X? And I'm here, a Gen X-er rolling my eyes and clicking back to continue watching the video after initially clicking off of it because I just wanted to see how bad the trainwreck got. I was going to respond to him, but A. Youtube comments are meaningless and B. I would have wasted my time. Please, other generations, don't think all Gen X people are a bunch of bitter oldsters who are turning in stereotypical Boomers! While I can tell you that we had some of the upbringing stereotypes in kind, not all of us turned out the same way.

[letitrainathousandflames]

Fix-It AU - Clone Strike

"There is a siege going on in Umbara, and the separatists are attacking the Alderaanian outposts, so tell your troopers to stop playing dead, gear up and get ready for combat!" Palpatine demands in a holo-call with the commanders

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." replies commander Wolffe with no care for decorum "Us clones recently found out that being paid in 'exclusive GAR currency' instead of actual credits, having no assigned vacation time and not being allowed to quit is highly illegal and we're suing the republic."

"Wh-" Palpatine gasps, squinting in disbelief "What in the moons are you talking-"

"And I know," commander Bly interjects "it is a bummer that legally we aren't people so we can't defend ourselves in court, but this public defense attorney said they'll represent us in court for free because this is a flagrant human rights violation."

Palpatine's usually calm, pale features are reddened and clearly straining not to become twisted in fury.

"But you are not-"

"Yes, I know, we are 'clones, not technically human, blah blah blah'," Captain Rex shakes his head, rolling his eyes "but our attorney will be basing their case on animal rights - see, even if a pet 'belongs' to you, as we 'belong' to the GAR, the Jedi and the Kaminoans, if it is proven that you are causing harm to your pet, they get taken from you and you get sued. It's more or less how we're approaching this."

"How-"

"And I know you might think that we would be offended for being defended in court as animals," Commander Cody quips with a dramatic grimace "but look, after living your whole life as a clone trooper you kinda stop caring about the dehumanizing treatment, so..."

At this point, Palpatine slams his hands on his desk, abruptly rising up from his chair.

"Enough! This is treason! There is a war raging on, and our beloved republic will fall if you don't get in line and cease this treacherous talk! Now get in line and do your jobs!"

"Or what?" Commander Fox, the only clone physically present in the office asks, removing his helmet and showing his perfectly calm features contrasting starkly with Palpatine's enraged expression "What is the threat, Your Excellency? A death penalty? We face death every day, we witness it taking our brothers in battle, and we prepare ourselves for it every time our gunship's ramps are lowered and we step out into the gunfire. We are raised from infancy not to fear it, and we are hardened from combat to laugh at it."

And there is a gleam in Fox's brown eyes, in every speck of gold in his irises as he leans closer, placing his gloved hand on the Chancellor's polished desk of expensive Nabooan wood. Fox's scratched and dented hand guard stands out against the elegant furniture.

"You can't threaten us with imprisonment either." he continues "Not only we are trained to and used to living in small quarters with limited to none personal items of our own, I am certain that a sudden influx of over three million inmates would effectively break the republic's correctional system. Besides... you wouldn't want men as skilled as we are, with as much intel on the GAR as we have, kept with the Republic's worse criminals, right? So that, too, is off the list."

Palpatine doesn't interrupt Fox's musings. He seems too stunned at the clone he expected the most loyalty from and his unexpected act of betrayal. Fox straightens himself up and strokes his chin in thought.

"Now, separating us from our families, that would be a low blow, and most likely an effective one. Taking our spouses and children from us or even - stars - threatening them, that would be a brutal way to coerce us to do your bidding. But then again, by not allowing us to have personal lives of our own, the republic prevented us from creating any ties, so all clones are unmarried and childless. All a clone has is his brothers. So that won't work either."

Palpatine sinks back into his chair with a defeated sigh, his gaze lost. His right hand falls on his thigh, slowly moving under his desk. Fox's eyes narrow on him.

"With all due respect, sir, if you are planning on triggering the alarm and accusing me of attempting to murder you, I advise you not to." he glances at the helmet tucked under his arm "I have been recording this entire meeting, and the video is being relayed to all of my men who are scattered through the building and outside as well. I have given them instructions to make sure the recording reaches the public in the case of my unexpected death or imprisonment."

Palpatine freezes, eyes widening in a mix of shock and disgust at the clone, as if Fox is a misbehaved dog that he wants to beat.

"How dare you..." Palpatine grits out "How... dare you! The republic gave you life!" and he looks at the blue specters of the clone commanders' holograms watching him "We gave life to all of you!"

Cody looks at Palpatine. The Marshall Commander, always so polite and respectful grins wide, nodding.

"Yes. And now we are going to make something out of it, Your Excellency. With or without your permission. Fox will bring you a datapad with a list of our demands this afternoon."

"The separatists are still attacking as we speak!" Palpatine yells, spit flying off his mouth "There is no time for this! Even voting for every single demand of yours in the Senate could take months!"

"Well, then, sir," Commander Cody says with a shrug "I do hope you can try and speed up the process. You see - if the Seppies get to coruscant, my brothers and I can defend ourselves with ease and maintain our strike. I do not think the same can be said of the civilian population..."

"You are bluffing." Palpatine spits

"Maybe." Commander Wolffe smirks "Are you going to try and see it for yourself, sir?"

"You will be blamed for this!"

"We already are." Captain Rex interjects tiredly "We are already being blamed for everything that goes wrong in this war. "

Commander Thorn speaks up for the first time, his blue, slightly glitching image showing the commander that had long stopped standing in attention and is now giving Palpatine the same cold glare that all of his brothers share at the moment.

"It's not a long list, Your Excellency" his tone at the title is full of contempt "It is actually a perfect copy of the 8th Ammendment of the Galactic Constitution, on the rights for sentient beings - a text all senators, especially a Chancellor such as yourself, are very familiar with."

Palpatine's eyes dart back and forth as he follows the clone's words in bewilderment.

"You are soldiers." he hisses, attempting to display more self-restrain than he seems to be able to at this point "How much do you even think you know of our civil laws?"

Commander Gree smirks, shaking his head.

"Don't you think we know, sir, that we will be put on the stand to speak on behalf of our cause? Or do you think we will take the risk of having our attorney dazzle everyone with legal jargon, only for us to ruin it by sounding like a bunch of uneducated meat droids? Oh, no. We've been doing some studying."

Captain Rex tucks his hands behind his back, fixing his posture.

"Well, Your Excellency, I believe this should be all. We don't wish to take more of your time, as I assume that you are have important matters to attend to. Commander Fox will notify us of your response."

There is almost an entire minute of silence where Palpatine merely stare at the clones in disbelief. The clones exchange a few amused looks.

"Well then... Rex out." the Captain's image glitches and disappears

"Bly out."

"Wolffe out."

They leave, one by one, until the only clone still present is Fox. Palpatine grits his teeth at him, pounding a fist on the desk in front of him.

"This is treason." he is no longer screaming or hissing; instead, his voice is low and almost shaking with anger "You are all traitors. And you... CC-1010, you are a shame to the Grand Army of the Republic."

Fox stares at Palpatine, his expression inscrutable. In a deliberate, calm gesture, he takes his helmet in both hands and places it over his head. His voice comes filtered through his vocoder, devoid of any emotion.

"When we meet in court, Your Excellency, make sure to address me as 'Commander Fox'. Calling us by numbers while being accused of dehumanizing treatment will not be a good look on you or the institution." he turns his back on Palpatine, walking to the door that hisses open "I advise you to prepare for the next session in fifteen minutes and... oh, since I am no longer doing my rounds in the building, you should probably try to stay safe, sir. Good day to you."

[e-m-christina]

Serpent Of Sparta

Ivar The Boneless x Reader

PART ONE

Requested by @childishhoe

Summary: Ivar Lothbrok meets his match when he is introduced to Y/n Artròmitos, the daughter of a bloodthirsty Spartan king. She is sent to fight in Ivars army, after making an arrangement with Rollo, the Duke of Normandy. 

With matching rage and ambition, Y/n feeds into Ivars flame, igniting feelings that neither of them thought they were capable of. But fire can easily be burnt out.

Series Overall Rating: 17+

Word Count: 2k

Comment to be added to taglist. Requests are open. 

MASTERLIST

* * *

TWO MONTHS AGO                                                      

 Your incarnadine wrap dress fluttered in the wind, fastened only by the golden broach of nobility at your exposed shoulder. Rays of early morning sun glinted off the wine glass that was being twirled between your fingers, as you watched the city from the castle of Mistras. A new batch of children were being piled into carriages, waiting to be sent off as slaves, to the city of Athens. 

“You cannot keep running from this marriage. I know you already rule Athens, but after the death of your husband, you must marry again!” You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes at your father’s remark.

“I have no time for love. I had to sacrifice love for respect. You know this much.” You took a seat opposite your father, who was running a hand over his grey beard. “On the contrary, the Athenians are weak. If I wanted to marry again, I would choose someone in a position of strength.” You said, rolling a grape between your pointer and thumb, making your father sigh.

“I know what you sacrificed, Y/n. What you had to do was terrible, but it was for the best. Both for you and your d-”

“Anyway,” You said, cutting your father off, “I am already Queen of Athens and the leader of the Spartan army. What use would a husband be?”

“Commander Y/n.” The doors of the hall burst open, revealing a puffed and red faced soldier. “The Duke Of Normandy has sent you this.” He passed you a piece of tinted brown parchment, bound by the wax stamp of Normandy. 

“Leave me.” You waved your hand, and the warrior promptly left the room. 

* * *

“Rollo is bringing a great ally, from a place named ‘Sparta.” Hvitserk said, standing beside his brother, Ivar, and King Harald. A fleet of blue Francia flags sailed towards them like great dragons on the dusky pewter ocean.

“I have heard little of this ally that Rollo is bringing.” Harald said, folding his arms across his chest. “But, what I have heard is that he is a great and fearsome warlord, and that his soldiers are blood-thirsty demons.”  

“She. The ally is a she.” Hvitserk corrected Harald, watching Ivars expression turn into one of curiosity. 

“What is her name then, dear brother?” Ivar asked, staring at the approaching ships with a new found excitement. 

“Y/n. But she is often referred to as the ‘Serpent of Sparta.’” Hvitserk said, feeling uneasy about the glint in Ivars blue eyes. “And if I were you, I would stay out of her way. Her people basically worship her. They believe that she is a descendant of one of their Gods of battle. Ares I believe God was called.”

Ivar smirked. Not only was she apparently a great warrior, but she was also apparently descended from the gods?

“Well, I do look forward to meeting this ‘Y/n’. I would hope that she lives up to her reputation, otherwise I will be disappointed.” Ivar took one last glance at the oncoming fleet, before making his way back down the salt washed wooden deck, ignoring the ‘of course you do,’ from Harald. 

* * *

Your nose wrinkled. The pungent smell of decaying fish grew stronger as you came to dock. After stopping in Francia to gather Rollo’s men, you and three hundred of your best Spartan warriors made for Norway. And after two weeks at sea, you were in a horrid mood. After an attempted assassination directed at you, you were pushed over the edge. Not only did you have to command your own men, Rollo had dropped out the day you were meant to leave, making you in charge of all his Francish soldiers. The problem other than the sheer amount of men to keep track of? There was  a massive language barrier. You spoke Russian because you often went to Kiev, on trade deals, and you also spoke the language of the northmen. Not french.

Your days often consisted of making ludacris hand gestures to command the french, only to be laughed at by your own warriors. Though you only shared the same ship as your best warriors, the only person you could confide in was Freydis, a Norwegian slave that you had bought from Kattegat five years prior. She had taught you the language of Norway and you taught her Greek. Freydis had grown to be your best, and only friend. You had made her a free woman, yet she chose to stay by your side, through everything. She told you everything about herself and she knew almost everything about you.

“Get ready to dock!” You yelled, throwing thick reams of hemp rope attached to an anchor into the dark water, before climbing over the edge of the ship, Freydis and your best fighters trailing behind you. You were greeted by a large wooden dock surrounded by what looked like disheveled old fishermen.

“I thought these people would be made from tougher stuff.” You said in your language, making your warriors laugh, as you fixed the golden clasp of your crimson cloak. With one flick of your hand, your Spartan warriors started to march down the dock in a wild wave of red and gold. You were at the head, with Freydis and Araios, your second in command, by your side. 

“Commander, I heard that this ‘Ivar the Boneless’ is a cripple. Talk about not being tough.” Araios chuckled. You did not not.

“So what? One of our gods, Hephaestus was crippled, yet he was a great warrior. I would not so lightly throw that statement around with malice.” You gave Araios a stern look, before continuing down the dock. 

* * *

“I have been anticipating your arrival, Lady Y/n.” You came to a stop in front of the throne that King Harald Finehair was situated on. “We all have.” He finished, before waving his hand at Hvitserk, a Northman you had met in France, and a dark haired Viking that you had not yet met.

“You will address me as Queen or Commander Y/n.” You corrected King Harald. “Take your pick.”  The dark haired Viking chuckled, before reaching out his hand. 

“Do you know who I am?” He said, shaking your hand. Since he was obviously not King Harald, or Hvitserk, it was a simple enough equation to solve. 

“You are Ivar The Boneless. Ragnar Lothbrok's youngest.” You said, making Ivar duck his head with a grin.

“And you have met my brother, I hear.” Ivar pointed to Hvitserk, who refused to make eye contact with you.

“Yes. I remember him. I had to put him in his place after he unsuccessfully tried to ‘woo’ me into bed.” You shot a look at Hvitserk, who was scratching the back of his head and glaring at his brother.

“Well, Queen Y/n, I am sure that we can thank the Gods that you and your men have arrived unharmed. Though, I must ask, where is Rollo?” King Harald said, moving from his throne to sit at a table with Ivar and Hvitserk, indicating for you to do the same.

“Yes, I give thanks to Poseidon for a good passage.” You said, taking a seat opposite the northmen. “As for Duke Rollo, he had urgent business along the Silk Road to attend to.”

“I am sure that you will fare well in his stead. But for now, make yourself comfortable. Tonight there will be a great feast to mark your arrival.”  

* * *

Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef slices as thin as paper, dried salmon and whale in a green sauce, cheese you brought from Francia that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. The feast was certainly large and exciting. But it was not the type of food you and your warriors were used to. Usually, you had lean chicken breast and a small bunch of grapes, greens, bread and the occasional fish. All  because a doctor in Athens had carried out research to conclude that those foods helped with building of muscle. The servants that the Northmen called ‘thralls’,  were all young women dressed in greys rags, moved wordlessly to and from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full.

“Why are your Spartan soldiers eating outside?” Ivar asked you, finding it odd that only the warriors from Francia and Norway were in the feasting hall.

“We eat outside for the most part. You said, taking a sip of Mead. The drink of the northmen was certainly different to your usual wine, but it was a welcome difference. “They also sleep outside in trenches. My people believe that it makes them stronger. Little girls and boys born in Sparta, are placed in a number of trials. They have to fight and fend for themselves. If they can’t, they either are left on a hillside to die, or they are sent to the City of Athens as slaves.” 

“We do something similar. We leave the weak out to die. But we do not test our children like that. Is that not too harsh?” Ivar said, leaning forward, making you chuckle. 

“Ivar, if you want to be the best, you have to have the best warriors. And because I am sitting here right now, proves that you do not have the best warriors.” You said. Ivar narrowed his eyes as he tipped his cup of mead back and placed it on the table.

“We do have good warriors. We were just out numbered, because Bjorn had hired the help of the woodland fighters from Sweden.” Ivar crossed his arms, clearly annoyed that you would suggest his army was not sufficient. You had to laugh. Were these men being serious? 

“Forgive me, I forget that the warriors of your people are not on the same level as mine.” You smirked into your horn of mead, watching as offence flickered over Ivars face. 

“And why would you say that?” Hvitserk said, trying to defuse Ivars switch. 

“The Battle of Thermopylae. Three hundred of my Spartan warriors fought against a vast army of the Persians. There were thousands of them, yet, we still won. Yes, we did have the advantage of land, being that we were on the high ground, but non the less. And you tell me that with a huge heathen army, you could not win because the other side had a couple hundred more warriors?” You said, making Ivar scoff. 

“Well, then it was fated. The Gods were on your side, otherwise you would have lost.” Ivar said, making you frown.

“When my Spartan warriors fight, Ares grants us good will.” You narrowed your eyes and leaned forward. “But are you telling me that the Gods don’t favour you?” 

“Don’t be stupid, of course the Gods favour us, afterall, they have allowed us to pull together an even bigger army.” Ivar said as he re-filled his horn with gritted teeth. 

“In any case, it is up to fate now. Hmm?” Harald said, standing up. “Well, I must go now and see where Astrid has gotten to.” King Harald took on the last swig of Mead, before weaving his way through the crowd and through a door at the back of the room. 

“Well, it is getting late. I better go find Freydis.” You said and stood up. “Have a good night.” You ignored Ivars grunt and nodded your head at Hvitserks ‘farewell,’ before following the same path as Harald. 

“What do you think of her, brother?” Hvitserk asked cautiously, very aware of Ivars clenched jaw and his blue eyes baring into your back as you left. Ivars silence made Hvitserk bite his lip. He did not think he could bear his brother complaining about you for the next few weeks. 

“She is arrogant and rather patronizing.” Ivar said, a smirk slowly curling his lip. “I like her.”

* * *

“You fight like a child.” You spat out a mouthful of salty crimson, swinging your bruised fist. Crack! The large white-haired viking toppled into the mud - for the third time. He had challenged you to a fight after he overheard you talking the night prior. But unfortunately for him, he just proved your point. You being half his size and a woman, he thought he could win the fight with ease. But you had only sustained a punch to the jaw, whereas he was sporting a broken and nose and multiple lost teeth.

“Þú eru witchr!” The man growled, stumbling up from the mud.

“No I am not a witch.” You side-stepped out of his way, as he lunged towards you, only to miss completely and stagger back down into the mud with a thump. “I am just better than you.”

“When I asked you to come help fight, I did not mean fight my men.” You heard a voice call. Turning around, you saw Ivar, who was leaning against a blacksmiths doorway. He stretched out his hand and beckoned you toward him.

“What do you want?” You asked, annoyed that you were interrupted. 

“I was thinking about what you said last night.” Ivar said, tapping his crutch thoughtfully. 

“So was he.” You pointed your thumb at White-Hair, who was still on the ground a few yards away. Ivar rolled his eyes and leaned forward.

“Not like that. I want you to train my warriors.” Ivar said, watching your expresion flicker.

“And why would I do that?”

“Do you want to win this battle?” He asked.

“I could win this battle easier without your men.” You retorted, crossing your arms. Did you not have enough to worry about?

“Then why don’t you?”

--

Part 2 coming soon.

Requests open. Comment if you want added to the taglist.

VIKINGS TAGLIST:

@youbloodymadgenius @krissydclayton93 @peachyboneless @1950schick @therealcalicali @the-blue-dalek @xceafh @pieces-by-me @ietss @spring-edlothia @stillsoloststillsolonely @poisonedjoinery @prunelsg @pomegranates-and-blood @revolution-starter @profoundtyrantharmony @ibenkastberg @xvxcarolinexvx @springsoulofengland @lady-valkyrie-blog @ritual-unions-gotme @chaotic-kinky-hippie @cocovikings23 @moonie-flower101 @readsalot73 @saruuslovesmcfly @adhdnightmare @fandomfic-galore @heavenly1927 @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa  @dacreshoney @jadelynlace @chibisgotovalhalla @bravado07 @starjane312 @teishalicious @the-girl-in-the-box @ecarroll1978 @childishhoe @punkrocknpearls @jessimay89 @justaproudslytherpuff @dog-cats-fandoms @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @bethcarling-blog-blog @yourdevilmaycare @littlebirdgot

[wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse]

My Lady (Boromir x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Fluff, fighting

Word Count: 1719

Requested: @thespiritoflife

A/N I really liked writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! I figure it was about time to write for Boromir. For some reason, my first thought went to the Rohan, I don’t know why, so yeah, enjoy a person from Rohan falling for the captain of Gondor lol. Also, screw canon, Boromir lives y'all.

“So, this is the Captain I’ve been hearing about lately, fighting in all those battles,” I leaned over the counter, handing a mug to the rugged, handsome man across from me. He shook his dirty blond hair out of his face, smiling. 

“I suppose that would be me,” He said modestly. “But really, you should see my companion Aragorn in action, he is the best out of everyone.” I was surprised with the way he talked about this other person, rather than talking about himself. Most of the men I have talked to were like that. I looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of malice or dishonesty, but he was being truthful. He meant it. I was surprised, but after all, I should expect nothing less from a man of honor. 

I smiled cheekily. “Well, I guess I should then. Tell me, a fine man like yourself must have a sweet lady at home. She’s very lucky to have someone like you,” I blurted out without thinking.

He choked a little on his drink and wiped his mouth before smiling again. “Well my lady, you would be surprised to hear that this is not the case. I wish I had something like that, but not just one that sits at home.” He winked, and I hid a giggle, still embarrassed about what I said. 

  “Now, go enjoy your drink, Captain.” The minute he turned around, I cursed myself for being so forward. This was one of the reasons I wasn’t married yet, and my mother definitely liked to tease me about it. Very well, I went back to cleaning mugs, as the joyous noise swelled. Everyone was celebrating, for good reason, after all, these men helped to save us from ruin and despair. It was terrifying at Helm’s Deep, all of us women and children were shoved into the caves. Well, most of them...

The night began to draw to a close as the noise dwindled down. But there was still the hint of celebration in the air, and I smiled for the sake of it. A few people came back for their last drinks, and drunken steps followed. One person came back, that I had hoped to not see again. Alas, the Captain of Gondor stopped in front of me, not quite taken by drink and exhaustion. 

“Enjoyed the party?” I asked, cleaning up the last of the drinks. He grinned and nodded. “Glad to hear it,” I said, avoiding his gaze. I was still embarrassed about what happened earlier, and I really hoped it wouldn’t come up. 

Instead, he brought up something else. “I never got your name,” he said, moving his hand on top of mine. My stomach flipped over, how was his touch so intoxicating? I barely knew him. 

I swallowed the butterflies, and replied confidently, “My name is y/n. And I must admit, I have heard so much about you, but I’m not even sure as to what your name might be. It is Boromir, am I correct?”

“Yes, that would be me. Y/n, such a beautiful name.” He spoke thoughtfully, and my breath caught in my throat. We talked a bit more, but I slowed the conversation down. 

I withdrew my hand from his and went back to cleaning mugs. I couldn’t get involved with him, he was basically a prince after all. An emotion I couldn’t quite interpret flashed through his face, but he quickly stood up, understanding I wanted to be alone.

“Well, my lady y/n, I do hope we meet again.” He nodded his head and walked away. 

As soon as he turned a corner, I slumped down behind the counter. I knew that I could not be with him. I was just a woman of Rohan, nothing else. But there were so few men like him. Far too many would look down upon me, and there were only a few that would be respectful. But he was something completely different. It was such a short conversation, but I already regretted sending him away. At this point, there was nothing left I could do.

---------------------------------------Time Skip-------------------------------------

Death. Destruction. The ruins of Gondor loomed over me. Eowyn is missing. So many dead. I whirled around, trying my best to defend myself. Exhaustion wore me down. An orc hit me from behind, sinking its blade into my arm. I cried out, and with the last strength I had, I sliced its throat. I clutched my arm, trying to stop the blood from running down to my hands. I collapsed, curling up. As the world became dark, I could have sworn I heard someone yelling my name.

My head was ringing as I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting them to the light. I moved sluggishly, still trying to figure out what happened. I felt a cloth around my arm, binding it, and my face felt clean. Free of the blood and dirt that had been caked on it. But where was I? I sat up, breathing in the cool air. It looked like a healing ward, and someone else was here.

“Excuse me? Miss?” I called out to the other woman. She walked over briskly and set some pillows behind my back.

She flittered about, changing my dressings, all the while talking. “Oh I’m so sorry dear, I didn’t see that you were awake yet. I was told to give you the best treatment and to get you your own room, so here we are. I wasn’t sure when you were going to wake up, oh dear me. You should probably lay down for longer, you still have circles under your eyes. My you had a bunch of blood on you. I was so surprised to see such a young lady like yourself in such a horrid place. Bad luck I say, bad luck. Although I am so old, I have seen so much, but not something like this!” She babbled on, much to my amusement. She was a mother hen, pecking and poking into other’s business. But she was sweet. 

I interrupted her on another spiel, trying to get a straight answer. “I’m sorry, but who gave you these orders, to take care of me and such? I don’t mean to pry, I just want to know. Also, do you know how long this will take? I need to find some people.”

She smiled. “Oh dear, you have a lot in store for you. You’re fine to go walk around and find some people. However, I do suggest you take the path to the gardens, it is quite beautiful.” She winked, and exited the room, leaving the door open. I was slightly stunned, this was a lot to take in. I could not tell what she was hinting at though.

I pulled on some shoes and slowly began my way down. It was a clear path to where I was supposed to go, but I hesitated. What was with all this secrecy? I felt a knot in my stomach as I continued, wary of my surroundings. I knew there were no orcs, but something seemed off.

I turned a corner and heard a voice I did not expect. “I see your injuries have begun healing. I am glad to see it.” Boromir spoke softly, his gaze moving over me.

“Boromir?” I whispered, shocked to see him. “Wh-what is this? What’s going on?” He motioned me to sit next to him on the bench, and I did, a healthy distance away from him.

“I found you. On the field. I didn’t believe it was you at first, I thought my eyes were deceiving me, trying to give me what I wanted most. But it truly was you, and you were lying there, still, bleeding. I assumed the worst. I know we don’t know each other that well, so it must seem odd for me to care so much. But dear, you mean so much to me. More than you know. I’m not mad like the others for you being out there. I admire your bravery and the skills it must’ve taken to slay all the orcs around you. I wasn’t there, but based on the number of bodies around you, I would assume that would be your work. Well, I’m going on and on here, but what I’m really trying to say is, stay. Stay here, with me.” Boromir took a breath, his cheeks full of color. 

At this point, my stomach was exploding, I could feel that I was shaking a little. Sure, it wasn’t some love confession, but I didn’t need that from him. The fact that he wanted me to stay was enough. 

“I think I will stay, as long as we can visit Rohan often,” I said nervously. His cheeks grew even darker, and he held my hand and pressed the lightest kiss to it. I giggled, and he drew me into a warm hug. I nestled into his chest, hearing his heartbeat. Now, this is what I was missing out on this entire time.

“Wait,” I said, remembering what had happened at Helm’s Deep, what I hadn’t told anyone. “There is something you should know.”

Boromir cocked an eyebrow, obviously confused. “What do you mean?” He asked.

I looked down. “I, uh, might not have been in the caves with everyone else. In fact, do you remember the soldier that you saved from the spear? That might have been me. Possibly.” I smiled, and his face brightened.

“Oh yes, I know exactly who you’re talking abo- wait a minute. That was you? My lady, you are a brilliant warrior. The spear was a minor setback, you did amazing that night.” He gushed, and I grinned at how sweet he was being.

“Boromir, this does not bother you? That I was out fighting? That I, a woman, was part of a battle?” I questioned. 

He started laughing, his smile lighting up his eyes. He really was handsome. “No dear, not at all. In fact, it makes things even better. You are an amazing fighter and an amazing person. No, it doesn’t bother me one bit.”

The sun moved through the clouds, the rays hitting us perfectly. We sat and joked in the warmth all afternoon, forgetting the looming war for just a little bit.

Everything taglist: @hey-its-nonny 

[jazy3]

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 18X01

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

I was really excited for the Premiere and I have never been so disappointed in my life. It took me a few days to write this review because I’m just so unimpressed. I feel like the only interesting parts of the Season 18 Premiere were the Meredith and Hayes FaceTime call, Levi in that outfit and Jo with that hair, and the interviews. That's it. I mean Teddy and Owen’s two weddings were interesting if you’re a Teddy and Owen shipper, but I never have been so that didn’t really do anything for me.

The pacing of the episode was super slow and it was just altogether boring. There were also just so many inconsistencies. For example, Teddy and Owen originally planned to get married at the park with just Megan, Farouk, Evelyn, Leo, and Allison which doesn’t make sense because prior to their break up they were talking about planning their dream wedding. Now they finally get married and Richard didn’t even know about it? They asked Megan to fly in, but they didn’t tell their friends at the hospital after they just all attended Maggie and Winston’s wedding two weeks earlier?

It’s also not clear if Meredith knows that they got married which is weird because she’s the main character of the show and was an integral part of Owen’s previous two weddings one of which was held at her house. Also, Amelia and Link weren’t there and it’s not clear if they even knew about the wedding which is weird because Meredith, Amelia, and Link were all present when Owen proposed to Teddy at Christmas at Meredith’s house and they are all co-parenting Leo together.

While I appreciated the shift to a lighter tone and that they chose to have this season exist in a post-COVID alternative universe where we can see the actors faces again without the PPE and return to escapism the Premiere didn't pack the punch I was expecting. The premieres are usually super shocking and action packed and this one just wasn't. It was just boring and all of the most interesting stuff happened off camera during the two weeks between the Season 17 Finale and the Season 18 Premiere which is just stupid.

I saw the priest getting hit by one of the cyclists coming a few minutes before it happened based on the promo and the context of the scene and there wasn't a big shocking event like there usually is. The pace of the Premiere really felt off to me. My friend Amy who I watch with every week described it as the pacing you usually associate with a nice stroll through a moonlit garden. Fine for episode two or three or a connecting episode but not the Premiere. I feel like they really misjudged what fans were looking for and I’m hoping that they do the work and course correct now that the Premiere has aired and the completely dismal fan reaction as come out.

One of the few bright spots for me was the introduction of Peter Gallagher as Dr. David Hamilton. I love him as an actor! He's great! His recent roles in Grace and Frankie and Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist were fantastic! I was super excited when I heard he was coming to Grey's. I like Dr. Hamilton so far and I'm interested to see how his relationship with Ellis and Meredith having dreams about her mother following her battle with COVID will play into the story this season. While it would be interesting to see Meredith work in Minnesota temporarily like Cristina did back in Season 9, I don't want her there permanently. Seattle is as much a character in the show as any of the main characters we've come to love, and something would be missing for me if she moved.

To be perfectly honest, it doesn't make much sense to me for Meredith to move to Minnesota permanently when she only knows a few people there. Who would watch her kids? If she's going to move to me, it makes more sense for her to move to Kansas where Alex is or Switzerland where Cristina is. Her kids have already lost their father and so many other caregivers and Meredith has stuck it out in Seattle for so long after everything that's happened that her moving to Minnesota for me would be bonkers.

Also, where were her kids in the Premiere? All of the interviews that came out prior to the Premiere talked about how Meredith’s focus at the beginning of the season would be on her work and her kids, but they were nowhere to be found in the Premiere and it’s not clear whose watching them while Meredith is in Minnesota. The interviews also made it seem like Meredith and Hayes would still be circling each other at the start of the season with quotes about how timing hadn’t been on their side, that they still needed to have an official drink and go out on a date, and that while Meredith wasn’t looking for a relationship one might find her.

That had literally nothing to do with the Premiere we saw whatsoever! The kids were MIA and it turned out that Meredith and Hayes started dating off screen following Maggie and Winston’s wedding and we didn’t get to see ANY of the firsts they talked about so much over the last two seasons. So stupid. The Premiere was a total rip off. I hate that Nick Marsh is back and I’ve never gone from liking a character and an actor to hating them in such a short period of time ever. My God. I’m so pissed off about this. What the hell were they thinking? Why did they think we would want this at all?

Don’t get me wrong, I loved Nick Marsh as a character and Scott Speedman's portrayal of him when he first showed up in Season 14. I was all ready for him to be Meredith's next great love and I was on board. But then he disappeared and was never heard from again and it was reported that Speedman wanted to take a break from TV for a while so I mourned the loss of what could have been and moved on. I sat through the out of character nonsense that was the DeLuca storyline in the belief that eventually that storyline would end, and Meredith would get a real proper love interest that made sense and would be her post-Derek endgame.

So, I was really excited when they introduced Hayes and I have really come to love his character and his budding relationship with Meredith. I feel like I've been waiting forever to finally see them go on a date and I am super pissed off that we didn't get to see it. I would have loved this storyline with Nick if they had introduced it at any previous point in time, but now after they've spent so much time setting up Meredith and Hayes it's just infuriating. I feel immense rage over how they handled Meredith and Hayes and Meredith and Nick’s storylines in the Premiere. I'm so angry. The whole thing just made no sense. That Premiere should never have aired. It never should have gotten past the draft stage. It was that bad. The first date and all of the firsts that come with a new relationship are the most exciting parts of a romantic storyline for me and I love seeing all of that on screen. They hyped Meredith and Hayes’ relationship up so much and even had the two of them talk about 'firsts' and dating after death so for their first date to happen off screen along with Austin's panic attacks and bad reaction to his Dad starting to date again is just such a rip off.

I have stuck with this show through thick and thin and for them to reward that loyalty by having the most interesting parts of that storyline happen off screen while showing a bunch of stuff on screen with other characters that they could have just told us about? So ridiculous. I was so excited for this season and now I'm just angry. I'm hoping that they are building to a big mid-season finale where Meredith is going to return to Seattle and by that time Bailey will have helped Hayes out with Austin and the two of them will finally get together on screen but I'm starting to feel like every time I get invested in one of the Meredith's new love interests, they pull the rug out from under me and I'm getting really fed up.

In other news, I'm not too surprised that Megan and Riggs broke up off screen only because Virgin River, which I love, just got picked up for two more seasons and I imagine Martin Henderson is busy filming that and it looks like Megan is going to be around for a while and they had to explain it somehow. I loved Meredith and Riggs together and I hated how they ended that storyline so I'm not sad about them breaking up off screen.

The Premiere also broke my heart over Amelia and Link’s storyline. It’s just so stupid. It’s drama for drama’s sake that’s all it is and it’s tired. When did marriage become so important to Link? In the span of a few months, he went from being totally fine with not getting married and checking in with Amelia every few weeks on how she felt to convincing himself that Amelia wanted him to propose so he did so at her sister's wedding and used her dead brother's children to do it. Amelia's right the whole thing was super messed up and manipulative and she was right to say no.

Link decided marriage was important to him and that fostering Luna would be totally fine without ever talking to Amelia. Yes, Amelia should have shared her thoughts with him too, but he also should have paid attention. Now their otherwise healthy relationship is over because she doesn't want to participate in an archaic ritual that involves signing a contract and exchanging vows? That's just stupid. I hope they find a way to work it out and get back together because I really like them as a couple.

I like Dr. Michelle Lin the new Head of Plastic of Surgery that Bailey and Richard are looking to hire. I thought for sure after that photo of the other guy made the rounds on social media that he was going to be the new Head of Plastics, but then he said that he doesn't do "free" and I knew he was out. I'm excited for there to be another female surgeon of colour on the show as the gender and racial balance on the show has been more white and male as of late and I think Grey's is at its best when you have a roughly equal number of women and men and as many different races being represented as possible.

I think it makes the storylines more interesting and authentic and personally gives me more characters that I can identify with. This new doctor seems driven, determined, and could have a potentially interesting dynamic with Richard and Bailey. She’s also giving me some Cristina Yang vibes and I’m all for that. I love Cristina. Always have. Always will. That being said, I'm a bit confused as to where they are going with Jo's storyline as I thought for sure the new Head of Plastics would be a guy and her new love interest. But Bailey did say they still needed to hire a new general surgeon and a new neurosurgeon so maybe one of them will be for her?

I can't really say that there was anything I loved about the Premiere which is disappointing. Jo's parenting hair dye mishap was funny, Levi's outfit cracked me up, and I liked that Bailey agreed to help Hayes out, but that's about it. The thing I was most excited for coming into this season was Meredith finally being back on her feet and seeing the romantic storyline between her and Hayes finally come to fruition.

Finding out that she's going to be in Minnesota for the foreseeable future, she and Hayes started dating off screen but had to call it quits because seeing his Dad date someone new caused Austin to have panic attacks, and finding out that Nick Marsh is back? I hated it. I don't understand how the same person who wrote the Season 16 masterpiece “Snowblind” with that amazing snow scene between Meredith and Hayes wrote the Premiere. I just don't understand. I really hope they're not going to do a love triangle with Meredith, Hayes, and Nick because that would just be so stupid.

She's a forty something award-winning surgeon who's a widowed single mother of three. Love triangles made sense when she was young intern, but at this point it's just dumb. I also didn't feel the chemistry this time around between Meredith and Nick like I did the first time. It felt forced and flat. I like Maggie and Winston together, but I didn't find their storyline in the Premiere particularly engaging. I'm glad that Amelia stayed true to herself, but I hate that Link has decided marriage is the only way forward and that they're still fighting.

The only moment that really made me laugh out of the hour was when Jo opened the door and Levi was in that ridiculous outfit. I loved the FaceTime call between Meredith and Hayes, but I hated the context. Honestly, I'm not really excited about any upcoming storyline this season which makes me really sad. I'm usually super positive and hopeful when it comes to this show, but this episode just stomped all over my dreams. All I can hope for now is that they pull a twist and everything I was hoping for happens in the mid-season finale otherwise I don't think I'm going to like this season very much.

Until next time!

[dirk-has-rabies]

Gender variance and it's link with neurodivergency

Okay so this is it going to be another long one

All quotes will be sourced with a link to the scientific journal I took it from

Okay Tumblr, let's talk gender (I know, your favorite topic) my preface on why this topic matters to me is: I'm autistic ( diagnosed moderate to severe autism) I'm nonbinary trans ( in a way that most non-autistic people don't understand and actually look down on)  and I went to college for gender study ( Mostly for intersex studies but a lot of my research was around non-binary and trans identities) I will be using the term autism as pants when I have experience with however when ADHD is part of the study I will use ND which stands for neurodivergent and yes this is going to be about xenogenders and neopronouns.

autism can affect gender the same way autism can affect literally every part of an identity. a big thing about having autism is the fact that it completely can change how you view personhood and time and object permanence and gender and literally all types of socially constructed ideas. let me also say hear that just because Society creates and enforces an idea does it mean that it doesn't exist to all people it just me that there is no nature law saying that it's real and the “rules” for these ideas can change and delete and create as time and Society evolves and changes.  gender is one of those constructs.

Now I'll take it by you reading this you know what transgender people are  (if you don't understand what a trans person is send me an ask and I'll type you up a pretty little essay lmao,  or Google it but that's a scary thought sense literally any Source or website can come up on Google including biased websites so be careful I guess LOL) anyway to be super basic trans people are anyone who doesn't identify as the gender they were assigned at Birth (yes that includes non-binary people I could do a whole nother essay about that shit how y'all keep spreading trying to separate non-binary people from the trans umbrella)  some people don't like to use the label and that is totally fine by the way.

now autistic people to view the world in a way differently than allistic (neurotypical) ppl do.  we don't take everything people teach us at 100% fact and we tend to question everything and demand proof and evidence for things before we can set it as a fact in our brains. This leads to why a lot of autistic people are atheist (although a lot of religions and this is not bashing on religious people at all I am actually a Jewish convert)  this questioning leads to a lot of social constructs being ignored or not understood At All by a lot of autistic people and personally I think that's a good thing.  allistics take everything their parents and teachers and schools teach them as fact until someone else says something and then they pick which ones to believe. autistic people study and research and learn about a topic before forming an opinion and while this may lead to them studying and believing very biased material and spitting it out as fact it can also lead them to try and Discover it is real by themselves.

because of this autistic people are more question their gender or not fall in a binary way at all as the concept of gender makes no sense to a lot of us. “ if gender is a construct then autistic people who are less aware of social norms are less likely to develop a typical gender identity”

no really look: “ children and teens with autism spectrum disorder ASD or Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder ADHD  are much more likely to express a wish to be the opposite sex compared with their typical developing peers” That was posted in 2014. we have been saying this stuff forever but no one wants to listen. the thing is gender variance (being not cisgender or at least questioning it)  has always been closely hand-in-hand with autistic and ADHD people I'm even the doctor who did that study understood right away that it all made sense the whole time: “ Dr. Strang said they were initially surprised to find an overrepresentation of gender variance among children with ADHD. However, they later realized that prior studies have shown increased levels of disruptive behavior and other behavioral problems among young people with gender variance”  SEE YOURE NOT WEIRD YOURE JUST YOU AND YOURE NOT ALONE IN THIS!!

5% autistic people who did the study were trans or questioning. it was also equal between the Sexes fun fact. that may not seem like a lot till you realize that the national average is only .7% that's literally over 700% higher than the national average. That's so many! and that's just in America.

 in Holland there was a study in 2010 “ nearly 8% of the more than 200 Children and adolescents referred to a clinic for gender dysphoria also came up positive on a assessment for ASD” they weren't even testing for ADHD so the numbers could be even higher!

now I want to talk about a  certain section of the trans umbrella that a lot of autistic people fall under called the non-binary umbrella. non-binary means anything that isn't just male or just female. it is not one third gender and non-binary doesn't mean that you don't have a gender. just clearing that up since cis people keep spreading that. non-binary is an umbrella term for any of the infinite genders you could use or create. now this is where I'm going to lose a bunch of you and that's okay because you don't have to understand our brains or emotions To respect us as real people. not many allistics can understand how we see and think and relate to things and that's okay you don't have to understand everything but just reading about this could be so much closer to respecting us for Who We Are from you've ever been and that's better than being against us just for existing.

now you might have heard of my Mutual Lars who was harassed  by transmeds for using the term Autigender (I was going to link them but if it gets traction I don't want them to get any hate)  since a lot of people roll their eyes at that  and treated them disgustingly for using a term that 100% applied correctly.  Autigender  is described as " a neurogender which can only be understood in the context of being autistic or when one's autism greatly affects one's gender or how one experiences gender. Autigender is not autism as a gender, but rather is a gender that is so heavily influenced by autism that one's autism and one's experience of gender cannot be unlinked.” Now tell me that doesn't sound a lot like this entire essay I've been working on with full sources…..

xenogenders and neopronouns are a big argument point on whether or not people “believe” in non binary genders but a big part of those genders is that they originated from ND communities and are ways that we can try to describe what gender means us in a way that cis or even allistic trans people just can't comprehend or ever understand. Same with MOGAI genders or sexualities. A lot of these are created as a way to somehow describe an indescribable relationship with gender that is so personal you really cant explain it to anyone who isnt literally the same as you.

Even in studies done with trans autistic people a large amount of them dont even fall on a yes or no of having a gender at all and fall in some weird inbetween where you KINDA have a gender but its not a gender in the sense that others say it is but its also too much of a gender so say youre agender. And this is the kind of stuff that confuses allistic trans people and makes them think nonbinary genders are making stuff up for attention, which isnt true at all we just cant explain what it feels like to BE a trans autistic person to anyone who doesnt ALREADY know how it feels.

In this study out of the ppl questioned almost HALF of the autistic trans individuals had a “Sense of identity revolving around interests” meaning their gender and identity was more based off what they liked rather than boy or girl. That makes ppl with stuff like vampgender or pupgender make a lot more sense now doesnt it? We see that even in the study: “My sense of identity is fluid, just as my sense of gender is fluid […] The only constant identity that runs through my life as a thread is ‘dancer.’ This is more important to me than gender, name or any other identifying features… even more important than mother. I wouldn't admit that in the NT world as when I have, I have been corrected (after all Mother is supposed to be my primary identification, right?!) but I feel that I can admit that here. (Taylor)” and an agreement from another saying “Mine is Artist. Thank you, Taylor. (Jessie)” now dont you think if they grew up with terms like artistgender or dancergender they would just YOINK those up right away????

In fact “An absence of a sense of gender or being unsure of how their gender should “feel” was another common report” because as ive said before in this post AUTISTIC PEOPLE DONT SEE GENDER THE WAY ALLISTIC PEOPLE SEE IT. therefore we wont use the same terms or have the same identities nor could we explain it to anyone who doesnt already understand or question the same way! Participants even offered up quotes such as “As a child and even now, I don't ‘feel’ like a gender, I feel like myself and for the most part I am constantly trying to figure out what that means for me (Betty)” and also “I don't feel like a particular gender I'm not even sure what a gender should feel like (Helen)”

Now i know this isnt going to change everyones minds on this stuff but i can only hope that it at least helped people feel like theyre not broken and not alone in their feelings about this. You dont have to follow allistic rules. You dont have to stop searching inside for who you really wanna be. And you dont have to pick or choose terms forever because just as you grow and evolve so may your terms. Its okay to not know what or who you are and its okay to identify as nonhuman things or as your interests because what you love and what you do is a big part of who you are and shapes you everyday. Its not a bad thing! Just please everyone, treat ppl with respect and if you dont understand something that doesnt make it bad or wrong it just means its not for you. And thats okay.

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Five

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 5 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: mentions of male masturbation and boners (lol); strong language; references to suicide, murder, and drug smuggling; abusive parental relationship; mentions of child death in a second flashback; dry humping (smut); 18+ only please!

Word Count: 16,500+

A/N: damn that chapter warning list was a trip to write down lmao

~

Westview, 2023, 1:32 pm

     An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the parked vehicle, daring either of you to take the first step. No one commented on the glares boring into your soul as you drove through the town or how heavily the three of you got patted down by the authorities right outside the state line. You figured it was completely justified - still a little insulting to a bunch of Avengers who literally saved the world three weeks ago. 

With a loud gulp, Bucky was the first to kick open his door and get out of the car. You glanced at Steve from the driver’s seat, biting your lip with a slight quiver as you went over the speech you practiced earlier today. Simple enough, and not too damning. 

Steve’s leg bounced rapidly a few more times before he too kicked open his door, leaving you in silence. You pulled the car keys from the ignition and took in a deep breath. Your legs were numb, the anxiety washing over you in uneven cycles. It was now or never. 

“Wanda, it’s us…”

Her grief seemed to emit from every crack in the sidewalk, every weak beg escaping the townspeople’s throats, every sound from the inanimate objects her powers had continued to turn from gray to red… to green… back to gray. She was crouched on the property, weeds brushing against her black pants and leaving their mark, mascara smudged with each new wet streak. 

Bucky unzipped his jacket, eyes wandering over the deserted plot of land as Wanda tried to control her sobs. She had already caused enough damage, both physical and psychological, the possibility of more government involvement looming over your heads. He carefully walked toward her and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders, all be damned as he held her and began to tear up himself.

“Wanda, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll get through this,” Steve sighed, still keeping a respectable distance from her in case she were to run. But you knew her better - she was all out of fight. One fight after another and yet she still lost her love. 

“I did something really bad,” she sobbed, eyes locked on the spot where Vision had just disappeared. Again.

“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Steve declared, shocked by the unexpected scoff from Bucky. 

“Save it, Steve. She may not have known in the beginning but she does now. She still did it.”

No one dared correct Bucky or argue with that logic because if anyone knew about causing harm with absolutely no intention, it was obviously him. Taking responsibility - that was the best course of action. 

Once you heard of a radioactive disturbance in a small town just outside the state, the team almost retired completely. So soon after defeating Thanos, so soon after Tony’s death, so soon after Natasha’s death - the team left it up to the proper authorities this time around. 

But the second you watched the broadcast of Wanda’s fantasies, the sitcom her powers were conjuring, her giving birth to her children… all you could do was wait until she opened the barrier. 

“I still did it,” Wanda said, her upper body beginning to rock back and forth as her fingertips brightened with red tendrils of magical grief. 

You shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. You had done so much crying these past few years and you were oh, so tired. You couldn’t possibly take another beating. 

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Bucky spoke, gently turning Wanda’s face and placing both his hands on her cheeks, mindful of the metal appendage he had forgotten to cover with his glove. “You already did it. It can’t be undone. But you can come with us and grieve properly.”

Wanda reached up and placed her hands over his, tears spilling from her eyes faster now. 

“Let us help you grieve.”

This wasn’t an unexpected goodbye. Wanda knew that. She had just voluntarily given up her husband and children - anyone would crumble from that sort of devastation. But now she had been given a proper goodbye, a somewhat proper closure, and the chance to accept it. “Okay.”

You and Steve remained frozen in place even after Bucky helped Wanda stand. Almost as quickly as you thought it, your feet had a mind of their own. You stood next to Steve, taking in the weed infested, rectangular plot of land - the remnants of Wanda’s fantasy still fresh and creating a tiny, refreshing tingle in the middle of your chest. You looked over at Steve and smiled sadly when you saw him inspecting the area as well. 

“They would have had a beautiful life together.”

Steve’s breath hitched as you finished your declaration, looking over at you and nodding slightly. 

“If I had the chance, I would have wanted a nice house with some decent air conditioning. Some weird, front yard garden where I could plant random flowers. A dog that dug them up and acted like it didn’t do it.”

You giggled, thumbnail between your incisors to try and disguise the wider grin forming. Steve kept speaking. 

“Maybe a kid or two. Never actually checked if I could even have kids after the serum.”

You dropped your hand from your face, your attention completely on him now. 

Steve sighed and kicked a rock over to the other side of the property. “I would have wanted a giant, king-sized bed. With ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels. And every once in a while we would accidentally use the other one’s toothbrush, a secret we would take to the grave.”

Steve wasn’t even looking over at you as he said this. It was like a one-sided confession, rhetorical, not needing an immediate response or expression in return. And you couldn’t believe he was just saying this in front of you - you of all people - the same person who rolled their eyes whenever Steve struggled to comprehend a modern topic or argued with him when he was in one of his moods. He had been distant the last few weeks after returning the stones, only ever noticing you when other people were around to carry a conversation. 

The tingles in your chest were starting to disappear as the plot of land gave its last few magical rumbles. 

“Steve?”

Steve bowed his head, hands in his pockets and breath steady. “Yes, they would have been very happy together.”

You stared at the back of his head as he slowly walked back to the car.  

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The amount of times you reminded yourself to wake up early as you were drifting off to sleep last night was perhaps more than the number of sheep you had ever counted in your life. A quick reminder here and there as your mind got clogged with pointless information, the number eight behind your eyelids all throughout the night. 

And you did it. In the early hours of the morning, knowing Steve would wake naturally in about twenty minutes, you tip-toed out of bed to use the bathroom. Acting completely normal in case he did in fact hear you before your grand plan - an easy escape route if he decided to repeat his horrible morning ritual on you. But he was such an old man, getting older, losing that serum’s boost. This Steve, Steve who refused to call any movie made after 1945 ‘old’ because he literally didn’t get the chance to see them premiere - yeah, this Steve, was passed out like he had been hit by a truck. 

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, you quietly opened the bathroom door and peeked through. He still lay there on his back, wrapped tightly in his blanket, breathing steadily, and face completely unprotected. 

Could you die? Probably. Would this payback be absolutely satisfying? Hell yeah. 

You grabbed the biggest of your pillows and fisted the corner tightly, twisting it a couple times for a better grip. You signed the cross quickly before lifting the pillow above your head and bringing it down to Steve’s face. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, “WHAT?”

His eyes flew around the room rapidly until they landed on you, angry and challenging.

“Payback!” you yelled, lifting the pillow high again for a second hit. But he reacted quicker, grabbing a pillow himself and swinging it toward you. It slammed you in the torso and practically sent you flying. You landed at the edge of your bed, mouth open in shock and racks of laughter bubbling deep within your chest. You stood quickly and hit him repeatedly, trying your best to also block his counterattack. 

He reached for your hip and pulled you in his bed, rolling the two of you over so he was straddling your hips. He brought the pillow down several more times before accepting your plea of surrender. 

You threw the pillow back to your bed and pouted, “Not a fair fight!”

Steve scoffed, “You caught me off guard! You had all the advantages!”

You shuffled beneath him and froze, hips stuck in a lifted position as you were too embarrassed to move them back down. “Jesus, Steve! How do you even sleep on your stomach with that thing?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he inspected your face and body, looking down at the two of you before he noticed the way he was pressing into your inner thigh. He scrambled off you, a blush spreading from his cheeks and all the way down his chest. He cupped himself and turned away, quickly shuffling for his suitcase and pulling whatever clothes his flustered hands grabbed. He was also repeatedly apologizing. 

“Steve, it’s okay. It just… startled me, is all.”

Steve cleared his throat a couple times before pacing around the room in search of his toiletries. 

You just sat back on your elbows, watching him scurry like a chicken with its head cut off. It was rather amusing. 

“I’m gonna - gonna, take a shower. Uh, I’m sorry again.”

You smirked at the super soldier, “Steve, I’m not mad. It isn’t like I’m new to that kind of thing.”

Steve blushed harder, “But I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You shrugged your shoulders and dipped lower into his sheets, grabbing and lifting them higher. You snuggled deeper, “Still.”

Steve could feel the speed at which the world rotated and he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing deeply until he had all his inhibitions back. 

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing - reacting the way he did or you seeing him react the way he did. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in awkward situations, some borderline lewd. There were plenty of missions that involved heavy flirting with the targets, undercover work in depraved settings, missions where nasty magic was involved and concocted a multitude of inappropriate visions. Hell, everyone had already seen each other naked. It was completely normal, a trustworthy environment, and sometimes necessary. 

As much as he wanted to give into the feeling and award himself some proper alone time, he refused to act upon it. He would regret it later once the stress pushed down harder than usual, but it just wasn’t appropriate in his right mind to masturbate with you in the other room. 

Why did he have to be such a good and honorable man?

He busied himself with washing his hair and scrubbing away any evidence of sleep from his face. Steve liked sleeping on his stomach, face smooshed in the pillows and arms extended to his sides. It allowed for more comfortable movement, more ways to stretch his hips, just overall comfort for his massive shoulders. Less pressure on the lungs, too. And unlike the enthusiastic yet almost mean accusation that he couldn’t possibly enjoy that position because of his… well, his dick, Steve would choose that position over sleeping on his back any day. But that morning, his body had decided to betray him in more ways than one. One, he was open to attack because he was on his back. And two, whatever dream he was having caused his morning wood to seem larger this morning.

He had washed up quickly, more time spent out of the shower where he fixed his hair and combed his beard. He thought about shaving it for the rehearsal dinner or wedding, but it gave him a more rugged look - like he was all tough and no funny business. As ridiculous as it sounded, the beard allowed him to lean into the criminal act easier, build a fake personality that already had your father eating out of his hand. 

Opening the bathroom door and having to face the music, Steve was almost certain you would continue to tease him. But you were already munching on the breakfast you had ordered, shoveling hash browns in your mouth as you swiped the mouse through pages and pages of intel. You didn’t even look up as he crossed the room to grab a pair of pants he had forgotten to pick up during his quick escape. That settled his nerves almost instantly and he was dressed and settled next to you soon after.

You worked in silent cooperation for a long while, handing each other files and passing phone calls like you had during every other mission before. Except now it was more comfortable, pleasant, and kind - the soft sounds from the television in the corner, the humming of the desktop, the soft hums of recognition whenever you two showed each other something. You didn’t even bother with what happened in the morning, if it really was anything at all, because you honestly found it normal. You were more focused on the conversation you had last night. 

Steve had offered to kill your father if you seriously couldn’t. Just thinking about his offer caused your stomach to turn. Because yes, you wanted him dead. You wanted to snap his neck in ten different places and feed him to scavengers. You wanted to steal his business from under him and tear it apart, bit by bit, and keep him alive long enough to see you do it. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you revealed that you double-crossed him. And as the day inched closer, the overwhelming feeling of shame pushed down on your shoulders and swallowed your mind. Once your father was dead, you and Steve would never find true peace. His men would always follow you, probably take you down at the local coffee shop you and Peter frequented. 

The thought of dying in front of Peter caused a lump to form in your throat. No, you wouldn’t do that to your friends. You couldn’t do this to Steve. 

But you had to. Because even though your life will never be yours after this mission, you had to save the countless others your father was sure to touch and ruin. 

But was your life ever truly yours?

Steve’s voice pulled you from your clouded mind. 

“Huh?” 

“I asked if you wanted the last piece of fruit.” 

You looked at Steve then at the small piece of watermelon in the bowl, then back at Steve. He had a pen in between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked, and slightly puffy eyes due to the beer heavy sleep he had last night. You looked away as quickly as you could and stared back at the fruit, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

Ridiculous, you thought. Just looking at Steve had flustered you, squeezing your stomach in pleasurable pulses you hadn’t felt since high school. “No, no. You can have it,” you said, hoping your voice wouldn’t crack. 

Ridiculous. 

Steve watched you with a funny smile but he took your word and scooped up the last piece for himself. 

No, you thought again, this man will not give me freaking butterflies. 

It wasn’t like it was odd. Steve had you flustered countless times before, but it was never quite as tingly as it was now. You suddenly wanted to facetime Wanda and rant about these weird feelings; you wanted to curl in on yourself and squeal; you wanted to -

    “He’s what?”

You sat on your knees and leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on your folded arms as you watched Steve pace around the common room. He was tugging at his dress shirt repeatedly, desperately trying to attach cufflinks without additional help. Sam sat right beside you, in the same position, snickering each time Steve cursed under his breath. 

“He’s nervous,” Bucky smirked, arm holding out Steve’s tie for the past five minutes. Steve had paced beside him various times already, completely oblivious. 

Steve groaned and readjusted his collar, snapping his head toward the three of you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating buckets, man,” Sam pointed out, one of his hands discreetly opening up his camera and switching to video. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” 

Bucky threw his head back and cackled, choosing to grab Steve and steady him to finally put that damn tie around his neck. “Same old, Steve. Can’t accept that a dame would ever possibly like you back.”

“Hey, Steve don’t worry about it,” you started, shooting Steve a sympathetic look. Steve glanced back at you, expression swiftly changing due to your kind tone. “... when I was in high school,-”

Steve released a loud grunt, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Bucky’s hands. 

Sam rolled over and clutched his stomach as he laughed, pulling you into him. The two of you shook from your laughs together. 

“Guys,” Bucky warned, reaching for Steve in a ‘grabby’ motion. “Give him a break.”

Steve reluctantly stood beside Bucky again, head tilted upward as he tried wrapping the tie back around his neck. 

None of you heard the entrance of Thor and his brother, too busy with bullying, laughter, or moderating. 

“Did we miss all the fun?”

You shot up from the ground, kicking Sam away as you rushed across the floor and stumbled over the rug. “Thor!”

You rushed into his arms and he gripped you tightly, swinging you around and loud laughter matching yours. 

“Now, why wasn’t I greeted in a similar manner?” Loki questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You pulled your face from Thor’s shoulder, “Oh, you want this too?”

You jumped back onto the floor and were about to jump into Loki’s arms, but he held his own out, stopping you. “It’s too late. It’s not the same.”

“Piss baby,” you quipped, rushing behind Thor for protection when Loki’s mouth dropped in surprise. 

“Can everyone stop what they’re doing real quick and tell Steve his date is going to go well tonight?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky’s favor, but he just raised his eyebrows, challenging you to disobey the order. 

“The Captain has a date? Are they okay?”

Loki and you shared a comical gasp. 

Steve gaped, “Now, what in the world does that mean, Thor?”

Thor raised his hands in defense, “I’m just asking if she truly knows what she’s getting herself into! Don’t try and tell me she has no idea who you are.”

Steve was back to groaning nonstop. Bucky threw his hands up in the air, “I ask one thing of you guys. One thing.”

You stomped over to Steve and ripped the half-tied tie from his neck and smoothed down his collar. You patted down his shoulders and the front of his shirt, and gripped his shoulders to straighten his back. 

“Now,” you smiled up at him. The breath caught in your throat for a second, the blue of his eyes shining under the ceiling lights and the pink of his cheeks spreading slowly. You let out a tiny sigh, heart fluttering faintly from the small grin he was giving you. He looked so innocent, a renaissance subject created from light oils, signs of true aging showing in his forehead. “Whatever date you got planned, she’s gonna love it.”

Steve relished in the feeling of your palms pressed against his chest for a few moments before he nodded at your declaration. He stepped back and smoothed down his shirt. “Wish me luck?”

A chorus of ‘good luck’s sounded as Steve found his keys and shared a goodnight hug with Sam and Bucky. They both jokingly reminded him to use protection. 

You watched Steve leave, a newfound bounce in his step as he walked away. Your words had been so simple, so cliche, and yet he had dropped any visible nerves as he walked out the door. You weren’t the best motivational speaker, that was for sure, but the proof of at least an ounce of motivation was there. Maybe your words held a hidden meaning. Maybe.

You thought about him picking up this random woman, wine and dining her, kissing her cheek as he said his goodbyes at the end of the night. It was somewhat adorable to think about, but also weird.

Before you could dive more into the strange feeling, Thor’s voice sounded. 

“Should we order pizza or chinese?”

It’s like that snapped you from your trance, because next thing you knew you were back to your playful self, sprinting across the room and into Loki’s arms. 

     You cherished the slight, pleasant churn of your stomach as you watched him happily munch on the fruit. 

Okay, it was normal to have a tiny crush on your mission partner. God knows how many times you wanted to jump Thor’s bones whenever you were undercover together. A crush was normal, completely natural and expected. 

Except you had never gotten so much sane joy from a simple question of whether you wanted the last piece of fruit. 

You blinked a few times and shook off any trace of overthinking devils, grabbing at random files to occupy your mind for a while. After about fifteen more minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke.

“So, we think Ramirez is gonna get straight up murdered?”

Steve snorted, filing through a pile of papers Torres had delivered this morning. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“But it’s just a theory at this point. We can’t just go in guns blazing without enough proof.”

“And if there is proof? Do we protect him? The original mission was to arrest all four men.”

You groaned, “I don’t know. He’s never done me wrong.”

“Personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

Steve squinted at you with a playful smile. “You’d rather just arrest the bad ones, huh?”

“Obviously what Ramirez is doing is illegal and it’s horrific to think of what might be happening behind the scenes on his side, but either he’s serious or he’s been putting on this good guy act for his whole life.”

“Leaning towards the first option?”

Shrugging, you leaned toward your computer screen and scrolled through the massive list of emails. “It’s what my gut tells me, but ehh.”

There was one random email from Maribel, but random only meant coded. Reading it over a couple times, humming to yourself in concentration, you finally cracked the code she was trying to send. 

“Maribel says Ramirez acquired some land in Mexico… lots of it.”

Steve looked up from the files, “Any significance?”

“It’s probably for growing the products.”

Steve quickly typed key words that would alert him of any new transactions in the past few months.  “Who’s on the title?”

“Just him. And his oldest daughter. My father must know, right?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh as he thought about what this could mean. “Ramirez acquiring more land means more of Ramirez’s product. A three-way partnership would be split unevenly if he utilizes the land.”

“Make sure Bucky alerts us of any business my father might have with realtors authorized to work in that area.”

It functioned like this for another hour, the two of you sharing bits of information every ten minutes or so. 

“Torres sent us an update on White.”

You rubbed at your strained eyes, “What does he say?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, “That he’s been in the country for much longer than his passport says.”

You stood from your seat and rushed to look at the same screen Steve was reading from. “He traveling under a fake name?”

“Customs says he returned to Germany,” Steve stated, highlighting a paragraph on the screen for you to easily read. “Four weeks ago.”

It was your turn to snort out a laugh, “Oh, he’s so setting up an alibi.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “Looks like it.”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, voice raising an octave. “Look at us! Piecing together the puzzle!”

“We still got a few more pieces to attach before you go getting all cocky.”

You chuckled and decided to take a break. You speed walked over to your bed and plopped down, the mountain of pillows already relieving your tense muscles. “Hey, has my sister’s plane landed yet?”

Steve glanced at you quickly before pulling up Bucky’s morning emails. “Uh, landed about an hour ago.”

“She at the estate?”

He shrugged, “Torres hasn’t sent an update. Just her profile, hold up.”

You waved him off, a nonverbal way of telling him you seriously couldn’t care less. “I haven’t spoken to her since I joined you guys. You don’t gotta give me her origin story.”

“That long?” Steve questioned. 

You placed a pillow beneath your head, body horizontal and facing Steve. “We were never that close. I’ve got tons of half-siblings. Most of them were adults when I was born, anyway.”

With just a few words exchanged, Steve realized he had just stepped through your metaphorical door of reminiscing. So he stood to lay in his own bed, the simple action of giving you attention enough to keep you talking, he hoped. “Were you alone a lot? Growing up, I mean.”

You watched as Steve also placed a pillow beneath his head, “There were always kids around. Kids of the maids, cousins, neighbors.”

“A full house, sounds like.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, a small smile forming as you thought about old friends. “I remember this one time, we all ran into Ramirez when we were trying to get to one of the playrooms. But he grabbed me quickly and told me to not go in there.”

“Was it a threat?”

You grinned at his protective tone, “No, it was a warning. There were some really bad men in the other room. It was me and a few other girls. He told us to run back to my room and lock the door until he came to get us.”

Steve couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ramirez joined the drug game. Sure, the function and presence of cartels had changed drastically over the last forty years, but it didn’t explain why he remained involved. In the eighties, the drug game was highly televised and spoken about, but the cartel violence was not as strong. Nowadays, and not even you could give a proper explanation, the violence was astronomical and basically advertised as something to expect when visiting certain countries. This was the mob game now, freaking Al Capone or the goddamn Godfather, absolutely meant to frighten whoever dare join or leave. For Ramirez to still be one of the big players even with that many internal changes, to be a good person in the middle of such hell, didn’t make any sense. 

“He protected you.”

You clutched the pillow closer to your chest, the memory a good one even if it was weird. “Oh, yeah. Those guys he was warning us about were no angels.”

Steve gave an awkward smile, “I feel like I know more about your childhood than you know mine.”

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me about little, asthmatic Steve Rogers.”

He raised his index finger at you, “Hey, I was more than just my asthma.”

“Oh, excuse me. I totally forgot about your scoliosis.” 

The pillow under his head was now flying across the small distance to your face. You shrieked and sent it back. 

“Stop bullying!” Steve laughed.

You shielded your face in case he decided to continue the pillow war. “What? I’ve got my health problems, too! I just don’t have the serum to help me out.”

But he didn’t throw it again. He repositioned himself on his back and placed both hands beneath his head, gracing the ceiling with a grin. “I remember this one time, Bucky and I were around eleven-years old, and I had this really bad asthma attack. Bucky just freaked out. I was choking and he was just holding me, screaming for help -”

You blinked, “This is really depressing, what are you-”

“-and! Bucky threw himself into a full-blown panic attack. So we were both choking on air, but I was starting to laugh at him freaking out, which only made him choke harder. We ended up throwing up.”

You were silent at the end of his short story, mouth open in a wide smile. “I don��t know what else to say other than that was one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rolled over, a literal twinkle in his eye. “See? Don’t interrupt me before I get to the good parts.”

This simple moment catapulted the realization that Steve hasn’t spoken to you this much in two years, to the front of your mind. In these past four days, you had spoken like you had never stopped, like it was never awkward, like you two seriously didn’t need another person in the room to simply converse about what you wanted for breakfast. Yet here you were, more words exchanged in the past four days than you ever thought possible. 

After the fallout, you didn’t say one full sentence to him for seven months. Seven months. He hadn’t attempted a conversation with you either, but you actively avoided him like he was infected. Hell, he even moved out of the compound and into his own apartment to get away from you for most of the day. After your forced reconciliation, the awkward apologies, you still didn’t force any open conversation. But it was easier, lighter, and most conversations involved mission information. 

Talking this much now was so easy, so simple, like you didn’t need to force the comfort - there was already full comfort, a sense of community with this man. 

He was so different from when he insulted you while you were packing, annoyed by the fact that you pried too much. And now you were prying into his childhood and him yours without a lick of annoyance on either side. 

“We both had eventful childhoods, didn’t we?”

“What, with both of us in the middle of a war?” Steve asked, a genuine look on his face.

“Guess our wars never really left us, huh?”

There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting Torres again today. Steve muttered ‘room service, maybe’ under his breath as you went to open it. You were startled to find Scott standing outside, two massive suitcases in his hand. 

“Oh my god, I forgot you were arriving today!”

Scott scoffed, “Am I not as important as your other friends?”

You laughed and helped him inside, “Stop! You’re one of my favorite bugs!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll leave right now if you two decide to pile on me instead of each other.” Scott placed one of the suitcases near the door but the other at the edge of your bed. 

“We’ll be nice,” Steve promised, standing to greet Scott with a hug. 

“You better. Catch me up, please?” 

The suitcase contained your outfits for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Whoever was in charge of costumes definitely went all out, hoping their work would make the big fight the most fashionable. Steve was given a perfectly tailored suit, navy blue and velvet. It was lined with vibranium, inside pockets covered with it. That would certainly be handy if you were forced to walk through metal detectors - vibranium couldn’t be detected. His suit for the rehearsal dinner was a lot simpler, the custom black and white aesthetic, but still protected with vibranium. 

Your clothes were certainly not styled to match Steve’s, giving you a sense of individuality. It was perfect really - it would allow you to leave Steve’s side, if necessary, when the mission called for you to split up. Your rehearsal dinner outfit was two parts: a black, velvet long-sleeved shirt, slight turtleneck, and gold cuffs. It was joined by a long gold skirt, high-waisted, the front shorter than the back and sides more curled than ruffled. You would have to wear tights underneath, but it was beautiful. Vibranium was also stitched in for added protection. Your dress for the actual wedding, however, was a total knockout. Red, spaghetti strap, tight on top but loose once it reached your hips, a long slit on the left side. They were even kind enough to give you a pair of heels to match. 

Yeah, Steve was Captain America and his appearance will shock the guests, but your attire will definitely be the second topic in gossip. 

Scott was filing through the same papers you and Steve had reviewed earlier, a bowl of potato chips at his side. And it was peaceful - you and Steve even had the chance to nap. 

“So, you’re gonna see Jackeline at the rehearsal dinner?”

You wiped the remnants of your nap from your face and groaned as you stretched, “She’ll probably be busy tomorrow when we go for breakfast, so yeah.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes practically attached to the computer screen. “And… she’s the one getting married?”

His tone started to worry Steve, “Yes, Scott. You good?”

Scott piled a handful of potato chips in his mouth, finger clicking the mouse every few seconds. His eyes were now wide, blinks forgotten. “Jackeline Vega. Jackeline.”

Steve ignored him now, “Hey, why isn’t your last name Vega?”

As much as you wanted to share about how and why you changed your last name, Scott’s demeanor interested you more. “Changed it when I became an American citizen - Scott, what’s up?”

He let out a tiny squeak, swallowing his snack quickly. “And she’s your father’s favorite?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mmm.”

Scott released a huge huff of air, shoulders falling as he raised his voice and turned the monitor to face you. “Think he knows anything about this?”

The photograph was blurry because it was enhanced, but you could still make out the face of a sister you hadn’t seen in years. Older, still with teenage features obviously, and tossed on what looked like a church alter-

Steve's eyes widened, “Is she…?”

Scott finished his sentence for him, “Fucking a priest?”

You covered your mouth in shock, “Oh my god, she’s fucking a priest!”

Bent on the literal church altar, skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy and face in full view. And the damned priest, in between her legs and under the eyes of god. 

“That’s why I asked!”

Steve clutched at his chest, head thrown back as he howled, “I think you were wrong about your sister.”

Now your eyes were glued to the screen, “Oh, I was fuck all from correct!”

Scott cleared his throat, “Is the priest… her fiance?”

Steve came down from his laugh attack, “I highly doubt that, Scott.”

“This is actually really damning evidence.”

You grinned at Scott, “For what? Painting her out to look like the most sinful whore? I might just congratulate her.”

Steve stared at you, judging almost. “For fucking a priest?”

“For proving me wrong. She’s not so innocent after all,” you responded, cheeks strained from how wide you were smiling. 

“Clearly. This is… actually badass,” Scott admitted, turning the monitor back to him.

You teased, singing your next words. “Don’t let the Lord and Savior hear that.”

Steve glared, “Y/N.”

You leaned away from him, “What? Anyway, that’s gotta be one the worst sins to commit, right?”

Steve’s expression contorted from annoyance to disbelief. “We’ve literally killed people.”

“Pfft, but we’re not fucking priests. Right?”

Scott answered, nodding quicker than he needed to. “Right.”

“You’re literally asking that?”

You pressed your lips into a fine line and tilted your head at Steve. “Steve?”

He glared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not fucking any priests.”

Your response was immediate, “Alright! I gotta hand it to her, though. Who took the photo?”

Scott went back to fishing through the emails. “Some sleazy magazine that never got around to actually printing these out.”

“Someone paid them off. Or killed them.”

“I wonder who,” you replied sarcastically. 

Steve continued, “You honestly think he would support her doing that?”

You shrugged and scurried back over to your unmade bed. “Not my problem.”

Scott interjected, “Okay, okay. How’s tomorrow gonna work?”

Steve answered first, “Well, we’re driving out around eight.”

You hummed in agreement, reaching over to unplug your phone from the charger. “Scott, you’ll just ride on one of our backs as we walk through the estate.”

“I kind of want to ride Y/N’s back this time.”

You snorted, “Now that doesn’t sound sexual at all.”

He hid his face in his hands, “You know, I heard it once I said it.”

“Course you did.”

Steve jumped back into the conversation, Scott’s embarrassment seeming to grow under the weird tension. “Then you’ll hop off and plant the bugs wherever you feel like they’re needed.”

“Easy peasy!” you cheered. 

“Bucky and Sam gonna meet us Friday night?”

Steve nodded, “That’s what they said.” He looked over at you, scrolling through your phone and already smiling at something you found funny. He cleared his throat to get your attention. “You know they can be out here in under an hour if we seriously need them.”

You glanced over at Steve, his sincerity greatly appreciated. “I know. But all my faith is in Scott here.”

Scott moaned quietly, “Oh… no, let’s not put all the faith in me because I can’t handle that responsibility.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, “You saying I can’t trust you?”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all-!”

Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the man, a sheen of nervous sweat starting to form on his forehead. “Scott.” 

Scott lowered his hands from his chest, “O-oh. She’s messing with me, huh?”

You chuckled and laid back down. “You’re so easy.”

The easygoing atmosphere for the next few hours almost had you believing you were on vacation, away from the bad guys and space aliens for just a moment. Almost like you weren’t in the middle of a drug war, a mob business, the literal daughter of a king. Scott had that effect, his personality such a sweet refresher and such a contrast to every soul in the compound. 

Thor and Peter were also sweethearts and fun was always expected when they were around, but Scott had this different vibe. Maybe it was because he was relatively new, or that he had a child, or that he hadn’t suffered the same five years as everyone else did. Like he wasn’t yet tainted.  

“You guys mind if I run a job inside a job?”

Your head snapped up at Scott’s crazy question, “You stealing something?”

To run a job inside a job was risky. There was no exact plan to keep both missions balanced, to somehow rank the other more important. You prayed it wasn’t something insane. 

Scott chuckled under his breath, already grabbing his jacket and suitcase by the door. “No, I’m not stealing something. Hank needs me to speak to some guy he’s doing negotiations with about a space for a new lab headquarters.”

Steve tilted his head, “In Northern California?”

“Nah, the dude is vacationing out here for the time being. The lab will be in San Francisco again.”

You squinted at him, still cautious. “Where you meeting him?”

“Some nice Italian restaurant an hour out.”

Steve spoke before you did, similar thoughts running through his mind. “You check with Torres? We don’t know who might randomly show up there.”

Scott tried his best to reassure you, “Yeah, he said they’re following every car that leaves the premises and travels more than thirty minutes away. None of Ernesto’s men have been spotted further up north.”

You sighed. You didn’t want another member of your team to venture out in this area, let alone this goddamn state, without your eyes on them. You were protective, the proximity of your outside world with the one you had spent ten years building too suffocating of a reality. 

Still, you told Scott goodbye with a steady voice. “Then enjoy your dinner, Scott.”

His voice picked up again, that childish and upbeat feeling wrapping you around his finger. “You guys wanna come with? I’m sure you’re sick of icky hotel food.”

Steve waved him off, “It’s actually not that bad-”

“Breadsticks. Garlic pasta. More breadsticks.”

You laughed, “That sounds nice, Scott but we can stay here-”

“Three-cheese pastas.”

“Scott, you can try all you want but-”

“Unlimited breadsticks.”

You shared a look at Steve, puckering your lips at the suggestion. 

“.... We’ll sit far away from your table, okay?”

Scott opened the hotel door and started sprinting down the hallway. “I knew I could persuade you with that! C’mon!”

     California at night was a death trap. Potholes on every stretch of asphalt, construction halted for who knows how long, random opossums lingering in the shadows just waiting to get hit by tires. It was prettier during the day - less of a ‘lead me into this forest, yes, kill me’ vibe. 

You chilled in the backseat while Scott drove you guys to the restaurant. You had texted Bucky where you were planning to go, the message activating the group text chain. 

Peter: it’s Wednesday! Who died?

Wanda: she’s literally texting us

Peter: Y/N, you won???

Bucky: fuck do I owe the fucking spider money?

Peter: pay up dude

Y/N: tf Bucky? You bet against me?

      “You sure you two are good?”

The restaurant looked quiet considering it was a Wednesday night, but it was still crowded. There was a short line extending out the door and a… bouncer. You sucked in a breath and smacked Scott in the chest once you were out of the car. 

“Thought you said this was a restaurant?”

Scott rubbed his chest, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “Restaurant slash bar!”

“We eating with the Italian mob now? I can only handle one mob at a time, Scott.”

You nodded rapidly, pointing at Steve. “I agree with him!”

“Not every place has bad guys!”

You groaned and reluctantly stood at the back of line, pulling Steve’s hat lower on his forehead. It wasn’t like people couldn’t take one long, hard look at him and not know who he was, anyway. 

“Can you guys just… enjoy a night out?”

“While on a mission?”

“While living your long lives. God, Y/N, you getting old already?”

Your mouth dropped, “I’m twenty-six and I’m not complaining about a nice dinner, Scott.” You pointed at the bouncer. “I’m worried about the fact that our ID’s are gonna be checked.”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yeah, that.”

“Next.”

You shot Steve a worried look but handed the bouncer your driver’s license. He just looked at the date of birth and moved you along. “Next.”

Scott handed him his, doing his best to smile proudly while the bouncer scanned him up and down. “Next.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Scott joked, standing next to you in the far corner of the entrance. 

You rolled your eyes, “Wait.”

The bouncer took one look at Steve’s ID and gasped. Steve looked anywhere but the bouncer’s eyes, his bottom lip suffering the abuse of his incisors. 

“Cap-Captain?”

Steve gave a sheepish grin, lowering his cap further. “Uh, yeah.”

“Enjoying your day?”

You pinched your nose. 

“Would like it a lot more if you could lead us to a table with as much privacy as you can offer.”

You had to hand it to Steve for taking advantage of situations like this. 

The bouncer agreed immediately, speaking with the manager and promising discretion. The manager said it was no problem, that it was the least he could do for you guys after you brought his son back to him after those rough five years. 

The restaurant offered a somewhat real Italian setting, awarding their guests with as much real scenery and architecture it could. You could only compare it to the Venetian in Vegas as you had never actually been to Italy, but the live band and garlic smell was enough to transport you. 

The lights were low, older couples enjoying the food and wine, and there was a small bar near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t really a place for some shady business, but years of experience let you know that wasn’t always the case. It was second nature to eye women reaching into their purses, only to pull out a pack of gum. Second nature to wince at the sound of a loud laugh cutting through the quiet atmosphere. 

As promised, you were led to a more private area of the restaurant, closer to the bar than to the band. 

“Go run the job, Scott. We’ll just be enjoying our unlimited breadsticks,” you said, letting out a heavy and relaxed sigh as you settled into the private booth. 

“That hat isn't really hiding those broad shoulders, Cap,” Scott laughed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve slid into the same booth, ignoring the completely empty seat across from you. “Thanks, Scott. I’m aware.”

You tried to hide your blush as you squeezed deeper in your seat. Scott noticed though, side eyeing Steve who was none the wiser. “You know, I told him that he should have used those facial changing things SHIELD used to have.”

Steve grabbed the offered utensils and started unwrapping them from their napkins. 

“What are we if not superheroes who think a baseball cap and glasses hide our identities?” you teased, shooting Scott a quick wink. 

Steve answered almost triumphantly, “Uh, Superman?”

You giggled and grabbed the napkin he had unwrapped for you. “I’d argue Thor is more like Superman, but okay.”

“How am I not more like Superman? What-”

“Uh, guys? I see the dude so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy your meal,” Scott interrupted, running off to a booth located toward the middle of the restaurant. 

You sat for a few awkward moments before you squinted and looked at Steve, who was sitting to your left and way too close. “Are we annoying?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” you spoke with your hands, “you and I bicker a lot because we love to annoy each other but you think it gets on other people’s nerves?”

Steve chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with yours. “Do you really care if it does?”

That blush of yours was starting to feel warmer. “No, just wondering if you felt that way.”

He shrugged, “I quite like our relationship.”

“Oh,” you smiled, looking down at your lap.  “I quite liked it more a few years back but you know.” 

He immediately tensed, body leaning away from you as if you were burning him. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry, that was low.”

He sighed deeply, “No, I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

You took a risk and reached for his hand, squeezing gently. The kind gesture seemed to calm him, and he looked back at you. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

He accepted that, and handed you the menu. 

The hotel food was grand, it did its job of filling you up and providing the necessary nutrients, but there was just something about the carbs in pasta and bread. It ignited the food critic inside you, because now you were cursing the hotel chef and dreading having to order breakfast in the morning. No, dinner. You were having breakfast with your father tomorrow. 

Scott was busy conducting his own business, bluetooth turned off but still glancing over his shoulder once in a while to check on you guys. Each time he did, he felt butterflies flutter in his breadstick-filled stomach. It was the first time he had seen the two of you so carefree, let alone with each other, and it was the most refreshing thing in the world. 

Steve was in the middle of telling another childhood story, his main plate already finished and practically licked clean. But the unlimited breadsticks were coming out by the pound, a new stick in each of your hands every five minutes. 

“I swear, she loved Bucky more than me!”

You covered your mouth and chewed, careful to not let anything through because of your giggle fit. “Steve! Your mother did not!”

Steve wiped at his under eye, clutching his chest as he continued explaining. “Bucky was always around and my mom would just linger every second she wasn’t working!”

“Bet she loved him.”

“See?”

“No, I mean she must have loved him like her own! Bucky was your best friend, your only friend. She probably thought of him like an angel sent from God!” you clarified. 

Steve smiled wider at your cheesy explanation. They were happy memories, joyful ones that he would often think about while writing or drawing. 

He continued with a soft confession. “I really wish I could see her again.”

You leaned your temple on your palm, “From everything you’ve shared with me, she sounds lovely.”

“She would have loved you.” The blush was back, and so was Steve’s, almost like those words were supposed to be kept in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “God, she was so destroyed when Bucky first got his orders.”

“Was Bucky scared?”

“Scared? Absolutely fucking terrified. We talked about running away and changing our names so he didn’t have to go.”

The draft was such a horrible practice. The fact that men still had to enlist and hope no ‘necessary’ war was upon them. It was quite reassuring to know most of those men wouldn’t have to see battle today, they were given a choice, and there were agencies that managed people who could, like the Avengers. 

“Steve…”

Steve just hummed softly, “Life in the forties, am I right?

Your voice also got quieter. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, swallowing the last of his bread. “We tried. Got all the way to the edge of town before Bucky’s dad wrung us both back to kick our asses.”

Almost out of instinct, you gripped his hand again. You rubbed soothing circles into his knuckles, knuckles that hadn’t seen hand-to-hand combat in so long. There wasn’t much danger in the world nowadays, just small missions here and there. It wasn’t like the team was itching for another alien invasion. But these periods of well needed rest were odd, periods where bruises completely healed up and little pockets of weight were gained. Steve’s knuckles were soft, only having seen the ends of paintbrushes for a long while. 

 “...Where’s your mother?”

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you had to repeat the question in your own head a couple times. 

“It’s not a happy story.”

There wasn’t much of a story anyway. 

“But is it a story you need to get off your chest?”

Steve didn’t want to push too hard. The long pause in your relationship definitely didn’t soften this blow, and it only added to the strings of resistance. If you decided not to tell Steve about this, Steve would have to accept it. If anything, this was one of the toughest questions to ask someone when all you’ve been doing is ignoring them for two years. 

“Not really much to get rid of.”

He nodded, only a slight hint of disappointment laced within his words. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Natasha was the only one with any knowledge of your mom. There was never an actual moment in which you freely spoke of her - inserting her likeness, her person, back into some alternate and fucked-up reality - you kept her legacy dead. It was obvious she hadn’t enjoyed this part of her life, no doubt it absolutely killed her to leave you trapped in it, so keeping her dead, even in conversation, was a favor. 

But one drunken night and you were showing Natasha the one photo you had of her, stuffed deep in your wallet and crinkled beyond repair. Her black hair to her shoulders, lip liner a darker shade than her lipstick, hands intertwined behind her back as she arched forward in a playful tilt, shooting the camera a smile that was stuck around the word she was saying as the candid was taken. There was no recorded voice but you had a record of her movement, frozen in time.     

Steve’s sincerity grasped you by the literal roots of your hair, because next thing you knew you were spilling the first thought you had. 

“She was twenty-three. Working as a real estate agent, very beautiful, and she was engaged. To an American.”

Steve chuckled around his champagne glass, “Was that bad?”

You grinned at that, like he was already fully and deeply invested in your story. “Not necessarily. But everyone knew she was taken.”

“And your father?”

“He wanted to buy some houses. Saw her, wanted her, tried persuading her into going on a date. Nothing really worked, she didn’t accept his money or gifts.”

Steve fumbled over his next words. “Did she eventually?”

“No, but her brother did. My father didn’t know it was her brother, so he thought she was accepting them. Got mad when she still refused his advances.”

He was digesting this little by little. Steve had heard horror stories of girls he grew up with, forced to marry at a young age when they were caught in a passionate moment with a man, or when they ended up pregnant. Bucky and his mother had always instructed him to treat women with respect, to never intentionally or accidentally ruin their reputation, to protect and use his voice to stand up for them. And although women weren’t getting frisky with him when he was all but ninety pounds at the ripe age of twenty, that didn’t stop Steve from exchanging a few words and punches with men who had no right.  “How did they end up together?”

You shrugged, reaching over for another breadstick. “No one knows. He invited her to a party one day and she didn’t come back for a whole week. Next thing her family knows she’s engaged to my father and no longer with the love of her life.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, her family had no choice but to accept that. Her poor fiance, though.” 

“Where is he now?”

Steve had this weird hope that the fiance may still be alive somewhere, waiting for your mother to find him. But that was just the hopeless romantic emerging. 

You sighed deeply, “My father told my mother he killed him. My mother believed him.”

“So, he’s still alive? He didn’t hurt him?”

“Apparently he’s still kicking, yeah. But my mom became severely depressed from that lie.”

The restaurant felt colder and the air became thinner. Steve didn’t want his next thought to be true. “She didn’t...?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, she found out he was alive.” Even if you weren’t witness to it, you could still imagine your mother charting the areas she would have to run and swim through to get away. Wasn’t like it was a heartfelt thought, but the mere fact that she had that much determination to risk her life for love, it was somewhat therapeutic to think about. Like it was genuinely satisfying to imagine her defying your father. Still, your face drooped as you gave Steve the sad conclusion. “She didn’t even make it across the border before he had her killed for betraying him.”

His face fell in time with yours, “Fuck.”

“She left me with Maribel’s mother. But my father found me and told me she had an accident. Didn’t find out the truth until I was thirteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You shoved his shoulder with yours, a light chuckle cutting through the sad moment. “Not like you had a hand in this, Steve. It’s just my life.”

You were used to Steve’s generosity, his ability to make any person feel a part of his family - you had been on the receiving end of his sincerity for the past week now. But as you held his gaze, his body seemingly towering over yours, your chest flushed with such warmness, a tranquil promise of safety. He leaned forward, breath hitting your cheeks, hand still gripping yours. 

“Not anymore. We’ll end this, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll end this.”

You took a risk and rested your forehead on his, his continuous promise still causing your stomach to twist pleasurably. “How’d we get so sad all of a sudden?” You pushed away and threw your arms in the air. “We need more breadsticks!”

Steve laughed loudly, the private booth still providing somewhat of a thin curtain to the other diners. “No, we need mints!”

Rolling your eyes, you blew your breath at Steve teasingly. “Weak.”

Steve groaned, “You and Scott are not getting into the car without chewing on a mint.”

“You got a thing against bad breath?”

“Take the mint.”

“I’m gonna fight you if you force the mint on me.”

He was reaching into his jacket and pulling the small case out. He winked at you. “I’ll win.”

He popped open the cap and held it out to you. He didn’t tip it though, as if he was waiting for you to extend your palm. Everything was silent for a minute, eyes challenging one another. 

He could easily lean in. He could easily just tilt his head a little to his left and capture your lips with his. Every damn molecule in his body was telling him to do it, every bubble from that champagne somehow giving him some extra courage. 

Your breath hitched slightly, and he leaned away. I’m such a coward, he thought.

You reacted swiftly, disguising the awkwardness. “You’re right, give me the mint. You should swallow like three.”

Steve snickered, “You ruined the moment.”

But you didn’t ruin the moment. And he just blamed you for it. Like he had already established - he was a coward. 

You grabbed the mints he offered and popped them into your mouth. “What moment? I didn’t see any moment.”

Okay, he could just lean in right now and hope the mint freshness in your mouth would mask the garlic in his. Yeah, he could just lean in and do what he’s been thinking of doing for the last day and a half-

“Hey, you guys finished? Getting dessert?”

Steve almost shot from his seat, “Jesus fucking christ, Scott!”

Scott slid into the seat across from you. “You scare easily. Let’s get dessert!” 

You were too flustered. Fine, okay. You’ll play along. If the gods want to reward you with this fun Steve, the Steve you were closest to years ago, then so be it. You’ll bite. And if he wants to resort back to his bitchy self, his hermit behavior, then you’ll fight him then. 

Scott ordered so much dessert. 

So much. 

The little moment you had with Steve was still fresh, you could sense he was thinking about it too, but you opted to simply enjoy the night out. You were here with two friends, protection was just a phone call away, and you were safe. 

Perhaps Scott had the same effect on Steve that he had on you. Absolutely demolished his ‘Captain’ self and released the guy who simply wanted to enjoy a mini road trip with his friends. 

     You were barely fifteen minutes into your ride home when Scott lowered the windows and turned the radio up high. 

“Woohoo!”

You screamed over the loud roar of the wind, “Scott, it’s fucking freezing!”

Scott yelled back, “We just had three desserts each! Your blood should be running warm!”

You blinked away the dryness, “Dude!”

Steve, surprisingly, agreed with Scott. “Enjoy it!”

Your mouth dropped open and you followed Steve’s movements as he turned the radio higher. 

The music blared and you were about to protest again, the air literally nipping at your sensitive cheeks, but the song that started was a non-skip. 

You would indulge in this childishness once. 

Once. 

You reached around the passenger seat and gripped Steve’s shoulders, shaking him in place. “Ah, California radio giving us the classics!”

Scott leaned over and turned it up higher. 

You swayed in your seat and sang along with Scott. “Bidi bidi bom bom!”

Scott pointed at you and recited the lyrics, “Bidi, bidi!”

Both of you sang, “Bom!”

Even with his eyes on the road, Scott was nailing some good dance moves in his seat. You both sang each lyric with your heart and soul, laughs escaping during the guitar breaks. 

Steve just enjoyed the show. He didn’t know the song, the melody a foreign one for him, but it must have been popular for both you and Scott to know it. He watched you sway in your seat, hands dancing and voice matching the volume of the radio. Just the other night, you had mentioned how you never sang anymore.

But here you were, singing through the most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen. 

He missed the sound of it. He missed hearing you sing in your room, no doubt you were dancing too since he usually heard your feet shuffling against your carpet. He missed the innocence you would casually portray, an invitation for anyone to befriend you. He missed teasing you lightly, and he regretted the roughness of his voice years later. He missed just walking into the common area and finding you there, cooking for yourself and anyone who wanted a plate - that plate usually for him. He missed you. 

You were right here, voice hitting those octaves Steve didn’t think he would ever hear again. You were right here, and he missed you. 

      Scott was staying in a separate room. The dessert and alcohol had run right through him, and he bid you goodnight after he threatened to plop down in your bed if you invited him in. 

The sound of Scott’s retreating footsteps seemed to suck all the air from the vents at once, whispering its song lovingly in your ear. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be left alone because now here you were, standing outside your hotel door with the super soldier you had gone to Hell and back with. 

You inwardly cringed, the tightness in your chest sending your childish ass back to sophomore year of college. A first date, the lost promise of another - a proper teenage reaction to a crush. But this man in front of you wouldn’t let you delete his number from your phone; he wouldn’t avoid eye contact in the dining hall; he wouldn’t sit at the back of the lecture hall just to keep a necessary distance. 

Granted, Elijah - poor, frightened Elijah - had seen you literally kidnap someone off the street under your father’s orders. This being before you went straight and moral, before you had met Fury, before SHIELD training. You were to blame for that sprouting relationship going south pretty quickly. So you avoided him, too - praying Ernesto or Seda could never track him. 

But Steve, beautiful Steve who reloaded your guns when you couldn’t, who jumped in front of stray bullets for you and those he loved, Steve who very quietly asked you for various salsa recipes when he was in the mood to cook. Here he was, eyes also watching Scott walk away, no doubt experiencing the same tight coil within his chest. He hadn’t run, he had worked and fought with and against you, and he wasn’t running away. 

No, Steve Rogers never ran. 

The low beep from the hotel lock snapped you from your thoughts. You sensed his hesitance because when your history was truly reviewed with the most unbiased of minds, there was absolutely no reason to overthink. Hell, when you ran through the halls of Thor’s Asgardian palace with Rocket tailing you, the first joke out your mouth was how Steve would probably instruct you to respect a place like that and speed walk. Your first thought when starting the pilot episode of a new show is to wait for Bucky… and Steve, who would pop the kernels over the stove and add real salt and butter. 

His first thought as he helped load people onto the planes in Sokovia was that your whiny ass better be on one of them. Or when Steve regrouped in the support circle, his first thought before he continued the discussion was that he really hoped you would walk through those doors and join - until one day you did. 

Whether the two of you recognized the severity of your unspoken feelings, they were there. Silent and at a gradual increase. Never rushed, not entirely obvious because of the temporary roadblocks of unnecessary separation. 

Steve was here in front of you, like he always was, and he was wearing the smallest nervous smile you had ever seen.  

And you were here in front of him, like you always were, and he could not entirely read the mixed emotions on your delicate face. 

You shuffled alongside your bed, stopping to shrug out of the heavy jacket you had on. “We should turn in early so we can be well-rested, in case we gotta fight tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement but remained silent, hovering near the coffee table and monitors. Your back was facing him and he just watched you fumble with your boots and belt. It was like your back was on fire, bursting with fueled flames as you could literally feel his gaze boring into you. The overwhelming urge to simply snap and ask him what the hell he was looking at was strong, so in character, but you refrained. It was too intimate, too quiet, but before you could even ask him if he wanted the shower first, the warmth of his chest was near, inches away and calling. 

Your breath hitched, shoulders rising slightly and exactly what Steve needed to witness. It was awkward for him to just stand behind you with no actual intention of touching you first - no, he needed a proper signal. So Steve waited those few precious seconds more until you turned, sun-kissed by the California sun and hair no longer in tight curls, before he glanced down at your glossy lips. You followed his eyesight, all knowing in his intentions, and you glanced at his lips as well. 

A gesture of approval. 

Steve pulled you in, both hands settling on your cheeks, thumbs exploring the corners of your mouth. He watched them dance and how your mouth parted slightly in response. He looked back up, studying the small crease forming in between your eyebrows and the pinch of water filling the inside corners of your eyes.

His thumbs felt like a gentle sigh, a promise of a sweet caress in both the daytime and dead of night. Although all his focus was on you, his own features reacted to the moment. His lips were also parted, sweet breath with the scent of those classic tiramisu’s he had devoured, touching the tip of your nose and equally trembling lips. 

So goddamn intimate that you found yourself internally cursing those sitcoms Wanda had forced you to binge watch. Because the two love interests, albeit they had several months or years of growing tension, rushed into their first kiss for the sake of limited airtime. They didn’t prepare you for practically a ten-year build-up, a relationship that was both heavily work and friend related, the slowness of such a moment fans would most certainly be jumping out of their seats for. No, nothing could have prepared you for the warmth of Steve Rogers. 

Your Captain. 

You registered the soft feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours, overlapped only slightly. Eyes now fully closed in surprise and pleasure, you leaned into it more, hands placed on Steve’s rising chest. The squeeze of his hands cupping your cheeks caused your lips to pucker more, but you were relaxed in his desperate touch. He tilted his head a little to the left, your lips sliding against each other’s and noses bumping. Steve frowned in concentration, pouring whatever emotions he had felt throughout the last few years into this one kiss, and he knew he couldn’t possibly fully portray them. And almost as quickly as you thought about how sweet and innocent of a kiss this was, Steve’s tongue slowly peaked out from behind his teeth and greeted your bottom lip. 

His tongue traced over your bottom lip warmly, welcomed by yours as you followed his lead. God, you would always follow his lead. 

You tried to move in closer, but your elbows were already bent fully against him and his hips were only a few inches from your greedy ones. One tiny step forward and you would be completely flushed against him - but you chose to respect the distance Steve created. 

You let out a quiet whine, body shuddering as Steve applied more pressure. It was as if Steve had never heard such a sound - completely unexpected and causing him to pause momentarily. He leaned away a little, lips still barely kissing yours. He opened his eyes, gaze wandering from your flushed cheeks still squeezed between his palms and to your fluttering eyelids. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he debated leaning forward again, to be selfish for once and to pass forth the trophy for ‘waiting too long’. But as you opened your eyes, no trace of regret or hate swimming inside your irises, Steve froze. 

You were his friend. His friend who teased him about the paint streaks across his forehead, who followed his lead no matter how ridiculous the order. 

He didn’t want you to inspect him further as well, so he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. It was only then that he felt you settle back down from your tippy-toes. 

You gulped loudly, throat dry and lips instantly craving him again. “Steve…”

Steve let go of your face and dragged his hands lightly down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head slightly, his breath now kissing your cheek. Although your cheeks were red, the absence of Steve’s palms made them cold. 

He took a small step back, hands straining to stay on your skin as he reluctantly pulled them away. The absence of any warmth finally woke you from that intense daze and you frowned at Steve as he pulled away altogether. The instinct to reach out was there, and you cursed yourself for being so clingy. 

“Steve?” you called again, voice hoarse but light enough to pinch at Steve’s fast beating heart. 

He looked up and locked eyes with your confused ones. Oh, you’re gonna hate him for this. 

He gave you a small and kind smile, one you had seen plenty of times when he was actually enjoying your company. He backed up to the door, gaze never leaving yours even as he reached for the handle and key card. 

And he wanted to bring his hands back to your face to rub away that wrinkle between your furrowing eyebrows. But he simply opened the door and left you standing near the edge of your bed, flushed with a deep sense of longing and growing confusion. 

Steve already knew the amount of heat he would receive from the moment gossip of the kiss spread. Whether he was first to tell or you were. Bucky’s going to kick his ass, for sure, no doubt about it. No matter his bond with Bucky, it could never excuse leaving you alone to unravel this situation. You had this hold over Bucky, a soft mutual understanding of mental torture, so this inevitable ass kicking would be justified. Plus, after years of being rejected over and over, mostly in the forties, Bucky might just kick his ass for simply being a dumbass. 

But Steve felt calm, an added relaxation due to the whiskey cooling in his hand. If there was anything Steve was an expert in, it was overthinking. You two had that in common - were you overthinking while absentmindedly watching TV? Overthinking while rubbing shampoo into your scalp? Overthinking while angrily stomping your way down to the hotel bar to hand his ass back over to him?

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see you burst through the doors. 

      “Anyone wanna start?”

Steve glanced around the circle of familiar and new faces. The group varied each week. Some people would try, share their anecdotes about lost loved ones, only to never show up for another session. Others often attended and never spoke, but they kept returning. Steve didn’t judge their choices - he couldn’t. No matter how many mornings he wanted to crawl back under the sheets and binge eat packaged foods, he never could. He had been at this job for two years. There was both pain and satisfaction in what he did. Sam would be doing this if he were here. 

And he had to do this for Sam. 

“My divorce was finalized yesterday.”

Steve looked over at the man who spoke first, a long-time member of this particular support group, and grimaced at his confession. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty, no wrinkles or gray hair, and he was ending a two-year marriage. 

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

The man, Michael, shrugged sadly, “We still love each other, man. But seeing your newborn disintegrate in your arms does something to your soul that’s just… we both knew we needed to move on. Even if it was from each other.”

Steve squeezed the small, red stress ball in his hand and tried to offer more condolences and a kind smile, but it came out rather painful. He opted to stay silent in case Michael wanted to continue. Instead, another member decided to comment. 

It went like this for almost an hour with Steve adding in his empathetic words of wisdom whenever he saw appropriate. It was good for everyone to share so openly, to carry the conversation with minimal involvement from Steve. Steve had shared snippets of his story with the group awhile back, careful to not mention the gruesome specifics. He had let out as much as he was able, not as much as he would have liked, but his main job was to facilitate. Besides, Steve went to confession every month to talk to someone - anyone - even if he wasn’t necessarily Catholic. But that’s just the thing - no one knew who they were anymore. 

The sound of a scraping chair leg caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to the entrance in search of the disruption. You paused in your movements, face scrunched in embarrassment. Opening one eye, you mouthed a quick apology and rushed to carry the chair to the circle. 

“I’m sorry I’m late. Subway was a bitch,” you muttered, your embarrassed smile growing wider. 

For over a year, Steve had subtly urged you to attend one of these meetings. He was witness to your nightmares, your destructive solo missions that even Friday had no records of, and your sudden breakdown last week. You were casually jogging around the outdoor track when you suddenly stopped and fell to your knees, broken sobs seeming to shake the trees around you. You were crouched for a good minute before Steve had seen you wipe your eyes and continue your jog. As if nothing happened. 

To see you here, whether to share or to listen, prompted the proud and erratic beating of Steve’s heart. 

“It’s completely fine. Time’s almost up but we still got time for you.”

You sent Steve a funny smile, amused by his professional tone. “Uh, yeah! A friend convinced me to come. He was pretty persuasive.”

Steve blushed, head tilting downward. 

You introduced yourself and let the group know you were also an Avenger. No one seemed shocked and you were suddenly grateful for this mixture of people. 

Steve sat and listened, his nerves settling. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” you started, thumbs dancing in your lap. “And I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

Steve sat up straight, eyebrows scrunching as he listened intently. 

You sighed, wetting your lips briefly. “The day before the snap, I was supposed to die.”

You wanted to avoid Steve’s gaze until the right moment. You continued, “I went on a mission to Mexico. Alone, which was completely against protocol but hey, we broke a lot more rules than that.”

Steve cleared his throat which earned a chorus of chuckles from the group. 

“And I was technically on house arrest but I found out a way to temporarily disable that ankle monitor,” you added, grinning from the laughs you were receiving. 

“Anyway, all my potential backup was nonexistent. I had friends on the run,” you paused, glancing at Steve with a somber expression. “And other friends literally fighting another battle on their home planet somewhere in space. So, I went alone.”

“While I was bleeding out from a bullet my own father ordered, Tony was already up in space. Loki was already dead.”

You hoped no one commented on Loki’s role in your life. He wasn’t exactly a nice figure to suddenly name drop in New York, but he was important in your grief. 

It was slightly unnerving to be on display here, but you weren’t exactly planning on returning. You just needed to rant. 

“I stitched myself up the best I could in that quinjet - which I almost crashed,” you muttered, smirking at Steve. “Sorry, Cap.”

“This is the first time I've heard you flew. You’re not even authorized to fly,” Steve declared, face scrunched in confusion and astonishment. 

“That’s not important,” you teased. “But the stitches were messy work. Horrible criss-crosses.”

Steve was in a tiny state of shock. He had known what happened to you, but to hear you talk so casually about the day before the world went to shit - it just made it more real. 

You had mentioned before that you never dreamed about the snap, but about everything leading up to it. 

“I woke up, betrayed yet again by my own blood, and Steve was suddenly there after two years. We were gonna fight an outside threat.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed lightly, “I was still healing but I was on the battlefield. Stayed close to Nat most of the time.”

The group was heavily invested in your retelling. “I couldn’t fight him, obviously. But I did see him. I saw how he ripped that stone from my friend’s head.”

A few winces sounded around the circle. 

“I guess I feel immense guilt. Like, I could have done something more even though realistically, I couldn’t. Kinda feels like I sat back and watched my friend’s die.”

No one spoke, but it was obvious everyone had survivor’s guilt. 

“And now, I’m living with the pain of having all three of my best friends stripped from me while also celebrating the fact that the snap took my father.”

Shrugging, you gave your last sad smile to the group. “I feel guilty for what happened while also being grateful it took someone who deserved it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve spoke. “You’re here today to tell your story. No one has to agree or disagree with you. It’s your story. Tell it like it is.”

You chuckled, “I could easily bother Steve with this at the compound.” You smiled at the teenager clutching what looked like a stuffed animal in his lap. “But I had nothing else to do tonight. My only friends are gone.”

“You and Steve aren’t friends?”

This time it was Michael that spoke, his eyes bouncing from you to Steve. You turned to Steve for some kind of answer. Was it a yes? Were you more like coworkers than true friends? 

Steve’s eyes softened and his kind smile was back. 

You answered, “I guess. I did come here for him.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kept his light-hearted tone, “I’m really glad you did.” 

Steve backtracked, clearing his throat as he addressed the circle. “I’m really glad all of you did. Same time next week.”

You busied yourself with stacking the chairs and dusting off your pants. Once most of the group had left, Steve gathered his things and walked over to you. “You take the subway?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and you stacked the final chair high. “I did. You drive?”

Steve hummed in response, “Want a lift?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not staying at your place tonight?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen Nat in a week. I should pay her a visit.”

He curled his jacket around your shoulders as you exited the building. You held it tightly, relishing in the comfort. The walk back to the car was quiet but not awkward. After such a heavy night, silence was most definitely needed. And just the comfort of being around someone you trusted added to the relaxation aspect of it all. 

Steve kicked a loose piece of gravel to the street. You watched him for a few seconds before you spoke, voice light and a puff of cold air escaping your lips. 

“Steve?” 

He turned to you and waited for you to continue speaking. 

“You know Sam would be so proud of you doing this, right?”

Steve watched the cold air leave his own lungs as well. He felt the weight of that statement pressing down on his shoulders as he looked up at the dark sky. “I know.”

     Steve knew he was utterly fucked, so fucked that any line that had been established was stepped over and kicked a thousand yards back. His mind was made up, he would not run, he would not succumb to some former mindset 2016 Steve would have fallen victim to. He was a new person, a completely different person than he was out of the ice and after the snap. He deserved to cross the line, he deserved whatever happiness was afforded to him - he deserved comfort in the arms of another after years of denying himself. 

He downed the rest of his drink with a loud gulp, mind made up, and headed back to your room. 

    It was best to just pretend it never happened… no? But did you want to pretend it never did? So many moments over the years where this could have happened, where either of you could have literally just said ‘fuck it’. As overthinking was a specialty, quite a useless skill, you thought about the countless fights you had. 

Red in the face, hands clenched until nails imprinted little crescents, absolutely seething at the mouth. Some of the things you would yell were vile, none at all honest but with the intent to cause pain for only a moment, and mumbled apologies later. You were literally enemies for these past two, long years. Enemies who had to be seated and scolded, tricked into accepting defeat and living as teammates once more. 

Perhaps one of those arguments could have been remedied by simply leaning in like you had tonight, by throwing each other against the wall, by pulling the roots of your hair as he tugged-

Nope. 

Nope. 

No matter how much tension you were now realizing you had for this man, tension that could literally be fucked out, wasn’t it too late to act on it? You couldn’t pinpoint the chance you maybe had and missed. 

Steve walked through the door in the middle of your rapid brainstorming. He just grinned sweetly and slipped into the bathroom. 

As simple as that. 

Now you couldn’t discern between the feelings of wanting to fight him or fuck him. Not being able to differentiate between them ignited a sour mood, and once he stepped out from the shower, you basically pushed him to the side to lock yourself in. 

Even the warm water hitting your body couldn’t alleviate the pressure of overthinking. You disregarded your hair tonight and instead just washed your body. As quick as you could jump back out and go to bed, the better.  

Sucking in a deep breath, you opened the door and shut off the bathroom light. Your eyes landed on Steve’s torso, shirtless and the only thing not covered by the white blanket. He hadn’t shaved his beard either, the length evident when he kissed you earlier. It felt wrong and right at the same time, a battle that you seriously did not want to deal with. To get involved with your mission partner was dangerous - not because Steve himself was dangerous, but because it was a giant distraction. A distraction that you couldn’t afford. 

But as he put down his book and lay it in his lap, looking up to look at you through hooded eyes, sleepy but alert, the ‘danger’ was nothing but enticing. 

You cleared your throat and padded down your pajama shorts absentmindedly, slinging your hair over one shoulder and focusing on plugging your charger into your phone. It was so silent besides your pitter-patter, and god, did Steve find that sound so relaxing, until you climbed into bed. Once your shuffling was done, the slight buzzing of Steve’s desk lamp drowned out all your other senses. And the longer it was heard, the more it sounded like a ticking clock. 

Steve shut the lamp off, the only light now illuminating your figure from outside. He studied your breathing, watching how every so often you would bring your hand up to scratch your cheek or move a stray hair. You looked so gentle, so inviting, so small. 

You were turned away from him and facing the wall, eyes shut as you listened to his movements. There was a small part of you that wanted to stay up all night talking, to lean on his shoulder and simply feel his warmth, to feel that beard against your cheek one more time. As quickly as those thoughts flashed through your mind did you scold yourself, that this was inappropriate and wrong and so dangerous. 

You felt a dip in your bed, heavy and unsure, a lift of your blankets, and it happened so quickly that you could have sworn you dreamt it. Steve wrapped his arm around you, his broad chest pressed tightly against your back and his lips attacked the skin just below your earlobe. Your breath hitched, eyes shot open, and your hands reached up to grip his wrist. Steve stilled. 

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, lips hovering over your blushing skin and breath practically blistering. You could feel him now, hard and pulsing against your ass and ready to move. You felt dizzy, overcome with such a rush of desire that you couldn’t help but stiffen in his tight grasp. 

“Don’t,” you choked out, feeling his body become rigid and his breath begin to quicken. 

“I’m sorry I-” he began to move away from you, voice no longer a whisper and tainted with panic. 

“No,” you pulled back, tilting your head up to lock eyes with him. You brought your arm up to grasp the back of his head, and you tugged it back to your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked. “Fuck,” he groaned, continuing the attack on your neck. But he gained momentum now, arm squeezing you against him tighter, and voice cracking as he moaned your name. 

“Steve, please do something.”

Your hands found their way back to his arm, gripping it tightly as he fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. He played with it, teasing in his actions, almost as punishment for the years you tormented him with your attitude. His lips pressed harder now, finding each patch of available skin on your neck and flushed cheek, and Steve has never felt so aroused in his life. He wasn’t even inside you, but the quick gasps he heard from you did plenty in aiding the rush of blood from his head to his stiffening cock. 

“Tell me what you want. Please, tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he moaned, the slightest experimental role of the hips causing you to whimper. 

“Touch me,” you practically sobbed, rolling your hips back against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt all of him.  

And just like that, he gave you what you asked for. He gripped your hip and shoved you closer to him, hot and ready and pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into you, little whimpers of his own touching your sensitive ear. He quickened his pace and he found it hard to think straight when the scrunch of pleasure all over your face, making you look so willing, was all he was focused on. He focused on the way you bit your lip, a bite and then a gasp, and then you were back to biting as if you were trying to restrain any higher moan. And even with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he could see the sun-kissed color of your skin and the bruising he was causing. He kept his mouth on you as he rocked himself against you, indulging in a few more selfish seconds of pleasure before becoming his generous self. 

He dipped his hand into your shorts and found the sweet nub that so desperately needed attention. His brain almost short circuited, the feeling of his fingers finally sliding into your wet lips making his throat dry. He drew little but skilled circles, each twirl of his index and middle finger in unison with the grind of his hips. Your mouth fell open by such pleasure, and you braced yourself by placing your left palm on the mattress and pressed down, nails scratching the cotton fabric and alerting Steve of your excitement. You pushed back against him, timed and in perfect harmony. 

You knew the room wasn’t on fire, but even if it was you didn’t think to check. 

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. Keep talking to me,” Steve begged, each rotation of his hips gaining pressure. His eagerness prompted you to reach back up and grab him by the hair, yanking his head to your tilted one and smashing his lips against yours. Steve gasped at the pleasant sting, somewhat surprised with himself that he liked that form of roughness. But who was he to judge his kinks when the tip of your nose was turning redder, the blush in your cheeks mixed with barely visible silver droplets of sweat, and a purple outline was beginning to form on your plump upper lip? 

The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, but still beneficial in getting Steve to rut against you even harder. 

He could so easily pull your shorts down and enter you, and if he was anything like he felt, then you knew it would sting. But you craved that sting and stretch, the thought of him inside you causing another gush of desire to leak from you. Steve dipped his finger deeper into you only to accumulate your juices and spread them higher. He went back to rubbing expertly, actions gaining speed to match your whimpers. 

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned louder, and you swore you felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You pressed back harder, his hand rubbing and pressing down on your stomach simultaneously. Your head felt cloudy, the pleasure coursing through your veins and to the very tips of your toes. “Oh, my fuck.”

Steve paused his fingers to trail his hand back up your stomach and to your breasts, pulling your tank top down to spill them. The sounds leaving your throat set him on fire, desire pulsing everywhere - his head, his heart, his aching cock that was pressed so closely against you that he could feel you vibrating. He pinched your nipple and rolled it, closing his eyes in response to your dirty purrs. “Let me make you come, doll.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” you quipped, ass tilting at an angle that caused Steve to choke. He growled from the attitude he couldn’t believe you still fucking had during a moment like this and kissed you roughly, both your broken moans molding into one. His hand returned to your shorts. 

“Do that again,” he begged, hitching his leg up to rest on yours. The angle allowed him to drive his hips even harder. You maneuvered to provide the same tilt, grinning at the pleasurable cries that left your Captain’s mouth. 

“I think I’m gonna make you come first,” you chuckled and took his bottom lip between your teeth. You pulled lightly, concentration still in the circle of your hips. He looked back down at you, determination and undeniable lust in his eyes. He thrust his aching cock against you, sliding himself over your ass. He did it hard but slow, the pressure applied giving the head of his cock such a sweet squeeze as he bumped it against the curve of your lumbar spine. 

The heavy duvet was abandoned now, cold air from the hotel air conditioner failing in cooling you down at all. You both had a thin sheet of sweat on your clothed bodies, goosebumps standing proudly, and lips all plump and red from your harsh kissing. 

Steve held you so close, so tight, and his fingers were drawing such rushed and tiny circles that you swore his wrist had to be cramping up. But the sound of both your whimpers started to mesh together, alerting you of such a sweet climax up ahead. 

“Steve, fuck, fuck, ohh,” you mewled, voice now high pitched and yes, it turned Steve on incredibly but it also fueled you. Your pornographic moans ignited an even deeper desire within you, just the true fact that Steve was touching you, Steve was getting you to make these sounds, Steve is actually hearing these sounds, Steve is making the same exact sounds. 

 “I-, please, come for me,” Steve pleaded, cock twitching with each thrust as he neared his end. “Make me come.”

His begging, his equally high voice, his skilled fingers rubbing rapidly and the slight pain from that, his breath burning your neck, were all too powerful, their combinations causing the fire in your core to explode and make you see white in a flash, black dots later clouding your vision. Your nails dug into his moving arm, crescents branded into him. You clenched around nothing, walls fluttering and thighs shaking as they pressed around his hand and fingers. 

The inappropriate squelching sound of your juices spreading as your thighs clenched around his cramping fingers, the slide so sensual and dirty, had Steve rutting against you one, two, three more times before he came in hard but long spurts. His mouth hung open, breath still fanning your neck, and his eyes were so tightly shut that the force was enough to strain them. 

“Oh, fuuuck, yes, yes!” Steve groaned, his body taking longer than usual to recover. His orgasm was powerful, more powerful than when he got himself off in the shower or in the comfort of his bed at night, and he knew it was because you clouded his senses. Of course, there was an added benefit to getting off with someone else, aiding that person in the same endeavor, but because it was you, it made the climax even more forceful, more intense. The whole situation was both unexpected and calculated, gentle and rough, and Steve’s heart was beating so fast by the thought of what just occurred that he found himself wanting to spill into you all night long, and to apologize for overstepping an unspoken boundary. 

You could feel the wetness of both your own release and Steve’s, head still cloudy from such a sharp orgasm. You hummed in satisfaction, reaching your arm over once again to lift his head up by his hair. He hissed at the pull now, his body all fucked out and satisfied. “You good?”

Steve gave you a lazy smile, chest heaving in unison with yours. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good.”

Steve scanned your face for any regret just in case your words held other meaning, but all he could see was your satisfied expression, cheeks still flushed pink, hair tangled, and pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and connected your lips, molding his with yours slowly and chastely. You both sighed at the feeling, highs now lowering and the coldness from the air conditioner causing a different set of goosebumps to appear. Steve pulled away, giving you one last peck as if testing the waters, and rested his forehead against yours. You both relished your post-orgasm bliss for a few silent minutes before cleaning up. 

You shared playful shoves as you cleaned up. It was almost innocent, a huge contrast to the sinful activities you two had just committed, but there was a genuine feeling of understanding in the room. Your heart clenched at the simple sight of Steve washing his hands, eyes meeting his in the mirror, a soft look in his that startled you. 

You gave him a smile so as to not alert him of your reaction, and exited the bathroom to climb back into bed. You drew the heavy duvet back over your body and cuddled in it deeply, chin hidden underneath and back facing Steve’s bed. It was a few more minutes before Steve came back into the room, shutting the light off, and looking at your resting form. He wanted to climb back in with you and hold you innocently, to have the feeling of your warm back against his broad chest, gentle exhales tickling the arm that would wrap around you. But he just looked back and forth from your bed and his, and he decided to not push the boundary further. He hesitated with this decision, but climbed into his own bed, the feeling of his cold sheets making him immediately regret it. He shuffled silently, his body facing yours. 

You wanted to lay beside him too. But whether you were making a smart decision or an absurd, cowardly one, one thing was certain: you could no longer ignore the stacking of such emotions you had for this man. 

It almost angered you, how much you denied yourself of even a simple crush for literally ten years, and it made you mad at Steve, too. Because if he hadn’t pushed you away, then maybe you could have accepted this sooner. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[eatsbop]

Hello bop, please continue your story after Hobin-Bomi wedding. It's so funny asdfghjkl. (especially the taekwondo-karate rivalry part)

By and by they finally convinced Munseong and Taehoon to walk the aisle together. Bespectacled Ji Yeonwoo marching in the room with cold murder in his eyes was all the push they needed.

The ceremony went smoothly after that hiccup. Hobin was so happy he could die but he's had enough tragedy in his life so let's not kill him off like that.

The wedding reception afterwards was just as beautiful as the ceremony.. and without tall people bickering and causing a delay too.. so you could say it was actually better. Like. I don't know about you, homies.. but anything involving food is sexy in my eyes, ahem. Moving along.

There were tears, there were laughter, there were a great many emotions felt throughout the party.. but even greater amount of alcohol consumed. Then a tremendous halt fell upon the cheer. It was time for the bouquet toss.

Now, Yoo Hobin and his friends thrive on fights for survival. No, actually Hobin wants to avoid any fight during his and Bomi's big day. So instead of a regular toss they figured they needed something to settle this dispute quietly. Or at least nonviolently.

First, contenders - I mean, the bachelors and bachelorettes - were selected. Then they were divided into two groups. These two groups are going to battle it out in a good old quiz competition. That's right. Quizzes.

"We can avoid punches this way, right?" Hobin had asked their wedding planner.

"We should have medics on standby, sir. Erh. Just in case.."

Whichever group wins will be declared People with 110% Chance of Getting Happily Married. Losers? People Most Likely to Stay Single Forever and Ever. Life is cruel, children.. I'm taking y'all with me..

"The fuck is this? Can't you just throw the damn bouquet?!" Taehoon gripes, antsy to finish off the entire bar.

"That's easy for you to say when you have the advantage." Jihyeok sulks next to him.

"Like I'd want anything to do with a fucking bouquet?! Take it for all I care!"

Jihyeok sighs. "Then kick Ji Yeonwoo for me, Master Seong! No way I can beat the guy."

Gyeoul moves close to Rumi. "Unnie.. aren't girls supposed to be in the toss in the first place?"

"Oh. Yes.."

Eul scoffs. "In a backwards society maybe! This is what you call equality. If you take on Mangi, I'll find a way to trick Ji Yeonwoo. How about that, Gyeoul? Then we'll decide between the two of us."

Gyeoul glances at Rumi, then her fidgeting brother, before beaming back at Gaeul. "Call!"

"Uh.. they're going through the game. There's no need for a war tactic.."

Gyeoul and Eul hung their heads dejectedly.

The groups were decided. Rumi, Gyeoul, Jihyeok and Yeonwoo in Team Bombom. Taehoon, Eul, Munseong, Mangi and Wanguk in Team Bibin. No one cared that Bibin has an extra member. Ji Yeonwoo has more brain power than an entire congressional assembly. Jihyeok could have died of happiness but no, he won't. He actually has a chance to get married after all.

The game commenced. Each round was hard-fought. Tears were shed once again, mostly Jihyeok's and Mangi's. Is Team Bibin even trying? Mangi pleaded to his teammates, "Guys, please. Don't take my one chance. Please. Pleeeease..." and Eul, who had given up earlier (being stuck with a bunch of knuckleheads), took pity on him.

"Master, are we really going to lose against Karate?"

That flipped a switched in Taehoon's brain.

"Wanguk-ssi! It wouldn't really leave a good impression on Rumi-unnie if you lose here! She likes a capable man!"

That flipped a switch in Wanguk's brain.

"Munseong-oppa.."

"..what is it?" An enormous cloud or sadness.

"Erh. Maybe.. uh.. maybe they.." Gaeul crosses her fingers behind her back. "They'll get a divorce?"

That slightly lifted Munseong's spirit.

Mangi shared a grateful and tearful fistbump with Eul.

Somehow Team Bibin caught up with Team Bombom. Maybe they grew a brain cell with adrenaline, who knows man. Tf is this story. I'm just here in the waiting room writing this in my phone someone give me breakfast lmao.

Surprisingly for everyone, the game had to be settled with a tiebreaker. The audience, the newlyweds, and most specially the players held their breaths as the game host called the names for the tiebreaker match.

"Taehoon-ssi and Yeonwoo-ssi, please step up."

Mangi wails but Gaeul quickly covers his mouth. "Master Seong, you got this! Taekwondo number one!"

"Alright, players! The category for this question is.. math."

"You fuckers, just say you want to curse us to eternal singlehood!" Taehoon's cool completely flew out of the window.

Mangi burst to tears.

Yeonwoo barely managed to keep himself from grinning from ear to ear.

"You can do it, Taehoon-ah!" Wanguk suddenly calls.

Munseong looks at him, bewildered. Everyone did.

"Ah.. he's kind of got.. a cute side to him? He reminds me of my sister.."

Munseong scrunches his nose up. "Do you secretly hate her or something.."

"Listen up, players. Here is your question. Find the value of x in 107x - 102345x * 4588x + 117625x * 11342x + 133x.." The host drones.

"The fuck language are you speaking?!" Taehoon sputters indignantly, slamming his fist on their team's table and accidentally triggering the buzzer.

"Uh." Taehoon blinks as all eyes turn to him.

"You have ten seconds to answer, Taehoon-ssi. Starting now.."

"Eh? Wha-"

"You can do it, Master!"

"Go for it, Taehoon-ah!"

Team Bibin went completely apeshit. Even Munseong was roped into cheering.

"I don't- What- You haven't even finished the ques- 69?!"

Mangi fainted instantly.

"You're seriously going to compare that dumbass to your sister?" Munseong side-eyes Wanguk.

"Is he wrong though?"

"69." The host announced. "Correct."

Just like that Team Bibin secured future spouses.

Epilogue. (Cause I don't know how to write screencuts aaaaaa hahhaa or anything at all I'm hungry.)

"You must he happy, hn.." Jihyeok sniffs, nursing his 45th glass of wine.

Ji Yeonwoo from the next table glances at him before tipping his own wine glass to his mouth, bottoms up.

"Of course! Taekwondo won again against Karate!" Taehoon laughs maniacally, waving his bouquet.

"You must be happy to have damned me into singlehood. Some friend.."

Taehoon scoffs. "Are you seriously stupid? You believe that bullshit?"

Jihyeok glares at him.

Taehoon rolls his eyes. "You're a real idiot. You like the little chick, right?"

"..what."

"Gaeul and I are on the same team. Just make sure you're the one she's marrying. There you go. Problem solved. Drink up."

"Taehoon-ah."

"What'd you call me."

"I didn't say any-"

"Taehoon-ah!" A strong hand grabbed Taehoon's shoulder, forcing him to turn around. "Taehoon-ah!" Yeonwoo repeated for the third time, sporting the brightest smile imaginable. "You're a genius!"

Taehoon scowls. "..right? Are you being sarcastic with me?"

"No! I'm serious!" Yeonwoo chuckles, shaking his head so hard his glasses almost flew. "A genius!"

"Have you lost your mind? Fiiine, if it makes you feel better I just guessed-"

"No! I mean it! You're a genius!" Yeonwoo grins, turning to look at Jihyeok. "Jihyeok-ah! He's a genius, isn't he?"

Jihyeok smirks at him, raising a thumb up. "Always been."

I honestly don't know anon thanks lmao

[snackleggg]

City of splintering hopes: Chapter 4 "Meda-Lean"

~~~

Ao3

~~~

When Danny came out the other side of the cave, back into the Far Frozen, he turned around to confirm yep the bird robot is still following me.

"So why exactly has keeping me safe been 'added as your top objective'?" Danny asked, using air quotes when referencing what the robot had said earlier.

"Because you are a Halfa" It replied. Danny actually paused at that.

He turned around and started making the trek back to the yeti civilisation in the Far Frozen, following the route that Frostbite had led him through.

"Okay but I wasn't born a Halfa. I'm not a citizen of that city or even related to those Halfas in anyway so why did you activate?" Danny asked.

He heard the crunching of snow behind him stop and he also came to a stop to look behind him at the robot. It had it's head tilted to the side again, seemingly a common gesture for it when it was thinking or maybe confused?

"It does not matter if you were not born a Halfa. What matters is you are one now and that was proven by the activation once you stepped into the Hall of the Ancients" It stated and Danny could tell by it's abrupt blink that he was making a face because he did not understand half the things that just- well not 'came out of it's mouth', it didn't have a mouth but that last sentence definitely had him confused beyond all belief.

"Wat" Danny said "Hall of the what now? Activation? What are you talking about?"

"The Hall of the Ancients is the name of the structure atop the capital." It explained "The automatic pairing system was activated by your presence as it sensed you had not been assigned a droid and therefore assigned me to you" the robot finished and Danny needed a second to take all that in.

Instead of facing everything that sentence implied Danny turned back around and continued walking. He soon heard the crunching of snow behind him signalling that the robot bird was following.

"So... it only turned on because it sensed I was a Halfa?" Danny asked after a brief silence.

"Correct. All Halfas are assigned droids to assist and protect them in their everyday lives, especially those who travel outside of the Hidden lands" It explained and Danny was trying to wrap his mind around it. More questions suddenly started popping up into his mind, thankfully he finally had someone who seemed to know what they were talking about.

For some reason Danny felt relieved. The automatic system that the original Halfas left behind had recognised him as a Halfa and that made him feel very validated.

"Why'd it choose you?" Danny asked after briefly mulling over the question. He had seen many of those statues in the alcoves in the walls and there had probably been more he hadn't seen deeper inside the building. So why was this specific droid chosen for him?

"Each droid has a unique personality of sorts, unique responses to certain situations and when you stepped into the building it scanned your core and automatically found the droid best suited to serve and protect you" It replied.

"So there are just a bunch of pre-made droids laying around waiting to be assigned?" Danny asked, he couldn't help the sadness that tainted his voice. Those droids would probably never be activated, Danny sure as hell wasn't letting Vlad get his grubby little hands on one. He shuddered at the very thought of Vlad knowing about the ruins.

"Incorrect" It informed him "Halfa children typically have droids created and assigned for them at the age of 10. All droids in the Hall of the Ancients had already been created and assigned to a Halfa at some point and were all once active. Including myself." the robot said, there was something in it's voice but Danny couldn't place his finger on it.

"Wait so.... how long have you been deactivated for?" He asked.

"It has been roughly 247 years since I was last active" It replied, that strange tone in it's voice again.

"And that was when...." He could piece together what that meant but the droid answered him anyway.

"When Pariah Dark was launching his attack on the Halfas" Danny suddenly recognised the emotion in it's voice. Grief. Sadness. Hesitancy.

Even if it was a robot Danny could only imagine what it was like. Then another thought hit him and he stopped again in his tracks on the path. But only for a moment before he continued. He could sense the robot's worried gaze but Danny wasn't going to bring up what had caused him to stop. He didn't even want to look back at the droid.

Danny couldn't bring himself to ask more questions, not yet. Maybe another time when his core wasn't clenching in sympathy for the droid.

They walked in silence, every once in a while Danny looked back at the robot bird to see it was seemingly surveying it's surroundings. Danny thought back to how he had scanned the landscape around him when he had come through here with Frostbite and he bit back a laugh at the similarity. It didn't take long before the droid snapped it's attention back to him whenever it noticed him glancing.

Finally they made it back to landscape and terrain Danny was familiar with and it wasn't long before Frostbite popped out and greeted him.

"Great One! You have returned!" Frostbite exclaimed and then he took notice of the new face following behind Danny but instead of any number of reactions Danny had expected Frostbite just glanced at it with something akin to nostalgia in his eyes before diverting his attention back to Danny.

"You're injured!" Frostbite shouted, finally taking noticed of his broken nose. The blood, having dried up ages ago, now looked a muddy brown and felt flaky against Danny's skin.

"Yeah, I had a bit of a crash" Danny said, straining the last word as he glanced at the robot bird that simply blinked back at him.

"Come, let's get you fixed up then before your travel home" Frostbite insisted, ushering him towards the yeti tribe to get his nose fixed up.

Half an hour later and lots of assuring Frostbite that "I'm fine" "No, I don't have a concussion" "Yes, I will make sure to be careful to avoid faceplanting into anything", Danny was finally given the okay to go home but before he left he had one last thing to ask Frostbite.

"Frosty, why aren't you phased by the sudden stone robot bird following me around?" Danny asked, gesturing to said droid who was still hunched over as it stood behind him. Danny had noticed that the robot bird, while not hunching to the point of meeting his eye level anymore, was still not standing to it's full height. He also noticed that no one in the Far Frozen tribe batted an eye at the stone being.

"Oh! Sorry Great One, you must be confused by our lack of reaction! It's just these stone creatures always accompanied past Halfas. If anything we had been surprised when first meeting you that you did not have one. I had a feeling that you may gain one by visiting the sight of their origin" Frostbite replied thoughtfully, a paw held to his chin as he briefly examined the droid.

Danny felt his eye twitch slightly "And you didn't think to inform me that when entering the remains of a Halfa civilisation that some ancient automatic system would decide to give me some bodyguard assistant?" Danny asked, his tone becoming more hysterical as the absurdness of the situation sunk in.

"I apologise Great One. It had only crossed my mind after you had already entered the cave" Frostbite at least had the decency to look sheepish.

Danny took a deep breath before letting it out and giving a slightly strained smile "it's... okay. At least you didn't mean to leave out that semi important fact" He said.

Finally, finally! Danny started his flight home after one last goodbye to Frostbite. He also quickly discovered that bird like stone beings could apparently fly. The droid flew above Danny, stone wings spread and the occasional flap of them even though he was pretty sure that wasn't necessary but he wasn't about to rain all over the robot bird's parade.

Halfway home he realised that he will definitely not be able to explain a giant stone robot following him around to his parents.

"Hey uh... can you turn invisible?" Danny directed to the robot flying above him. The droid looked down at him, blinking once, before replying "Yes, I can but it is energy consuming so only for short periods of time"

"Cool cool cool coolcoolcoolcool, cause when we get to the portal you're gonna have to turn invisible so my parents don't see you" Danny said, a scenario of what would happen to the droid if his parents saw it played in his mind and he quickly shook it from his head.

"Portal? Are we travelling to the living realm?" The robot bird asked and Danny remembered that this was a robot two centuries and a half out of it's time. He would need to keep as close an eye on it as it was keeping on him.

"Yeah. I kind of live there but my parents don't really know about the whole being a Halfa thing so if you stay out of their sight I would really appreciate it. My sister Jazz is fine though, she knows" Danny dreaded having to explain this to Jazz. 'Hey Jazz! I went to the ancient ruins of the original Halfas like we talked about yesterday! I accidently triggered some automatic pairing system that gave me a robot bodyguard for the foreseeable future!' Yeah, that was not going to be a fun conversation.

"I will be mindful" The droid replied before they fell back into a comfortable silence.

Soon the Fenton ghost portal came into view and they both landed on the floating rock it was positioned on.

"Okay remember, invisible. I'll tell you when you can drop the invisibility. Just stay quiet and try not to touch anything" Danny said, making sure he got across how serious this was to the droid.

The robot bird nodded before disappearing from sight instantly.

Danny turned around and did the same, turning himself invisible as he walked through. He mildly panicked when the thought that the droid wouldn't be able to follow him crossed his mind but the feeling of three claw like stone fingers on his shoulder quickly got rid of those doubts.

As expected, his parents were working in the lab, focused intensely on their newest invention which of course was a blaster of some kind. Danny rolled his eyes, another weapon he would have to dodge.

As Danny walked through the lab it was unnerving to him how quiet the droid was managing to be. No heavy footsteps like when they had been walking through the Far Frozen and the cave. No sound of camera like clicking from blinking. The only indication Danny had that it was there were the cool stone fingers on his shoulder.

They made it up the stairs with out a single noise and as soon as they got through the doors Danny immediately dropped his invisibility.

"You can drop it now" He said when the droid didn't immediately follow his example. After the robot became visible again Danny moved around it to close the door to the lab and he sighed in relief.

Despite the fact that he had left in the morning it was evening now as Danny had spent roughly 7 and a half hours on his little side quest. He let the transformation back to his human form go over him and breathed a little in relief.

He saw in the corner of his eye the droid jerk back a bit and he turned to see it blinking repeatedly at him with that same clicking noise before suddenly stopping.

"Your clothes are different than in your other form" It stated.

"Yeah, what of it?" Danny asked as the droid stared at him, still hunched over but Danny was pretty sure it would hit it's head on the ceiling if it stood at it's full height.

"I am an information retrieval droid. Though my objectives have been updated for your safety as top priority I still must gather as much information as possible on everything around me" It stated. Danny made a mental note never to let it onto the internet unsupervised.

"Oh well, like I said earlier I wasn't born a Halfa. I kind of half died? Or maybe I died fully but was half brought back to life? Either way I died, whether half or fully, and those clothes were just the ones I died in" Danny shrugged.

The droid looked at him for another second before seemingly accepting that answer and turning it's attention to their surroundings.

"Right, if you're going to be following me around you should know the layout of the house" Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The droid nodded absentmindedly, Danny could see it's thin pupils moving around rapidly, trying to take in as much information about the surroundings as possible no doubt.

"Well this is the kitchen. We eat food in here but you don't have a mouth and are a robot so I don't think you'll find yourself in here too often. You already saw the lab, in the basement. Don't go down there unless I'm with you because my parents are down there like 70% of the time" Danny said as he gestured around and then to the door behind them.

Danny started moving into the living room and the droid followed him, he noted that the sound of it's heavy footsteps had returned.

"Living room, we'll pass through here alot to get to the front door so if my parents are ever in here you'll have to turn invisible and be quiet" Danny said, again making a sweeping motion with his arm to show the room. It was weird, he kind of felt like he was showing around a secret roommate.

They went up the stairs. Danny quickly explained that the droid should never ever follow him into the bathroom. An off handed comment to avoid his parents room and the stairs that led to the Ops center. He also pointed out Jazz's room before ending the tour with his own room.

"Since you insist on being around me all the time you'll be spending alot of time in here" Danny said after he closed the door to his room.

The droid was looking around with great interest, examining the books he had on his shelf and all the different space themed things scattered around his room. Danny felt a little embarrassed and could feel his face heating up even though he knew the robot was most likely analysing everything so it could get a better understanding of the Halfa it had been paired with.

Then a thought hit Danny.

"This might be an awkward question to ask now but uh-" the droid turned to face him as he fumbled with something he should've asked from the start "Do you um, have a name I could call you?" Danny asked. He was getting a little tired referring to it as 'the droid' and 'the robot bird' in his head.

"Why yes, you may call me Meda-Lean" They said and Danny blinked.

"Medalean? Or wait- Meda Lean" Danny corrected himself and Meda-Lean nodded.

"Can I call ya Meds for short? Y'know like a nickname?" Danny asked.

"Yes, you may call me 'Meds'." Meds confirmed and the way their eyes seemed to half close gave the impression that if they had a mouth they would be smiling.

----

A stone statue stood tall in a ravaged battlefield. The land was empty and quiet until suddenly the statue moved. The grey stone fell apart revealing a ghost. A rumour that the worlds, both the living and the dead, had forgotten.

The tall figure stood and stretched out two large metallic wings from his back, being careful not to jostle the bow and bag of arrows also resting on his back. Despite not needing to breath he took in a deep breath before releasing it as a loud sigh that echoed throughout the long abandoned battlefield.

"I smell Halfa"

~~~

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I'll be tagging all content do to with this story with the tag City of splintering hopes so if guys want to you can follow the story easier. You can also use that tag for any questions or content you guys make of the story!

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 8

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

pairing: Fem!OC/Spencer

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: discussion of a dead body (for a case), discussion of sensory overload (idk if that's a warning but just in case).

A/N: sorry this took so long! i've had a lot of writer's block with this series, but i'm feeling a lot more motivated with it, now. anyway enjoy!

masterlist

my feet slam into the pavement at a rate that makes me wonder if my heart can take it. I can feel the air in my lungs, stinging, and the way it never seems like enough. I can't stop. my arms are pumping and my legs burn.

I'm sure I look like a mess right now, exhausted and sweaty as I make my way up the biggest hill by my apartment. I haven't been running in a while, and this incline is even more daunting than it was before.

I use the momentum I've built from before now and force myself up. every breath rips through me violently until I'm sure that if I stop running, I'll collapse. but I keep pushing, knowing it'll be worth it.

I hated running until college. just absolutely despised the thought of getting outside and forcing myself to move quickly. the older I get, though, the more refreshing it's gotten. it helped me escape from midterms, from the pressure that constantly seemed to mount with every passing day. sometimes it feels like all of it keeps piling on, and it's never going to stop.

of course, that's not really the way to look at life. I've had things to balance out the work, friends to call and ways to let out the hammering violence that always seem to fill the spaces between my ribs. running clears my head when nothing else does.

once I get to the top, I bend over and rest my palms on my knees so that I can relax. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and can feel my pulse thudding against my throat. it's good, though. I needed to do this again, to get exercise.

I resist the urge to lay down flat on the pavement. DC isn't really a good place to do that; everyone around me is on a morning stroll with their partner or they're out for a jog themselves. I pass several enthusiastic-looking dogs out for a walk. the sheer number of people around me should make me feel normal.

it doesn't.

I straighten and stretch out my muscles, wincing at the way my calves feel if I move them funny. I don’t want to get called in for a case today, but that's naive. there will always be another case because there will always be people we need to stop. maybe I'm just not jaded enough to not care. I like to think that's a good thing, though.

...

when I head into the office a couple hours later, there's a to-go cup of coffee resting on my desk. I smile to myself, set my bag down and shrug off my coat, then peek over the divider to see Spencer with a case file open and an identical to-go cup a couple inches away.

"is this your doing?" I refer to the coffee. he nods and smiles at me, seemingly not in the mood to talk.

"thanks, Reid."

sitting down to do some work, I sneak a peek at him. Spencer is acting different from last weekend. more shy. I'm not really sure the reason, unless he just felt particularly outgoing at the party and is now back to his default self.

we get a case before the hour is up, and then my mind is occupied by the details.

jet rides, though now a familiar routine, are probably my favorite part of the job. I don't feel totally unproductive, but I still have time to unwind and talk to people on our way. Emily and I have gotten much closer within the past few weeks and sometimes she tells me stories about her old job that keep me on the edge of my seat.

there's something so mysterious about her that I just appreciate; she's like a cool older cousin to me. and she's great at making fun of Morgan, which is something that I've found enjoyable as well. sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg-- she's the woman to do it.

"how many?" I trace my finger down the smooth skin of Derek's arm, where he's lifted his sleeve just enough to show the inked lion. it's a big tattoo, and I'm somewhat surprised he has one at all. he just doesn't really seem the type.

"five right now." he flexes his bicep flirtatiously, and I immediately remove my hand with a repulsed expression, rolling my eyes at the chuckle he lets out.

"don't feed his ego like that." Emily warns from across the table. she's flipping through one of the plant magazines that we've stashed in the snack cupboards (much to Hotch's disapproval). I turn to see Morgan's reaction.

"you a little jealous, Prentiss?" he teases. her only response is a glance that dares him to push further. they both know that Emily has absolutely no interest in him, which I suppose adds to their friendship. Morgan leans down by my ear, but he makes no effort to quiet his voice. "you should ask about her tattoos."

"you have tattoos?" my eyes widen at this, voice a little louder than usual. Hotch glances over at us from his seat a ways away, but doesn't say anything. Reid is passed out on the couch, strangely tired for the middle of the day; Rossi's writing something in his miniature journal.

"that's not anyone's business." she says more to Morgan than to me.

"I wanna see!" I set my glass of ice water down on the table and straighten up. Emily pretends to be exhausted by the persistence, but she closes her magazine momentarily.

"look, I can't show them all here." she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"then how does Derek know?" I smirk. Emily makes a face, but Morgan is the one who replies.

"this one gets a little loose-lipped when she drinks too much." he teases. I snort and glance at Emily. I've seen her tipsy before, but never drunk. at most, she gets affectionate with all of us and calls us her best friends in the whole world. which, honestly, isn't an unwelcome sentiment.

"I do not." she argues.

"yeah, you do." Reid mumbles from the couch cushion where he's been resting his head. I jump at the sudden noise, and we all turn to him.

"look who's up." Emily smiles. Reid stretches his legs out, limbs so long that his feet hang off the end of the couch. he's wearing mismatched socks again today, one with bananas and one covered in sushi rolls. I smile to myself.

"I'm not," he argues. "someone had to correct you."

Morgan and I let out an amused laugh. my eyes dart between Spencer and the two other agents. "I feel like I'm the only one here who hasn't seen Prentiss drunk."

"yes, you have." she frowns.

"no. not, like, plastered."

"don't let Garcia hear you say that." Morgan laughs. I snort.

"why?"

"any excuse to party, and she'll take it." he shakes his head affectionately.

"she'd just call it bonding." Prentiss adds in. I have a soft spot in my heart for Pen. for all of the darkness we see here, she makes it a little bit brighter with her quips and sparkly pens and neon glasses. she's a blessing.

"what's so bad about that?" I defend for her sake.

"nothing's wrong with it, per se," Emily shrugs. "it just means we aren't as professional as we should be."

"I'd argue that our job actually means we get to let loose more when we have the time." I shrug. Morgan offers his fist to pound, and I oblige with a satisfied smile.

"you two are children, you know that?" Emily gestures between Derek and me. I shrug, about to return to my crossword when she speaks again. "how many tattoos do you have, Clea?"

I blink for a second, deciding whether or not to lie. it would be kind of cool to sound badass, but I don't know if I even have the mental capability to fib to a bunch of profilers. "none."

"what?" Morgan looks at me with confusion.

"yeah, none. why is that such a big surprise?" I laugh at their reactions. Prentiss is alarmed, too.

"I don't know-- you seem like the kind of person to get a heart tattooed on your thigh or something." Morgan shrugs. I make a face, silent.

"that's offensive."

Prentiss snorts and finishes her drink. I peek over and see Reid with his eyes closed but a slightly amused smile on his face. by the couch, I can see through the window. we're slipping through gray clouds that are saturated with rain, and the weather change causes the jet to shake a bit.

my fingertips wrap around the arm of the seat and Emily eyes me warily.

"you okay?"

"don't like flying." I answer, nostrils flaring slightly. usually with these trips, I've been able to hide my apprehension for flying by holding onto my knee below the table or something, but the sudden jerks are putting me off.

it's stupid-- plane anxiety is ridiculously common, and I don't think it's necessarily unwarranted. the problem is that to a bunch of people trained in behavioral analysis, it shows a blatant fear of not having control.

which is true, but it's not like I need that plastered all over my face every time we board a flight.

"would you get a tattoo if you could?" Emily changes the subject, thankfully, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"I think so, yeah." it's said without much thought; all that's on my mind right now is wondering what our ETA is. Morgan shifts in his seat to smirk.

"really."

"sure."

he nods appreciatively before turning to look back out the window. droplets of moisture are collecting there, but they only distort the image of Portland stretched out below. the water is steel gray and rippled with wind.

I've never been here. for some reason, I find myself wondering what it smells like. that mingling of city scent and ocean, if they meet in the middle to form their own distinct identity. if it will settle on my tongue and in my clothes.

it's funny to me that when I go to different places and return, I don't notice how different it all smells until I breathe it in through the fabric of my shirts, and from there it all comes rushing back. Spencer mentioned during a case once that scent creates the most powerful memory reaction out of all our senses-- and I believe it.

DC smells like humidity and rain-slicked streets, Montana like dust. even the jet has a particular one that I don't associate with anything right now, but I know I will in the future. like I'm standing in the formation of a memory.

half-baked.

...

we've got the hoods of our raincoats up as we make our way into the office of our latest victim. Morgan holds the door and I wander in, staring up at the enormous glass walls of the place. a stray droplet falls from the hood of my jacket and onto my nose, rolling down the bridge and causing me to sniffle.

her boss is surprisingly dismissive of us when we get to his office, reluctantly getting off a phone call and giving me something of a dead-fish handshake. as we take a seat at his desk, I can smell the overbearing stench of his expensive cologne.

he's got exactly the kind of look that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole: taut, judgmental face with a stiff mustache and slicked-back black hair that honestly is probably dyed. his eyes linger on me for a bit longer than I appreciate, but I clear my throat and try to brush off the discomfort.

Winona's body was found in a ditch off the side of a highway, dumped like trash. based on the ME report, she was alive when he threw her in, but died shortly after from her wounds. the whole thing is gruesome and as her employer notes her tendency to daydream and occasional tardiness, I want to reach across the table to smack him.

Morgan is able to keep his cool better than I can, nodding. I know it's important to know her behaviors in order to build our profile, but I still don't like the way this guy is talking about her.

"she wasn't really the strongest employee we've got, but she was nice enough around the office." he shrugs. I notice the gold wedding band that glints on his ring finger, the way he leans back in his swivel chair. he's got evaluative eyes.

by the time we're done, I'm practically flying out the door of his office and hurrying to the elevator. we got what we needed to know from him, if not through a somewhat convoluted method.

"nice guy." I note sarcastically after punching the down button. Morgan tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at our warped reflections in the elevator doors.

"we talk to a lot of people like that. you get used to it."

"didn't seem too concerned about her at all."

"I don't think guys like that are concerned about much more than themselves."

"you should have mentioned a tax evasion investigation happening around here," I smirk. "that would probably put the fear of God into him."

Morgan chuckles and looks over at me. it would be unprofessional to fist bump with so many people around, although the smile we share is definitely a great equivalent.

as we pack into the metal box with a bunch of employees, they look at us curiously. the enormous FBI label on the back of our jackets probably doesn't help, but I pretend to look like I know what I'm doing as we step out into the lobby.

in all reality, faking it until I make it is the only thing I know how to do.

...

the late night cravings come as a surprise as I stand over a map of Portland. my eyes are starting to cross from staring at all the minuscule details for so long, and my fingers are twitching from a mixture of hunger and overloaded caffeine.

we were supposed to go to bed about two hours ago, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only one sitting in my motel room with open files and a determined expression. I do happen to be the only person rooming alone, however, and the silence has been helpful.

Reid's been working on a geographic profile, but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. all I know is that if I don't figure it out soon, it's going to eat away at me. based on his activity patterns, there are only a few more days before this guy abducts another woman.

except now I'm just thinking about how much time we don't have, and that sort of sends me into a spiral, too. I'm prepared to always be running against a clock for this job, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm going to lose it if I stare at any more tiny lines indicating roads or side streets or whatever else demands attention.

I need to get out of my head.

before taking time to really consider anything else, I grab my phone and look up pizza places nearby. what I need right now is some sustenance and tv-- or at least something to distract me enough to recharge.

I change into my pjs and wash my face while I wait for the delivery person to arrive, try to ease the day out of my bones. there used to be a whole process for me after work every day, where I'd shut off my brain. The Real Housewives of Atlanta provided ample help for this, along with fuzzy socks and glasses of red wine. I can make do with this.

once the pizza guy comes and I pay for my food, I don't even make way to my room; instead, I go to the person I know who needs this more than I do.

"Clea?" Spencer rubs his eyes as he swings open the door, glasses held in the other hand.

"hi." I smile brightly.

"what are you doing here?" his soft tone and the dim light from a motel lamp in the corner tells me that Morgan is asleep right now in the other bed.

in response to his question, I hold up the box of pizza with a grin. his eyes widen.

"I can't eat all this alone." definitely a lie, but saying that he needs to take a break probably wouldn't sway him enough.

for a second, Spencer seems to debate this in his head. when he runs a shaky hand through his hair, I roll my eyes. "it's pizza, dude. not a wedding proposal. you can go back to the case in twenty minutes."

he nods this time and looks up at me as I turn and start toward my room. closing the door gently behind him, I don't miss the way he increases his pace a little to catch up with me.

"did you get mushrooms?" he asks. I throw him a disgusted look before realizing what he's talking about and breaking into a grin.

"you remembered!" I reference my hatred of the fungus. Spencer smiles with pride, turns his gaze to the carpeted floors. I unlock the door and let us in.

"of course I remember," he snorts. "it's hard to forget."

I giggle at the way he immediately uses the sink to wash his hands, and I join him after setting the box on the bed.

"favorite soap scent?" I ask absently. suds cover my fingers as he rinses the water from his. normally, this isn't a question I'd ask, but Spencer seems like he would have a response.

"you know, I really enjoy anything fresh-smelling," he thinks about it. "like waterfall smell."

"I like those, too."

"what's your favorite?"

"there's this brand that I love that specializes in antibacterial soaps, and they have a lavender one that literally makes me ascend." I laugh. Spencer is drying his hands with a folded towel and his face lights up.

"Ravi's Organics?" he suggests. my heart leaps with recognition.

"yes! oh my god, have you used their cracked cinnamon one?"

"I have the hand sanitizer in my bag." Reid's eyes are so pretty. they sparkle with a hazel color, almost chocolatey in the cheap motel light.

"they have a hand sanitizer for it?" my jaw drops. he nods and I shake my head slowly. we walk over to the bed to eat the pizza. he seems hesitant, though, and pauses.

it takes me a second to remember that Spencer has different boundaries and is just kind of awkward in general. even though there's no obvious tension between us, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I plop down on the floor.

"you like Ravi's Organics." he states it back to himself more than to me, and as I pop open the box to reveal a beautiful pepperoni pizza, I nod vigorously.

"yeah, it's actually kind of a funny story," we start to dig in immediately. I lift an enormous slice to my lips and bite into the perfection. it's so good. "when I was little, my parents used to call me Rascal."

"Rascal?" he laughs through a bite of food.

"like the raccoon? from that book?" it's a kid's story.

"why?" he snorts. I take a second to chew before replying.

"I just get really overwhelmed by certain sensory things-- like, I hate being sticky or having any kind of weird texture on my hands. so whenever we went out to eat or anything, I would always sit on the outside of the booth so I could run to the bathroom and wash my hands as I pleased." I explain all of this with a slight frown on my face. it's true, I've just never really thought about it.

"I don't like sticky stuff, either." he offers.

"yeah, it got pretty bad. but I guess I just grew out of it. I'm not sure when." I pluck a piece of pepperoni off the top and slide it into my mouth.

Spencer takes in this information for a second while he eats, and I'm momentarily worried that I've overshared. he came for some food and now I've served up a weird childhood memory to accompany it.

but then he does something funny and altogether endearing.

"actually, raccoons are very cleanly creatures, despite their dietary habits." he tells me.

frankly, it makes me feel better than anything else that he could have said. "fastidious little things, right?"

"exactly." he chuckles. his shoulders are hunched, elbows leaning on his knees.

"fix your posture." I say gently, noticing the way his spine curves abysmally when he's sitting across from me. his cheeks turn a pretty pink, but he follows directions.

"is it that bad?" he's a bit embarrassed. immediately, I soften and do what comes easily, making a joke.

"if you don't work on it, you're gonna be living in a French cathedral by the age of thirty."

Spencer snorts-- genuinely almost chokes on his food-- and looks at me with his almost childlike eyes. there's something in them that I can't decipher at all, almost so obvious that it completely goes over my head.

"that was mean." he's still trying to recover from the onset of giggles, and I lean forward to grab another slice, suppressing a proud grin myself.

"your future straight-backed self will thank me."

"I'll remember that." he nods dutifully.

"I'm sure you will."

we share a secretive smile before I bite into my pizza and launch into a different subject. the more I learn about Spencer, the more I want to know. I feel like there are things beneath every new surface that would be fascinating to understand.

"what's it like having an eidetic memory?"

he frowns like he isn't sure how to answer. I thought he'd already have something locked and loaded, a prepared response for a question he definitely gets frequently. when he opens his mouth, I find myself hanging on every word. "it's... interesting."

"blessing or a curse?"

"both."

"would you ever give it up if given the option?" I narrow my eyes a bit. I'm especially curious about this.

"no." this is delivered with certainty. for a second, I stare at him with about a million more questions in my head. of course, they're completely out-of-bounds and way too personal, but they're still there.

"hm." I say instead. as usual, delivering thrilling commentary at every turn.

Spencer peeks at me over his pizza for a second, seeming to want to say something else, but decides against it. our eyes meet; I'm not sure what it is, maybe a silent agreement or something else that's unspoken, but we decide not to press further on either end.

whatever he's got tucked away in that big brain of his, he's not ready to talk about it with anyone-- much less a new colleague in a dumpy motel. there's a time and place for certain things, and boundaries to respect.

I change the subject before he can make some lame excuse to leave. for some reason, I just don't want him to leave me here in this room.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed for this series): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[pascalpanic]

Prom Date (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: It’s approximately 2030, and you were in the graduating high school class of 2021. Your boyfriend, Frankie, is slightly older than you and doesn’t know that you never got a prom, a graduation, any of it. Being the sweetheart he is, he decides that he needs to fix that. 

Warnings: cursing, the tiniest allusions to Frankie’s drug problem and his ex-wife, cavity-inducing fluff

WC: 3.4k

A/N: Okay, this one goes out to the kids who don’t get the chance for prom because of COVID: that sucks. This is my fix-it fic for you! This takes place after the events of Triple Frontier mainly because I didn’t want to write Tom but as if it happened a number of years after it did in the timeline so it’s maybe around 2030 here and the heist happened in like 2028ish then? So Frankie’s the age he was then, separated from the mom of his kid, and getting maybe like 50/50 custody of her. Here’s my inspo for what Luna, Frankie’s baby looks like! Her mom is only briefly mentioned but that’s where the gray eyes come from, the brown wavy hair is all him 💖. Also, I think the nickname Thumper is adorable for little kids who have lots of energy (it was also my nickname as a baby) and so Frankie most definitely calls Luna “Thumper”. I also, naturally, have inspo for the reader’s dress and Luna’s, but the outfits are never described specifically so you can feel free to imagine what you want for their outfits! Additional note: I don’t understand children’s milestones so please just suspend your disbelief if Luna is doing something that’s not fitting for a kid of 22 months, oops. Biggest thanks to @lunasblipsandblurbs​ and @ilikechocolatemilkh​ for their help- there may or may not be two characters named after them in here ;) and as always, my trusty proofreader Miki (who’s a nerd and doesn’t have Tumblr)

Movie night was going as it usually did for you and Frankie Morales: the TV droned quietly in the background while you cuddled with him, sitting in his lap. The two of you chattered and made out instead of watching the movie. Somehow the conversation made its way to your high school experience. That was a long time ago now. Both of you were fully grown adults. Hell, Frankie had a baby, you were working on a Master’s degree, and the two of you lived in a house together. Your high school experience was far different from his, you two soon discovered. He had all of it; you had your junior and senior year during a pandemic.

Your boyfriend looks at you incredulously. “So you never had a prom?”

You shake your head. “I wish I did, but no. I cried so hard when they announced that it wouldn’t happen,” you admit with a sad smile. “My best friend and I still wore gowns and got dressed up, but we just took pictures in the park and ate Mexican food on the couch.”

“As much as that sounds like a blast, that’s so shitty,” Frankie chuckles and snuggles you closer to his chest. “Was all of your senior year like that?”

“Pretty much,” you nod. “Fully digital and everything. Didn’t even get the chance to go to my junior prom either.” 

“Jesus. And you had the shit luck to be born into the one year where you didn’t get either?” He asks, rubbing your back and nuzzling his face into your hair. 

“Class of ‘21, what a time,” you sigh. It was true- you were the one graduating class that the pandemic hit hardest. It had upset you at the time, but you had gotten over it by now. It was years ago anyway, that didn’t matter. “My luck can’t be that shit. I still have a pretty damn cute boyfriend,” you tease and lift your head, softly kissing his lips before breaking away and resting your head on his shoulder once more. 

Frankie pouts down at you. “But you got all of that taken from you! Senior year was supposed to be the time to slack off and have fun. I took, like, two shop classes and one on basic aviation. Didn’t do anything,” he laughs. 

“Even if I was at school, it wouldn’t have been like that for me, Frankie,” you chuckle softly. “I was taking a bunch of classes for college credits and everything.”

“I know, hermosa, you’re a nerd. Just play along with me this time,” he asks jokingly, jostling you around on his lap. 

“Frankie,” you squeal and cling to him, laughing. “Fine. Poor me, I didn’t get anything from my senior year. It has haunted me and made my life a living hell.” You give him a fake pout. “Is that better?”

A smile covers his face as he looks at you. “Much better. Because now that you’re upset, I’m going to get to make it better. We’re throwing you a prom.”

You immediately frown. “Frankie, we’re adults now. Prom is not important to me the way it was then,” you try to reason with him, but you know your boyfriend. If he’s got a plan, you can’t get him out of it. 

Frankie shakes his head and takes off his ball cap, setting it on your head teasingly. “Too bad. We’re having a prom for you, babe. You deserve it, a night all about you. Here, you know what?” He says, his face lighting up as another idea pops into his head. “We’ll do it for your birthday, since that’s coming up. We’ll have a birthday party-prom for you,” he says, absolutely beaming. 

“No, Frankie,” you start to protest, but he cuts you off. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll dress Luna up, I’ll rent a tux, we can invite the boys,” he offers and the more he talks, the more you have to admit that this idea sounds like a blast. Your frown slowly eases into a smile as he talks. “Oh, you like it, this is happening,” he laughs and kisses your head, pulling you close to his chest. “Babe, will you be my prom date?”

“It’s not the most elegant of prom-posals,” you tease, “but it’ll do. Of course I will.” You nod and beam up at him. He kisses your forehead and the two of you return to watching the movie.

-

When the day, your birthday, rolled around, your first order of business was queueing the music for the night. Frankie had decided it was your night, and that made it that much easier for him to pin that responsibility on you. It was to ensure you liked the music that was playing, he had said, and he had half-heartedly meant it. 

As you sat on the bed you shared with your boyfriend, bouncing his daughter on your knee, you filled out the playlist for the dance. “There better be some Fleetwood Mac on there,” Frankie says with a grin as he walks into the room, fresh from the shower. Luna, his baby, reaches for him excitedly and he picks her up. “And maybe something like Baby Shark for this one,” he teases and blows a raspberry onto her tummy, earning a giggle from his daughter.

You grin up at him and his little girl, laughing. “Luna’s only in it for the pictures, come on,” you say and tilt your head as you look at him. “But you’ll be happy to know that I put down The Chain as the first song of the night.”

“Yes!” Frankie exclaims and flops down on the bed next to you, Luna giggling as the two of them fall. She crawls over to lie between the two of you, enjoying being between her two favorite people. “Aw, is that your mama?” He chuckles, and you shake your head.

“Frankie, no,” you say and bite your lip for a second, looking away from the two of them. You know she loves you, and you absolutely adore her, but it hurts your heart that you’ll probably be nothing more than Dad’s girlfriend to her. “She knows that.”

“Hey, she knows the difference in you and Maria,” he shakes his head. “But that’s her mother, and you’re her mama, right niña?” he coos to the little girl and she giggles, burying her face in your stomach. It melts your heart. “Yeah, your mama.”

“My niña,” you murmur happily and pull her up to your chest, wrapping your arms around her. Luna relaxes happily as her head meets your chest. Frankie chuckles a little at the fact that your Spanish grammar isn’t entirely correct, but he doesn’t challenge your words. “Are you gonna tell me what your daddy is planning for tonight?” You ask her, teasingly nonchalant, before looking down at Frankie.

His face holds a little bit of a red flush. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he says, playing it cool.

“I know you too well, Francisco,” you tease and look down at him, rubbing Luna’s back gently. “You’ve got some kind of surprise plan for tonight, and I can’t tell what it is, but I know you’re planning something. You’ve got the worst poker face,” you laugh and cup the side of his face with your hand, enjoying the feeling of the stubble beneath your palm.

Frankie shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats, but you can feel the way his skin warms with the lie. “I don’t have anything planned that you don’t know about,” he tells you quickly.

You simply smile at him and rub the side of his face. “That’s a blatant lie, babe. But I’ll let it slide, since I know whatever surprise it is will be a good one,” you chuckle and press your lips to his. He smiles back and cups your face too. Luna makes a noise of disgust and pushes the two of you away. You both laugh at her action and smile down at the little girl, a carbon copy of her father save for her eyes. She takes her tiny hands and puts them on either side of Frankie’s face, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Oh my god, Luna,” you laugh. “Am I not good enough for your daddy? Is he breaking up with me, is that it?”  You ask teasingly.

“I’m getting you dressed up and treating you nice before breaking up with you, yes,” Frankie retorts sarcastically and rests his head on your shoulder, picking up his little girl and bringing her to sit between the two of you, perfectly fitting in the space where your thighs press against each other. 

“You never know,” you shrug with a smile. Luna grabs your face and kisses your nose this time, and your heart melts. “Aw, thank you. We’re each getting some love, huh?” You ask the little girl and tug at her wavy brown whale-spout ponytail. “Well, I think you and I need to get all dolled up, don’t you think?” You ask her and she giggles excitedly, babbling an affirmation in her little speech pattern. 

Scooting off the side of the bed, you kiss Frankie sweetly before picking Luna up. “Alright, Thumper,” you say with a mock groan. “Wow, you’re growing so much,” you say as you jokingly grunt at the effort of holding her. “You’re gonna be as tall as your daddy soon!” Luna protests that, giggling and playfully hitting your arm, mimicking what she’s seen her father do teasingly.

Frankie watches the two of you adoringly, his heart in his eyes. The two girls that matter most to him. “Hopefully not,” he shakes his head, chuckling and simply watching the two of you interact.

-

Frankie and Santiago did a wonderful job decorating, and the backyard is beautiful just as the sun goes down. Twinkle lights line the perimeter of the stone patio, and the night is a wonderfully warm dream, the colors of the sky absolutely stunning with tiny cotton wisps floating through. The boys are all dressed in their tuxedos, Frankie even omitting his traditional ball cap and putting some gel into his curls, and you beam as you and their dates take pictures of the four of them. They’re making the “delta” symbol with their index fingers and thumbs, naturally, since the Delta Squadron seems to be their favorite thing to call themselves. “You look like a bunch of sorority girls,” you call out over the already-blasting music, making Frankie’s face flush slightly.

“Santi’s hot as hell, but you sure got the cute one,” Lex, Santiago’s date murmurs to you, and you laugh at that. You wink at Frankie and he winks back, right as you press the button to take the photo. “Look at that, I mean come on,” she laughs and nudges your side. You two just met tonight, unsurprising since Santiago always brings new girls around, but you find her to be easy company. The Miller boys each brought a date, neither anyone you know, but the two of them stand separately. “And you, my dear, are just as cute as your daddy,” she grins down at the little girl holding your dress. “Okay, enough of these idiots,” she calls. “Time for couples’ photos! Moraleses, you first,” she says and scoots you (and subsequently Luna) towards the fence wall, decorated for the photos with fake vines, flowers and twinkling lights.

“We’re not-” you and Frankie both stumble nervously, avoiding saying ‘married’ or any word of the kind. You both give up as your eyes meet, and a smile falls across both of your faces. You give your head a little shake and the two of you dismiss it. The men disband from around Frankie and Luna runs to his side, him squatting down to pick her up. “Mija,” Frankie exclaims as she barrels into his chest, nearly knocking him over. “Don’t you two look wonderful, all matching?” he murmurs and presses a kiss to your lips before Luna groans and pushes your face away. 

You laugh, both at his words and Luna’s actions. The toddler had insisted that the two of you match colors; your dresses were different, but the same hue, and you both had absolutely beamed at the fact that the two of you were dressed similarly, especially when she informed you that she wanted to look just like you. “And you, in your tux,” you smile and break away, straightening Frankie’s bow tie. 

The group takes photos of the two of you as you converse and kiss, especially at Luna breaking the affection up with her tiny hands. You take pictures in different poses: where you stand now, Luna standing on her own, you and Frankie in the classic and cheesy prom pose, some with just you and him, him and Luna, just you and the little girl, who absolutely thrives under the spotlight given to her by the adults. Benny comments like she’s a model walking a runway, and she giggles, hiding her face in the tulle of your skirt. You keep an eye on the level of the sun in the sky, since Frankie’s mom is coming to pick Luna up later to allow the party to last as late as you want it to.

As the pictures are finished, you go to the ledge where you set your phone, starting the first song for the dance part. Just like you promised Frankie earlier, it’s The Chain by Fleetwood Mac. All of the boys holler excitedly as they recognize the song, grabbing their dates and starting to dance with them. Frankie picks up Luna and starts swaying her along to the slow beginning; naturally, with a father like hers, she already knows the tune and shouts along to the words.  You walk over to the two of them, singing already, and Frankie takes your hand, giving you a little twirl. You happily follow along, grinning at his little girl resting against his chest. She’s tired already, and you’re not surprised; despite the excitement of getting ready, it’s past her typical bedtime. He sets her down and she runs off to find her Uncle Santi, dancing with him, and Frankie takes you in his arms, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs with you. 

As the song draws to an end, the second song comes on: a slow one, the song you and Frankie have always loved. His heart speeds up as he thinks about what he’s about to do. He signals behind your back to the older Miller brother, who finds his way to your phone and turns it down a little. You lift your head from his shoulder at the change in volume, clearly upset. “Will, why the hell did you turn it down?” you call across the backyard, and he simply shrugs, holding the best deadpan he can. Frankie pulls away from you, probably to go knock him upside the head, you assume, but the look on his face confuses you. “What?” you ask him, looking down as you notice Luna has once again attached herself to your leg.

Frankie takes a deep breath then grins at you, and your confusion is just as strong. You ask him the same question, tilting your head, and you notice that the rest of the couples have turned to stare at the two of you. “Mi amor, you know how much I love you, right?” He asks. You nod, a small smile on your face, still confused. “I adore you, with everything in me. The most important thing in my life, my little girl, she loves you just as much. I know I’m a difficult man. I’ve done some messed-up shit, been a junkie, been a recovering idiot basically,” he chuckles softly, “but you never care about that, just about who I am now. You’re so wonderful, so perfect,” he tells you, the softest smile on his face. Your heart starts fluttering. Where did this monologue come from? What is- oh, you realize, and the smile drops. His drops too and he pauses, but you grin again, even wider, and he picks up his train of thought.

“Do you have it, just like we practiced?” He asks as he looks down at Luna, who nods and giggles excitedly. She’s holding something, something she wasn’t before. “Buena, mija,” he nods and ruffles her hair. She hands the object to her father, quickly enough that you can’t see it, then runs off to clutch at Benny’s hand, leaning against him. Your heart stops in your chest as you see what he’s holding: a small, rectangular box covered in velvet. You go to say his name but the words die before they can exit your mouth. “Will you do me the honor,” he begins asking as he falls to one knee and taking your hand, “of becoming my wife, of letting me marry you and be with you forever?” 

Tears well in your eyes at the love in your heart, your face hurting from how wide you’re smiling. He opens the box to reveal the ring inside, simple and elegant yet stunning, just like the relationship between the two of you. You go to tell him yes, to affirm the feelings inside, but your voice breaks. “Yes,” you say, your voice watery and cracking. You nod frantically and he takes the ring from the box, sliding it onto your finger. He stands and you immediately take his face in your hands, kissing him desperately and happily. You giggle into the kiss, and the men and their dates behind him break into whoops and cheers. You laugh as you break away, forehead falling to Frankie’s tuxedoed chest, before looking up through watery eyes and holding up your hand excitedly. Everyone cheers again and you laugh again too, hugging him tight. “Frankie,” you coo lovingly as you break from his chest and look up at him. “This is our senior prom. We’re just kids,” you joke. “You really want to marry me this young?”

That earns a belly laugh from him, shaking his head. “Shut up,” he teases back, spotting Luna’s excited bouncing. “Come here, Thumper,” he calls and waves her over. You both squat down and beckon her over, and she once again zooms into both of your arms.

“Mama and daddy getting married,” she squeals in her little baby voice and it melts your heart, her tone filled with contentment. You nod and squeeze her and her father tighter.

“We sure are, kid,” you laugh and stroke her head. “You’re gonna be my flower-girl-of-honor, right?” You ask and pull away from the hug. She nods excitedly. 

“Flower-girl-of-honor?” Frankie asks and tilts his head.

“Well, she can’t just be my flower girl, Frankie,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s my daughter, right?” you ask her, earning a happy nod. She agreed.

Later, Frankie’s mom indeed came and picked up her granddaughter, absolutely beaming and telling you that she was glad her son finally got the balls to propose. You had both laughed at that, thanked her once again for watching Luna for the night, and returned to the dance floor.

The party seemed to last all night, you and your new fiancé and the rest of the attendees having the time of your lives. “Well, this is the best prom I’ve ever been to,” you tease, grinning up at Frankie as the two of you slow dance. He just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead and singing along to the words of the music playing. “Oh my god, it was a prom-posal,” you gasp as the pun hits you. “Jesus, why did I do that?” he groans sarcastically. “That pun is gonna haunt me the rest of my life now.” “Just like I am,” you sing happily, grinning so wide your nose scrunches. He laughs and shakes his head at that, but pulls you closer into his chest. “You just made a promise you’re not gonna wanna follow through on, Catfish,” you tease. “I’m gonna make your life so miserable.”

Frankie sighs at your sarcasm but smiles contently as he looks down at you. “I don’t think you could if you tried, hermosa,” he tells you before bringing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss. 

[nyxocity]

Fic Writer Questions!

Thanks to @redmyeyes for the tag!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

82, although that's not even close to my actual total. There's a bunch on LJ that have never been transferred (all shorter works)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,780,805 (over 2mil on LJ)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Mostly three, plus a couple dips into a few other pools. X-Men Comic Book fandom, Buffy & Angel fandom (they kinda count as one since it's the same universe), and Supernatural & SPN RPF. Dips have included Dragon Age, Firefly, a tiny bit of TVD, a Sons of Anarchy crossover.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is tough if I go by numbering. Homework Verse has the most kudos scattered across all parts, but Stranger Than Fiction has the most as a single story. Anyway...

Homework Verse (J2 RPF, 200k+ words) - My very first RPF fic, Supernatural or otherwise. Two of my online fandom friends basically TOLD me I was going to write Teacher/Student J2, and I kept protesting that I drew the line at RPF. They didn't care. 200k later, here we are. This story was a game changer for me; it made me fandom famous. I still love those boys with my whole heart, and they still talk to me sometimes.

Stranger Than Fiction (Sam/Dean, 50644 words) - This story idea took root immediately following the episode The Monster at the End of This Book. I quit the Big Bang I'd already begun writing for that year (which was Who Watches Over Me, which I finished and posted for BB the following year) to write this story. It just took hold hold of me and took over. I wrote it in 6 weeks and it was easily the most fun I ever had writing anything--I cackled like a madwoman most of the time.

Who Watches Over Me (J2 RPF, 96591 words) - This story was, at the time, the toughest thing I'd ever written. Little did I know that would become the norm and not the exception, as I began to write more complex stories. It was by far the longest story I had ever posted all at once in its entirety (rather than chapter by chapter) and I had no idea if people would like it. Fortunately a lot of people did.

Like Staring Into the Sun (Sam/Dean, 23243 words) - Ah, my very first hardcore Wincest fic. I remember writing the first chapter of the story (meant to be a one shot honestly), and just sitting there, at 5am, being terrified to post it. It was twisted, dark and intense and SO porny I was scared people might think I was weird. There wasn't anything like it out there at the time. As it turns out, people loved it so much I ended up writing eight more parts.

Like a Fish Out of Water (Sam/Dean, 59498 words) - I have a lot of love for this story. It didn't come to me easily, but it was fun to write. I remember smiling a lot and just having a nice, warm cozy feeling the whole time. I had no idea if anyone was interested in reading this many words of what amounted to a dramedy curtain fic

Of course there are other stories that I feel deserve love, but I can't argue with these.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do. And by that, I mean I try. I don't always succeed in answering them all, but I answer as many as I have time and energy for. Life is busy and there is writing to do as well. I read every comment I get (multiple times) and I feel guilty for all the ones I don't answer, because they mean SO MUCH TO ME. Like you took time to leave this beautiful, well thought out comment, or even a keysmash, or a heart, in response to something I wrote. That means the world.

I WISH there was a reaction function for comments on Ao3, so I could heart things, or laugh in response. Replying with emojis without words feels weird. So yeah, a reaction function would be amazing. But in the meantime, I do my best.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm. Probably A Touch of Evil. Interestingly, it's also a HAPPY ending, so there you go lol. It's a serial killer love story with a happy ending that comes at an exorbitant price.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I'm not sure why the OG post skips from 6 to 8 lol . So, yes, I have written a few minors crossovers. Mostly Faith in the SPN verse with the boys, nothing too crazy, because she fits right in. But for long stories, I have written all of ONE crossover. It's Dean Winchester/Jax Teller (SPN / Sons of Anarchy). My crossovers so far have tended to make sense to crossover, so I don't think any of them are crazy.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I got some hate on a Buffy/Xander fic back in the day. I got really excited and had fun with it. Like yeah, now I'm SOMEBODY! You're no one til someone hates you lol Most of that was people who were haters of the ship, or were like, gross, they're like brother and sister (they weren't, they were FRIENDS). I've gotten nasty comments here and there on some of my SPN fic. My favorite was the person who accused me of having a "Top Dean Agenda". I STILL laugh about that one. I don't respond to that crap.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Have you MET ME? LOL If I ever post a story without smut just put me out to pasture, because I'm done. And all kinds. Het, Gay, PWP, Plotty porn, mostly super kinky but some vanilla (but intense). I used to challenge myself regularly to see if I could up my kink game--like hmm, but could I write THIS? I haven't written really kinky sex in a long time, though. Might be time to do that.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Several times. Who Watches Over me was stolen by someone and converted to One Direction Lourry fic. Literally just did a name change. Someone else stole a bunch of my one shots and passed them off as their own. I know there were a couple other instances but I only vaguely remember. I never got too deep into it, most of the time the people who discovered the theft already told everyone else too, and the plagiarist had been hammered by them so hard that I didn't have to step in before they took it down.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes. I used to get requests so often that I just posted my usual response in my profile for people to read instead of replying. Definitely into Russian and Chinese for most of the stories listed with most kudos above.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A few times on one shot fics. SO MUCH FUN. I love co-writing with people.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

Sam/Dean. Easily. Hands down. I just love their unique relationship, bond and love so much.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Well I finally finished A Touch of Evil after posting 3 chapters in 2009 and never touching it again until 2017. And I never thought I'd finish that. So never say never, I say. That said, there's the third and final part of my X-Men comic book epic that remains unfinished by about five (shorter) chapters, and it HAUNTS ME. But I don't think I'll ever finish it.

16) What are your writing strengths?

NOW we get to the hard questions. I'm really good at dialogue, bouncing banter back and forth between characters, and I have a sense for how long a scene should be. I just KNOW when it's going on too long, even if there's more that needs to be said, and I try to tighten it up in that case.

A friend of mine once told me "Porn is my gift". I don't write as much of it as I used to, but yeah, I shine in that area.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

So I always reach a point after writing so many words in an unpublished fic where I'm like, I have no idea if this is even any good/makes sense/hangs together etc. Beyond that, I've been writing for so long that I've had so much practice that I've strengthened a lot of my weaknesses. I'm sure I still have some, but I don't FEEL them like I used to anymore. That said, there are things I simply will not write. Like historical pieces. Because I would research the fuck out of every detail trying to get it perfect and then I would still doubt myself completely.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I mostly try to avoid it, because there's no way I would ever get the language correct. I usually write it in English and then explain that they're saying it in another language. Like, "What are you doing?" the man asks, speaking in Chinese. Then reiterate in the continuing dialogue in various ways that they're speaking in Chinese.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

X-Men Comic Book fandom. I was reading a lot of Remy/Rogue fic back in 1996-1997, and one day I was like, you know what? This person did a pretty good job on this story. It's not great, but it's pretty good, and if they can have the guts to put it out there, then I can do it, too.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

This is a tough question. I don't love all my children equally, but I love them all a lot in different ways lol

Remembering favorite is different than which one I think is BEST... Homework Verse is probably my favorite. I was learning so much about writing then, I was really growing, and discovering, and pushing my limits. Those characters lived and breathed in me, I swear they spoke through me from some alternate universe. They feel so REAL to me. There's so much of what I've learned in life in that story, like really, big, life changing ideas and understandings that happened to me that I put into that story. There's so much of me in that story, and yet there's so much of THEM, too. It's their story, but it's also mine. It's raw and not entirely perfect and it feels like home to me.

--

So that's it, that's my piece. I feel like EVERYONE has been tagged since it took me 3 days to have time to do this, but I'm basically tagging any of you writers out there who haven't done this yet!