#entire chunks of my recent life just. gone without warning

[emberglowfox]

i hate having memory issues

[eliemo]

Permafrost: Chapter 1

Summary: After Virgil agrees to follow Roman into the Imagination, a shift in the weather and an unfortunate misstep sends Virgil plummeting into uncharted waters. If only it didn't take a matter of life or death and a race against time to realize the Prince might not hate him after all.

TW: Drowning, progressing hypothermia, effects of severe cold

Notes: Romantic Prinxiety (pre relationship, they’re pining idiots) Right now I think this will only be a couple chapters, but let me know if I should make a taglist for this story!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

“This is stupid,” Virgil said for the third time in the last ten minutes. “We’re gonna freeze to death.”

It was very clearly pissing Roman off, and if he wasn’t so miserable he’d be grinning like an idiot at the Prince’s clear exasperation. “We’re not going to freeze. Don’t be dramatic, Negative Nancy, that’s my thing.”

Virgil scoffed, glancing up at the expanse of snow covered trees towering overhead, branches bare and twisted, coated in sparkling white. It felt endless, everything around them perfectly identical and a little overwhelming.

He shuddered as the wind picked up again, drowning out anything he might have been about to say, and he absently shook off snow sticking to his shoes, really wishing he’d decided to wear his combat boots today.

Then again, he hadn’t expected to be trapped in the Imagination in below freezing weather.

“Let me complain, Princey,” he said, hoping that their familiar banter could make this whole thing suck a little bit less. “You’re the one that trapped me in here.”

“You’re the one that agreed to follow me,” Roman shot back, a little more sharp than Virgil had been hoping for. “You didn’t have to.”

“You invited me. And someone has to make sure you don’t get killed in here.”

“I’m perfectly capable,” Roman said. “The cold is no match for a dashing Prince! Besides, the beast is dead, my realm is perfectly safe when I need it to be- if it weren’t for someone refusing to enjoy the scenery, this might actually be a nice walk.”

“It’s freezing and we have to walk for another hour,” Virgil argued. “How the hell am I supposed to enjoy this?”

It hadn’t been snowing when they’d first stepped into the Imagination, some two hours ago now. It had been warm and sunny, the world around them lush and green, bright and inviting as Virgil followed Roman on his apparently routine adventure.

He hoped it hadn’t been obvious how excited he’d been when Roman had asked him to come along. He and the Prince had never been close, (that was putting it lightly, Virgil was all too aware of how much Roman hated Anxiety) but ever since Virgil had revealed his name things had been...better.

Not great, nowhere near perfect, but better. Their fights had started to devolve into banter, and Virgil found he actually enjoyed talking to Roman now. He wasn’t reduced to a villain anymore, and he’d never actually realized just how much he hated the tight feeling in his chest when Thomas had always dismissed him as the bad guy. He’d been pushing the hurt down for so long and now…

Now wasn’t the time to think about it. Now was the time to focus on moving forward, as shaky as the progress was sometimes. It was still progress.

Virgil knew Roman didn’t like him, and he probably had no intention of even being real friends, any effort to be polite for Patton and Logan’s sake only.

Which Virgil might have been able to live with, if he hadn’t recently figured out that he really, really liked Roman.

He’d sort of...not actually hated the Prince for a while now, just another hopeless, gnawing feeling that drove him to consider ducking out in the first place.

The feelings had come out of nowhere, slowly sneaking up on him and only growing now that they were closer, and he still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

The things Roman did that Virgil had once thought were annoying became...begrudgingly endearing. His rants, his dramatic gestures, the constant singing and humming under his breath...it was all so stupidly charming. Roman was funny and kind and passionate and brave and...and Virgil might have developed a little bit of a crush.

Dammit.

He knew nothing would come from it. He could be pretty stupid, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think otherwise. Roman had declared him an enemy since day one, and Virgil was just beginning to hope the Prince might actually tolerate him enough to call him a friend. Just a friend.  

But Roman had invited him into the Imagination today, to be an extra set of eyes while he slayed the monster patrolling the realm, and Virgil had agreed without a second thought. If he and Roman could just learn to coexist...Virgil didn’t need anything else. Anything was better than being hated.

And having Roman as a friend was far from the worst thing in the world. It still gave him the Prince’s smiles, his laughs, and his company.

That being said, trudging through the snow and freezing his ass off for the next hour was not how he’d like to be spending the day. Why couldn’t Princey invite him to do something normal like watching a movie?

“Aren’t you supposed to be Creativity?” Virgil called over the wind picking up. God, it was cold. “Why can’t you just change the weather back?”

Roman had his back to him, keeping a few paces ahead, but Virgil could practically feel his eye roll. “I don’t control the weather here. Thomas does.”

“Thomas?”

“Not intentionally,” Roman said. “When it’s snowing like this, it probably means he’s worried or…or stressed about something.”

Virgil didn’t miss the slight hesitation, the way Roman glanced back at him, and he instinctively hunched his shoulders and pulled his hood tighter around himself.

It wasn’t his fault. He knew everyone liked to point fingers and place the blame on Anxiety whenever Thomas wasn’t feeling his best, but Virgil wasn’t here to hurt him. He just wanted to help, and he’d been trying so hard to be better lately, but he still managed to be the bad guy.

He opened his mouth to mutter an apology the Prince would probably only scoff at, but Roman beat him to it.

“Ignore that,” he said quickly, tone suddenly nowhere near his usual bravado. “I didn’t mean to imply...nevermind. Sorry.”

It was clearly forced and a little desperate, just like it had been in front of the others whenever Roman would catch himself on an insult or a nickname, but Virgil found he appreciated the effort all the same. As awkward as it was.

“It’s fine,” Virgil said. “Seriously, it’s whatever. I’ll...I can check on Thomas when we get back.”

Roman didn’t respond, but he did look over once again to flash Virgil a genuine smile, and he forcibly pushed down the butterflies rising up in his chest. It was just Roman. He was not about to get flustered because Roman had smiled at him.

But maybe it was a sign that they were getting somewhere. Maybe-

“Shit!”

Virgil froze, Roman’s curse almost drowned out by the sudden CRACK that echoed through the snowy forest. A chunk of ice broke under Roman’s boot, just big enough for him to stumble, his leg disappearing up to his knee.

“God dammit that’s freezing!”

“I thought the cold didn’t bother you,” Virgil teased before he could stop himself. He moved to help, only for Roman to hold out a warning hand. “You ok?”

“I’m fine.” The Prince wobbled a bit before he managed to pull his leg up and out of the ice, the soaked and dripping cloth clinging to his skin. “Except that my leg is going to fall off!”

Virgil couldn’t imagine how cold that must be, to feel icy cold wind against soaked clothes, but he could recognize that Roman wasn’t actually hurt or scared, despite the way he’d started shivering a bit. Thank god the water was only up to his knee.

“Stop panicking,” Virgil said, and smirked despite his own rising worry. “That’s my thing, Princey.”

Roman scoffed and shook out his leg, drops of water seeping into the plush white snow. The ice they hadn’t even realized they’d been walking on creaked under the movement and Virgil paled, eyes flying to Roman who quickly noticed the anxious side’s distress.

“Relax,” the Prince said. “It was just a weak spot, and it’s only a couple inches deep. I could reach the bottom.”

“We should still be worried about getting our clothes wet in this weather.” It seemed to have gotten colder, even as Virgil remained perfectly dry. “Didn’t Logan do a whole lecture about hypothermia a few years ago?”

“We’re not getting hypothermia, Panic at the Everywhere. Logan gives a lecture on everything. Worst case scenario is I come down with a little cold, and our dear Patton feels guilty and smothers me for a few days.”

Virgil laughed, carefully stepping around the hole Roman had created. “I’m pretty sure it’s not Patton’s fault you’re so clumsy.”

“No, but he practically forced me to bring you out here.” And just like that Virgil’s good mood was gone, stomach twisting uncomfortably as the words set in.

It shouldn’t be a surprise- of course Roman wouldn’t voluntarily spend the day with him. Patton wanted everyone to get along for Thomas’s sake, and he’d made Roman drag Virgil along like an unwanted nuisance.

“Oh.”

“So if we look miserable enough when we get back, we can coax Pat into making us cookies and hot chocolate,” Roman said, and he didn’t seem to notice Virgil’s shift in mood. “Just try to watch your step, ok?”

Roman clearly didn’t think he had said anything wrong, only scowling at his now soaking wet pant leg before turning to continue forward. He obviously thought Virgil knew this, that he wasn’t stupid enough to think he was actually wanted.

Well, at least Roman was giving him the benefit of the doubt. Even if Virgil apparently was that stupid.

They kept walking, Virgil ending up trailing a bit behind with slightly numb hands stuffed deep into his hoodie pockets. Roman managed to make it even farther ahead, humming some vaguely familiar tune as he watched the snowfall, and Virgil wondered if he should just let the Prince make the rest of the walk by himself, kind of wanting to just lay down and let the snow bury him.

The wind was picking up, and Virgil was clearly finding it more difficult to trek through the snow than Roman was. The Prince didn’t seem inclined to leave him behind though, slowing down and smiling patiently at the anxious side every few moments, letting him catch up on his own time.

He wondered why Roman didn’t just quicken his pace and leave him. It wasn’t like Virgil would go tell Patton just to get him in trouble. As much as it hurt knowing Roman wanted nothing to do with him, that someone had to make Roman spend time with him, it hurt worse to think that the Prince had just been faking it.

He’d thought...God, he’d actually thought they might be getting somewhere. That maybe, maybe Virgil’s feelings for the Prince weren’t as pointless as they’d once been.

The soft little smiles sent his way, the light touches on Virgil’s back or shoulder, the quiet jokes meant just for him, the way Roman’s eyes would linger for just a second…

He noticed it a second too late, caught up in his own head instead of paying careful attention to where he was stepping like he usually would, only pulled from his thoughts by another ear splitting crack as a piece of ice gave way right where he’d stepped down.

It was sudden and loud, and Virgil yelped when he stumbled and fell to the ground, hands losing feeling completely as they grabbed at the snow and his foot disappeared under the ice.

“Fuck- Roman!”

He heard Roman laugh, but it was almost impossible to make out over the howling of the wind and the pounding of his own heart. The water was so cold, (thank god he’d managed to stop himself before it went past his shin) like a million little knives dancing along his skin, paying no mind to what little protection his clothes offered.

“You’re fine,” Roman called, voice small and distant like he’d kept walking. Virgil didn’t dare look up, eyes on the ground beneath his hands. “It’s not deep, Virge, you can stand up.”

Virgil nodded even though he doubted Roman could see it, his voice refusing to cooperate. He squeezed numb hands into shaky fists, took a breath, and pushed himself up to stand on his free leg.

The next moment happened so fast, Virgil didn’t even register that more ice had broken under his weight until he felt himself falling, and suddenly the icy cold water was much higher than just his leg.

It felt like he’d been hit by a bus- a very, very cold bus- and Virgil gasped as all the ice below him gave way, the water rising up to his chest, wrapping around his body like a vice and yanking him forward without warning.

It was like hundreds of frozen hands were grabbing at him and tugging viciously, shoving him along with the water’s surprisingly violent current while trying to drag him down below the dark surface. Virgil barely had half a second to force his arms to move, frantically reaching for the nearest chunk of intact ice.

He couldn’t feel his fingers, and his hands were shaking so bad he almost didn’t make it, but he managed to get a grip on the edge just in time.

He gasped as he pulled himself to a sudden stop against the relentless current, weakening arms protesting the sudden strain, choking and coughing on the frigid water that managed to lap at the corners of his mouth.

“Princey!” he tried to scream, but he could barely hear himself over the roar of the river. The water hurt, the cold seeping into his skin and stealing his breath, and it took all of his quickly fleeting energy to keep holding on. “Roman!”

There was no response, at least not one that Virgil could hear, and he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head to see if help was coming, terrified that if he looked away from his hands he’d forget how to hold on.

He had to strain to keep his head above water, and he felt like there were boulders in his pockets weighing him down. He was left kicking desperately against the water, because it was definitely not shallow enough for him to stand.

Roman had said it was. Roman had laughed and kept walking and he’d...he hadn’t...he hadn’t left, had he? If he’d done this on purpose-

The dread and fear that came with the thought was almost more overwhelming than the thought of drowning, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut as he tightened his hold, because Roman wouldn’t do that. He may not like Virgil, but he wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t do this.

A grim voice in the back of his head told him Roman wouldn’t care, that Virgil would never be worth worrying about. Maybe it wasn’t the wind and rushing water blocking out the Prince’s voice...maybe he’d really just already walked away.

He choked back tears and put all his fading focus into staying above the water, the current’s pull growing stronger as his kicking became weaker and weaker. He couldn’t keep holding on. It was so cold and he was so tired-

“Virgil!”

Roman? It was so hard to tell for sure, everything distant and hazy compared to the roaring in his ears and his own too shallow breaths.

Oh god, he couldn’t hold on, he was slipping, he was going to fall-

“Virgil! Hold on, I’m coming!” Either that was Roman, or Virgil’s brain was being very cruel to him right before he died. The latter honestly seemed more likely. “Hold on, please just- I’m coming just hold on!”

He couldn’t feel his hands, barely able to comprehend anything around the all consuming pain settled around him like a blanket, leaving him shaking and numb, teeth chattering in his skull louder than a gunshot and he couldn’t do this- he couldn’t hold on he couldn’t-

“Virgil!”

Virgil didn’t even register what had happened, left only to wonder why the strain on his arms had suddenly been lessened for a single blissful second before realizing his frozen hands had slipped from the ice.

There wasn’t time to take another breath, the river seizing its opportunity to rise above his head and push him under the dark and freezing water, everything suddenly horribly silent.

[honeypirate]

Figure It Out part one (completed )

Masterlist

Hinawa x Fem!reader

Okay guys I really liked writing this even though I think it might be a little weird. It’s just the first part I have a lot more. very terribly edited

Warnings- maybe swears. Talks about a readers sisters death. Feeling so comfortable around Hinawa. Best friends with Hinawa. Aww.

You’ve liked Hinawa from the moment you met him. At first you liked him like anyone would like their superior but every day you were around him, the more you liked him. His hats, his jokes that most of the time no one but you seemed to catch, his under the breath teasing. You would chuckle every time you caught one and he would look at you with a little smirk, he liked having someone around who finally understood all of his humor. He began to look at you after every joke and whisper ones under his breath just to you, making you laugh in serious settings as he pretends to scold you for making a scene.

You became really close friends pretty quick. Sure he was your superior but you’re the same age so sometimes it was hard to see him as such. You found him easy to be around and he made you feel comfortable so you never overthought what you said or did with him. Sure you were easy going with everyone but you went out of your way to make sure he specifically knew you liked his hat, or his cooking, or that you thought he was brave and strong on certain missions. You were always honest, which he liked from the beginning. He appreciated it. (While the others found it strange when they witnessed your banters.)

One day when it was just you guys cooking together and joking around, you saw him truly smile, unabashedly, for the first time. “God Hinawa, your smile is dazzling” you said and his knife slipped, twisting in his hand when he went to cut his potato, the knife just cutting a weird chunk out of it. He felt his cheeks blush for the first time in what felt like forever, he’s worked so hard to devote himself to the world and accepted his place as a cog in the machine, but you bring his feelings to the surface without even trying. Every time you would compliment him, it would make him flustered for a good 15 seconds before he could say ‘thank you’ or something nice back to you. After a few months you found yourselves that much closer, found it that much easier for you both to address lighter feelings, feelings that you both haven’t had in a long time. Without realizing it you both changed your devotions from being about duty to being about each other.

It became a ritual between you both that whenever one would cook the other would assist, leading to you swapping stories and joking around the entire time. Cooking together became a sort of reset with each other, using it as a special few hours where nothing else mattered but the food and each other.

One night you had asked him once to tell you a story about his life before Company 8 and he surprised you both by bringing up his friend who turned infernal in front of his eyes. Telling you stories of when they would do crazy things, when they would goof off on weekends and hang out at the bar.

He didn't realize he had tears running down his face until your hands were on his shoulders, turning him to face you so you could cup his cheeks and wipe away his tears before pulling him down into your arms. “Thank you, for trusting me” you whisper as he cries on your shoulder in the middle of the kitchen.

When you felt him relax and his breathing even out, he stood up to his full height and looked at you with semi embarrassed eyes. You reach up and brush away any tears that are left and then smile softly “do you want to hear about my sister? She was my best friend my whole life.” he smiles weakly at you “yes, please tell me” you nod and as you go back to cutting up vegetables. beginning to recount the time she tried to get the grocery boy to date you, how she was always the life of your family, crazy energy and who never thought about anything until after she said it.

“Fearless. She was always so fearless. I think God gave her it all, and gave me all the common sense” you chuckle and then clear your throat “when I uh lost her, she was making us lunch, I was watching her son in the living room and before I knew it, it was all over. Brain aneurysm,” you let out a sad laugh “Not even fire”

you feel your throat constrict and you try to clear it again, you reach up and brush away your tears, turning away from him as he takes the cut up vegetables and potatoes to the pot. You sniff a few times, trying to contain it but failing. He touches your arm lightly and you turn to him, your eyes on the floor “sorry, i didn’t know this would happen. Here i am trying to comfort you but this isn't really comforting is it'' you chuckle awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable about needing to be comforted when he was having a hard time. you just wanted to share something hard from your past, so he didn't feel so vulnerable but you ended up putting yourself in a same position. you try to clear your throat again but what comes out is a strangled sob.

He tilts your face up to look into his eyes “for what it’s worth, you are one of the most fearless people I know” he brushes away your tears and smiles softly down at you, before hugging you to his chest, returning the comfort you both desperately need.

Being alone with him was nice, but rare, not happening again for a few more days until one day after work when you guys were the only ones not occupied. You decided to just spend the time together in the lounge room, not on purpose, he just found you and decided to stay. Sitting side by side on the couch, you were reading a book and he was drawing something in a small notebook.

You look up and over at him, smiling at his look of concentration and thinking about the kitchen moment, recounting all the feelings that have been brought up since meeting him, how easy it has been recently to realize what you want. When you spoke you kept your voice so quiet it barely reached his ears in the quiet room.

“Ya know, I once thought that it was easier to devote myself to my duty and to the world. Easier because when someone you love turns infernal or dies it won’t hurt too bad. I never would allow myself to truly love, so i would have nothing to lose. but i think… I think that love is something that makes you learn how to live each moment like it could be your last. At any moment something could happen and someone could be gone, I could be gone. To be alone is to not get hurt, to not feel exhausted by every emotion. But knowing the pain could happen, I realize that it makes me want to truly cherish my life, truly live my life like I have meaning, because to our city and to our team we mean everything. that’s my world, that is what matters. There are some things that i will never understand, but if I could have one scrap of truly loving someone, it would be worth all the pain of the uncertainty. It’s a crazy rush to feel like a person who matters to others. And.. I know it could hurt so much, but it’s comforting to know that I’m not alone, that I have others who feel the same, the feeling of being safe and to feel like I truly matter, of being so sure about something, or someone, the trust that someone can love 100% of me...I think I would give everything for that. The kind of belonging you can only have with family or with being in love with someone. Being in this company made me realize it. Everyone here is my family. That is something that no one could ever take or burn away”

After your first sentence he had looked at your face, his heart racing at the feelings your words have invoked in him. Like you were saying something so easily that he has been afraid of for so long. Your voice was so confident he was shocked to see tears well up in your eyes and spill down your cheeks as you closed your book, setting it in your lap as you stared at the notebook in his hands while you spoke. You felt your hands start to shake, like you were saying something extremely important, like an epiphany you were sharing with him because he happened to be here with you, caught in the same moment.

Your eyes are caught by a flash of lightning outside of the window and you reach up wiping away your tears. “Sorry” you laugh “didn’t mean to go so hard there. Just forget it if it’s too weird.” He hums softly, a comforting low sound that gave you goosebumps “no, i'm glad you are comfortable to talk to me about anything you want. I.. I think i understand what you mean” you can tell he was struggling and you didn't push him, you just scooted closer to him on the couch, until you were pressed into his side so you could find some comfort in being close to someone.

You tried to read your book again, as he resumed his drawing, but it was getting late and you had a long day, your eyes burned with the exhaustion hitting your body. neither of you moved, not wanting to be alone tonight. So you stayed there, on the couch in the lounge room, reading and drawing together. A storm was raging outside, every once in a while loud thunder would make you flinch. You felt your eyes close and you couldn’t resist it any longer, your book going slack on your things as your head fell over onto his shoulder. Humming in your sleep at how comfortable his shoulder was.

You were awoken by the feeling of his fingers brushing your hair out of your face. You sigh and smile before opening your eyes halfway “what time is it?”you whisper “just after midnight” he responds, his cheeks a little pink. “Sorry i didn’t mean to fall asleep. I guess i should go to bed huh?” you laugh and smile up at him, your cheek still pressed to his shoulder.

He cups your cheek softly and kisses your forehead, smiling when your cheeks flushed. He couldn’t resist, it felt so natural. You were so much more than just friends, but you weren’t ready to admit what you were feeling, and neither was he. “Yes, we should get to bed” he stands first and offers you his hand, which you gladly accept.

You reach his room first “thank you for listening to me tonight” you say and he nods “always, y/n” he says before giving your hand a squeeze and letting go.

You were almost asleep, almost feeling the sweet relief of unconsciousness, when your heart started racing, your brain connecting all the dots, that you felt this way because of Hinawa.

You spent the rest of your night convincing yourself to sleep.

You like Hinawa. So what? You’re not even sure if what you’re feeling really are romantic feelings for him! You’ve never been in love before so you don’t know. You need more proof. That’s what eventually led you to sleeping, relaxing in the fact that you needed more proof to really know. And no it’s not against the rules because nothing is even going on.

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.1

this arid world has turned my deep heart dry

This is the first chapter in my new ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Chapter Summary: follows S5E1 and Spencer's depression and disordered thinking is introduced.

TW: depression, disordered thinking, loneliness, the events of s5e1 (guns and knives)

Word Count: 3.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

"She simply said this arid world has turned her deep heart dry, there was just one way she knew of to finally feel like she was free, and it was 1400 feet beneath the cold and stormy sea." — Erin Hanson

Spencer’s entire body feels heavy as he drags himself into work, and it’s not exactly a good sign when he can’t even find the energy to press the button for the right floor; he just stares pitifully at the array of numbers as if the elevator will read his mind and resolve the issue for him. Eventually, he brings himself to move his finger the short distance, cold metal colliding with cold flesh, and the doors shudder close, catapulting him up several storeys towards his fate.

Some might call the emotions Spencer’s experience typical burnout, far too common in the FBI and even more so in units that deal directly with horrific crime on the regular, but he knows it’s more than that. His entire life is operating in a minor key, he’s functioning entirely on auto-pilot, and chunks of his day are a blur, almost impossible to recall. He knows he’s depressed. Knowing such a fact, however, does little to cure the actual problem. He has no idea what to do with information like this except bottle it up and shove it as far down as possible while pretending as much as possible that absolutely everything is fine.

Emily and Derek are laughing about something as he approaches their group of desks. Only weeks ago he would’ve been crushed when they don’t so much as look over to say hello, but now he’s glad to not have to fake a smile, invent a story to tell about his weekend, pretend he’s not currently being held together with slowly peeling sellotape.

Instead, he focuses on feeling grateful that no one’s commented on him arriving a whole hour later than he used to as he unpacks his messenger bag. It’s not like it’s his fault he can’t pull his exhausted body out of bed in the morning, but since he’d rather not disclose such sorry information and finding an excuse is way too much effort, spending the morning in solitude seems the only option.

He doesn’t really understand how he’s gone from being a genuinely happy person, thick as thieves with everybody on the team, to this. It’s almost as though somebody’s cut the rope tying him to the others and now he’s drifting away, sinking without everyone else’s buoyancy to keep him afloat. He can see them all still tied together, barely seeming to notice their drowning team member, clearly not missing his presence.

This misery over his inevitable isolation, though, is his own fault: he can’t believe he let himself forget his place. He’s useful, good to keep around for his intelligence, his reading speed, his problem-solving skills, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Spencer is not friendship material. And he certainly isn’t relationship material.

The day starts off slow, everyone burying themselves in their paperwork, but Spencer finishes it far too quickly for it to really serve as much of a distraction. Depressingly, it’s still miles slower than he’s used to. Since his pile of consults seems too exhausting to even look at, he decides another coffee is very much in order.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ says happily as soon as he pushes his way into the breakroom. She’s leaning casually against the counter as she drinks her coffee, reading through what looks like case notes at the same time.

“Hi,” he says, trying for a smile but he knows there’s no way he could possibly match her relaxed grin. Instead of trying to converse, he just heads straight for the coffee machine, fixing his eyes on the steady stream of coffee pouring into his mug already piled high with sugar.

“You alright?” JJ asks, sounding a little suspicious. Not concerned, Spencer notes, just suspicious.

“Hmm?” He looks up and catches her eye before deciding he should probably answer verbally. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been acting a bit off the past few weeks.”

Spencer sighs. Maybe this is an opportunity to actually communicate his feelings. He doubts JJ will be able to help but really he’d just like a bit of comfort: he’s in so much pain that a hug would feel really nice right now. And besides Penelope, she’s probably the team member he’s most comfortable with. If he’s going to share with anybody, it should be JJ.

“I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, I guess,” he admits, looking up as his left-hand fidgets on the hot ceramic side of his coffee mug. He resents how vulnerable his voice sounds, he’s giving far too much of himself over to hands he’s not sure he can trust, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“Really?” JJ sounds surprised. Spencer recognises the tone as that of anyone who has a certain perspective on him realising that he also has feelings alongside his intelligence, and it hurts. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer just presses his lips into a thin line and nods awkwardly in thanks.

“I mean… at least you’re not going through what Hotch is,” she offers, completely unhelpfully. “He’s still trying to cope with his divorce and isn’t seeing Jack as much as he used to. Derek was almost killed by the Reaper just a few months ago, Emily only recently lost a childhood friend — I mean, the whole team has been through a lot. Keep your chin up.”

She smiles at him, patting him on the shoulder, before leaving the break room and heading back to her office, leaving Spencer standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. He wants to shout that he was literally poisoned with anthrax only a month ago, if they’re tallying bad things happening as a method of tracking who has the right to be miserable. The others might be going through a lot, that’s true, but it doesn’t lessen any of the pain thudding in his chest and stirring in his stomach.

As he walks back to his desk, he realises he’s learned one thing: opening up = not a good idea.

As completely fucking miserable as he might be, there’s exactly one person in this world who doesn’t deserve to be burdened with any of it, so he carefully tucks it away in his pockets and plasters on the mask he’d perfected so many years ago. It might be a little rusty, after all, it’s been little used in recent years, but it works just as well as it used to do when he pushes the door open to Penelope’s office.

“I bring blueberry muffins,” he says as cheerfully as he can muster, and something inside him does warm as Penelope’s face lights up, squealing a little as she reaches her arms out eagerly, making grabby hands at the paper bag he’s holding.

“Oh, you have no idea how much I love you,” she moans, keen to rip the bag open as he pulls up a chair next to hers.

“I think I do,” Spencer chuckles, and it’s one of the only genuine reactions he’s given in months, “mostly because you tell me every day.”

“Mm, that’s right,” she concedes through a mouthful of warm muffin, pointing a finger at his chest. “I love you even more than I love coding.”

“That’s a lot,” Spencer says, trying for serious but he can’t stop a fond smile slipping across his face.

Penelope swallows her rather large bite of blueberry muffin and passes him his one. “It is,” she says. “How are you, anyway? You look tired, poor baby.”

Spencer looks down for a moment, schooling his expression for a second before he forces himself to look back up at her. “Yeah, I didn’t… didn’t sleep well last night, I guess.” He tries for a reassuring smile but he knows it’s more of a grimace.

Penelope’s face immediately morphs into one of grave concern. Spencer knows that that’s just the way she is, melodrama and fierce protectiveness is virtually her brand at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t any less agonising to see, or the anxiety of being found out any less paralysing. He decides not to give her any room to actually address it.

“I’ll be fine, Penelope, don’t worry,” he says, turning away to brush some muffin crumbs off the desk and into his hand, purely so he doesn’t have to attempt another pathetic smile. “A good night’s sleep tonight will fix me right up.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, still looking far too worried for Spencer’s liking.

“Of course, Pen.” He feels sick at lying to her, but he has no idea how to broach any of the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him, especially after JJ shut him down so brutally. “It’s only a bad nights’ sleep.”

He’s saved from her inevitable continued line of questioning by Emily poking her head round the door and asking for Spencer’s opinion on a consult.

While getting out of bed in the morning might be an almost impossible task at the moment, the idea of getting into it at night seems rather depressing, really. That’s probably the reason he’s still at the office, despite the time nearing 8 o’clock and exhaustion settling into every muscle fibre of his being. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it’s just a little more time in close proximity to one Aaron Hotchner.

Of course, he’d had to accept the fact that he was maybe, just a little bit in love with his boss a long time ago. He just refuses to admit that he’s this embarrassing about it. Perhaps staying late to spend more time with someone you like this much wouldn’t be so weird if there was a reasonable chance of conversation — if he ever even saw him — but there isn’t even that: Spencer sits and works quietly at his desk, Aaron sits and works quietly in his office.

Today, though, today his lingering finally pays off.

Aaron is on his way back from the photocopier when he stops by Spencer’s desk. He doesn’t see him coming, though, is the thing: he has no time to try and make himself look even a smidge less miserable or to school his surprised yet utterly lovesick expression.

“Won’t you want to be heading off soon, Reid?” he asks, clearly curious as to why Spencer remains at his desk when there’s no real work to be doing, but he cleverly paints it in a light-hearted tone. Even though Spencer is completely aware of what Aaron’s doing, he doesn’t feel attacked or under pressure.

“Oh,” Spencer says unintelligently, stammering a little as he scrambles desperately at a somewhat coherent reply, “yes, yeah, I’ll get going soon.” He doesn’t want to lie when he doesn’t have to, so he doesn’t try and offer an explanation for his staying late, and he knows Aaron won’t push. He manages an almost entirely genuine smile, though, which must count for something, even if it’s only because he’s hopelessly in love with the man leaning casually against his desk.

“Right then,” Aaron says, offering a small smile in response, letting his hard exterior drop in the nearly empty office, and even though it’s nothing special, not really, Spencer carefully files it away as his heart pitter-patters against his ribcage and his stomach pools with warmth. “See you tomorrow, Reid.”

Spencer just nods in response and gathers his things, placing them carefully in his messenger bag and shrugging his jacket on before walking out of the building. When he glances back, just as he pulls the glass door open, Aaron is watching him carefully. He doesn’t turn away but instead offers a small wave, which Spencer returns bashfully, blushing scarlet in the elevator and on the walk out of the HQ and during the whole trek down the street and sat on the metro train and on the final stretch home. He fumbles with his keys and curses himself for being so goddamn pathetic.

He doesn’t consider it for long, though, because he’s utterly exhausted and his tired bones collapse on the sofa, and who is he to try and get them to move again? Sleep is a mercy.

🌧

The case is gruelling and stressful enough without the endless and constant worry about where on earth Aaron is. He never turns his phone off and Spencer can’t think of a time he’s worked a case without him, not properly; he’s always the first one at the office, the first one on the plane, the first to jump out of bed towards the chance to make a real difference in the world. It’s so out of character for him and it’s utterly distressing.

Nevertheless, he focuses all his attention on the job; on protecting Jeffrey and Tom Barton, on bringing justice to the perpetrator when they inevitably find them. He offers lame and desperate excuses for Aaron not being there, all the while knowing full well that none of them are likely. Something is wrong and he’s powerless to help.

Emily tells him why. He sort of forgets how to breathe.

Getting shot in the leg while simultaneously petrified for the livelihood of the person you’re in love with is inconvenient at best when trying to talk down an unsub and protect a victim and eventually fatal at worst, but somehow he half-manages and Tom escapes unscathed, though he isn’t quite as lucky with the unsub.

That’s what matters, really, isn’t it? That others are safe, even if it means he’s in danger? After all, Tom Barton has lives to save and a son to raise, a wide social circle, and a loving family. What does Spencer have? No, it’s much better that he’s the one hurt than anyone else.

Of course, once the adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off and medics arrive on scene, he realises quite how badly he’s hurt. Already feeling woozy, energy seems to seep out of him as roaring, raging agony takes its place. It’s the first time he’s ever been shot and it’s worse than he could have imagined: no amount of studying literature and anecdotal evidence could prepare him for the feeling of a small metal ball tearing through the flesh and muscle and tendons — though, hopefully, and judging by the amount of blood he’s lost, no arteries or large blood vessels — of his thigh.

His team arrives, minus Emily and minus Hotch, and they’re concerned, of course they are. That is, until he presents them with someone they see as much more important, someone whose life is worth something, someone they care about deeply being hurt. And they leave.

He doesn’t get a chance to tell the medics that he doesn’t want narcotics, so the ride to the hospital is a blur of morphine and voices talking to him, though he can’t quite piece together what they’re saying. He wonders vaguely where everybody is, whether Hotch is alright, whether he’s about to die, but no real emotion is attached to any of these thoughts, they just… are.

He’s rushed into surgery almost immediately after he arrives at the hospital, and the next thing he’s aware of is a dull, ever-present, agonising ache in his upper thigh and exhaustion settled into his bones like his body is pain’s home, fatigue’s resting place. The last time he’d blinked himself awake in a hospital bed, blinding pain burning in one part of his body or another, Derek had been sat by his bed, eating jello.

There’s nobody by his bed this time.

A PCA pump is resting by his right hand but he doesn’t touch it. Clearly, nobody from his team has informed the hospital staff of his previous addiction; he doesn’t even know if they’re at the hospital; if they know what’s going on. The morphine he’s already had is going to be hard enough to deal with, he can feel the future cravings itching beneath his skin already, scarred-over track marks simmering away.

It’s over twenty-five minutes of lying helplessly on a hospital bed in a cool, impersonal room, feeling a certain kind of emptiness sitting in his stomach, before a nurse comes by. She looks pleased enough to see him awake, but he doesn’t care about her satisfaction, he cares about his team, about Penelope, about Aaron, and he’s too exhausted to do anything about it.

“Good, you’re awake,” she says cheerily and for once, he doesn’t try and conceal his despondency. It’s oddly freeing. “I’ll get the doctor to come and explain the situation.”

She bumbles out of the room, clearly not fazed by Spencer’s expression, so he resumes staring at the wall, allowing his thoughts to wander, still not managing to attach much emotion to them other than a miserable sort of emptiness.

The doctor is nice enough, making sure he understands his injury and the procedures he’s had done, as well as the recovery ahead of him, but he just can’t bring himself to care. It’s as though this is the last straw; this is the proof, the evidence to win the case he’s been fighting in the court of his mind. His team doesn't care. His life is worthless. He will always, always be alone.

JJ stops by briefly. This feels like it should be a consolation, but it isn’t. He learns of what’s happened to Aaron, what his family is going through, and suddenly he feels selfish: how dare he demand and crave attention when Aaron is far more hurt and injured than he is? When he’s far more important and far more deserving of the team’s attention? Self-loathing creeps up his throat and settles into grey cotton wool that won’t melt in his mouth.

Spencer doesn’t know how to react to the incredibly overwhelming events of the day, and JJ doesn’t seem to have time for this. “Right, Spencer,” she says, visibly impatient with his emotional floundering, his lack of verbal response, “I need to go. We need to sort this out for Hotch. We owe it to him.”

She leaves, and all Spencer can think is how much more worthless not being able to work on his case makes him. If he can’t even work to save the man he loves; if he can’t strive effortlessly to protect him and make him happy, then what is he doing here? Aaron will be furious when he finds out Spencer laid in bed lazily instead of diving headfirst into the case.

No. That’s not true. He’ll be sickeningly nice about it, while on the inside suppressing his disappointment, and Spencer will feel even more guilty, he’ll be even more irate with himself, and life will seem just a little bit bleaker.

He’s discharged a few days later, and nobody has visited, barring JJ’s fleeting, impatient stop by. He goes home in a taxi and struggles up the stairs on his crutches, almost glad he didn’t have many personal items at the hospital. Then again, that was because he was completely isolated. And if he did have people to bring him things in the hospital, then he’d probably have someone to help him up the stairs too.

It’s a moot point, really. He dives straight for the non-narcotic painkillers he’d been prescribed as soon as he sits down on his dusty couch in his messy apartment, desperate to relieve at least some of the agony throbbing in his leg still. Clearly, the universe decided he wasn’t in enough pain already; that the unrequited love and the growing depression and the recurring stomach cramps and clenches in his chest weren’t quite sufficient.

He knows the team is working flat out on the Foyet case. But even Penelope, who probably works the hardest of all of them, has had time to send him an encouraging text message promising to pop round as soon as she can. Other than that, his phone is dry and his heart slowly freezing over.

Truthfully, he’s not sure how much more of this he can stand. He’s feeling the same way he did as a child: isolated, othered, hurt, and utterly, utterly alone. When he’d joined the BAU and was welcomed immediately into the arms of a family, he promised himself he’d never feel like that again. He would never, ever allow himself to sink so low; not when he was surrounded by so many people who proved day in day out how much they loved him. Surely, feeling like this would simply be impossible.

For once, Doctor Spencer Reid is proved wrong. And it burns, festers, and screams like nothing else.

Chapter Two

taglist:@criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

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[panda-noosh]

the other brothers wedding {finn shelby x reader}

Words: 8.4k

Summary: All Finn needs is a date to Tommy’s wedding.

Warnings: swearing, gets kinda steamy

Genre: fluff (??)

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions!

----

 “You’re lonely, Finn. There’s no point denying it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  The room swallows the words. Absorbs them into the wallpaper. Locks them in for good, so Finn will no longer be able to step foot in the office without remembering this very moment and the way Polly is looking at him now.

  All he wanted to do was ask her who had eaten the sandwich he’d left in the fridge. He and Isaiah were planning on getting a few drinks, but it was an unwritten rule between the boys to not drink on an empty stomach.

  But Polly had caught him before he got that far, as she often does.

  He stands in the doorway, staring at his aunt with what he hopes is a look of confusion, just enough to hide the tiny spasm of panic erupting in his chest.

  “You really are a witch, aren’t you, Pol?” he says, putting that tiny smile on his face to hide the truth.

  Polly takes a puff of her pipe, blows the smoke directly into Finn’s face. “I spoke to Tommy about you. He’s worried. He’s going to get you a whore to bring to his wedding if you don’t hurry the fuck up.”

  “He’s gonna get me a whore? That’s nice of him.”

  “You and I both know he’s not doing it for your benefit.”

  Finn purses his lips and looks away. “Tommy can do whatever the fuck he wants. He’s never taken an interest in me anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t take it personally, son,” says Polly. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself - himself, and the family image.”

  Finn looks up. “What?”

  “He may not give a shit about your feelings, but you walking into his wedding without someone on your arm is going to make people ask questions - questions Tommy won’t want to deal with. So, the bottom line is, you get someone for yourself, or he’ll do it for you, and he won’t take into consideration a single STD you might get from whoever he hires.”

  Finn scoffs.

  “I’m being serious, Finn,” Polly deadpans. “I’m warning you now, for your own sake. Get someone you know is safe and willing, and you’ll be alright.” She raises a brow. “Just for one night. You don’t even have to fuck them if you don’t want to.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Finn asks, because he genuinely wants to know. Polly has gone off the rails these past few years, distanced herself from the family more and more in her attempts to spend more time with her son. She’s also spent a good chunk of Finn’s teenage years trying to ‘find herself’ amongst spirits and other bat-shit crazy things that Finn wants nothing to do with.

  Why she is here right now, giving Finn directions on how to see himself through to the end of this wedding safely is a complete mystery.

  Finn isn’t sure he trusts it.

  Polly takes another puff of her cigarette and turns, facing the window. The velvet curtains match her burgundy dress, a shadow of her slim frame crawling up the wall to her left.

  She really does look like a witch.

  “I just think Tommy’s getting a bit too comfortable, that’s all,” she replies in that way of hers. “He’s tainted Arthur and John. Ada wants nothing to do with him half the time. I’d hate to see you go down the same path.”

   Finn doesn’t know how to respond; in truth, he’s never truly felt like part of the family. He’s got the Shelby name, and he’s part of the Peaky Blinders, but it’s more through association than anything else. Tommy has never looked at him as a true member, has never given him tasks he would give the other Blinders. Finn likes to tell himself it’s because his older brother is protective of him, doesn’t want to see him get hurt - but in truth, it’s most likely more so due to the fact that Finn isn’t the most skilled Shelby boy when it comes to anything pertaining to that kind of thing; he can barely shoot a gun, for gods sake. He wasn’t in the war. His Dad left long before he could ever teach Finn the basics, and his brothers have always been too busy to show him themselves.

  Finn is the throw-away piece.

  Finn swallows and looks to the ground. “I’ll - uh - have a look around for anyone interesting. Thanks for warning me, Pol.”

  Polly nods. The messy bun atop her head slumps forward, but she does nothing to fix it. ”Anytime, Finn. And pick a good one, too. Really show Tommy up tonight, yeah?”

  Finn nods. Polly can’t see him, but he does not correct his gesture. Instead, he turns on his heel and heads out, feeling a little bit sick.

  ---

  The news on the front page today is yet another bomb.

  It’s a petrol bomb this time - you suppose the culprits are mixing things up this time around, or maybe actual explosives were getting a little too tiresome to lug around Birmingham.

  “This isn’t the pub your brothers own, is it?” you ask, tilting the newspaper a little bit.

  Ada looks up from the pile of books she’s looking through and shakes her head. “No. Too big.”

  “Good.”  

  “Debatable.”

  You fold the newspaper over and stamp it, placing it back in the newspaper rack to your side. Another day doing overtime in the office because Ada needs help finishing up her work before she has to pick Carl up from the babysitters - she’s been stressed out recently, meaning she’s been getting to work later and later, and you’re the only person in the office willing to help her catch up before her time runs out and Carl is left stranded.

  “Do you ever plan on making amends with your family?” you ask.

  Ada scoffs as if the mere suggestion is beyond her wildest imagination.

  You raise a brow. “What about that younger one? Finn. He can’t be too bad. He’s my age, is he not?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well.” You lean back, lacing your fingers behind your head. “I’m only young - I haven’t really had time to fuck up my life as much as your other brothers seem to have done.”

  “Finn has messed up plenty of times.”

  You tilt your head to the side. Ada glances at you, rolls her eyes and says, “Okay, so Finn isn’t all that bad. Is that you wanted to hear?”

  You grin, spin round in your chair and pluck another newspaper off the newspaper rack. You get back to work without a word, which Ada seems most content with.

  The silence does not last forever, though, as the staircase to your left creaks; Ada is the first on the scene, craning her neck and saying, “Sorry, love, we’re closed,” but you catch the tiny lick of hesitation at the end of her sentence, the way her expression drops on the last word.

  You crane your own neck. “Who is it?”

  “What the fuck are you doing here? Who dropped you off?”

  “No one.” The voice is familiar, one you’ve only heard in tiny murmurs on the other end of phone calls Ada used to take all the time.

  And then he appears in the doorway.

  Tall, dressed in a brown suit that hugs his lean frame quite well, you’re embarrassed to admit. His hair is shaved round the sides, just like every Shelby boy you’ve ever known, and his smile is full of innocence, unlike every Shelby boy you’ve ever known.

  Ada groans, turning back to her pile of books as you stare at Finn Shelby with your mouth slightly open; he’s got his eyes planted firmly on his sister, and you’re almost certain he hasn’t seen you yet.

  “Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks. “You’ve been in hiding for god knows how long.”

  “And there’s a reason for that,” Ada shoots back. “A reason you’re damn well aware of, so why the fuck are you here?”

  “Nothing catastrophic.” Finn pulls a chair out from beneath Ada’s desk and sits down, crossing his legs. “I’m here for some actual big sister help.”

  Ada raises a brow. “Unlike you.”

  “Polly’s let me know that I need to bring someone to Tommy’s wedding or else he’s getting me a whore.”

  You cover your mouth, stifling your giggle; you aren’t sure why, but you don’t really want to make a noise lest Finn hear you. At the minute, you’re perfectly fine with being the bystander, hidden away in the corner.

  Ada takes a moment to respond. She’s got her stamp in her hand, the book open to the correct page, but she makes no move to finish her task. She just stares at the book for a little while, until Finn leans over and clicks his fingers in front of her eyes.

  She flinches away. “You’re being serious.”

  “Look, don’t make this a big deal,” he says. “It’s just for one night, and I know you’ve got all them friends - normal people.”

  “I can’t believe you actually think I’d let one of my good friends waltz into an event hosted by Thomas fucking Shelby. They’ll be dead by the end of the night.”

  “They’ll be with me,” Finn corrects. “And Tommy’s already promised this is going to be a quiet night - it’s not like him and Grace. This is purely a wedding for circumstance.”

   “Tommy promises an awful lot of things.”

  “Please, Ada. I never ask you for fuck all.”

  Ada rolls her eyes. “Now you’re gonna guilt trip me?”

  “I would never do that to you.” He leans forward, and you almost swear you see him bat his eyelashes.

  Ada pushes him away, two fingers pressed to his forehead. “You’re a pain in the ass, Finn Shelby. I wonder where you get it from.”

  Finn smirks, and something in your stomach stirs. “I think we all have a bit of that to take the blame for.”

  Ada sighs, stamps her book and nods in your direction.

  Finn spins around, eyes widening when he realises you’ve been sat there the entire time. You give a small smile, timidly waving.

  “Y/N’s single,” Ada says.

  Your eyes snap up. “You what?”

  “Are you?” Finn asks, suddenly seeming much more lively. His fingers have tightened on the arm rests of his chair, and he’s straightened up significantly, really accentuating his lean torso.

  You still haven’t entirely processed what Ada means.

  “They are,” she replies when you fail to do so. “I don’t think you’ve been out with anyone in ages, Y/N, have you?”

  “I - uh - that’s none of your fucking business.”

  “Well, this is perfect.” Finn stands up and grabs your hand, surprising you by pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His cheeks are flushed a bright red colour, and you’re almost certain this isn’t the kind of thing he does all the time - he’s been playing off some kind of script, or some older source has been telling him what to do or say to win you over. Either way, he looks most unnatural in this state, and you can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes your throat.

  “Is this for real?” you ask. “Are you asking me to go to your brothers wedding with you? We don’t even know each other!”

  “We don’t have to know each other. It’s not that serious,” Finn replies. “Tommy will probably know you’re not my real partner, so he won’t give a shit. We’re just there to make appearances - nothing more.”

  “Finn being on his own will be a right embarrassment to the family,” Ada adds over Finn’s shoulder. “Thank fuck I’m a widow.”

  You flick your eyes between the two Shelby’s; no matter how much Ada tries to distance herself from them, you can see the clear resemblance, both in personality and appearance. Finn is staring at you with a hopeful smile, and he has the exact same eyes as her, a tiny dimple in his chin, eyebrows that look like they should constantly be arched in anger but are not.

  “I don’t even know who you are,” you mumble.

  Finn’s smile wavers. “Come for a drink with me, then.”

  Your heart jumps. “What?”

  “We’ll go for a drink together,” he repeats. “I’ll let you meet my mate, Isaiah. If we run into Tommy, or Arthur, I can just tell them I’ve been seeing you for a while, I’m taking you on a tour of the town-”

  “So I’ll just have to pretend to be in love with you?”

  Finn grins. “Exactly.”

  “You’re saying that like it’s easy.”

  “Oh, Finn is very easy to love,” Ada chimes in. Finn blushes at her words, but keeps his eyes on you. “Probably the easiest out of all of us. Go on, Y/N. Give the kid a break.”

  You look back at Finn, noting that hopeful spark in his eyes, so like his sisters. You’ve never been able to resist Ada when she looks at you like that.

  And apparently Finn is the same.

  You sigh, slapping his cheek with a rolled-up newspaper. “Fine. But you’re paying for the booze. I’m sure being a mob boss pays a lot better than working in a book shop.”

   ----

   Finn isn’t sure how to do this.

  He knows it’s only fake. This is something he constantly reminds himself as he walks into the Garrison, you trailing close behind him - none of this is real. After Tommy’s wedding, it will all be over and he won’t ever have to put himself through this anxiety again.

  But he can’t quite figure out why he’s even anxious in the first place.

  He sees Isaiah first, seated at the bar, talking away to the girl behind it. A whiskey glass sits empty in front of him, and Finn says a silent prayer that his good friend isn’t drunk yet.

  He turns, glances at you. You’re casting your eyes along the surprisingly well-kept pub, hands stuffed in your pockets, shoulders drawn a little too far up for Finn to be convinced you’re relaxed. It’s complete chivalry when he reaches over and places a hand on your elbow, his attempts at soothing you when he knows his words won’t do the trick.

  You look at him. “Your family owns this place?”

  “Yeah.”

  You nod as if you understand. Finn knows you don’t. Nobody will ever really understand just how far the Shelby’s have managed to leave their mark. Small Heath doesn’t even scratch the surface.

  Finn leads you to the bar and pulls your stool out for you. You sit down next to Isaiah with a grateful smile, and it is only then that Finn taps his best friends shoulder and grabs his attention.

  Isaiah spins around, eyes widening when he sees Finn standing over him. “That twas awfully fucking quick. Do you know how long I’ve been sat here waiting for you, mate? I downed your whiskey.”

  “I don’t care,” Finn replies, before motioning to you. “Isaiah, this is Y/N. The person I’m taking to Tommy’s wedding.”

  Isaiah blinks. It’s not a drunken blink, not the ones Finn is used to seeing from his best mate. This is a blink of genuine confusion, slow and deliberate as he trails his eyes along your form.

  You offer an awkward wave, and Finn jumps in before Isaiah can pick up on how uncomfortable you are.

  “I thought I should introduce you before the big day. There’s gonna be so much happening that day, anyway - don’t wanna add anything else to the list, you know.”

  “Man, what the fuck are you on about?” Isaiah thrusts a hand in your direction. “Hello, love. I’m Isaiah. I didn’t realise Finny-Boy was getting any action.”

  “Plenty of action,” you mumble in response, and Finn pretends to cough in his attempts to hide his laughter.

  Isaiah shakes his head, leaning back against the bar. “This is bloody surreal, I’ll tell you that much. I was starting to think our Finn had no bollocks or something and that was why he refused to talk about the sex.”

  You raise a brow, glancing at Finn. “The sex?”

  “Shagging. A good ol-’”

  Finn slaps the back of Isaiah’s head. “Alright, Y/N, what are you drinking?”

  You perk up. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  Finn raises a brow. “I don’t know… I’m on the pretty strong stuff.”

  You nod. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  And Finn has to admit he’s impressed when he orders you a whiskey - all on it’s own - and you down it in the space of ten seconds, barely even wincing. You order a second one, and the conversation goes from there.

  Finn has to watch you. He can’t help it; he knows he’s hit the jackpot. Ada has plenty of friends, but most of them are hardcore Christians who wouldn’t even think of pecking him on the cheek if he asked them to. Either that, or very elderly women, and Finn might have been desperate earlier, but he isn’t sure he’d have agreed if Ada offered him one of her old librarian friends.

  It was a miracle, really, that you were sat behind that desk, had heard every drop of conversation, had agreed to come with him, and now here you are, playing the part of his partner in a way that nearly has him wishing this wasn’t just a temporary thing.

  At one point, with Finn standing beside your chair, you wrap your arm around his middle and use your other hand to absently mess with the tails of his shirt. You’re still chatting idly away with Isaiah, but at the feel of your nails scratching lightly against the fabric of his shirt, sending goosebumps to race along his skin, Finn can’t drag himself back into the conversation. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, nods along like he’s paying attention.

  And then someone claps him on the shoulder.

  Finn jumps, nearly spilling his drink over you in the process. Spinning around, he comes face-to-face with Arthur, his oldest brother and biggest pain in the ass. Ever since John died, Arthur has taken it upon himself to be the reckless, annoying brother in the family - only he does it with the added fuel of cocaine.

  His grin is clear beneath his moustache. “And what is this?”

  Your arm drops back to your side. “Hello.” You glance up at Finn. “Who’s this?”

  Finn speaks through gritted teeth. “This is my brother, Arthur. Arthur, this Y/N - my date to Tommy’s wedding.”

  Arthur pauses. Finn can see his thoughts racing, fuelled by the drugs and the alcohol and the adrenaline the mix of two can bring.

   And then he smiles, so wide and daunting that Finn very nearly grabs your hand and declares he’s off to bed for the night.

  “Well, isn’t that fucking lovely?” Arthur hollers. “How many STD’s has this one got, then?”

  Your eyes widen. You open your mouth to say something back, but Isaiah stumbles in before you get a chance.

  “Nah, mate, Y/N’s sound! An actual, working individual, as far as I’ve picked up. Hasn’t even got the clap.”

  Arthur’s eyes widen. “Serious? You’re doing all this for free?”

  You swallow. Finn watches your throat bob, reaches down and pinches your shoulder - his way of letting you know that this moment will pass, that Arthur won’t be here for good, you’ll be okay.

  He turns back to his older brother. “Where’s Tommy?”

  “Out doing god knows what.” Arthur tosses himself onto the stool next to you, orders a whiskey before turning back to Finn. “Honestly, mate, he hasn’t been on a night out in fucking ages. I think Lizzy’s got his balls hung up on the key holder by the front door.”

  Isaiah snickers. Even you crack a smile, so Finn lets himself chuckle along.

  “I hope this one doesn’t do the same with you,” Arthur continues, nodding in your direction.

  Finn opens his mouth, ready to defend your honour or whatever, but you beat him to it. Raising your glass, you say, “Finn is allowed to go on as many nights out as he pleases - as long as he doesn’t mind me doing the same.” And then you down the remainder of your whiskey.

  Isaiah hoots, slapping you on the back like you’re one of the boys, fitting so easily in the group. Arthur just stares at you, a look of mild admiration on his face that Finn has not seen in an awfully long time. Not since John died. Not since the world got so dark it was almost not worth trying to see the light.

  It makes his stomach curl, a feeling of warmth mixing with that feeling he really isn’t used to.

  Arthur glances at him and smiles. Finn smiles back, slowly placing his hand on your shoulder.

   ---

  “I don’t think Tommy is going to like me very much.”

  There. You’ve said it - you’ve spoken the truth, the one fear that has been swirling around your brain for the past three days you’ve been in Small Heath.

  Finn glances at you in the mirror, too busy fiddling with his tie to pay you too much attention, though you don’t miss the small smile that plays on his face.

  You sit on the bed behind him, messing with the cuffs of your sleeves; you’ve been dressed and ready to go since the early hours of the morning, having been far too nervous to just sit around and wait for the time to draw nearer. But now it’s here, and you’re beginning to regret this little arrangement.

  “I’m not exactly a Polly Gray,” you continue. “I work with Ada, for fucks sake. How am I meant to impress him?”

  “You don’t need to impress him,” Finn replies, because it’s easy for him to say that, easy for him to believe that when he is one of the lucky few who have had a part of Tommy’s respect from the moment they were born.

  You sigh, slumping back against the headboard. “What kinds of things would he like to talk about?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “He’s a businessman.” Finn frowns at his reflection, undoing his tie for the nineteenth time.

  You roll your eyes and make your way towards him. He doesn’t notice your presence until your centimetres away from him, and you’re not really sure what comes over you when you reach around him and start fixing the tie for him.

  His muscles tense against you, and one glance at his reflection reveals the fresh pink hue added to his pale cheeks; your own face is heating up considerably, and it’s with an awkward stumble that you back away from him once the tie is done up.

   He swallows. You can see his Adams apple bobbing.

  He turns then, giving you a small smile. “Thanks. I’m shit at formal wear.”

  “I find that hard to believe considering you live in a suit.”

  He scowls. “Nothing like this. I don’t know what Tommy was thinking setting this as the dress code.”

  You grin. “Are the Shelby brothers gonna be wearing matching suits?”

  Finn glares.  

  You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “Kidding. Unless you are, in which case - that is very adorable, and I look forward to seeing it.”

  ---

  Even though Tommy Shelby has not been in love with anyone since dear old Grace, he has certainly gone all out for his necessary wedding.

  You don’t recall ever stepping foot inside such a nice building. Much too large, far too roomy, but pleasant nonetheless. Tinkling music rings softly through the spacious halls, and pictures are hung up along every wall, a mural of Tommy, his son and daughter and his soon-to-be-wife greeting you as soon as you step through the oversized mahogany doors.

  Your breath leaves you in a single swoop, and Finn must hear you because he immediately grabs your arm and loops it through his own, guiding you through the house.

  “Is this Tommy’s fucking house?” you hiss under your breath.

  Finn smiles, giving Alfie Solomons a smile as the two glide past each other. “Did I not mention he’s got a shit ton of money?”

  “I kind of picked up on that, but this is… a bit overkill.”

  Finn snickers. “Keep your voice down. It’s his special day, after all.”

  And so the two of you walk through Thomas Shelby’s mansion, nodding and greeting people you have no affiliation with, people you will never see again, all whilst trying to keep up the image that you and Finn are very much in love, have been in love for a while.

  At some point, an elderly woman asks when the two of you plan on getting married. Finn, always the gentleman, replied with, “When there’s a baby on the way.”

  You glare at him even now as he continues to snicker at his own humour. “It really wasn’t that funny,” you say. He simply winks in response.

  You spend the evening clinging to his arm. You’re good at small talk, and nobody seems to have much of an interest in you nor Finn, so it’s easy enough to breeze through the crowd without earning too much attention.

  However, these people are still Finn’s family, people he knows, people who have seen him grow up. It isn’t long before an elderly woman has grabbed his arm and dragged him away from you for a ‘quick catch up drink,’ an event you’re clearly not invited to.

  You’re left entirely on your own in a room full of people who associate themselves with the Shelby’s.

  Your safe place is the bar. You trudge through the thick crowd of excited party-goers, keeping your head down lest people lock eyes with you and try for conversation; you’ve never been a particularly antisocial person, but you’ve never dealt with the Shelby’s before, either - not unless you count Ada, and never before have you heard her state her last name as ‘Shelby.’

  You approach the bar and order a drink - a whiskey, because you desperately need something to get your mind off what is actually happening. Now that Finn isn’t here to distract you, you’re feeling the full heaviness of this situation.

  Pretending you’re in love with someone? It seems so bizarre, almost embarrassing. You barely know Finn, have only heard short tales and brief descriptions from his older sister, and yet here you are, hanging off his arm, laughing and smiling, listening to people talk about marriage that just makes your stomach turn to liquid because goodness gracious what would married life with Finn Shelby actually be like?

  You down your whiskey.

  “Slow down there.”

  The voice is cool, smooth, recognisable even if you’ve never heard it before. Only recognisable because everyone in Birmingham has heard of the man who owns it, heard his life, his story, the lengths he will go to to get what he wants.

  Slowly you turn in your seat. There he stands, the groom, the infamous Thomas Shelby, dressed in a suit that nearly makes you gasp with how expensive it looks, all gold chains and thick fabric. He’s gone all out for his special day, yet despite the effort put into his outfit, he is putting no effort into arranging his features to look even remotely pleased to be here.

  “You must be Y/N,” he says. “I’m Tommy.”

  “Tommy,” you repeat, even though that wasn’t what you were supposed to say. “Uh - Congratulations on the big day. Where’s the wife?”

  He sits down and faces the bartender, ignoring your question. “A whiskey, please.”

  You purse your lips, slowly turning back to the bar. Your glass is empty, your head spinning, your anxiety skyrocketing; what do you even to say to someone like Thomas Shelby, someone who has been through hell and still managed to crawl out the other side being even more successful than when he walked in?

  “Finn’s told me nothing about you,” he says.

  “Oh.”

  “Are you in love?”

  It’s such an abrupt question, and even though you’ve been telling people all evening that you and Finn are head-over-heels for each other, you can’t bring yourself to lie to him.

  He glances at you through the corner of his eye, purses his lips at your silence and says, “Don’t worry. I understand.”

  “He’s a good kid,” you hastily reply.

  “Better than the rest of us.” He sips his whiskey, slow and mysterious for absolutely no reason, but it unsettles you anyway. “You work with Ada, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is my little sister getting on?”

 “Good. She’s good. So is Carl.”

  Tommy nods. “Good.”

  You look away. “You’re not mad that I’m here, are you?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

 “Well… You don’t really know me.”

  “You’re here with Finn.”

  “Technically…”

  Tommy shoots you a glance, one eyebrow raised. “If I’m being honest, Y/N, the fact that you’re helping my brother out at all is enough to be put in my good books.”

  And for just a moment you think you’ve misheard him. You turn, scanning his face for any flicker of humour, any sign that he’s just leading you into a false sense of hope right now - you wouldn’t even be surprised.

  “I was watching you both when you walked in,” Tommy continues. “You must have said something funny, because I’ve never seen our Finn smile like that.”

  Your face heats up. “I don’t… We get along really well. It’s easy to make jokes with him.”

  Tommy nods. Says nothing, and it drives you insane, because you want to hear exactly what he’s thinking. You want him to stop this mysterious bullshit he seems to think he needs to keep up, because all it is is a waste of time, especially considering you’ll never see him again after tonight.

  You lean forward, trying to catch his eye, but he keeps his gaze on the table, aimed directly at his hand. On his finger is a wedding ring - not the one Lizzy put there tonight, but the one Grace put there years ago. “Is it hard for you?”

  He doesn’t look up, as if he expected you to ask that question, had been preparing an answer from the moment he sat down. “It doesn’t get easier.”

   “Finn was telling me a little bit about her. How much you loved her. How much you miss her.”

    “Yeah, well.” Tommy draws his shoulders back, inhales before taking a swig of his whiskey. “Finn would know firsthand; he saw the state I was in.”

   His face is not the one of a man newly married. He’s sombre, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. You have half a mind to whisk him away, break him out of this venue so he can go off and live a life he maybe deserves - in all honestly, you don’t know what that life would ever entail. One look at Tommy’s track record would make anyone believe he deserves nothing more than a hole in the ground.

   “I don’t want him going through the same thing,” he says suddenly. “I pressure him a lot, but I want him to settle down with someone he loves. I want him to have something like Grace and I.”

   You blink. “He’ll find someone. I’ll - I’ll keep an eye on him, Tommy. I will.”

  Tommy nods thoughtfully. There is nothing much left to say besides that, so together, you and Tommy sit at the bar and share a final glass of whiskey before Lizzy emerges and whisks him away to a life he does not want, a life he may or may not deserve, a life you do not want to imitate for yourself.

   You glance over your shoulder when the night starts drawing to a close; Alfie Solomons has already left, claiming he had to feed his dog; Johnny Doggs and his wife have already left; Arthur and Linda have already left, though that decision was made more by Linda from what you could tell during the brief goodbyes in which she hastily pecked your cheek, wished you luck in the Shelby family and then fled the scene.

    It feels like you’ve been at the bar all night, a waste of a good evening, in your opinion. The class and the grand lifestyle the wedding projected was certainly not for you, but you’d be lying to claim the free bar did not settle your nerves a little bit.

  Plus, knowing Finn was there for you was a good comfort.

   Your drowsy by the time the dance floor starts clearing, mind awhirl. You push yourself away from the counter, smiling to people you haven’t spoken to all night, saying hello to people who probably just think you’re part of the staff; at this point, with this much alcohol in your system, you don’t even care. Let them think whatever they want. You came here to help a friend-

  Friend.

  Can you even call Finn Shelby a friend? Do you even want to call him a friend? The more you think about it, the more your skin heats up. His hand on your own as he guided you through the crowd, his breath on your neck when he would lean in to whisper in your ear - just the thought of it is enough to make the word ‘friend’ sound so inadequate, so unsuitable. In your drunken stupor, you nearly start laughing.

    But that is such dangerous ground. He’s a Shelby, and if there’s one thing your parents - god rest their souls - would disapprove of, it’s you getting involved with a Shelby. Ada is bad enough, and she’s nothing more than a dear friend.

   “There you are.”

  You whirl around. A piece of hair falls from your up-do and cascades across your forehead; Finn frowns, gently pushing it away as he analyses the dilation of your eyes, your cracked lips which are stretched into a smile that really makes no sense, because nothing is funny right now.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, and he looks so good when he asks it, because his mouth just forms the words like he invented the god damn English language or something, and ugh-

  You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “When we get married, Tommy is invited. Best man, Tommy Shelby. How does that sound?”

 Finn draws away, keeping his hands on your waist. “Okay, you’ve definitely had a bit too much to drink.”

  “What do you think about pre-marital sex?”

  His eyes widen, cheeks going red almost immediately; it’s so adorable. You giggle and press a kiss to his face that he doesn’t recoil from, but he certainly doesn’t react how you want him to.

   You pull away. “Okay, maybe you’re not as big on pre-marital sex as I thought.”

  “Y/N-”

  “Sorry.” You step back fully, crossing your arms behind your back like a child being scolded. “I need to learn how to bite my fucking tongue, don’t I? Very not classy of me to-”

   “I don’t give a shit about classy.” When he says it, it mingles with a laugh, so the words sound jolted and lighthearted, even though you feel nothing but pure anxiety right now. “Do you know the amount of whores I’ve been with, Y/N?”

   Your eyes widen. “Finn Shelby, I am not a-”

  He steps closer, lowering his voice. “What I’m trying to say, love, is that pre-marital sex isn’t that big of an issue.”

   Even in your drunken state, his words fluster you. You open your mouth to respond, perhaps some witty, sarcastic remark that will make him believe his confession didn’t completely sober you up in the space of two seconds - but the words fall short, and your shock filters through, and the only thing you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

  He chuckles, and for a moment, he looks just like Tommy, sounds just like Tommy. It’s weird, because for the time you’ve known of Finn Shelby, he has always been described as the quiet one, timid in his own sense, staying close to the background because his brothers never let him come any further forward.

   But here he stands, making these snide little remarks and these tiny little jokes that leave you speechless, despite you being the one to have started them.

   You look to the floor and cough. “How long is this thing meant to last?”

  “The wedding?”

  You look up. “You know what I mean.”

  Finn grins, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress trousers. “You don’t have to see me again after the wedding. I won’t be offended.”

   But there’s a bit of a dip in his tone that makes you look back up at him and raise a brow. He’s looking at you again, head tilted when he says, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  “Do you want me to go home?”

  He pauses. “I don’t know.”

  “Not like a Shelby to be unsure of what he wants.”

  “I know full well what I want.” He takes a step back and holds out his arm. “But you’re pissed out of your head, and I’d rather wait till you can form full sentences.”

  ---

    You think it’s quite unfair that you have to go into work the day after the Shelby wedding.

   Ada takes one look at you when you walk through them mahogany doors and bursts into laughter; you don’t need to hear it from her. You know you look a mess, hair half-done from the night before, clothes leaning more towards comfortable than stylish. You honestly couldn’t bring yourself to wear anything fancier than a shirt and trousers today, and you’ll gladly slap any fucker who has anything to say about it.

  You slump down behind your desk and send Ada a glare. “You look chipper this morning.”

   “Mm. You see, Y/N, I was actually responsible last night and remembered I have work this morning.”

  “Aren’t you going straight to heaven?”

  Ada laughs even harder. You roll your eyes, turning to the stack of newspapers you have to finish sorting through before your boss walks out and sees you didn’t finish them a few days prior - the very day Finn Shelby walked into your life and derailed everything.

   Part of you knows it’s dramatic; you’ve known Finn for only a handful of days, but he’s the same man you’ve been hearing about from the first day you started work with Ada Thorn, the same man who invited you to his brothers wedding, the same man who told you last night that he would gladly have sex with you, but was decent enough to wait until you were sober enough to give proper consent.

   You haven’t stopped thinking about it since then. Last night, your alcohol-infused brain ran at a million miles per hour as you pondered over whether or not you would ever take him up on his offer, if that was even plausible considering the circumstances; he was a Shelby after all, which - on its own - is a big enough reason for you to take a step back and move on.

   It’s as these thoughts crawl back to you that you notice Ada staring at you from across the office. You perk up, giving her your best smile, as if she can somehow read your thoughts of her brother.

   “Finn was good to you last night?”

  Apparently she can.

   You look away. “Fucking hell, Ada. Give me a chance to settle in before you start, yeah?”

  “I’m just curious. I barely saw you two last night.” She folds her arms across her desk and leans forward. “You were at the venue, weren’t you?”

    Your cheeks heat up. “Yes, Ada, we were. And then he walked me home, and it was lovely - but nothing else happened.

 “Hm.” She draws back. “That was gentleman-ly of him. Didn’t expect it from one of my brothers.”

  “I thought you said he’s the decent one.

 “Oh, he is. But that’s me comparing him to actual fucking murderers.”

  You shrug. “Fair enough.”

  Ada takes a moment, but when she responds, her voice is soft, unlike anything you’ve heard from her before. “He really is a decent bloke, Y/N. He’d treat you well if you’re looking.”

 Your eyes shoot up. “Who told you I was looking?

 “Well, you’re single, you have absolutely no social life outside of this office-”

 “Don’t fucking flatter yourself.”

  “-and I saw the way you and him spoke to each other.” You open your mouth to respond, but Ada holds up a hand to silence you. “I’m not suggesting anything before you take a fucking hissy fit, alright. I’m just saying - if no one else is ringing any bells for you…”

   You kind of hate that she has a point.

  You scoff and roll your eyes, tell her to get back to her work, but you ponder over her words for the remainder of the day - not because they were ridiculous, but because you can see where she’s coming from, why she would think like that. And it’s not as if you and Finn spent the night hanging from each others arms - in fact, you spent most of the night apart, considering Finn had family to impress and you were more interested in the free bar than anything else - but still. When you were together, there was obviously something there.

   Maybe you’re just flattering yourself, seeing things just because you want to see them. Maybe Finn really did think of this whole thing as nothing more than a fun little business deal, a taste of the world his brothers have estranged him from since he was a little boy. In years to come, someone will ask Finn Shelby what his first Big Business Deal was, and he’ll be able to say “I convinced someone to go to my brothers wedding so I didn’t have to sleep with a whore,” and that will be the end of it. You will be nothing more than the one who went to the wedding.

   The one stupid enough to go to the wedding.

  The day drags on after that - partly because of these new thoughts, and hugely because of your massive hangover. Ada tries her best to help you through it, returning the favour, but she has to leave at half six to pick up Carl, and you’re too polite to ask her to stay and tend your emotional wounds.

   So she leaves, and the office is quiet, and you finish up her work for the day because you’re also too polite to let her get in trouble by not finishing her work.

   The door starts to slowly open at around half seven. Already the streets of Birmingham are getting dark, the kids ushered into their homes as parents notice the street lights turning on, a sign that the fun is over and it’s time to start putting the little ones to bed.

   You look up from the pile of unstamped books you’ve been working through for nearly an hour now. You see nothing, just a sliver of light and a faint shadow creeping beneath the opening door. Your heart speeds up for a reason you can’t pinpoint - the most likely case is one of your co-workers has come back to check on you, which they do quite a lot considering you’re one of the youngest employees.

   You crane your neck. “Ada?”

  “Close.”

 Your heart plummets. “Finn.”

   He pokes his head round the door, offering a grin that doesn’t look a single bit pained - the bastard got off without a hangover, then. Typical. Unfair.

   He steps into the office, waving a jug of whiskey as he does so. “I brought gifts.”

  “You can keep them,” you reply, gesturing to the books in front of you. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Boring.”

  “And a hangover.”

 He snickers, tossing his fancy blazer off his shoulders and onto the chair he then proceeds to slump into. “So last night caught up with you, did it?” He pauses. “How much do you remember?”

 “Enough to know I don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t mean to sound so harsh - it just kind of happens. Finn’s expression doesn’t waver, but you see him drag his lower lip between his teeth for the briefest of moments, the only sign he’s actually heard what you said.

   You continue stamping the books. Finn watches, taking the occasional sip of his whiskey.

   “How was Tommy this morning?” you find yourself asking, just to make conversation.

   Finn chews his bottom lip. “Decent. Busy. Didn’t really talk to him much.”

  “Not even a congratulations?”

  “Pretty sure I told him I felt bad for him, but that was about it.”

 “Affectionate.”

  Finn shrugs. “You know me.”

  “Do I?”

  “Better than you probably should.”

  You purse your lips, stamping a book a little harder than necessary.

  Finn leans forward, placing his joined fingers on top of the stack. You pause, flicking your eyes up as if to say do you need something?

  He tilts his head. “You’re really gonna just sit and pretend like last night never fucking happened?”

  Your grip tightens on the stamp. “I thought that was what we both planned on doing.”

  “That was before we had our little conversation.”

  “Little?”

  “Would you say it was a big deal?”

  Fuck.

  You look down again and shrug, shoving his hands off the pile so you can continue working. “I would say I was drunk, and so were you-”

  “I don’t get drunk.”

 “You had alcohol somewhere in your fucking system, Finn, so neither of us were in our right minds.”

   He scoffs. “Speak for yourself, love. I was perfectly fine, and I knew exactly what I was saying.” He leans forward. “And I remember exactly what you said, too.”

   “Why are you such a pain in the arse?”

  Finn pulls back, holding his hands by his ears in mock surrender. “Hey, just tell me to leave and I’ll walk out that door and never turn back. Simple.”

  You open your mouth to say just that, because that sentence would make things ten times easier. Finn will leave, and you’ll hurt but it will be okay because you’ll be left with no other option than to forget him. You’ll never have to deal with the consequences of being with a Shelby if there was no Shelby left in your life to be with.

  But again, the words die. The truth pushes against your rib cage, the feelings you’ve been unable to deny from the moment he walked into your life and said come to my brothers wedding.

   Finn watches your hesitation, and then you watch him smirk, like he’s figured out some plot twist in a story he’s invested himself in. You grit your teeth and look away, shaking your head at the table as if that will somehow change something.

   “You’re a pain in the arse.” The words come out as a whisper. You’ve cracked. Finn can see it.

   He doesn’t chuckle or goad. He instead stands up and walks around the table. You tighten your grip on the stamp, refusing to look up even when you feel his presence hovering over you, willing you to notice him, notice him, notice him, everything will shatter if you notice him.

   His presence alone is strong, making you weak in the knees. But then he reaches forward and runs a finger along your jaw before cupping your chin and guiding your head to look at him. You have no other choice - you could close your eyes and pretend none of this is happening, but then you would lose the experience of having Finn Shelby look at you with that fire in his eyes, and you’re not really willing to do that.

   So you look back at him, and he smiles.

  “I don’t know how any of this shit works,” he says softly. Too soft for a Shelby. “You’re gonna have to help me out.” He tilts his head. “Do you wanna help me out?”

   You swallow, eyes drifting to his lips before you can stop yourself. “I - I can try.”

  Finn smiles once again, and then that smile is placed against your own. You didn’t realise just how desperately you wanted to feel his lips, didn’t realise just how desperate last night had left you - but now it’s happening, and the dam has broken, and your clawing at his shirt, drawing him impossibly closer until he’s forced to press his fingers against the wall behind your head just to keep himself upright. He grins against your mouth, tongue slipping between your teeth before he draws back and lifts you up. It startles you, but you wrap your legs around his waist nonetheless, letting him press you against the wall as his hands fumble for your hair, knotting themselves in the strands; you do the exact same, and he groans into your mouth, pulls away just to nip at your jaw before he realises he wants to feel your lips a little more and goes back to square one.

   “Good,” he whispers against your mouth. “Good, good.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pulling him in for more. He laughs, breaking away from the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw, towards your neck, fingers kneading into your thighs as he holds you against him.

   You tilt your head back. “Finn.”

  “Mm?”

  “Ada will kill me if I don’t get this work done.”

  Finn pauses. His breath lingers on your flesh, and for a second, you’re tempted to just pull him back and forget you ever said anything - you’re sure he won’t mind, considering the hesitation in his movements when he finally draws away from you, letting you drop back to the floor.

   You look up at him and smile. He smiles back, a hint of frustration building behind the expression, but he’s kind enough to let you waltz past him, back to your desk.

   “Sorry,” you say, fighting to control your grin. “A busy day. You know how it is.”

  “Mhm.”

  You glance over your shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not-” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’m not mad.” He slumps back in his chair, waving a lazy hand towards the pile of books. “Do whatever the fuck you have to do.”

  You grin. Finn rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too - a smile you had yet to see on a Shelby boy until now, a smile of genuine amusement with absolutely no malicious intent behind it.

[caffeinated-chaos-bean]

Mid-2021 Blog Update

Hey guys.

So... It’s been a while. Quite a while... and I want to lay some things out as to why I’ve been gone and the blog has practically been dead in the water for half a year, if not for a whole year. 

I want you to know that what I’m going to say will be in heavy detail. I’m comfortable speaking on it, and what information doesn’t just include me will be using either public details that I know I can share or will be put in a short and sweet manner.

This is your trigger warning: If you need to click off or scroll past due to the mention of extremely bad mental health, toxic relationships and households, the mention of depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts, please do so now.

. . .

First off, I’ve lessened the amount of time I’ve been online due to my mental health. I was put on antidepressants as well as told to take anti-anxiety gummies in November and will be weaned off of those starting this October. A lot of my family and relationship drama on top of the world practically shutting down and going into chaos thanks to COVID-19 just took a major toll on me. With so much on my shoulders, stress from living with said things on my shoulders, unsupportive family members, and an emotionally distant partner, I was at one of the lowest points in the life. I’d never had to be on mood-related medication in my life until last November. I’d always been able to handle what was thrown at me, but mid- to late-2020 was what knocked me down that low for the first time in my life. Suicidal thoughts came and went (they weren’t often, only when I couldn’t bottle my emotions up any longer but didn’t have a way to express them either), but even when they did, I knew that it was just in my head. I never once chose to act on them, because to me, that is not a way to solve a problem or escape your inner demons. All it does it put your personal suffering onto those around you -- your friends, family, and those who cared about you even when you don’t see it -- and it doesn’t do anyone any good. When my doctor asked me about suicide, that’s the very explanation I gave her. Yes, they happened, but I’d never act on them; it’s not a way out and it puts your pain onto others and only worsens the situation for the long-term.

Aside from that, though... I move on to other personal reasons for my absence that helped trigger what was mentioned above. Mid-August of 2019, my then fiancé's mother was murdered by two 17yr old boys of whom she and their family knew. Going off the information that was made public, one boy had mixed meth with marijuana prior to the killing. He claimed that my fiancé’s mother mouthed off and made a derogatory comment about his deceased mother, thus sparking the incident. While he claims to have only stabbed her once, the autopsy report shows that her head/face and upper torso were “hacked, slashed, and chopped” repeatedly with “various sharp, bladed objects”. Not only did they murder her, the two individuals also set the grass around her body on fire along with her home. When we found out about this having happened, I had no idea how bad it would have turned my relationship upside-down. My now ex-fiancé didn’t come from a great childhood, there was abuse and CPS, among other things. But he had managed and was a good person. He could make me laugh and tear up at his jokes, sang beautifully, and did everything to make those around him happy. When he lost his mom, it broke him. It shattered his very being, because not only did he know the two who caused it to happen, he also was unable to reconcile and make amends with his mother for what he went through as a child. He was robbed of being able to forgive and be on good terms with her, and it broke him. He stopped communicating with family, he took bereavement after being pulled from work by family the day it was confirmed to be his mother only to to fired 3 months down the line when he tried to go back (fuck Walmart for that btw), and was slowly becoming a hypochondriac. He stopped talking to me, he would cry in his sleep, and grief made him lash out as was expected. But as the days dragged on, his motivation and care towards finding a new job dwindled. He and my mother would fight endlessly and I was caught in the middle of it, as we all were in one household. There were times in which I would keep my phone on my leg and record for my own personal documentation should I need it due to how bad my own mother would belittle me, belittle my ex behind his back, and just scream and go off. When I’d turn to my ex for comfort, he wasn’t much help due to his own deteriorating mental health. He took to discord, specifically the Vampire the Masquerade community, as his escape from reality. He eventually would hardly talk to me at all, show no compassion, and at times I tried to speak with him about getting a new job or suggesting part-time ones that I felt would be easy and as stress-free as possible for him, I would be shooed away without a word; if I tried to further my attempt to have the conversation, he eventually got an attitude and would just say “Bye!” over and over again while shooing with his hand to get me to leave. There were many days where I’d get off work and sit in the bathroom for an hour and cry because of my frustration and how I felt stuck between two people I cared about deeply (ie. my ex and my mother).

My ex has since moved out and no longer lived with us. He and I are no longer together, and he has cut off all communication to me along with his family. He isn’t living in California anymore, really. He met up with discord friends and is in another state. That’s the last I heard from him. That’s the last his family heard. He doesn’t talk to us or attempt to reach out or respond when his family reaches out. I still very much care about him and want him to get better, but if he has to do so by being away from everyone, then so be it.

While I was letting - or shutting out, rather - the emotions I was feeling once he officially moved out, I relapsed with my anxiety tick; with my trichotillomania. I have a good number of smaller, thinned out spots in my hair from unconsciously pulling out strands of hair when my emotions didn’t know how to regulate. I’m still fighting to get this under control, as I do still catch myself doing it and so does my mother. It currently is not as bad as when my ex first moved out and I had to adjust back into sleeping alone and without someone next to me, but I do still pull. I am looking into trying to get my sister to order me a HabbitAware bracelet for me this Christmas in order to help get my tick back under control. I know its something I will live with forever and go in and out of doing, as there is no cure or medication to curb trichotillomania, but its something to help me be more aware of how often I do pull and to train it to no longer be a muscle memory response.

Most recently, I’ve had to stop taking melatonin. I’ve had bouts of insomnia since my ex left, and eventually I took enough melatonin to not only build an immunity to it but also a slight dependence. I was taking more than I should have been, and I noticed the signs of it and have stopped taking melatonin altogether. Due to this, I have switched to hempseed oil gummies. I take 2 before bed and they have helped wonderfully. But, due to how easy it was for me to become dependent on melatonin, I do plan to take brief breaks from the gummies to avoid a similar situation. I also do not plan on seeking an insomnia medication due to the same reasons. I knew what I was doing was wrong and I knew i was becoming addicted, and due to this I do not wish to risk it happening with a prescription sleep medication. I will deal with my bouts of insomnia as they come.

I also am conquering my insecurities towards others knowing I am a fan of Michael Jackson; a moonwalker. In elementary school (5th grade, 2009), I went through a heavy obsessive phase when he passed. I’d never heard of him, and when I listened to his music that firs time I was instantly hooked. I was ridiculed at school after I performed “Thriller” during a talent show; I had classmates going as far as saying that I must want him to kidnap and r*pe me if I enjoyed his music so much. I didn’t understand the gravity of those comments back then the way that I do now that I’m 23, but I still knew to an extent that what they were saying was in now way a good thing. I shut out his music from mid-6th grade all the way until this year. I hadn’t listened to a single song aside from hearing “Thriller” on the radio during October. For my birthday this year, I had a friend take me out of town and get away for a day. The entire time, she surprised me by playing hours of his music when in the car with her. It has since reopened that connection to his music and I’ve been listening to his songs with a fresh take, with the mind of an adult who can comprehend his words and understand finally what he’s saying for each song. As such, I’ve become more comfortable with others knowing I’m a moonwalker. You can have your opininos of the man, you can choose to believe the tabloids and junk media or make your own conclusions after assessing the details and documents of his life, but I will enjoy the same freedom of opinion.

I know this is getting pretty long, but I wanted to fill those who still might be checking up on this blog for any sort of update or spec of life coming from it in on what’s practically killed the blogs for a good chunk of time.

I do plan to slowly start doing stuff again after Halloween. I have a video made that I plan to post for Halloween and I look forward to letting Kikumi and the others be open for asks again. Until then, may the wind guide you all. I hope everyone can have a safe and wonderful rest of August. I will see you in October.

[ghostsofmemories]

Writing My Obituary (context on my weird poetry collection)

I realized today that I very casually bring up my poetry collection all the time and a large majority of my followers have no clue what I’m talking about, so here’s a WMO explanation post thing! I should definitely give a content warning though: this book deals with suicide, abuse (both physical and emotional, by both parents and other people), homophobia and transphobia, allusions to major appetite and stomach issues (which while reading sound a lot like eating disorders), toxic relationships, just a lot of really heavy emotions in general. Please don’t read the book or this post if those things could trigger you. This post also ended up super long, so the rest is under the cut.

So. first thing’s first, this collection is being published by Pure Print Publishing this fall (due to covid there aren’t any exact dates available). I didn’t query it, someone reached out to me after reading my poems on Instagram, hearing that they were in an unpublished collection, and basically connected me with their friend who runs the indie publishing house and is an author himself.

A big part of the reason this book is so difficult to talk about in context is because that requires getting pretty vulnerable - most of this book is just me dealing with everything I’ve struggled with over the last 4 years of my life. So if there’s discussion about the book in the replies, please keep it to the content of the book and not the validity of these experiences or details of things that happened to me.

The collection is about me and my journey from 13 to 17, starting with my suicide attempt at 13. There are several poems from around that time in my life, but they’ve changed a lot over the four years of editing. However, you can definitely still see changes in the way I write and the way I approach poetry by the end of the book - which was the goal. The book is centered around learning about identity, about how relationships should work, about friendships, about learning to handle mental and chronic illness, and above all, growing. There’s really no “breaking point” where everything about the way I write changes all at once, so in context, the change is almost difficult to see. So to sort of represent these changes, I’m putting a poem from the beginning, from the middle, and from the end all right next to each other (and some bonus analysis of my own poetry!).

Call me a monster is probably the most stark change from the past to the present. I almost never rhyme my poems anymore and if I do, they’re fleeting and mostly for rhythm. The lines are also extremely short, which I only do now when it really fits - in general, I make an effort to avoid consistently short lines. I like to tell myself that it’s symbolism I did on purpose to represent how all over the place my brain was, hopping from one thought to the next, but I don’t think it’s symbolism. I think my brain was really too jumbled to have more than five words in a line.

 I also took my own poems very seriously back then - writing a poem was an Occasion, so the first letter of each of those lines is capitalized like I’m some sort of English classics major. Both stanzas are also the same length (I still do that now sometimes, but back then it was in so many of my poems that I think I thought it was a requirement). Basically, I wrote this like I was going to turn it in somewhere.

Still pretty heavy on the capitalization here, but I definitely got more flexible with stanza length and slightly longer lines (7 whole words, yay!). This poem was somewhat of a turning point for me, basically realizing that I could not only vent through poetry, but still make it poetic and artistic in a lot of ways, and also explore contrast in my own emotions and conflicting feelings. For some reason, prior to this, I thought a poem could only be one emotion at a time, but now I think a poem can be one topic and the way multiple or conflicting emotions revolve around it. This is also one of the first poems I wrote that I was proud of from beginning to end.

This poem isn’t totally representative of the last couple changes I want to talk about (especially line length - for being relatively recent the lines are still pretty short), but I don’t want to use too many poems that haven’t been posted online before and this one has been posted and read aloud on an Instagram live, minus one stanza I added, which I’ll get to. I also wanted to choose this one because it has a direct reference to The Universe In You and several other poems, which gives me a chance to talk about how much I love referencing my other poetry in my poetry. Buckle up, this one might be long.

By this point, I had pretty much realized that there actually aren’t any rules at all. I’ve figured out what I want to say and I’ll say it however the hell I want to - I don’t need to capitalize things unless it suits the form, I don’t have to be totally consistent, I can repeat things as much as I want. I reached back into my 15 year old angst for this one, though, so I could more properly write about the relationship in a way that made sense. 

Now, I could honestly write a whole other book about how I reference other poems in each poem, but for now I’ll just break down the ones here.

Sort of a half reference right at the beginning: I have so much to say. I bring that up in different words in so many poems, both about my relationship and my dad. This is probably because, growing up as someone who had a speech impediment (meaning I talked too much no matter how little I said because of how long it took to say it), I always felt like I never had the space to say everything I wanted. It’s brought up in at least 3 other poems.

lost signals: a direct reference to my poem Thread Unavailable:

We’re riding down a dirt road in the middle of a conversation and lost signal. Message failed.

empty spaces: a reference to The Universe In You!! Pretty much the whole reason I included this poem.

burned poems: this one is basically just a reference to all the poems in the collection that are breakup poems, or poems where I directly addressed my ex saying don’t read this, you don’t have to read this, I shouldn’t have written this, etc. Specifically, A Long and Lonely Letter, Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem), and The Poem That Shouldn’t Exist.

another July come and gone and I didn’t write about you: this reference is hard to really understand the context of unless you know me in real life, but in two other poems I mention the month of July, in a couple others I reference summer, but there are dozens of poems that didn’t make it into my cut of the collection that talk about July. Basically, in context of the relationship, it was the only time we were actually happy and we split up and got back together over and over trying to replicate that fleeting, 30 day feeling that was overtaken by school, seasonal depression, and our own instability as people. For so long, all I could think about was that one month, and that line was my way of showing how I was done writing about it.

you told me, once, that we’re soulmates: this entire little stanza is directly copied from Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem). In order to continue talking about it I’ll throw a piece of that here:

If you want to come back, be sure of me. Be sure of yourself. I don’t want to be a consequence of your impulses.

You told me, once, that we’re soulmates. That once you find a person you want to spend forever with, it feels like nothing else matters. Do you believe that like I do?

That’s just a really short chunk of a really long poem, but basically the re-use of that section goes to say that me truly believing nothing else mattered was not good and extremely unhealthy. I put it there even though the poem was just fine without it because I really wanted to get that message across, especially since most of my target audience falls between middle and high school.

I know love in so many shades and I give it in every color: this references a couple different poems that aren’t in the collection, but in terms of the book, it’s a reference to Red, Like You, which is about color association and love and stuff? I I still don’t totally get it. I say in the poem that I don’t totally get it. No one totally gets it, but all in all I went from loving just one person in just one way to loving everyone in tons of different ways and realizing that those other types of love are just as, if not more, fulfilling to me, and that romance is not the be-all end-all of love and happiness.

All the other references are repetitions so I’ve pretty much already explained those. But anyway, that’s my book! It has 77 poems total, quite a few of them more than a page, and some that are probably several pages once in paperback format because, you know, I never shut up. Since I did my mini beta reading round (I got a lot of necessary feedback but that was so much to keep track of, I’ll probably just get a couple feedback partners next time), I’ve cut 34 poems and added 16 newer ones, edited the crap out of the whole book, and gotten the perspective of a professional editor.

 This book, even though there’s a lot of it I’ve grown out of, is super important to me and it’s so hard to let it go. Part of me wants to keep this book going forever and just keep growing until it has thousands of poems, but all of these “character arcs” in my life are finished. I left my toxic relationship and friendships, I figured out my gender and sexuality, I learned how to love openly, I cut off my dad for good. There’s obviously always more to learn about my relationships with these other people and myself, and I do that unconsciously every day. But in all honesty, I have nothing left to say about these people or events that would change the conclusions I’ve already come to - they would only further prove them to be true.

I absolutely always want to talk about this book, so if you have any questions, send an ask! Also feel free to scroll through the poetry tag on my blog and ask me about any poems I have posted there, there are a few that I’ve written since the completion of the collection that’ll (most likely) end up in whatever I write next. Basically, I’m obsessed with poetry and want to talk about it all the time. Please ask me about it.

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 3

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark

rating: Explicit

warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark

Penny had sent Peter off to bed before allowing herself to cry for a solid two hours until she passed out on the couch in her work clothes. Waking up was a trial, her head was pounding and she hadn’t pulled the curtains over the living room window closed before falling asleep so it was ten times brighter than it needed to be. She hadn’t set an alarm, but she could hear Peter moving around in the bedroom so it was around 6 AM.

“Peter, you good?” She called out absently, the usual morning greeting that meant ‘are you moving fast enough to make it to school on time?’

“I’m good,” his voice was quieter than usual, dejected in a way that broke a piece of her heart.

She sat up on the couch and put her face in her hands, elbows digging sharply into her thighs. Everything felt off, like the earth had shifted on its axis but only by a few degrees. There had been several times in her life when everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Her entire world stopped spinning, first when her mom and dad died, then again with uncle Ben, and again with aunt May. Every time it had eventually started back again, but she’d always had an anchor.

She’d always had Peter, when everything went wrong. Having to start from scratch, to rebuild her entire life, was always possible because she had Peter. He was her rock, her reason for pushing forward to fix everything that went wrong. To restabilize.

When she’d been date raped in a club in Queens half a year ago, it had been traumatic. Brock had been sniffing around for ages before she finally agreed to go out with him and then he turned into a fucking monster at the drop of a hat, the piece of shit. She hadn’t meant to let Peter find out about any of it. She’d called a friend to get her from the club, to help her home. She’d been traumatized and angry, half drugged by the time they got to the apartment and screaming about the injustice.

Peter had helped her into the shower, sent her friend off for food, and held her while she screamed and cried and otherwise lost her fucking mind. By the next morning she’d gotten a note slipped under the door, essentially telling her to fuck off and keep her mouth shut or else. As if she’d even considered going to the police— what would she have said? ‘This dude I talked to for months slipped me drugs and raped me in the back of a club. No, there were no witnesses. No, I didn’t call the police. No, I didn’t go to the hospital.’ Stupid. She’d been stupid, as always.

Getting into such a stupid situation had spiraled into a rabbit hole of almost inconceivable bad luck. If she hadn’t let herself get duped in that stupid club, Peter never would’ve gone to Stark Tower. Never would’ve gotten spotted by the man himself. And now, she wouldn’t have Peter with her when she rebuilt after this most recent, life altering tragedy.

But he would be safe. There wasn’t anything else that she needed, or could hope for, other than Peter’s safety. Besides, prison might be a nice reprieve from the 108 hour work weeks she currently endured. And they had hospitals in prison, maybe they had dentists? She hadn’t been to the dentist since before aunt May died. Would she go to prison or jail? Penny didn’t know the difference between the two, honestly.

Standing up from the couch, her eyes landed on her laptop. It was sitting open on the dining room table, plugged in because it was so old it never held a charge. She should make a to-do list for the day, starting with calling into all three of her jobs and making Peter breakfast before he had to leave for school. There was a lot she had to get done before her brother got home from school today.

“Hey Pen, have you seen my biology textbook?”

“No babe, check the table by the front door,” she stretched her arms over her head and yawned, trying to work some of the kinks out of her body from sleeping on the couch, “do you have enough time to stick around for breakfast?”

Peter stopped on the other side of the couch, watching his sister act like it was a normal day, a frown on his face. They always joked that he was the smart one. Peter could recite pi to the 40th digit, explain thermodynamics, and had gotten into a super prestigious science academy on scholarship. Usually, he’d call himself the logical sibling, the one who could see the best course of action and follow it.

But looking at his sister he was realizing there was a level of maturity missing from his logical thinking. He might’ve been the smarter one, but Penny was the one who was going to get them through this hellscape. She was calm, he could see in her eyes that the wheels were turning and that she was in so much pain, but she was calm and collected and was going to work through the day to make sure her batshit crazy plan worked out so that he would be safe.

“Yeah, I’ve got time.”

“Sounds good,” she stripped her socks off clumsily while walking into the kitchen, dropping them on the floor as she went, “hey, open up all of the bills on the counter and leave them scattered around while I cook. I want it to look like I’ve been ignoring them and they’re covered in crap.”

Peter dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Penny was pretty good at covering up her emotions but the level of dissociation she was currently displaying was impressive. He retrieved all of the bills from the basket on the kitchen counter and brought them into the living room, dropping them onto the laptop’s keyboard and kicking his feet up on the table before he began ripping them open. He tossed the empty envelopes over his shoulder absently as he went while arranging the bills into a pile to be thrown strategically around later.

“Maybe I should see if Flash will beat me up today at school,” he cringed at the $95 electric bill, knowing that was pretty high for them, “some bruises and cuts might help us when the social workers show up.”

“Don’t get yourself beat up, bud, you don’t have enough padding on your bones to keep everything from snapping under pressure.”

“Well maybe if you actually fed me sometimes, you neglectful monster.”

“Savage, Peter!” Penny’s gasp from the kitchen was full of laughter despite the painful conversation, “keep that up for the social worker.”

“So aside from trashing my things, throwing out anything edible in the kitchen, and destroying the apartment, have anything fun planned today?”

The sound of Penny cursing, followed by the loud clang of a pan hitting the floor had Peter shifting in his seat, angling around to see through the doorway to the kitchen. She hadn’t hurt herself and there was no mess, so he didn’t bother getting up to go help.

“Actually,” she made a pathetic sound upon realizing the milk in the fridge was expired, “fuck. Oh, actually I’m gonna go get my hair and nails done. So it looks like I blow our money on frivolous things instead of like, food and clothes for you.”

“Nice, you should get one of those stupid expensive coffees from those hipster places on your way back. Just for emphasis.”

Once Penny actually managed to cook, she was pretty good at it. She usually cooked what she could for all major Jewish holidays when their budget could stretch to accommodate it. Otherwise she didn’t get around to it all that often, except on her days off, so Peter considered it a treat when she made breakfast for him before school. She shoved the laptop back on the table and put a plate down in its place, revealing a heaping egg scramble and toast.

“I think we have some major issues,” Peter stated casually as they ate, avoiding the chunks of turkey bacon to save for the end, “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be joking about today. Or tomorrow. Or any of it.”

“I figure we’ve got two options,” Penny kicked her feet up next to his, balancing her plate in her lap, “Cry about it or laugh about it. We cried about it last night and it gave me a headache. So, might as well try laughing.”

Peter shrugged but nodded in agreement, “So I think I’m gonna become a supervillain.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I could break you out of jail, bring down Tony Stark and all his minions, steal a whole bunch of money and then we could abscond off to some private island and live the rest of our lives in peace.”

“Except for when you have to go be a supervillain?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Penny gave a barking laugh and leaned over to shuffle a hand annoyingly through his hair, letting him slap her away like usual. The casual, relaxed attitude they shared was obviously forced, their eyes were full of despair, but they could at least pretend for a while. Pretending that everything was okay would at least get them through the next few days.

“Alright you dope, head to school. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Peter stood up from the table and pulled Penny up after him, wrapping her into a tight hug. He’d grown over the last year and stood several inches taller than her now. Sometimes, hugging her now felt weird because for so long he’d been smaller than her. He vividly remembered being engulfed in her arms, being surrounded by her scent and warmth and how safe it always made him feel. He hoped that she felt the same way he used to, that his hugs made her feel warm and fuzzy.

“See you after school,” he choked out after a moment, pulling away and darting out of the room without looking at her too closely.

It would hurt too much.

***

Nobody had left the living room, other than Rhodey, in over 12 hours now. Steve and Bucky were still in the recliner together, eyes glued to the TV screen showing the Parker’s living room. Peter had left for school about 20 minutes ago and Penelope Actual Angel Parker had disappeared into the bathroom.

Clint had ordered food from the kitchens about an hour ago and was waiting by the elevator for the chefs to drop it off. They’d all lamented the fact they couldn’t eat the breakfast Penny made with the Parker siblings but had satisfied themselves by listening in on their conversation with stalkerish intensity. Usually Penny didn’t leave the laptop sitting open when she wasn’t using it, so it had been another shocking revelation into their lives.

“Peter’s face while he was opening those bills makes me wonder if she usually hides them from him,” Bruce commented absently, cheek resting in his hand as he scrolled through the files on his laptop.

Instead of the lab reports from the previous night, he was looking through Penny and Peter’s medical histories—HIPAA be damned. Peter got regular physicals each year, was up to date on all of his vaccinations, had minor asthma but no other chronic issues. Penny’s medical history stopped around when her uncle Ben died and she dropped out of high school. She had all her vaccinations and was in the 2nd year of a 3 year birth control implant, no known conditions except for possible anemia. She hadn’t gone to the hospital after the rape, so he would need to run an STD panel just in case. A diet meant to promote weight gain might also be a good idea.

“I’m sure she didn’t want them to know how dire their situation was,” Wanda stated, “If given the chance, I would’ve hidden things like that from Pietro.”

“So they’re Jewish like y’all, right?” Sam squinted at the screen, pointing to a wall decoration in the apartment, “or is that a Buddhist thing?”

“A Hamsa,” she didn’t look up from her phone, having seen the wall decoration next to the window the first time she’d watched the webcam stream nearly a month ago, “they have it because they’re Jewish but it’s used in other cultures too.”

“Do we need to make sure we have anything… particularly Jew-y for them?”

Wanda finally looked up from her phone, eyebrow raised derisively, “did you get anything particularly Jew-y for me when I moved in?”

“I’m going to learn to make Challah,” Bucky intervened in the conversation before it could become a fight, having been looking up traditional Israeli and Jewish dishes for several hours now, “do you have any recipes Wanda?”

The two devolved into a conversation about homemade breads and the nuances of kosher foods, all the while Wanda scrolled through Peter and Penny’s bank statements. She was looking for their overall spending habits, what was bought for Peter and how often and when and what Penny bought for herself. The former list included the amount of clothing one would assume necessary for a growing teenage boy, along with an above average amount of groceries. There was far less fun stuff, like video games and extensive Lego sets (which they knew Peter loved). Usually those were bought around Peter’s birthday or near Hanukkah. Penny’s spending on herself was generally relegated to work clothes and toiletries, with the occasional splurge on nail polish.

“We had a Jewish neighbor growing up, you remember Buck? Ms. Goldstein made that soup,” Steve scratched his head, trying to remember the name of it but failing.

“Matzah ball soup,” Bucky supplied, glancing at the screen of Steve’s phone from his position in the man’s lap.

He’d started going through the Parker sibling’s social media accounts early in the morning, wondering who was going to put up a fuss over their potential disappearances and how much it was going to interfere with business. Not that it mattered, business was business and home and family came first but it still would be good to have a plan for any fallout.

Peter had all the social media accounts a teenager could want; Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, TikTok, everything. He overshared on the internet just as much as any other Gen Z kid, although he seemed to favour Twitter and Instagram over the others. Instagram was updated almost daily with pictures of his friends, from school and clubs, pictures of scenery taken around New York. It was actually pretty cute and a touch artistic. He had a decent amount of followers on it too.

Penny on the other hand only had an Instagram page and a Pinterest. The former wasn’t updated much since their aunt May passed away, the recent pictures were mostly of food she’d made or of her and Peter on holidays. He wasn’t sure if the followers on her Pinterest were friends or strangers. There were a whole slew of cute pictures on her ‘Memories’ board, several of which Bucky watched Steve save to his phone. One in particular, of Penny squeezing Peter’s face close to hers while both stuck their tongues out at the camera, was saved as his new home screen.

It would be difficult to spirit either of the siblings away without some repercussions. Peter had some very close friends, MJ and Ned in particular, and was involved in tons of extracurricular activities. If he disappeared, an AMBER alert would go out within a day. Penny wasn’t particularly close to anyone, but she did have several coworkers who would notice very quickly if she went missing. She had been working in the same three places for 3 years and was a well-established and liked staff member.

“We may need to stage some sort of accident,” Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth as he scrolled through Peter’s Snapchat memories, “Peter’s friends are very close and Penny’s barely ever missed a day of work. People are going to cause a stink if they just disappear.”

“Car accident? Fire? Carbon monoxide?”

“Something that won’t leave behind a body,” Natasha drummed her fingers against her leg, humming in thought as the elevator opened and Clint retrieved the cart of food that had been sent up, “probably a fire. Or we could stage a kidnapping and blame it on someone else.”

“Both,” Clint had half of a croissant stuffed in his mouth, spitting out pieces as he spoke, “set up a kidnapping, burn some bodies, set it up to look like Penny and Peter.”

“Who’s the kidnapper?”

“How about this dumb mother fucker.”

Rhodey’s voice came from the stairwell, the man himself emerging while shoving a heavily beaten and gagged Brock Rumlow through the door. His arms were bound from the elbow down and he lost his balance, landing with a heavy thud only to be kicked hard in the side by the very angry James Rhodes and forced back to his feet.

“He confess?” Tony’s back was to them as Rhodey pushed him farther into the room, making himself a cup of coffee from the French press that had been sent up on the cart.

“More or less.”

One of the things Tony had learned over his long career was that anticipation was almost worse than a beating. Adrenaline was a devastating drug when applied as a method of torture. He could almost feel Rumlow’s heart beating faster, the sweat dripping down his brow. He hummed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee before nodding to himself and turning around.

Rhodey had the man on his knees near the coffee table, head bowed in a mixture of panic and fear. He was bleeding from the head, from his nose, dark bruises were beginning to bloom across the bridge of his nose and around his neck. Rhodes had done a number on the man in the last couple of hours.

“Did you send a letter to Penelope Parker, threatening her younger brother if she went to the police?” His voice was low and he crossed the living room in with an unhurried stride, coming to sit on the couch just inches away from where the man knelt.

The reply was muffled but obviously not a yes or no answer. Tony was well versed in what begging sounded like through a gag, how ‘please’ and ‘don’t hurt me’ came out when one’s tongue was held down by fabric. Brock Rumlow might’ve been a big bastard, but when confronted with his own mortality he became a simpering baby just like all the rest. In all honesty, Tony had a thing for begging anyway.

“Now that didn’t sound like the answer to the question I asked you.”

From his position in Steve’s lap Bucky pitched an empty wine glass at Rumlow’s face. The stem snapped off, the bowl of the glass breaking against his brow bone and leaving a jagged cut in its wake. Bruce rolled his neck at the sound of the rest of the glass hitting the ground and shattering, the sharp noise irritating his always present headache.

“You’re making us upset Brucie here, my man,” Tony stated with a flippant wave of his hand in the scientist’s direction, still taking small, satisfying sips of coffee, “which is a huge mistake. He gets pretty dangerous when you make him mad.”

The exact state of being of most of Tony’s close associates was more… fantastical, than most of the population. Mad scientists had been around for centuries and so had horrible things, like eugenics and human experimentation. He had a tendency to pick up strays at the best of times and the exciting strays, the ones who were really special, he fought to keep. It had started with Rhodey and Clint. They weren’t genetically altered, just insane at the best of times.

He’d met Rhodey in university. At the time, the man was being paid to watch Tony by his father and report back on his activities. Tony had paid better and overtime gained Rhodey’s loyalty as well as friendship. They’d been inseparable and Rhodey had been the one who thwarted Clint’s assassination attempt on Tony. It hadn’t been anything personal, of course, Clint was a world-renowned assassin and was one of the best—if you could pay him the right amount, he was willing to take out anyone. Then he’d been waylaid by a Very Angry Colonel Rhodes. Clint was easily persuaded to switch targets for the correct amount of money and soon Tony had come to see him as less of an employee and more of a friend.

Natasha and the Old Men had come next. From a situation similar to Clint’s, Natasha had been sent to off Tony. Not only had he offered her a better deal, but also protection from the Red Room, a branch of the former KGB that specialized in stealing little girls and genetically altering them. She didn’t hate the violence or the killing, she hated being controlled.  

The freezer burned boyfriends had come along looking for Howard Stark, who had apparently betrayed them (and the United States as a whole, actually) in the 40’s in a whole bunch of exciting and horrible ways. Bucky had been traumatized, a veritable murder machine and Steve hadn’t been much better off. Tony had kept them out of the public eye so they could live in relative peace and in turn had become emotionally attached. Especially upon realizing that Bucky was likely his father’s unknowing murderer, which was endearing.

Bruce had been Tony’s next acquisition and the only deliberate one. There had been reports of some sort of monster raging across the globe. It had taken ages and lots of illegal activity in the form of JARVIS hacking satellites and cameras all over the world but they’d found Bruce hiding away in India, providing illicit medical attention to the poor. He’d been attempting to copy the Super Soldier Serum used on The Olds and turned himself into a monster in the process. Tony adored the man.

Then came Thor and his adopted brother Loki, who had been experimented on by their father from a very young age. They’d lost an older sister to a process of attempted Berserker serums and they themselves were forever genetically altered. Thor was in slightly better control of his rages than Loki, but both came to Tony seeking asylum when their father had decided to end his experiments and terminate all test subjects. They were strong and brutal and Thor’s loyalty was unwavering, which was nice because Loki’s only loyalty was to his brother. It was a compromise Tony could live with.

Sam and Wanda and Pietro had been picked up by Steve and Clint respectively, the former a veteran and counselor who turned to murder for hire after being honorably discharged from service and the latter a pair of genetic experiments who’d accidentally stumbled upon Clint after escaping imprisonment. All three had been brought back to the Tower and into the fold.

Pepper and Happy had been picked up along the way of course, his right and left hands for all intents and purposes. Pepper had helped him build the legitimate face of his business and Happy had run interference in all illegal aspects, as well as literally putting himself between Tony and danger.

A short whimper of sheer terror escaped Rumlow before he seemed to almost crumple in front of them, folding in half and hitting the ground. Tony raised an eyebrow as the man landed just a few inches from his foot and groaned in annoyance before dumping the rest of his coffee on the man.

“Don’t pass out on me now, Rumlow, we’ve got— Oh, would you look at that.”

Tony drew the attention of the whole room to the TV screen, where Penelope Precious Parker had emerged from the bathroom in clean clothes. Her long hair was dripping down her back, dampening her white t-shirt just enough that Tony sent Clint a look that said Watch Yourself, Pervert. The same look was not given to Steve or Bucky, although with the way their eyes followed the woman, it should’ve been.

Rhodey bent over and hauled Rumlow back to his knees, turning him to face the TV and yanking his head back, “You see her, Rumlow? You remember her?”

Another whimper, this one with enough inflection to mean ‘yes’. Tony nodded and let out a deliberate, disappointed sigh.

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. You see, that precious little thing has just become one of the most important people in the world. In my world. Her little brother, who you threatened after hurting her in such a despicable way? He is my world,” Tony rolled his shoulders and stood up, walking around the table to get a closer look at the TV.

Penny had sat down on the couch, still well within view of the webcam, and was pulling on a pair of socks. A pair of beat up tennis shoes were on the floor next to her, having been fished out of the trunk that doubled as an end table. Bucky shifted out of the corner of his eye, watching as her shorts rode up higher on her shapely thighs as she contorted to pull on her sneakers. She continued on to gather all of her wet hair into her hands, tying it into a big messy bun on the top of her head.

“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now,” he continued after a moment, “being confronted with your mistakes like this. You see, I go out of my way to not make mistakes. Or mistakes that could come back to haunt me, at least. I tie up my lose ends, I like pretty packages.”

“She’s a real pretty package,” Steve fucking sighed like a swooning school girl as Penny stood up and started shifting through some things on the table in front of her, bent over enough to offer an excellent view of her ass.

Tony snorted along with Sam and waved a dismissive hand in the blond’s direction. Steve and Bucky had been half infatuated with Penny when they thought she was a cruel, neglectful monster; now that they knew the truth, that Penny was precious and kind, they were falling in love just watching her through a screen.

“Now the point of this whole thing, unfortunately for you, is that you hurt Penny and you threatened Peter and by extension, you hurt and threatened me.”

There was a muffled ‘I didn’t know!’ through the gag and Tony Stark once again Did Not Roll His Eyes, because he was above that sort of thing.

“Of course not, that’s why this has to sting. You see, maybe if you just didn’t rape anyone this never would’ve happened. You never would’ve been in this situation. But instead you had to go and drug some poor girl and stick your disgusting dick in her and hurt her,” Tony rolled his head to the side and cracked his neck, “And once again, unfortunately for you, everything just kind of got more complicated from there. Because I’m not sure what to do with you at the moment.”

“Tones?” Rhodey’s eyebrows were furrowed, his hand still keeping Rumlow’s head in place.

“Right, right, let me explain to the room at large,” a flamboyant wave of Tony’s hand made everyone sit slightly straighter, “we have a couple of options going forward. The first, is take Peter and Penny, frame and kill Rumlow and be done with it,” several noises of agreement followed the sentence but Tony shook his hands again to quiet them, “Or, we could take the babies, frame Rumlow, but not kill him.”

“Why not kill him?”

“Because then we could let Peter do it. Or Penny,” Tony tapped chin and began to pace, “or, because they’re both going to be very upset in the first few months, we could use him as… incentive, to be good.”

“Hm, killing him in front of them is ballsy,” Sam stood over next to the cart of food, making himself a plate and a cup of coffee, “You want to induce Stockholm Syndrome, but the shock might be too much.”

“Are you worried about them reacting to a murder in general or like, feeling bad he was killed because of them?”

“Both, either,” Sam shrugged, “pick your favourite.”

“Why don’t we keep him around for a bit, we don’t necessarily have to make the decision today,” Steve suggested, shifting Bucky off of his lap and standing up.

The imposing man made his way towards Rumlow with his usual level of heavy swagger, natural as a result of his musculature and dimensions. Rhodey took several steps back at the approach, recognizing the glint of near ferality in the former Captain’s eyes. Getting in the blond’s way was in no one’s best interest and besides, Rhodey trusted the man implicitly. The man’s hand came down on Rumlow’s head almost gently, his fingers carding through his hair and tilting his head back to look him in the eyes. His face was swollen from Rhodey’s heavy hits already, but he could still see.

“Besides, me and Bucky are gonna need a playmate for a while. All that pent-up aggression—it’s gotta go somewhere, right, Brock?”

[crowleyellestair]

Can I request a Jaskier x depressed reader? I’m all for the angst and fluff lol, maybe Jaskier is comforting reader after they have a really bad day where they just don’t really feel capable of doing anything? Thank you

AN//// Thank you for requesting!!! I tried to keep it gender neutral as you didn’t specify, and since this was my first gender neutral fic, I hope it’s as good as my others! Feel free to ask for any gender in my requests and I hope you like it anon. If you’d like me to update it and change something, feel free to tell me

 Gender Neutral! Mage! Reader x Jaskier

Warnings: Depression and dark reflections of life – No triggering actions

Masterlist

Also check out my other Jaskier stuff- I have a lot!

  Y/n was a very skilled healer- they had to be. The chaos they had as a child was too much to contain without proper teachings. Y/n had left the brotherhood soon after being able to harness her powers, traveling from town to town, helping others.

It had worked for a while. The adrenaline they felt through an emergency had surged through them, making them feel their heartbeat. The thumping against their chest reminding them that they were alive. And people needed them to help them continue living like they were.

But it was a lonely life.

There were bright times as children would gather and watch as they had turned flowers into miracles, but the kids would always leave when their parents called.

In a way, they weren’t alone. They had become best friends with solitude. Of course, solitude was never really a great friend back to them. Anywhere solitude and Y/n went, darkness followed. Darkness was a bitch, twisting their good work into a morality trip. After a couple of years of doing good work, it started to make them question life. Why would destiny point all these people in the direction of pain? What did destiny have in store for them?

Of course, they didn’t have a disposition towards life that flowed on the darker side. They still loved when men would hug their wives after they had healed them from whatever ailment they had. Or patching up a scuffed knee a child would get after tripping from a game of tag.

And there was always Jaskier.

It was a day like any other when the two had met. Jaskier was suffering from a magical ailment that wouldn’t allow him to speak. He couldn’t move his mouth to form words. They had fixed him, recommending he speak to make sure he was fine. After hours of listening to him sing and story tell, they had become floored by the bard.

Jaskier was quick to recommend traveling with Geralt and him. Y/n had accepted, much to Geralt’s annoyance. After warming up to them, Geralt had been comfortable, and everything seemed perfect.

Y/n was being taken by two trusted companions to new adventures, sights and people. They had soon forgotten their old travel partners, but it wasn’t long before they made their presence known. Y/n was very good at hiding their feelings, but after months of galivanting, Jaskier could read them like sheet music.

Today had just been one of those days. A child with a sliver had wailed to them for minutes about how cruel life was, and they had kept the headspace throughout the day, reflecting. The child hadn’t really deserved the sliver. He was rolling bread and the pin gave him a large chunk of wood in return. He hadn’t had anyone at home to help as the adults of the home worked hard to keep up with the recent tax of the town.

And they had wanted to go back into the shared room they had with Jaskier and be held. If not, they’d gladly wait and get lost in his music, following the positive notes he would let flow from his mouth and lute. It wouldn’t completely help, but it made them feel like they were floating above everyone. The air would bring them to a neutral place, away from thought and emotion.

But he wasn’t in the room or playing for the people of the tavern, so they sat in the room alone. They peeled off their over coat, boots and plopped onto the bed. After a while, Y/n found themselves under the thin blanket and watched the clouds pass by the window. Nothing really passed through their mind, but the weight of the world still pressed down on their chest.

Y/n didn’t flinch when Jaskier let the door swing open and hit the wall. He dropped his bag and lute by his discarded shoes and walked to the nightstand, not having yet looked at his partner.

“I haven’t found a patch of these in a while, so I brought some. Did you know that my name actually means dandelion? You probably did, considering you work with plants, but you know I can’t refuse sharing a fun fact.” He placed the bundle of flowers in a cup on the vanity. He turned, smiling, but his brows quickly drew together when he notices Y/n wrapped up in the blanket. To most, nothing would seem wrong, but the set frown plastered on their face was an immediate indicator to Jaskier that something was wrong. This was not a new thing Jaskier had to face, but it would still hurt and worry him every time. “I’m not really up for playing tonight. I haven’t asked the owner for permission anyways, and we all remember how not asking went last time.” He laughed at his own memory as he pulled his doublet off. His statement had drawn Y/n’s face fully out from under the covers to look at him.

“Are you sure? There were quite a lot of people here when I got back.” They were right and it was still busy, but Jaskier just smiled and shook his head.

“There any room under there for me?” Y/n nodded, shifting towards the edge and releasing some blanket, allowing the bard to have some. They both laid facing each other, Y/n’s head resting on his bent arm. Their fingers absently played with the strings of his under shirt and he just watched. Jaskier had learned to not directly ask what was bugging them, as they never really had a definitive answer. Usually, he would wait, letting his presence sink in.

Letting them know that they weren’t alone. And if they wanted to talk, they had a set of amazing listening and eager ears.

Y/n curled up further into him, and his hand began brushing the hair that laid just above Y/n’s ear.

Jaskier wanted to give them an anchor to reality. To allow them to know that he was real and so were they. That they were two living beings, sharing a space that was bright and safe. After a while of laying in each other’s thoughts, he spoke.

“Did you meet anyone exciting today? Anything would be better then sitting in sand while watching Geralt talk to the wind.” A ghost of a smile crossed Y/n’s face at the image he painted.

“Two elderly women who thought I was a gardener and a boy with a sliver.” He hummed in acknowledgement, letting them continue if they felt like it. “He was so sad. His parents were gone for the day and he said it took a while to find me for help.” He paused again to make sure that’s all Y/n had wanted to say.

“In the end he did though. Find you, that is. And I’m sure he’s at home now, telling the tale of the selfless mage who had removed his pain. To his parents no doubt, who have safely made it home.” His gentle voice had its special tone that he always portrayed, slowing and starting again after speaking too fast as he often did.

Y/n had hoped he was right. That the boy was at home, laughing and smiling with his parents who had come home after a long, hard days work. And their mind traveled with the image of a table brimmed with food and people.

Before their thoughts could have time to go anywhere else, Jaskier slowly and gently brought Y/n to his chest, placing his chin on the top of their head.

They soon got lost in his heartbeat, letting the feeling of life wrap them entirely. Jaskier was alive and safe, and so were they. For today, at least. But like Jaskier would say, ‘That’s all that matters.’

And they stayed like that. Wrapped in each other’s arms, trying to float in neutral peace. Y/n was encased in the darkness of the pains life and destiny brought, but Jaskier brought something too. He brought a lantern, and he was prepared to do anything for his loved one. Whether it be in a fight, or try and bring peace by laying for hours, talking about nothing except the simple pleasures of life.

[legolaslovely]

Surprises

A/N: Happy Fili Friday! I immensely enjoyed righting this. I hope you guys enjoy. For @patchworkideas Thank you for everything! <3 

Pairing: FiKi

Word Count: 6,100

Warnings/Tags: Modern AU, Cop!Fili, Artist!Kili, they are not related, angst, comfort, non explicit smut, fluff! 

Summary: For most of his life, Fíli didn’t like surprises and did his best to avoid them. Then he met someone who taught him to savor both giving and receiving anything unexpected.

Fíli never liked surprises. It’s not that he couldn’t handle any unexpected thing that was thrown at him with tact, it was just that he never enjoyed spectacles or too much effort or attention. His coworkers down at the station learned that about him the hard way when, after painstakingly planning and decorating a lovely surprise party for their newest and most dependable recruit, the birthday boy himself didn’t even show up for the celebration. It wasn’t until the next day they all learned Fíli had taken the day off from work to fish at the lake where the only birthday phone call he answered with more than a text was the one from his mother. 

For most of his life, Fíli didn’t like surprises and did his best to avoid them. Then he met someone who taught him to savor both giving and receiving anything unexpected.

***

September

Was he really this predictable? Fíli sat on his usual stool that was left open for him in the busy bar. Already there waiting for him was a cooled glass of the same lager he always ordered. He clearly had to change up his routine. After he drank his beer.

He took a sip, licked the foam from his mustache and as he went to set it on the ring already sunk into the coaster, his arm was jostled. The man who caused a splash quickly apologized.

“S’okay,” Fíli said.

It took him less than a minute to size the stranger up. Six feet, mid-twenties, broad shoulders, though not as broad as his own. The man waved to the bartender, lean yet strong muscle leaving a thick shadow over the bar. He was fit, probably a runner. Not a weightlifter like Fíli, who was in the gym every morning before his shift despite his hatred of getting out of bed any time before 10am. 

"Can I just get a...” the man trailed off as the bartender walked by, not even stopping to glance at the stranger in his bar. The man gave his head an entertained shake, freeing a stray curl that bounced over the center of his forehead, just above wide winged brows that were as dark as his eyes. Eyes that Fíli had barely gotten a glimpse of until they landed on him. They were glittering and not just with the old lights above the bar.

“Busy in here,” he said, running a hand through his hair that did nothing to restrain the leaping lock.

“Bartender takes care of his regulars first,” Fíli said with a shrug.

“Ah. Now that you say it, I think I read that in the handbook somewhere.”

He’s funny. Fíli shifted in his seat, turning to the side. Someone in this bar should welcome the stranger, why not him? Wasn’t it his duty? “Let me buy you a drink? I might have better luck with the bartender.”

Those dark brows shot up, uncovering a brighter, fresh looking face that had Fíli rethinking his age estimate. “Yeah. Sure,” the man said. He pointed over his shoulder. “I’m driving tonight so I’m just drinking soda. Uh, a Coke?”

“You’re a good friend,” Fíli said, hint of a smile peeking through his thick beard that he hoped hadn’t been soaked in beer foam. 

He pulled his eyes from the man and yelled for the bartender. “Dwalin! Can I get a Coke?”

“With what in it?” Dwalin yelled.

The stranger laughed, a higher pitch than Fíli thought would come out of him, but it was heart gripping all the same. “Uh, Ice?”

When the glass landed on the bar, Dwalin asked Fíli if he wanted another beer but Fíli shook his head.

“Why not? You’re off duty aren’t ya?”

“Of course I am,” Fíli said.

“Then I’ll getcha another.”

“No, no. Here,” he said, digging cash out of his wallet. 

Dwalin scooted away and snapped the towel from over his shoulder at Fíli’s hand. “Nah! Nah, nah. Save it, kid. On the house.”

Fíli slid the soda to the man by his side and waited until Dwalin was busy with another customer before shoving a twenty into the tip jar. 

“Thanks for the drink,” the man said .

“Fíli.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Small world. My friends call me Kíli.”

The crowd seemed to settle and Dwalin’s Saturday night playlist easily descended to true background music as they talked, trading stories and small pieces of personal information. There was no prodding involved, it was just comfortable. Fíli couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a person’s presence more.

Kíli asked “off duty from what?” which launched the conversation of their individual careers. Fíli was waiting for the side eyed look he usually received when he let it out that he was a cop, but Kíli only smiled. He thanked him for his service. Fíli almost fell off his stool.

Kíli was an artist. When he mentioned he’d taught six classes at the college that day, Fíli stood, insisting Kíli take his chair. Only then had he noticed how crowded the bar had grown.

“No, please,” Kíli said. “I don’t want to take your seat.”

“You’re not taking anything. Sit.” But Fíli backtracked, leaving an escape path wide open. “If you want. Don’t let me keep you from your friends.” 

But Kíli sat. “I’m fine here.”

Even sitting, he was big. Fíli was not the kind to shrink from anyone or anything, but next to Kíli, his confidence and airs (an occupational hazard and necessity) deflated. Every coherent thought melted and simmered to god, he’s pretty. No one had ever affected Fíli this way and each time he straightened his shoulders or shifted on his feet and tried to expand, Kíli would smile and Fíli decided that maybe it was all right to be affected.

Kíli was chatty in an endearing and engaging manner. He had walked into the bar a stranger and now Fíli knew him better than some of the cops he’d met ten years ago. Kíli had recently moved from across the country. He had graduated from the college and fallen in love with the town, so when his parents passed away a few months ago, as a single child, he sold the house and moved back to his second home as he always wanted to. In an old but cozy house this time, instead of a dingy dorm. He started teaching painting lessons and in no time was hired as a professor in the arts department of the college. Dreams fulfilled.

He had an artist's hands. Thin but strong, calloused around the fingertips from brushes and tools and pencils. The veins and tendons popped as his hands waved, never sitting still as he spoke. He was mesmerizing, a moving painting that changed colors and concentrations as the night passed, customers left, and last call was announced. 

Someone behind them hollered Kíli’s name, but it was followed by shushing and giggling. Fíli turned around to see a tall red haired woman whispering loudly for all to hear. 

“He’s at the bar! Leave him alone, he’s with that hot guy.”

One of Kíli’s kinetic hands finally stilled over his eyes, rubbing his furrowed, unbelieving brow. Fíli knew his own cheeks were turning red, but he couldn’t give it another thought as Kíli looked up and grinned at him.

It was a thing of beauty really, reaching his eyes, smooshing them into glowing little slits with round cheeks and a heart shaped chin that curved his lips into the sweetest, smallest triangle.

“My friends...”

“Are having fun,” Fíli said. He sighed. The night had gone quicker than he’d wanted it to. “Will I see you here again?”

Kíli hopped off the stool. “Take my number and you can be sure of it.”

He watched Kíli type into his phone. Fíli had rules. He never kissed on a first date, he never kissed at the bar his boss frequented, he barely kissed in public at all, but this man made him want to change every rule he knew. Even the laws of gravity seemed to be changing because when Kíli gave his phone back and his hand lingered there, Fíli was sure he was floating. He wanted to kiss this man so badly his chest swelled with it, his mind swam in it, his fingers tingled with it, and then the decision was taken out of his hands. 

Kíli kissed his cheek. Just beside his lips. It was quick and unexpected but Fíli’s skin burned with Kíli’s touch long after he’d winked, said goodbye, and led his friends out of the bar. 

***

October

To say that Kíli was excited was an understatement. He was buzzing, trembling, vibrating in anticipation of Fíli’s arrival. He had only been in town for a little over a month when he met Fíli in Dwalin’s bar and it had taken longer than expected for Kíli to unpack from the big move and make his apartment suitable for visitors. Fíli often said, “I don’t care if it’s messy, I want to see your place,” with a very persuading kiss, but Kíli wanted everything to be perfect the first time Fíli came over for dinner.

Which is why Kíli had spent a good chunk of his week and paycheck preparing for this meal. Coaxing Fíli’s favorite recipes out of him- something that should have been sweet and easy and fun, turned into what Kíli imagined yanking hundred year old tree roots from winter turf would be like. And though he welcomed the chance to search through cookbooks and shop for the ripest, most delicious ingredients at the various markets, it all took time. But Kíli didn’t mind. This was important to him and he truly enjoyed pampering Fíli. The man wasn’t spoiled very often.

Kíli was sitting on the floor, staring into the clear oven window when his phone rang. 

“Fíli, it’s five of seven and I know you don’t talk on the phone while you’re driving which means you’re either on my doorstep or you haven’t left yet and it better be the former because if you’re late I will drink this entire bottle of wine without you.”

“I’m on my way, Kíli. I’m sorry, work... work held me up a bit. I’m getting in the car now. Do you need anything else from the store? Want me to stop for anything?”

“If you stop somewhere I’m going to drink both of these bottles by myself.”

“That would be entertaining.”

“Fíli.”

“I’m on my way. Ten minutes.”

Kíli slid his phone onto the counter and stirred the bubbling sauce, tasting it one more time to make sure it was perfect. He gathered a pinch of salt, held it over the pot, then flicked it all into the sink, unused.

“It’s fine,” he said to himself. “It’s fine.”

He heard the rumble of Fíli’s car a few minutes later and pulled the top few buttons of his favorite shirt open. Fíli would never say it out loud, but Kíli knew the black curls that traveled up his neck from his chest drove the man wild. Kíli decided Fíli deserved a little shameless torture and distraction for making him wait an extra eight minutes.

The doorbell rang as he was twisting a corkscrew into the first bottle of Merlot. “It’s open!” he yelled.

It didn’t take long for arms to wrap around his waist and a grumbling to sound in his ear. “Stop leaving your door unlocked,” Fíli growled.

“Yes sir,” Kíli said in time with the pop of the cork.

“Something smells good.”

“Wait until you taste it,” Kíli said. “I ate so much of this as I cooked it- for tasting reasons- and honestly, I don’t even think there’s enough here for you.” He turned around in Fíli’s arms and almost dropped the full glass in his hands. “Fíli.”

Fíli took the wine out of Kíli’s hand and put it on the counter out of reach. He let Kíli stare.

The bruise around his eye reached up over his brow and down to his cheekbone. It seemed to grow darker by the moment, as if every wince of pain and pity turned his blood black. One soft, blue, undeserving iris was surrounded by red clouds.

“What happened?”

“I’m all right. I got called in for a domestic and I took a hit while cuffing the guy.”

Kíli didn’t speak, only stared while his grip on Fíli tightened.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I had to do some paperwork.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Only then did Kíli realize Fíli was still in his uniform. He’d seen the dark blue before, cinching and gaping in all the right places, suiting Fíli beyond measure, but now Kíli despised every inch of it. 

“I’ll grab something for you to wear-”

“I brought clothes,” Fíli said. “I’ll go change.”

Kíli released him hesitantly. “First door on the right.” He clicked off the burners and the oven and shoved the cork back into the wine bottle. Instead, he carried two glasses of bourbon to the couch he’d brought from his parents’ house. Ice cubes clicked together as he laid the packed towel on the small table and sat, sinking into the well used cushion and resting his arm over the back of the couch. 

He chuckled when Fíli came down the hall in his dress shirt and pants. “I thought you were going to change into something more comfortable.”

“What, am I getting too handsome for you?” Fíli asked, smirk only reaching one side of his face.

“It’s close.”

Fíli made a show of unbuttoning the top of his shirt. 

“Getting closer,” Kíli said.

When Fíli sat, he scooted down into the couch until the old thing almost ate him whole. With his eyes closed, he couldn’t see Kíli watching him, but he could feel it. He sensed the routine emotions, the ones that come when you’re dating an officer. Constant concern that, like Kíli’s watercolors, mixed with splashes of ire and exasperation. Wonder was the crucial canvas that held it all together while remaining steady in the background. What went on in those squad cars? Would he always be safe? Always come home? Would Kíli want to stick around, stay in this budding relationship long enough to find out?

He jumped when he blindly felt Kíli’s fingers running through the ends of his hair. The towel had grown heavy and sopping from the melted ice and Kíli took it from him.

“Have I told you how great this apartment is?” Fíli asked, tilting his head to look at Kíli.

“No.” Kíli said, giving his best frown. “You came in, used my bathroom and ruined my best towel.”

Fíli laughed, soft, deep, and rumbling. Comforting. But it was brief. “Don’t forget I also ruined your dinner, our night, and everything we’ve been looking forward to.”

“Nonsense.”

“Kíli, I’m so sorry.”

Kíli scooted closer. “Don’t apologize.” He leaned down and kissed Fíli’s temple, caressing the sore spot with soft, warm lips that seemed to have their own healing powers. When he drew away, Fíli was watching him.

“You always surprise me,” he said, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Kíli who buried his face into the crook of Fíli’s neck. 

“I’m sick of being surprised,” he murmured against Fíli’s skin.

***

November

Kíli’s hand found Fíli’s as he drove home from the restaurant. The dinner had been nice- glowing candles, red wine, snobby yet over-polite waiters and dainty portions. It was clear they were both a bit out of their element in the dark, very quiet dining room. Even Kíli seemed a bit shy, but slowly, his small smiles lit their corner of the room- a beacon for Fíli to fuel and admire.

Though their meal together had been enjoyable, it was the farthest thing from Fíli’s mind as Kíli’s fingers intertwined in his. Practiced digits danced, looped, caressed, tickled, until his first finger broke loose and slid up the inside of Fíli’s thigh. Kíli’s focus remained on the road, but the very corner of his lips tweaked upwards. Soft and ever pink, surrounded by a scratch of permanent black stubble, pulled and bent, letting Fíli know their minds were on the same subject. 

They’d been dating a few weeks now. They’d talked and planned, then those plans were ruined when Fíli took a black eye at work. It was the new arrangement that led to this night. Their night. Which is why Fíli held Kíli’s hand- every finger- far away from any part of his leg. His breath had already grown quick and heavy and he refused to ruin their plans once again by losing control and fucking Kíli right there in the front seat of his own car. He took a deep breath that broke and shook halfway through and rolled a thumb over Kíli’s knuckles, forcing himself to think of something else as they managed to stop at every single red light in the entire damn town. Kíli only chuckled. 

Fíli was a patient gentleman as he followed Kíli to the door and they stepped inside. However, he would never know if Kíli had planned nightcaps or coffee because as soon as the front door was locked behind them, Fíli kissed him. His fingers dove through black hair, circled the nape of Kíli’s neck, down his chest, around his waist and into his back pockets. Kíli moaned in his mouth and that was it.

He picked Kíli up and swallowed the deep growl it caused. (He’d think more about that later and revel in the fact that Kíli liked to be manhandled by him.) Kíli wrapped his limbs close around Fíli, coiling like a serpent, as if he couldn’t get close enough. As if he were trying to climb under Fíli’s own skin to share the same blood rushing heartbeat. In turn, Fíli clawed at him and balled the evil, offending shirt- the layer between them- into his fists, sucking in a sharp breath as Kíli’s already hard erection ground into his.

After mumbled directions, elbow slams and palm slaps against the walls, Fíli found the bedroom. Next step: the lamp. Fíli wanted to see. Every line, every crevice, every hair, smile, lip bite- everything that was finally allowed to be his, he wanted it. He was greedy. 

He laid Kíli on the bed, hovered over him, tore off his shirt, kissed, nipped, and traveled down the warm, gorgeous body below him. He lost himself in the swirling southern wind of desire, couldn’t cherish each precious moment as he’d dreamed of doing. It was all too fast but he rode the storm, unable to stop until he could feel and hear and see everything.

It was only Kíli’s gasped “Wait!” that had him sitting back on his knees thinking Please, please don’t change your mind about us. Please don’t ask me to leave. Please-

But his thoughts stopped completely as Kíli sat in his lap and held his face. “I want this to last,” he said. He smiled and Fíli was sure it was brighter than any light he’d seen. Kíli went on. “I’m excited too- more excited than I’ve ever been. I want to touch you and pleasure you.” Hands fell down Fíli’s chest and up his thighs. “But I want to take my time about it.”

In all the nights spent imagining sharing Kíli’s bed, Fili hadn’t ever thought of going slow. He could hear Kíli whining and screaming his name, begging for more and harder. He saw strangled bed sheets tear and felt nails leaving divots in his back as reminders of uncontrolled passion. Slow never crossed his mind, but now that it did, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. 

Kíli only smiled and kissed him. Slowly. Deeply. Pouring every ounce of devotion and admiration into Fíli’s body and mind with tender touch, soft lips, and warm caresses of his tongue.

“We do have all night, don’t we?” Fíli asked.

Kíli hummed against his lips. 

So they took their time. Each charted every breath, discovered tender corners, mapped wide plains and lapped at warm waters. They took all night and long into the morning before finally falling asleep after a well deserved breakfast of Fíli’s apparently famous pancakes. 

As Kíli curled into his arms and fell asleep against him, Fíli wondered if he had ever felt as loved as he did by Kíli. Kíli had watched him, eyes forever open, no matter what Fíli did. Kíli treasured every inch of his body, took him to soaring heights that left him trembling in long lean arms and reaching for soft, short kisses that never lacked emotion or affection. Had Fíli ever snorted with laughter while inside someone? Definitely not. But he wanted to do it again with Kíli. Always with Kíli.

***

April

It didn’t take long for Fíli to learn how much Kíli loved the unexpected. Their second date was Fíli’s plan and as soon as he casually said the location of their night was a surprise, Kíli erupted like pecans in a food processor. His wide eyes shone in the headlights from across the street as they took note of every street sign. Despite his best intentions, he asked nosy questions like “How long will it take to get there?” and “Will I need my jacket? Are we even going inside?” and when Fíli played the game and said, “I’m not telling you,” Kíli only grinned as if that in itself was a hint. That amount of fidgeting and finger tapping and ankle crossing may have been annoying to anyone else, but Fíli found it extremely endearing. And on the drive home, Fíli was already thinking of other things that would exercise Kíli’s excitement and curiosity.

This surprise, however, was a big one. It was a big step, a big decision. But the best part about it, the part that made Fíli push ahead with this plan in the first place, was that Kíli was completely unsuspecting. Completely.

“Isn’t your spring break coming up next month?” Fíli asked late one morning after pouring his third cup of coffee. “Do you have any plans?”

Kíli hummed while he thought. “Nnnno. Not really. I was going to clean up some paintings and frame them for the collection at the college at the end of the semester.”

“Landscapes?”

“Some of them,” Kíli said, distracted, not seeing Fíli’s point. 

“How would you feel about adding some beach landscapes to your selection?”

A slow, but wide grin- wider than any horizon Kíli had ever painted- stretched over his face. “I could do that.”

“Good.” Fíli turned, clicking off the coffee pot and pulling the mug to his lips to hide his smile. He wasn’t at all shocked when he felt Kíli’s arms wrap around his waist, as comfortable and snug as an old sweatshirt.

“Wouldn’t you rather a cabin in the woods?” Kíli asked, running his cool nose up the crook of Fíli’s shoulder to his ear. It was well mapped territory. “I could also paint landscapes of the lake.”

“You love the beach.”

Kíli hummed and Fíli could feel his chest reverberating against his back. He leaned into it. 

“But you love the quiet,” Kíli said. “Cool nights under cozy blankets…. Crisp mornings watching the fog lift from the lake…” His hands were wandering.

“I also love the beach when you are wearing nothing but a very small swimsuit.”

“Then I’ll go buy an even smaller one,” Kíli said, pushing and pulling and grabbing all the right places because he loved his surprises that much.

The new swimsuit Kíli bought for their vacation was indeed smaller than any he had ever owned and Fíli couldn’t decide if he appreciated how the other beach goers admired what was his or if he hated the jealousy it brought out in him. Either way, Kíli basked in Fíli’s gaze always and he made sure any feelings of envy were washed away with the tide.

Kíli truly catered to Fíli’s needs while they were away, meaning the only time he wore a shirt was when some kind of dress code mandated it. They didn’t spend a lot of time in restaurants for that reason. Instead, they went to the store, sandals clapping against the tile floor and Kíli wrapped up in Fíli’s warmest but also saltiest sweatshirt, shopping for sandwich supplies and cheesy pretzels, iced teas and beer. 

After the first day, Fíli bought a beach umbrella the size of their car because he didn’t care if Kíli only tanned and never burned, he wanted to enjoy Kíli’s semi nakedness without worrying about his health. He’d also purchased an untold number of sunscreen bottles to empty and massage into Kíli’s skin multiple times a day. It was hard work rubbing the white out of a dark chest pelt, up over muscled shoulders, down a tapered  waist, around a furry belly, and down thick legs. It was a burden only Fíli could bear. Kíli felt well taken care of and made sure Fíli never noticed the cans of spray sunblock at the store.

Their third day on the coast, Kíli managed to drag Fíli from the bed and out to the beach for the sunrise. The early hour benefits outweighed Fíli’s grumbling: they escaped the crowds, the parking passes, and the heat, able to simply cherish each other’s company as they sat with their toes in the surf and their arms around one another. As the morning went on, sleepiness transferred from one man to the other and Fíli was able to get his revenge on his morning loving lover. He pulled Kíli through the sand, diving into the frigid high tide, giggling, splashing, and shoving until Kíli’s cold fingers stroked Fíli’s beard and pulled them face to face. That was the moment Fíli decided he loved Kíli’s salty kisses the best.

The sun flew across the sky that day and clocked out early like it too was on vacation. Tourists left and there were still a few hours before the night beachcombers would arrive. Similar to that morning, Fíli and Kíli had the beach to themselves and they used the public privacy to curl into each other under their now unneeded umbrella. 

Fíli rolled over top of his love. White specks of sand made Kíli’s curls even thicker and the salt water left the tresses heavy between Fíli’s fingers. A soft, content hum escaped the one beneath him and his heart swelled. He tried to tell Kíli how much he loved him. I want to share every moment of life with only you. You’ve enriched my life from the moment we met in that bar and I’ve been drunk on you ever since. You turned a lonely and alone man into someone loved and cherished and worth your time. You are so important, you are everything.

“I love you so much,” was all that came out.

Kíli’s thumb rolled over his cheek and tried to dislodge the clear line of tears that seemed stuck in blue eyes that matched the day lit sky. Fíli always welled up from toe to crown when he tried to tell Kíli how much he loved him.

“I know,” Kíli said. “I love you too, Fíli.”

***

August

Fíli drove too fast to Kíli’s apartment. He’d texted, he’d called, and yet he’d heard nothing from Kíli all day. Usually Kíli would shoot back messages fairly quickly, writing something on the spot to make Fíli smile or laugh or even blush and shift in his chair enough for his partner to ask who he was talking to. Kíli would always answer when Fíli called, picking up on the second or third ring no matter what he was doing in case Fíli needed him. Today, every line of communication went unanswered. 

When Fíli pulled in the driveway he could see the low light from the lamp in the front room through the curtains that Fíli had helped Kíli pick out last year. Other than that square of yellow, the rest of the house was dark. He took the chance that Kíli was still awake and though he had a key to the house, he knocked on the door.

He listened. No tv, no music, but soon footsteps. Kíli answered the door, half full glass in hand and waving around. 

“Oh. Hey.” He walked back into the house, leaving Fíli in the doorway.

“Hey. You didn’t answer your phone all day so I wanted to make sure you were all right.” He locked the door behind him, but Kíli was still standing in the middle of the room with his back to Fíli as if he wasn’t there.

Fíli was fit to burst. The words were on the tip of his tongue: Why haven’t you answered my calls? You couldn’t have even said ‘talk to you later, I’m busy?’ Do you know how worried I was? I thought something was wrong!

But as Fíli watched Kíli, unmoving, fingers hooked around the top of the glass, shoulders hunched like he’d never seen them, it was clear that something was wrong. 

Fíli’s hand found the small of Kíli’s back, the little divot made just for that purpose, and Kíli turned and blinked sluggish and heavy lidded eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “You want something to drink? S’on the counter,” he said, waving his glass and spilling a splash on the floor. “Shit.”

“I got it,” Fíli said. “You wanna sit?”

He watched Kíli fall into the oversized easy chair in the corner of the room. It rocked and creaked, not used to being sat in. Whenever Fíli was over, the two would pile on the couch so they could tangle their limbs and fill each other’s space and share everything. Now Kíli sat alone in the chair and nothing could be shared. 

Fíli wiped up the liquid that almost burned the inside of his nose and threw the towel on the small table. By then, Kíli had leaned forward onto his thighs, holding his head in his hands. 

“This is a new spot for you,” Fíli said, settling on his knees below Kíli on the floor.

A grin spread across Kíli’s face that pushed his eyes closed. “Not for you though.” He pulled Fíli’s hands to his thighs and leaned down to kiss him. The half empty bottle on the counter was enough to tell Fíli his boyfriend was sloshed, but it was the taste of him that let Fíli know it hadn’t been the first bottle opened. He could get tipsy himself from just kissing Kíli. 

A word made its way between them and disrupted their embrace.

“Mee-mm- need a new couch.”

Fíli glanced at the perfectly good piece of furniture he’d spent plenty of time in. “You think so?”

“It’s too old. Doesn’t match any of the other furniture.”

“I can take you shopping this weekend.”

At the mention of actually following through with his plan, Kíli turned to the offending couch with a threatening glare. The plush cushions sat pitifully like a dog saved from the shelter who had peed on the floor and chewed the bed while left alone.

“I’m just sorry I spent all that money driving it across the country.”

“It’s still in good condition,” Fíli said. “You could sell it and make the money back. College students are always looking for good sofas.”

Fíli would talk about this fucking couch until Kíli finally came out with what was really bothering him. He knew every one of Kíli’s emotions even better than his own, and right now, he knew just because Kíli had a cover over his passion, didn’t mean the fire wasn’t still raging underneath. Fíli knew he only had to wait. He watched the deep brown eyes he’d fallen in love with grow laser focused, staring without seeing.

A thick thumb dragging over a knee was what blew the cover off the inferno and added gas.

“I fucked up, Fíli. I fucked it all up. I shouldn’t have sold the house. What kind of person sells their parents’ house a month after they die? But I couldn’t look at it anymore and now I can’t go see it even if I wanted to because someone else lives there now! And all I brought with me were some photo albums and this fucking couch! I want it gone! I wanna fucking burn it but I look at it and half of me sees my family, watching movies and eating dinner and talking about me coming here to go to school and the other half of me sees you and all the time we’ve spent here.”

All of Kíli’s strength and energy flew out on his words and he slumped to the floor, falling into Fíli’s arms that were ready to catch him. Fíli pulled him into his lap. As his lover’s chest heaved and hiccuped and his hot tears slid down into the hollows of Fíli’s neck, Fíli let his own tears fall. His job was to protect people, most importantly, to protect Kíli. He thought he’d been doing well, but he couldn’t exactly keep grief in custody.

“And I don’t want to be a teacher!” Kíli pulled his face from the crook of Fíli’s neck, revealing his pink cheeks and swollen eyes. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t want to be a fucking professor, I want to paint. I don’t want to teach five classes a day and have office hours and be too exhausted to come home and make something for myself. I want to go to classes and be as inspired as my students are-” His breath caught in his chest as more tears flew down his face. Fíli caught them with his thumbs, swiping them away- blending and shading as Kíli taught him as if he could turn Kíli’s pain into something more beautiful and comforting. It didn’t work.

“You’ll call tomorrow,” Fíli said. “Reduce the number of classes you’re teaching, have fewer office hours. It’s still summer, you have time to make these changes before the new semester starts. Hey,” he whispered, making Kíli look at him. “We’re in this together. We’ll fix everything that needs to be fixed.”

Kíli relaxed in his arms. The drink had been washed from his eyes and they once again focused in on Fíli. “You are all I have. I want you to move in here. With me.”

Fíli thought of the key he just had the hardware store make. He thought of the dinner reservations for this weekend when he was going to ask Kíli to move in with him. 

“My dream was to move back here and paint. But even when I have the time for my art, there’s still something missing. It’s you. I want you here with me. All the time, I want you to move in.”

Fíli nodded, running his fingers through black curls. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

They did talk about it and Fíli found a guy from work who needed a place to stay and was glad to take over the remainder of Fíli’s lease. That weekend, he moved his stuff in, crowding his favorite books and old CDs into Kíli’s endless bookshelves, piling plates he’s had since college into the cabinets, figuring out which side of the closet belonged to whom and watching Kíli struggle to donate some of the shirts Fíli had never once seen him wear. When the bed was covered in boxes and bags, they made love on the floor, too impatient to move piles of clothes, but never too impatient to tease one another and make each other scream. Kíli said that the neighbors would have to get used to the more frequent noise.

Sunday afternoon, Fíli took Kíli furniture shopping, but they came back to their home empty handed. They weren’t able to find a couch that was as comfortable and perfectly worn in as the one they already had. No new sofa in the warehouse smelled of Kíli and the beer he’d spilled on his seventeenth birthday and the blanket Fíli brought from his apartment and the clean sweat that had managed to sink down deep into the cushion from many rounds of vigorous, furniture creaking, lube leaking sex. That was their couch and would be for a very long time.

***

After a year spent together, Kíli still surprised Fíli every day. Sometimes it was as small as making the perfect cup of coffee in the morning. But the one thing that never bewildered Fíli was how his ardent love for the painting stranger from the bar seemed to grow with every moment they shared together.

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 4

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing

Words: 2,803

A/N: The joke Arthur comes up with in the third part of this chapter doesn’t completely work with a “Y/N,” because it uses the OFC’s name for alliteration. (The OFC version of this fic is posted on AO3.) Sorry!

It was Saturday. Y/N was supposed to have the day off, but she’d spent her Friday night reading parts of the Wayne file. It had been engrossing. From what she’d gathered, the foundation wanted to convert the rent-controlled housing buildings into a medical clinic. The buildings in question had all but been abandoned, the motions claimed, and were in serious disrepair.

The current owner’s response had been lackluster - a counter-motion stating both the addresses in question were up to code and actively being used. But they had neglected to provide more than a couple leases or rental agreements. She wasn’t surprised. The motions were dating back two years. She could imagine the current owner, a family that had had possession of the buildings since the late 1800s, was running out of funds. Their most recent filings were done without a lawyer.

The addresses were about two miles uptown from her apartment. Seeing at least one of them would give her a chance to determine what the actual situation was. And it gave her a good excuse for a brisk walk. She checked the clock as she finished her coffee: 7:13 AM. Good. She hoped it was early enough to visit one of the buildings and look it over without being noticed. She slipped on a thick coat, grabbed her purse and an umbrella, and headed outside.

Gotham was dreary this morning, an unpredictable drizzle. She still wasn’t use to the city’s typical Eastern rain. At least it wasn’t snowing yet - Patricia had told her winter seemed to come earlier every year. This was the one season she missed being further South. The autumn lasted for weeks back home; she’d still be wearing a light jacket.

She eyed the architecture as she walked. It became less decorative the further she went. Gone were the porticoes and fancy facades of the wealthier parts of the city, replaced by simple brick and concrete. There was a brutality in how quick the change was, as if the builders thought people in cheaper apartments couldn’t enjoy aesthetics. Parks and artwork grew rarer, too, until the area was almost totally devoid of public spaces.  

Letting out a breath, she approached one of the apartment complexes. The four story building was uncharacteristically stout for Gotham. A tenement covered in graffiti. Walking around it, she lightly inspected the foundation for faults that would be obvious to her layman’s eyes. There were no cracks, no chunks appeared to be missing.

The front door was ajar, held open with a triangular piece of wood. She gingerly pushed it open, trying not to make any noise, and let herself in. The entrance was in some disrepair. Dark green paint peeled in the corners of the lobby, the laminate floor was coming up in some places. The florescent lights were on, though, and the floor was shining. Whoever lived there cared enough to clean the place.

The stairs were solid when she stepped on them, the railing a bit wobbly but sturdy enough to put her weight on it. As she reached the second floor, she wondered where the Wayne Foundation had gotten the idea that this building was abandoned. She walked down the hall, noticing every name plate and personal touch - a postcard of a sunny place here, a wreath there - on the doors.

“Hey, who are you?”

Y/N stopped and turned to the direction the voice had come from. An elderly woman stood there, newspaper in one hand, pink robe being held closed by the other. She looked displeased.

Fuck. Y/N cursed herself, both for being too bold and being too stupid to think about being seen by a tenant. She gave the woman a friendly smile and approached her. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, ma'am. My name is Y/N. I just wanted to see-”

The woman’s face softened. “Oh, you’re not from Renew Corp.?”

Y/N furrowed her brow in confusion. “Renew Corp.?”

“Yeah. They keep harassing us. You hold on a minute.” The woman disappeared for a moment, closing the door.

Y/N sighed and leaned against the wall. She didn’t want to stumble onto anything crazy; she just needed to gather evidence to support the Wayne Foundation’s position. She wanted to do her job and do it well. Rubbing her face, she could already feel a headache coming on. The first Wayne case she was entrusted with, and she was already finding leads she didn’t want to.

God dammit. She knew she wouldn’t be able to let this go.

As soon as the woman returned, Y/N straightened up. “Here you are,” the woman said, handing her the letter. “They keep sending them in these red envelopes. As if that could scare me. I lived through the war.” She laughed to herself.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile back as she read the addressee’s name. After opening the envelope, she scanned the letter. “Ms. McPhee, may I keep this?”

“Go ahead. I’ll get another one in a few days,” Ms. McPhee answered.

Y/N tucked the letter in her purse. “Thank you.”

Ms. McPhee nodded. “Sorry about earlier. We don’t get many visitors here.” She gestured behind here with her thumb. “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? I have a cat. You’re not allergic, are you?”

Y/N took a step back, placing a hand over her chest. “I’d love to but I have to get going. Would it be alright if I dropped by sometime? Asked a few more questions?” There was a pause. At Ms. McPhee’s expression, Y/N added, “Bring some tea biscuits along?”

That got her.

~~~~~

On the way back to her apartment, while still in Otisburg, Y/N decided to treat herself to breakfast. A couple of diners lined the streets, but food from a greasy spoon wasn’t what she was looking for. A bakery would work; she could get something light and sweet. A donut shop caught her eye. And her nose. She peeked in through the old, warped windows. Lackluster lighting, just enough film on the glass to make her question the place’s health inspection certificate. She’d found her joint.

The row of people waiting against the wall surprised her when she went inside. After a few moments deliberation, she decided to stay, not having concrete plans for the rest of the day. Copies of the Gotham Gazette were piled high, not yet in their display case. Shuffling along as the line moved forward, she grabbed a paper and started reading the headlines: “Thomas Wayne - Will he or won’t he?;” “A New Day for Gotham;” “New Budget Cuts Risk Safety.” God, news like this made her wish she gave less of a shit. She closed the paper and looked up towards the entrance, the bell above the door ringing endlessly as more people poured in.

And there he stood. Good hair, Tan jacket. He was leaning against the wall, seven people down from her. She noticed he was wearing a brown cardigan and button-up shirt. His hair was a little damp, probably from the weather. It didn’t affect his good looks in the slightest.

She hadn’t expected his eyes to dart to hers so quickly.

Heat rose to her cheeks. Dammit, she scolded herself. You’re staring at him again. Leave the man alone, you idiot.  She tried to focus on the menu hanging overhead.

That focus failed utterly when she saw him sidle up beside her in her peripheral vision. He stopped about two feet away. As it had at the store, it took him a few moments to speak. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied, eyes still averted. “Fancy seeing you again.”

“Yeah.” He looked up at the menu, too, but she wasn’t convinced he was reading it.

She allowed herself a glance at his profile, long enough to realize it was a mistake if she wanted to stop ogling him. She was close enough to see the hint of laugh lines at the corner of his eye, the rounded tip of his nose, that damned jawline. She swallowed and looked down. His hand was worrying his pocket. The tension with which he held himself was obvious. It was hard to figure out if his hesitancy was peculiar or adorable. She decided it was both. “How was your TV dinner?” she asked.

“Fine. They’re always the same. Yours?” His deep voice was slightly raspy when he answered.

She gave a small shrug. “It didn’t kill me.”

The man chuckled at that and flicked his eyes to her for a moment. “Good.” The line moved forward and he stepped with her. “You should get the-”

“Hey, buddy,” a voice from the back bellowed. “You can’t just cut in line.”

The effect on Good hair, Tan jacket was immediate. He stiffened even further, cheeks turning pink, his jaw clenching. He briefly brought his hand to his mouth and winced. As he spoke, softly but loud enough for the asshole in the back to hear, his eyelids fluttered shut. “I wasn’t cutting. I just wanted to say hello.”

The fact that he responded surprised her. She liked it. When he started to turn towards the end of the line, she stepped closer to him. “What do you want? I’m next in line.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’ll grab it. It’s no big deal.”

He blinked at her before digging into his pocket and handing her change. "Cinnamon sugar. I was going to suggest you get it. It’s the best one.”

Smiling, she nodded. “Thanks for the recommendation. It’s my first time here.” She extended her hand to him. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He looked at her hand before grasping it gently with his. “My name’s Arthur. Arthur Fleck.” The smoothness of his palm was warm on hers, the fingertips of his long fingers resting against the back of her hand. “I’ll wait outside.” With that, he released her and left.

After getting their order, she left the shop to find the morning’s drizzle had turned to a steady rain.  Arthur was standing under the shop’s awning, smoking. She thought she’d detected the scent of nicotine. And maybe some cologne. “Here. You got the last cinnamon sugar.” She started to hand him the donut.

He shook his head. “I’ll take the other.”

“I hope you like chocolate.” Y/N gave him the small wax paper bag. “Can you tell me where the nearest subway is? I need to head home.”

“Newkirk Plaza.” His brows knit together and he looked down as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “I could walk you there?”

She noticed he’d said it quickly, as if he didn’t want to lose courage. She took the umbrella from inside her coat and opened it, then stuck her arm out so he’d have room to share it. “Sure. That’d be great.”

“Yeah?” He laughed softly, surprise on his face. “Okay.” Cautiously, but with some eagerness, he stepped under her umbrella. He seemed to hold his breath as they started walking in the direction of the train station.

They strolled in companionable silence. As each block ended and another began, she found herself wishing he would talk. He’d invited her on the walk, after all. Maybe she could bring him out. “Have you in lived in Gotham long?”

He flicked his cigarette on the ground and let out a small huff. “All my life.”

“You’re a real Gothamite, then. I’m a transplant. Moved here about a year and half ago.”

“Oh yeah? Where from?”

“Boonville, Missouri.” Waving her hand dismissively, she continued. “Trust me. You’ve never heard of it.”

He looked at her, studying her face for a moment. “You don’t have an accent,” he said.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That’s intentional.” She adjusted the umbrella in her hand. “I made sure to lose it as a kid. When I eventually moved away, I didn’t want to be out of place. It’s nice to be anonymous.”

Arthur took out another smoke and placed it between his lips. “But why come here? It’s so cold. People are mean. The garbage strikes…” He lit his cigarette. “It’s rough.”

“Believe me. Small towns have their own problems. They’re just not as visible. And everyone knows each other. God, it’s disgusting.” She laughed, then. “No, I really love it here. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth rising. “Hm.”

When the sign for Newkirk Plaza was in view, his steps slowed. Y/N noticed. He must have enjoyed walking with her. She liked it, too, which felt odd, since he was a stranger. Odd but good.

Arthur stopped as they reached the entrance to the station. He looked away from her and down the stairwell, as if what bit of confidence he had was ebbing. “If you go down these stairs, you can pick which line you want.”

Y/N nodded and smiled. “Thanks for the stroll, Arthur.”

“Yeah.” After a few beats of silence, he gazed back up at her. “You know, I do stand-up comedy?”

She looked at him in disbelief. This guy? This bashful guy got up on stage in front of people? “Really?”

“Maybe you could come see a show sometime,” he said.

She studied him for a few moments. The slight puffiness under his eyes, the tiredness in his face. The way he stood there, waiting for her reply with cautious hope, gave him an air of quiet fragility. Even though she was intrigued by him, she wasn’t ready to give her personal information out. Not yet. She wracked her brain, trying to think of a kind but honest answer. “Well, my job is going to be bringing me to this area again soon. When we see each other, you can tell me when and where, okay?”

He smiled slightly at the non-committal response. “All right.”

Y/N tried to hand him the umbrella. “I suspect you have a ways to walk.”

He put his hand up, then pulled the hood on his jacket over his head. “It’s okay, I just live over on Anderson.”

“Oh, okay.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve gotta go. See you around, Arthur." She started down the stairs, then turned to him again, blushing lightly as she met his eyes. “Thanks for the donut, too.”

~~~~~

Arthur felt like he could take on the world (or at least Gotham City). The nice woman from the store had somehow wound up in his nearby donut shop. He’d said hello. They’d gone for a walk. Shared an umbrella. Had a conversation. He hadn’t fucked up.

When at the train station, he’d been tempted to follow her, not wanting to lose the connection they’d had. But he’d trailed his neighbor, Sophie, to work one time in a pathetic attempt to ask her out. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to do it by the time they’d reached Sophie’s place of employment, so he’d turned around. That evening, she had knocked on his door and explained, with more kindness than he deserved, that he’d alarmed her and following her was inappropriate. Even though he had been embarrassed, he appreciated her taking the time to spell it out for him.

He was determined not to do something that stupid with Y/N.

Sophie. Y/N. What was it with woman with (Y first initial) names? They’re both saucy and sweet. Laughing lightly, he exited the elevator and headed towards his apartment.

“Mom, I’m back.” After hanging his jacket, he put the donut on a small plate and cut it into bite-sized pieces. That would make it easier for Penny to eat. He poured her a cup of coffee and headed into the living room.

His mother was asleep in the easy chair. “Good Morning Gotham” was playing on the TV. Arthur approached her gently and shook her shoulder. Her eyes slowly opened. It took a few seconds for her to focus on him. “Oh, Happy, did you check the mail?”

“It’s too early. The mail hasn’t come yet.” He put the plate in her hands. “Here. Eat this. I’m going to do laundry. I’ll be in the basement.”

She kept her eyes on the television when she gave her delayed answer. “Okay, Happy.”

Arthur stepped by her, basket in hand. On the way out, he grabbed his pen and journal. Once the laundry was on, he sat in a chair across from the machine and opened the worn notebook across his lap.

He thought of Y/N for a while, then his upcoming job at the children’s hospital on Wednesday. He’d been practicing his magic tricks, but would end with a dance. He loved working there. The kids were always so happy to meet Carnival the Clown. Maybe the upcoming week would be decent. A little kinder than most.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @stephieraptorr​

[violetfeathers]

Heat (Hawks X F!Reader)

I have never posted anything on tumbler before so let’s just leave this here and hope other’s enjoy my bullshit trash mind too.

Pairing: Hawks x reader

Words: 7.7k+

Genre: smut, some story build fluff smut at least? rut/heat

Rating: Explicit, 18+, NSFW

Warnings: breeding, submissive, choking, some blood at the beginning, some fluff

*Unedited

------------------------------------------------------

Blood erupted from your lips as you coughed, the coppery taste making you cringe and want to heave again as you absorbed the injury of the civilian in front of you.

The small hole in your abdomen slowly started to close, the man staring at you in awe as you had to pull down your black lower face mask to expel your own blood though you appeared as if you weren't worried in the slightest.

Never said my quirk was pretty.

You happened to be in the area during an explosion of a nearby factory and thankfully there wasn't many people injured, which made it easier to take on the responsibility of most serious wounds like the pipe that went through a man's side and the chunk of another's leg that was seared off.

Your quirk was super regenerative and gave you the ability to take on the injuries of others to heal at a rapid rate. Obviously you couldn't bring someone back from the dead or replace entire arms or legs, but you could repairs holes in organs or mass injury depending on what you yourself could survive.

The down fall was experiencing most of the pain of whatever you absorbed, making you weaker and more unsteady depending on the situation until you ultimately passed out. A super powerful quirk yet you wanted to just help people like a normal everyday hero while also volunteering at hospitals rather than boast since newly moving to Hosu city.

You were usually too busy with cases and trips around the area for interviews or coverage, so you remained a small rising pro hero who was only twenty that the public was still learning about and mostly unaware of.

Your eyes kept on a friendly tinge despite the crimson liquid that coated your lips, tone breathy as you inquired about the man you front of you. "You okay, sir? Any other injuries?"

He shook his head in silence, barely able to comprehend how you were still upright. You nodded, standing and helping him to his feet as well. "There is an ambulance over there, make sure to talk to them and the officers just in case. Have a good day and be safe!"

You were gone before he could say another word, your hooked chain wrapping around a broken piece of wall and dragging yourself up to where you heard panicked voices getting closer the further your swung and jumped up with a small wince.

You were greeted with the sight of an older man, his entire stomach coated in blood as he laid next to a familiar red winged pro hero who was trying to calm the death fearing male down with a calming smile.

Holy shit that's Hawks

You couldn’t let yourself be starstruck as you heard the famous pro talking to the man, his tone friendly and upbeat to try to keep the man’s focus.

"We'll get you out, you just gotta trust me." Hawks assured, the remnants of his feathers twitching slightly as he eyed the amount of blood with worry. He wanted to lift the man out, but had already used a lot of his feathers to get out other victims around the fires of the explosion.

His eyes glanced over to see a smaller woman that looked unfamiliar, your hero suit just black with dark grey accents that clung to your form with pouches and a long chain wrapped around your waist.

Your eyes trailed over to man as you neared, your voice soft but urgent as you began to formulate how this would go. "What are his injuries?"

Hawks blinked, surprised by the woman who was talking at him like he wasn't one of the top pro heroes and immediately taking charge of the situation the moment you entered.

"He.. He had a large pipe in his stomach-"

"Anything else other than this large injury?"

Hawks feathers ruffled as you cut him off, but watched as you peeled back the crimson soaked shirt of the man in front of him to look at the size of the wound.

"Burns and scrapes." Came his curt reply, his eyes narrowing on you as you pressed your hands into the civilian's before a beautiful smile made it’s way to your already bloodied lips. His heart skipped a beat at the sight, your scent finally wafting over to him and curling around him in a sweet embrace.

You were too busy wracking your brain with your own state as you smiled at the man below you, knowing that he wouldn't make it to hospital in time. "You're gonna be just fine sir, you gotta trust a hero's word after all. Especially the number two's." Your kind gaze then darted up to the popular hero's surprised one, your smile turning into something more bashful but informative.

"When I'm done, you can leave me and get him out. All I ask is that you come back for me, I'm just gonna need my own help out of here though. Sorry for the bother that this is gonna be!"

Before Hawks could even question what you were even talking about, your joined hands glowed a bright gold just like your irises while the wound on the man's stomach began to illuminate as well before the glowing was cut off, the man gasping at the instant release of his pain.

The bird pro was in shock, his eyes feeling like they deceived him until he heard a cough come from the mystery hero. Blood poured from your lips, your eyes squeezed shut as you curled an arm around your stomach with your black hero suit darkening as the newly formed hole in your stomach gushed out dark red liquid.

Hawks instantly was at your side, his hand resting on your upper back with frantic look to his golden orbs.

"What are yo-"

"T-the man, Hawks. Please."

The winged hero swore under his breath, a feather hastily hooking into the back of the man's shirt and carrying him off without hesitation much to your surprise.

You coughed again with blood splattering out onto the concrete below, your eyesight blurry as your words came out croaked and raspy sounding. "I'll b-be fine. Quirk's healing-" You could barely get out the explanation before your vision started to fade, your words sounding more far away by the second.

Hawks scooped you up into his arms, his feathers returning to him as much as he could that weren't damaged to help form steps that let him jump down from the high up broken floor they were on. "Hey, stay with me, dove. Your quirk is healing, yeah? So, you're gonna be fine right?"

His words had a twinge of worry to them despite his lighter tone, catching the twitch of your lips as a shaky smirk made it's way to your face. "Y-yeah, I'll be- fuck. F-fine. Regenerative p-power. Call my agency."

Hawks felt himself relax but only slightly, his feet landing on the ground as he let out a deep breath. "Alright, what agency are you under?"

He was met by silence, his golden eyes darting down to see your face slack as you passed out in his hold and let a groan slip from his lips.

"Well shit."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that was how you met Hawks.

He thankfully was able to use his own connections at as his agency to find out that you were recently hired at a smaller group on the outskirts of Hosu, surprising him that such a mind boggling quirk was hiding under the shadows of such an unknown agency. He even liked your hero name, 'Death Defy'.

He immediately asked you to come work for him the moment you awoke with the bird man standing over you with a look of fascination.

Which you initially declined.

Because why trust a man you have never met despite his status? You were still unsure of what the world of hero networking was like and it was intimidating to just immediately be okay with working under such a top hero.

You soon found out that Hawks was a persistent man when he had his eye on something though.

A few months went by of randomly running into him out on the field and at your favorite coffee shop, the man now visiting your little caffeinated gem daily around the same time as you at the end of weekly jogs.

He could tell you were not used to the attention, finding out along the way about how you became a hero in your small town despite having merchant parents who ran a grocery store. You had a mutated quirk that was almost godly, one that your parents hide away for years claiming you to be quirkless due to the fear of people come to take you away.

He found it admirable that you had decided to pursue the life of a hero regardless of your safety once you could make the choice for yourself, ignoring your parent’s pleads to just live a normal life. You were fully aware that people would try to take advantage of you or worse, but it was the risk you were willing to take to help as many people that were within your reach.

He almost wondered what the Commission would have done if they had known about her, but he was grateful to meet you just the way you were.

At first you were confused by the interest the winged hero had taken into you, not opposed to his attention at all but you found yourself more lost to be in the presence of such a charismatic man more and more often.

Then your confusion turned into a friendly fondness. His witty banter and flirty attitude growing on you more than you expected, finally causing you to take the plunge to accept his offer.

The charming smirk you got was seared into your memory, your hero life changing drastically from that day on.

You moved closer to his agency, thankful that Hawks offered quite a generous pay to get yourself a decent apartment. Your schedule was more filled than before, answering more calls to disaster scenes and more dangerous encounters to save more people than you ever had.

You felt enlightened and worn to the bone, but it was something that was thrilling to your very core. You wanted to help people and accepting the position at the number two hero's agency had you feeling more useful than ever before.

Speaking of the number two hero, you figured he would stop going out of his way to see you once you agreed to his offer, but you found yourself seeing him more than ever.

He would still see you at your coffee shop, the two of you now having a ritual of sharing a table to chat about everything and anything. He called upon you in a lot of missions too, even if it was precautionary, saying you were more useful than you gave yourself credit for. You swore the blush on your cheeks could be seen through your black face mask.

Time passed and your feelings for the man grew, everything about him drawing you in like a magnet no matter how hard you tried to focus on you hero career. He was charming and flirty sure, but he couldn’t contain the flustered fluff of his feathers at your teasing or the accidental brushes of you hand. He seemed as engaged with you as you were with him, but it was too intimidating to take the plunge and possibly ruin your relationship. 

It was around Spring when you found yourself at the agency late on a Friday night, letting out a deep sigh as you finished your last report.

You figured you were the last one around based on how quiet it had been outside your office for the past two hours. You clicked off your desk lamp as you stood and picked up your stack of files, grabbing your bag to throw over your shoulder on your way out.

You locked your office door and place the files in the tray outside your doorway when you heard something from down the hall towards Hawks' office.

You furrowed your brows as you walked towards the door, noticing that it was nearly all the way latched shut as a whimper caught your attention. It sounded almost pained, causing you to fling open the door with a worried expression, your (e/c) eyes catching the blonde haired crimson winged hero hunched over in his desk chair with a pained look on his handsome face.

"Hawks? Are you alright?" You asked while not noticing the way his body shuddered at your voice, his wings puffing up slightly as your scent wafted into the room as you entered.

His eyes snapped up to yours in a bit of a panic, being in the same mindset as you and expected his agency to be empty by now. "(Y-Y/N)?" His voice was husky and breathy, trying to deal with the flood of heat that seemed to painfully make it's way through him.

He never wanted you to see him like this. He hadn't been keeping track of time of his body's signs of his impending rut, his body and mood all of the place. His hunger almost insatiable for the past few days until, well, this.

All he wanted was to lay low in his office until nightfall then try to sneakily fly back to his penthouse, nest, then ride out his painful week with as much dignity as he could muster.

And right now he felt like the world wanted to see the bird man burn as he watch you round his desk to kneel at his side with a concern look on your pretty face.

"Do you need me to heal something? What's going on?" You asked urgently, your hand going up rest on his flushed cheek and frowning at how heated he felt.

He leaned heavily into your touch, his breaths coming out in pants as his golden eyes opened to practically melt into yours as his lips were barley able to form a reply. "N-no, this isn't somethin' you can fix, dove. You n-need to go."

You frowned further, your eyes narrowing in confusion on the obviously flustered male as you pressed on. "I can't just go with you looking like this! Keigo, please, let me help."

A soft crooning of chirps met your ears, your eyes widening as Hawks felt his face flushing further as he moved away from your touch hastily in response.

"L-listen. This is really embarrassing to deal with and I don't want to creep you out so please let me just deal with this by myself. I promise I'll be okay." He assured you, forcing himself to try and not keep the memory of you on your knees in front of him tucked away for later use.

You could hear rather desperate tone he was barely able to conceal, your eyes taking in a hardened look as you stood your ground. "No Keigo, you can trust me! I don't care if it's embarrassing, just tell me what's going on."

He almost groaned at the commanding tone of your voice, shivers erupting all over his skin at the determined look to your gorgeous face. He blurted out the words before he could process it, not realizing the effect you already had over him due to your scent and his needy nature.

"So you know my quirk is avian in nature, yeah? It's because of that I g-gain some stupid bird traits and habits. Nesting, preening, showing off, possessiveness, and all of that boils down to having a... rut."

".....A rut?" You echo, your eyes searching his as he grit his teeth and forced his hands to remain curled into his own hero jacket to prevent him from reach towards you

"I basically get painfully horny on and off for a week straight. My dumb body wants to do the animal thing." He bluntly drops, hanging his head as he squeezes his eyes shut in mortification of his own words. He wasn't a shy man by any means, but he liked you. He had spent so much time getting to know you and didn't want something like this to make it weird between the both of you. Which is why his eyes snapped open at your next words in disbelief.

"Oh... Well, can't you call a girl to- uh, fuck silly for a few days?"

A pained laugh left his lips at your words, his musical chuckling making a flush settle on your own cheeks as you bashfully glance down from your blunt reply.

Once he caught his breath, he opened his mouth again and tried to not breathe in more of you and your warm energy that called out to him almost teasingly in his clouded mind. "I wish it were that simple, but this is something super, uh, personal? I want to get very connected to whoever I would do this with and I have... never done it with anyone before." He admitted.

"Fuck- sorry that sounded really insensitive, huh? I thought-" He interrupted your apology with a pained wave of his hand, not blaming you for your suggestion at all. "Its fine, I just need to get home. Your, uh smell is kinda driving me wild."

You flushed further, your lips parting in surprise before looking guilty. "I'm sorry-"

"A-again, it's fine. You just scent is just so damn-" He whimpered again, a soft cooing leaving the back of his throat as his body leaned towards yours subconsciously. You bit your lip, your own thighs tightening together at the subject at hand.

Is it bad that I like that he is affected by something as simple as my smell?

You felt embarrassed that your mind was even allowing itself to imagine what it would be like under him, moaning like a bitch in heat while he railed into you. Here was your boss technically that you were thinking about, images of him fucking you in so many ways wanting to flood your mind as he was so vulnerable in front of you. You had pressed him when he already ask you to leave, but you couldn’t help yourself as you wanted to offer any assistance at all to him. 

“Do you need help getting home? I could drive you- wait you said my smell is bothering you...” You realized a bit late about his admission from before, your heart aching for the man in front of you. “You have never had help with this? That must be so painful, I wish I...” You trailed off, your face getting hot at your own implication of your words, wanting to just bury yourself at your own mess up. 

It wasn’t like you crush was surprising, you were just a simple small town town girl who moved to a bigger city in hopes of helping people to be thrust into the arms of a handsome hero.

But you were never obvious in your affections towards the man, always trying to maintain a friendly relationship while telling yourself that any female wouldn’t blame you for letting you heart get away from you at the sight of his sexy charming smirk or his impressive speed and control over his quirk. You had spend almost a year with the man now, you honestly thought about him more often than you should have.

He was way more than just his gorgeous looks, with his kind nature and his witty personality. You knew there had to be a side of him that was hurt and damaged, catching glimpses of far away looks and sad frowns sometimes, but you wanted to learn more about him. To become closer to the man in front of you because you really had come to care for him. Which is why you felt like such a fool for risking that with blurting out your horny thoughts without thinking.

Meanwhile when you scolding yourself for your words, you didn’t see the way his wings fluttered at the implication you left hanging in the air.

She wishes she could what? Does she want to- even with knowing what I'm needing right now?

He couldn’t hold himself back, his eyes searching yours desperately as his mouth opened with a pleading heat to his words. “Would you? You- fuck, you barely know what this is. It’s really a lot and I don’t want you to feel pressured but-” A whining chirp left the back of his throat as he gripped at his chest, practically cooing in pleasure as you instinctively move in closer to him. 

“I really want you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, your underwear immediately growing damp at the lust coated words that seemed to drip off his tongue. The blonde just asking was him inadvertently telling you he wanted to get closer to you, making your chest flutter at the knowledge of him caring for you like you did for him. You felt like you should give it more thought, but your mind started to grow muddy with your own arousal as you swallowed quickly before answering with a breathy tone. “Tell me what to do.”

A beautiful groan left his lips as he suddenly stood with your eyes catching the sight of his hardened bulge before pulling you to your feet, backing away from you with a pained sigh and a shake of his hands. 

“If you are serious about this, meet me at my place. My pheromones could cloud your judgement since we’re so close together.... I n-need to get more comfortable and want to p-prepare just in case you do want to do this. Get some of your own clothes and things, I won’t let you leave my place if you come. Literally. I’ll text you my address, m-maybe look up what this is too. Just to be sure.”

The window was opened without further waiting, you watching with a flustered gaze as the crimson winged hero fly off into the distance.

You had some things to go do.

----------------------------------------------

You exited the elevator, walking forward towards the only door on the floor with a fluttering nervousness in your stomach. You thanked the gods that he wanted to prepare, giving you time to get a shower and shave yourself bare after a sweaty work day. 

Thankfully you hadn’t taken a day off since starting to work for the winged pro along with it being the start of a weekend you surprisingly had off as well. So you gathered up multiple outfits along with toiletries, approaching the door of Hawks with a a pounding in your ears. You had taken his advice to look up what his rut would entail, blushing scarlet at the mention of breeding and protectiveness one would feel. 

You knew he probably didn’t expect that of you, thankfully you were on the pill anyways. So it wasn’t like you couldn’t indulge on the basic instinct of it all though.

When you knocked, it was barely ten seconds later the door swung open rapidly making you jump slightly at the sight of the blonde male in front of you.

He looked a bit more, well, feral that you remembered. His eyes were almost molten in color, his chest barely hidden by a black tank top with sweats hanging low on his hips. His dirty blonde hair looked damp as well, his eyes raking over your form in a baggy shirt under a black jacket and shorts with a duffel bag over your shoulder. 

“(Y/N), I’m so glad you came.”

He tugged you in immediately, grabbing your duffel bag from you before gesturing for you to follow him after you kicked off your shoes at his door. He knew the moment he touched you for real, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back anymore, so he kept his contact brief with trying to get you situated, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible. 

“Sorry for the delay, I had to wait for the taxi for a bit...” You answered back shyly, your hands nervously fiddling with your jacket’s zipper as you entered his room. You knew in the back of your mind where this was going, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be so confident in the presence of such a attractive and stunning man like Keigo. 

“No- no you’re fine. I was preoccupied for a bit at least.” He answered in a husky tone, walking over to set your bag on a bench at the end of his bed. You felt yourself nearly drip at the effect his damn voice had on you, your eyes distracting you by finding the sight of his gigantic bed covered in pillows, blankets, towels, and other articles of clothing stuff along the nest-like structure. You honestly wanted to coo at the sight, it being adorable to you as you turned to see him looking back at you with a soft gaze. 

“Do.. do you like it? I know it’s kinda odd...I mean, it’s a pile of random shit that I like basically.”

You look at him while being slightly surprised at his hesitant tone, never knowing the cocky suave man in front of you to seek approval so openly. You wanted this to be a good experience for him as well, so you gave him a sultry grin as you nodded your head. “Of course, Keigo. I adore it. Very comfy lookin’ If I say so myself!”

The cooing chirps that answered made your heart warm, wanting nothing more than to be closer to Hawks after hearing his cute noises. Your feet were braver than you felt in the moment as you walked toward him, your fingertips trailing over his chest to wrap around his neck as his body shuddered under your touch while his fingers began to dig into your hips. 

He couldn’t take it anymore, your scent felt like it was engulfing him as he tugged you closer and smashed his lips against your soft ones. You moaned in the back of your throat, your bodies pressing together as the heat of the situation began to rapidly escalate faster than either of you had expected. His tongue entered your mouth smoothly, his taste already seeming unfairly addictive as he dominated the kiss so easily that had you feeling breathless already. He felt you grind slightly against his thigh, his cock twitching as the thought of what was to come. 

His lips left yours, his cheeks flushed making the black accent marks around his eyes stand out in the dimmed lighting of the room. “Please, can I fuck you?”

You nodded in response, already having made your decision by coming here in the first place. But the desperation in his tone had you gushing at the thought of having him buried deep within you. You knew what was to come and you could hardly wait to feel him touch you, hoping that it was better than you imagined and dreamed of.

He slid the jacket from your shoulders, you not resisting at all as he let the clothing drop to the floor and worked on your remaining clothing. He appreciated that when he helped you remove your shirt that you went without a bra, the sight of your perky nipples making a whimper leave his lips as he immediately dipped his head down to catch one of the buds between his teeth. 

You let a high pitched cry leave your lips, not expecting his nipping bite but didn’t complain in the slightest. Your quirk gave you a higher pain tolerance than many and despite your small innocent demeanor, you honestly liked it rough.

The crimson winged man noted your reaction as he sucked the areola into his mouth, his tongue swirling soothingly around your skin as he palmed your other breast. He couldn’t control the growl in his throat as he suckled against you sharply, drawing another whine to leave your throat as you felt your fingers shake as they wove into his blonde hair. You tugged at the strands in need as he hooked his arm under your ass and around your waist as he moved you to his bed. 

“Fuck- please, Keigo!” You moaned out, barely able to keep your eyes open as you stared forwards with such a sight like Hawks hovering above you as you raised your hips up as he understood and quickly slipped you bottoms off to leave you completely bare beneath him. 

He soaked in the sight feel of your soft skin under his, his eyes drinking in your body as he tugged off his own clothes knowing that he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. He honestly wished he could hold back long enough to go slow with you, but he was painfully hard and straining to feel you wrapped around his dick. 

He wasted no time as his slid his index finger along the folds of your pussy, groaning as he shoved his face in the crook of your neck to bite and suck harshly at the sensitive skin. You moaned more as he finally pressed a finger inside of you slowly but smoothly, the stretching comfortable as you began to grind you hips against his finger when it began to start thrusting into you. The speed increased steadily, his finger curling in just the right way to make you see a flash of white and a static to run over your skin in pleasure.

“O-of course you’re good at this.”

“Oh dove, I’m no where even close to started.” 

His grin was feral as he scooted down to hover his face over your freshly shaved pussy, breathing in your slick as you both could hear the lewd sounds of your sex every time his finger entered your spasming cunt. He groaned, the fingers of his free hand digging into your thigh to hold you open for him as he leaned close enough for you to feel his breath on your clit. “You smell delicious, my lovely bird. Can I-”

You cut him off in with an impatient whine, your eyes darkened in lust. “You don’t have to ask, Keigo. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Without another word his tongue slipped into your quivering pussy, his groans vibrating against you and causing you to gasp loudly clutch at his hair desperately as he drank from you. 

“You’re delicious, dovie.” He muttered, his tongue swirling back into your entrance and making you moaned loudly then tug at his hair again with a heavy flush settling on your skin. You felt your orgasm approaching faster than you though possible, your noises becoming more desperate as you tightened your grip in his messy locks. He shoved two fingers into you, curling them and rocking them into you harder and faster as your cries grew louder. 

“Hawks, I-I’m gonna- Ah!” You moaned loudly as he responded by quickening his pace, sucking your clit into his mouth and nibbling at the harden pearl while his pressed his fingers against your g-spot in just the right way.

Your crash had your body shuddering, Keigo removing his fingers to replace them with his mouth as his tongue scooped up as much of your essence that he could. Your hips circled from the over-simulation, the wings of the pro twitching and ruffling at every lapping of his tongue.

He moved to suck the rest of your cum from his fingers once he had thoroughly cleaned you to his liking, your chest heaving from the amazing feeling before giggling almost drunkenly as he flipped you onto your stomach. He smirked as he pulled your hips up and watched you immediately get into position by raising yourself onto your elbows since you were still slightly shaky. 

"I never expected you to be the type who would be so eager." He cooed teasingly as he shifted his knee to spread you further apart for him, the tip of his cock weeping at the sight of you so glistening and open for him.

You shot him a seductive grin over your shoulder, your own lidded gaze committing his flush state to memory as you drank in his chiseled torso and broad shoulders. "I have been dreaming of fucking you since I started working for you, so of course I'm a bit needy."

He groaned at your words, his wings seeming to shudder as he gripped himself and rubbed against your dripping slit. "Yeah? You wanted me for that long? You could have had me so much sooner, (Y/N)."

This earned a whine from your lips, your legs shaking in anticipation as you felt the engorged head of his cock grind against your gushing sex.

"I d-didn't think-" You were cut off by you own pleasure gasp, biting your tongue as you felt him enter you slowly without further teasing. 

“This c-could have been happening for so long now. Feeling you so wet and ready for me.”

He was thick and long but not uncomfortably so, the tip kissing your cervix as he bottomed out inside of you with a surprising gentleness to his touch despite the shaking of his fingers as they dug into your hips.

You could feel him holding back, waiting for you to adjust to his size until you sped up the process by grinding back against him teasingly.

A choked groan left his lips at sensation of your rippling warm walls hugging him so tightly, his talons digging into your skin as his hips stuttered against your own with a pained whimper leaving his own lips. His heat started to flood his body, near torturous as he tried to not rush you. "Please (Y/N), I can barely keep myself from-"

"Keigo, I'll b-be fine so move."

He couldn't take the pleading tone of your sweet voice, his teeth grinding together as his self control practically snapped.

His hips slammed into yours, a high pitched moan leaving you at the sudden movement before he began an almost brutal pace. His cock dragged against the walls of you cunt, the drool worthy friction sending you into a whimpering heap as he thrusted against you harder and harder.

You couldn't help yourself as you tried to grind your hips back in time with his, the male above you smirking at you for being so desperate for him. He found himself pausing at times to grind deeply within you, almost mockingly to remind you of starting the teasing.

"Fuck, Keigo-- Harder!"

His golden eyes soaked up you form, watching the way the flesh of you ass rippled every time his hips rutted against yours roughly like you begged for. He leaned over your body, feeling the primal need to mark you as his as his chest came to rest on your back as he rubbed his scent on you.

"You sound so good, dove. Let me hear you." His growl next to you ear had you practically on the edge of your second orgasm, eyes rolling back as his hand wrapped around you throat to drag you to bend towards him creating a pretty arch to your back. "H-Hawks-"

A choked cry was torn from you lips as his fingers tightened around you windpipe, his hips still slamming against yours at a nearly inhuman pace. "P-please! Fuck me, fill me up! Gods breed me!"

His pupils blew out in desire, your words having their intended affect as he felt his cock twitch at the thought of filling you. He knew he couldn’t last long after hearing such erotic things spilling from your lips.

"Fuck! I'm gonna make you mine, fill you over and over with my fuckin’ cum!" He snarled into your ear as his pace increasing somehow, releasing your neck to rub messy circles on your clit to drag you down with him. "I want you to cum with me, (Y/N, now."

You cried out at the extra simulation, your eyes practically crossing as you felt your release bubbling over. You had never orgasmed on command before, feeling the shake of you body as it spasmed under his hold.

He let out loud pleasured groan, slamming his hips into yours deeply to spill himself inside of you as he large red wings fanned out widely before curling around you both. He felt his cock getting milked by your needy pussy, practically clamping down on him as he let himself rest inside of you for a moment to catch his breath as well as bask in his connection to you.

A soft cooing noise was heard from the back of his throat, turning your head with a dazed well-fucked smile as he flushed at your state below him. You felt his soft feathers brush against your skin as he slowly sat up.

"You're adorable, Hawks." You murmured, shivering as he pulled himself out of you, your eyes immediately darting back to see his cock for the first time and felt you mouth practically water at the sight of it still hard as hell. "And sexy."

He felt his ego get stroked by your words, knowing that he cared more about how you viewed him more than anyone. He was honestly still in disbelief that he even had you here, willing to be with him and wanting to be close to him in such a way.

"All yours now, dove." He replied with a wink, about to move off of you to get a washcloth when you turned suddenly enough to startle him. In a jumble of limbs and feathers, he found himself stunned as you straddled his hips with a devilish curl to your lips. 

He immediately felt his dick twitch at the sight on you hovering over him, his eyes meeting yours as you began to speak with a lust dripping tone. “You know, Hawks, I noticed something quite interest about your rut~.”

He felt him shudder as her fingers trailed down his chest before moaning lowly as you wrapped your fingers around his cock to position the tip at your messy entrance. “W-wait dovie, I’m really sensitive but if you give me just a min-”

He couldn’t find it in him to make a move as you sank down onto his length with a breathy moan leaving your own lips as he felt the mixture of you both starting to drip onto his pelvic bone and thighs you began to grind against him easily. 

His crimson wings tried to feebly curl at the sensation, his eye squeezing shut as a dark red flush settled over his face at the over-stimulation as his breath began to leave him in heavy pants. He thought you weren’t going to continue talking as he tried to reach up and grab your hips once he adjusted to your heat once again. 

That is until one hand snatched his wrists to hold them above his head.

He felt his breath stutter as your free hand went to his wing, curling your fingers into the plume of soft feathers firmly but mindful in case he reacted poorly to such a change of positions as you leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

“I got you, pretty bird~ I wasn’t finished speaking.”

His reaction was beautiful though, a sharp gasp that turned into a lewd moan left his lip as his wings trembled at your surprising actions and seductive tone. He continued to grind up against you in response at such an unexpected turn of events. Your own eyes drank the sight of him looking so desperate beneath you as you began swirling your hips while you watched his face contort in pure pleasure at your ministrations. 

You knew you read about males becoming dominant, which you could easily see him doing, but he also seemed like he was equally as needy, wanting to establish something deeper and emotional. He was acting soft and gentle, which you never would have taken him for in the bedroom. 

Your mind connected the dots with his crooning noises and more thoughtful and almost bashful behavior at times since finding out about his rut, wanting to test if your theory was correct. 

“You are way more submissive, aren’t you Keigo?”

He choked out a groan, wanting to buck up against you until he felt you sliding up his length as you dragged him tortuously slow from your warm moist heat before dropping back down onto him roughly. He threw his head back with cry leaving his lips, a victorious smile forming on your lips as you began to set a steady pace of riding him in a slow and sensual manner.

You ignored his pleading to go faster for a while, enjoying the way he crumpled easily under your touch and was practically begging you to fuck him senseless as he tugged at your hold feebly. You knew he could overpower you easily if he truly wanted, but he seemed tamed under you.  

You only began to increase your pace when he was bucking back up against you with his cries got louder leaving his lips, wanting to soak up the sight of such a powerful man at your mercy. “Please, (Y/N) I need to touch you, please-!” 

You kissed him suddenly, the blonde male immediately opening his mouth and moaning as your sweet tongue danced against against his. He felt himself getting close until you suddenly stopped bouncing on top of him, your hips slowing to a grind again that had him whimpering against your lips as you pulled away from him to move the hand from his wing to grasp his chin in a firm hold. 

Your (e/c) orbs seared into his, the man melting into your touch as he felt more of your slick gush around his cock that made his eyes roll slightly at the feeling. 

“Be honest when answering my question and you can fuck me to your heart’s content. You’ll get to fill me up as many times as you want and use me like your own personal toy.”

He nodded quickly, his wrists tugging at your grip as he wanted nothing more in the moment than to just keep fucking you until you both were unable to move. “Fuck! A-anything! Whatever you want, please!” 

Your lips couldn’t help but curl further at the sound of his needy voice, but decided you had your fun. “How long have you wanted to fuck me, Hawks? How long have you wanted to fuck the pro hero, Death Defy?”

You were barely able to hide your surprise as the answer left his mouth immediately with no hesitation or shame. 

“Since I h-heard you laugh the first day after I found your coffee shop. I loved how your laugh s-sounded  and you looked so sexy in your tights-”

“Fuck-”

You let go of his wrists, the blonde man wasting no time in pushing you onto you back while rolling his legs under himself to hook your knees to press them back into you as his hips started to piston into yours again at a break neck speed. 

“God, I love your pussy so much-”

It was all so smooth, your head spinning at how he was able to get you under his spell again so easily, moaning loudly as your cunt was stretched from such a delicious angle that he was able to achieve as he pounded into you.

His breath was puffing out over your ear, heating you as he lost himself in the feel of your body as his hips blurred at his motion. The slaps of skin on skin echoed along the moans and grunts heard from you both. “Keigo fuck-- your cock is so good!”

When you felt him shift into the position that head you seeing stars you felt yourself talk, though your words felt almost like they were an echo in your own ears. “Gods, I’ll never want anyone else! I love you!”

You thought you had kept your words in your mind safe where they belonged until you felt his hips stutter against yours, his answering moan making your body shake as he began to thrust deeply into you almost with a purpose. His golden orbs locked onto your dazed ones as he knew he couldn’t last much longer.

“Christ, I love you, (Y/N)!”

You were felt yourself come undone as he pounded into you harshly, crying out as he continued to rail into you for another moment before bottoming out and filling you up as deeply as he could. 

Both of you panted at the buzz of energy that still hung in the air, both staring at the other in a surprised high as they tried to process how the sex had went from amazing to otherworldly in just one attempt. 

You wrapped your arms around the crimson winged male, pulling him down with a low whine in your throat as he rested his body against yours while holding his weight off you a bit still. You just wanted the closeness, pressing your lips to his sweaty shoulder as he shivered slightly at the feeling along with the gentle squeeze of you around his cock as he had to pull out of you. 

He turned to press his lips to the side of your neck, smirking as he felt you shiver still under his touch.

“So, you love me?” He asked, his eyes glinting as he watched the pretty flush on your face darken while suddenly growing more bashful in the afterglow. 

“I-I mean, I f-feel like I do but don’t let that sca-” Hawks pressed his lips to yours soft ones to cut you off, parting after leaving you breathless once again with a soft look to his eyes and a adoring smile on his face. “I said it back, dove. Your confidence should stick around a bit more.”

You felt like you were in bliss, Keigo coming to gently rest in arm under your breasts with his wing covering you like a blanket before he broke the silence that started to settle over you.

“.....Ready for another go?”

“Fuck yes.”

[lupinlongbottom]

Ordeals

Charlie Weasley x Legilimens!Reader

Summary: (Y/N) has a hard time sleeping after the war, good thing her husband is there when she wakes up.

Prompt: A lovely request from @cutie-bug (that took WAY too long to get out of my head, I’m so sorry!)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: none

A/N: uh. hey. i’m back. whoops. sorry for the hiatus. i’m trying to get back into writing, but it’s been increasingly hard for me of late. in the meantime, however, enjoy a lovely fic with our fave dragon boi.

__

A sliver of light filtered through the moss colored curtains, shining directly onto the dark covers of the bed beneath. The sheets rose and fell with the deep slumber of the redheaded man resting under, gently lifting momentarily to fall back down. The morning had barely begun, the sun only recently rising, but that had left no impact on the other owner of the bed.

(Y/N) had been sitting upright, head in her hands, for at least an hour before the sun rose. The war may have ended nearly a year ago, but the nightmares never ceased to end. It was easy to rationalize that the fighting and bloodshed had ended when she had woken, but the sleepless slumbers left her no deliberate way to understand the reality. It had become a habit to live off three to four hour nights of interrupted sleep.  

A sputtering cough came from (Y/N)’s left side, her head turning ever so slightly towards the sound. Charlie usually had woken up by now, but yesterday had been a long day at the dragon sanctuary, loads of new eggs had finally hatched and were in need of constant supervision. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had come into owning a few dragons, neglecting their basic needs as creatures and using them for their own selfish purposes. Charlie was chosen to lead the rehabilitation of the few dragons rescued, leading to late nights and early mornings.

“(Y/N)?” Charlie muttered, voice thick with sleep. A chunk of his red locks fell in front of his freckled face, forcing the half-asleep man to push them back into place.

What’s wrong?

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) responded curtly, as she had every morning.

Doesn’t seem like it.

“No, really. I’m really fine.” She rose her hand up in protest, glancing away. The small gemstone from her ring caught the ray of light, sending a glittering shimmer to her eye. 

“Stop reading my mind, love,” Charlie yawned, pulling his arms above the sheets, stretching them out for the day. “And before you say anything, I know it’s stronger when you wake up, but you and I both know you’ve been awake longer than you’d care to admit.” 

(Y/N) sat in a stunned silence. Of course her husband could see through her possible excuses, he had been doing so since the war ended. A soft echo of Charlie’s voice rang through her head.

How long?

“I’ve only been awake for an hour or so. I’ve tried to fall back asleep but nothing worked—not even counting dragons.” (Y/N) chuckled airily.

“What was it this time?” Charlie had fully sat up, parallel to his wife. His white pajama shirt was bunched and twisted up from his sleep.

“The usual,” (Y/N) groaned. “We were back at Hogwarts, fighting some Death Eaters,”

I bet I looked great.

“You did look pretty great, like usual,” (Y/N) responded, elbowing Charlie slightly. He smiled lightly. “But this time, you didn’t dodge. The spell… it hit you.” The sound barely leaving her lips.

“But I’m still here,” Charlie gently rested his hand under (Y/N)’s chin, cupping her cheek. “I’m always still here.” 

“I know,” Her head softly pushed into his grip. “But if I lost you, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Merlin, what would I have told your mother? She would have lost two sons in one day and—”

“But she didn’t,” Charlie said, tone sharp. “Fred is gone, that can’t ever change,” A deep sigh. “But I’m still here, see?” His hand enveloped (Y/N)’s, circling the back of it with his thumb. “You still feel me, right?”

(Y/N) nodded. “I just wish they would stop.”

“I know.”

The two sat in silence, the familiar pacing of their breathing settling both of their worried hearts.

“Your hands are always so cold in the morning,” (Y/N) spoke up, slowly pulling her hand away from Charlie’s icy one. “I still think you should wear a pair of mittens while you sleep.”

“Once you learn to knit, then I’ll consider it,” Charlie laughed, his fingers tracing over his other knuckles, twisting his wedding band. “Besides, you’re always there in the morning to warm them up.” A peck landed squarely on (Y/N)’s temple, soft and wet.

“Gross.” 

“Can’t a man appreciate his furnace of a wife?” Charlie asked, voice slightly hurt. (Y/N) rolled her eyes before kicking one leg off the side of the bed, her second soon to follow. “Wait, love—”

“I’m not in the mood, Charlie. Deal with it yourself, you have two—rather cold—hands. I put more tissues in your nightstand if you really need to—”

“Who’s the gross one now?” Charlie said, gripping onto (Y/N)’s sleep shirt, preventing her escape. “As much as I appreciate your extremely polite decline, that’s not why I was stopping you.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time,” (Y/N) shrugged, kicking her leg back onto the bed. “Not that I usually complain.”

“Neither do I,” Charlie laughed, the sound bouncing off their small bedroom walls. “As much fun as that would be, that’s not what you need right now.”

“What I need?” (Y/N) questioned, resettling back into the nest that laid before her.

“What you need, indeed.” Charlie repeated. “Quite clearly you’re need of some good, old fashioned, Weasley cuddles.”

“Charlie, you know I want to—”

“Shush!” Charlie hissed, patting the sheets closer to his open arm. “Come on, in you go.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, a small smile breaking onto her lips. She nuzzled her way into her husbands side, fitting like a missing puzzle piece.

Smells good.

A wider smile tugged at the corners of (Y/N)’s mouth, hiding her happiness in her husband’s chest.

“You know,” Charlie hummed, fingers weaving through (Y/N)’s hair. “No matter where we are in the world, as long as I can have you in my arms like this—just like this—it feels like home.”

“There you go again,” (Y/N) sputtered, blush creeping up her neck. “Saying everything that’s on your mind like it’s nothing.”

Charlie chuckled. “A habit I picked up from courting you, love. You’d be able to read my mind anyway, might as well beat you to the punch, no?” He angled his head down, eyebrow teasing his hairline.

“It’s fun to read your mind,” (Y/N) spoke honestly, weaving her hand under the blanket to rest on Charlie’s thigh. “You know I try not to do it often, but it can’t be helped.” She shrugs, fully resting into Charlie’s side. “Besides, I like your honest reactions.”

“Reactions? To what—” It was in that moment that (Y/N)’s hand began gently moving up and down his thigh.

Merlin…

“To that, my dear husband.” (Y/N) chuckled, stopping all movements entirely. “Those are the reactions I live for.”

“I thought you weren’t in the mood?” Charlie mused, clearly enjoying the game his wife was playing.

“Oh, I’m not,” (Y/N) smiled, removing her hand to her side, leaving a small peck on Charlie’s jaw. “But it’s fun to tease. Your face—”

“—color matches my hair,” Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I think I’ve heard that one before.”

Only a thousand times

“A thousand and one, then.” (Y/N) laughed, peppering more kisses along her husband’s jaw. The soft smacking sounds echoed through the room, filling the empty space with love. With one swift motion, Charlie angled his head towards his wife’s attentive lips, capturing the delicate two between his own.

“You know,” Charlie began. Another kiss. “I have to be at work in an hour.” 

(Y/N) groaned, running her hand down Charlie’s chest. “I know,” she breathed, patting his chest lightly. “Those dragons can’t do anything without their dad, huh?”

Charlie’s chest rose with laughter. “Yeah, except maybe burn down a village or two.” He snuggled closer to (Y/N), filling the empty spaces with blankets and comfort. The soft morning sun continued to filter through the curtains, cloaking the lovers in a ray of light and hope. (Y/N)’s features were practically glowing against the rays, illuminating the face Charlie loved so dearly.

“You know, I don’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking.” (Y/N) smiled, peering up towards her husband’s eyes. The brown irises were gleaming with life, stoked by the expression he had only ever fathomed emoting to her and only her.

“Oh yeah?” Charlie hinted, pressing a soft peck to (Y/N)’s forehead. “Then what’m I thinking?”

“That I should go put a pot of coffee on if you’re ever going to leave this bed.” (Y/N) yawned, retreating from their love nest, pulling the dark sheets to the side.

“Ah, exactly that,” Charlie said, watching (Y/N) swing her legs across their bed, moving to exit their bedroom. “See? You don’t need to read my mind to know what I’m thinking, love. It’s our special connection.” 

(Y/N) smiled, turning towards their kitchen. The wooden floorboards creaked with every step, almost drowning out the sound of a faint thought, one of Charlie’s, one (Y/N) practically missed.

I love you. So much.

.

.

.

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai , @missihart123 , @biatheintrovert , @luna-xxxxx , @chocolaterumble

Charlie Weasley Tag List: @sungoddessra , @crescent-ia , @phantom-pheonix , @dccomicnerd-world , @marveltrash99 , @graymountaingal, @storiesbycaroline, @mytinybaguette , @garbdump

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with!

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 12/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,668 Warnings: M for Suggestive Content and Language

Notes: The best laid plans blah blah blah...

Chapter 12 - In Which Phrasing is Key

According to the pitch-black darkness outside, it was late.

Holidae stared at herself in the mirror, fidgeting around and trying to psych herself up for what she was about to do. She was happy that Lydia had gone to bed hours ago, satisfied that she would be too deep into slumber to be awoken by any clandestine conversations. It had been several days since their heart to heart in the attic, and neither of them had been the first to summon back their resident ghost. An unspoken stalemate between the two women, not out of anger, but out of reluctance.

“Okay, Holli, you can do this. You can be firm and fair. Just… tell him…” She pointed sternly at her reflection, as though giving herself a lecture. “You look into those gold-yellow. Gross yellow. Eyes and you tell him that you want to take things easy. Ease into things. Take it slow and steady. Not getting crazy. Keeping our wits about us.”

Leaning forward, she tapped on the mirror glass, “You are a grown ass woman, how hard can this be?”

After a beat, she slumped over on the vanity, groaning in frustration, “…who are you kidding, Holidae? You’re going to crumble like a ruin.”

Holidae stood upright, beginning to pace the room, tugging at the end of her nightshirt. There was no point in delaying it anymore, was there? The longer she put off the conversation, the more her overall resolve would weaken until there would be no conversation to be had.

Taking a breath, she spoke into the empty air, “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice… Beetlejuice?”

There was no crash of lightning or billowing smoke as she had expected; he just materialized in the middle of her bedroom, taking a few steps before realizing the scenery had changed. Beetlejuice had been tearing around the Neitherworld; angry that he was so helpless in situations like this. There was no way for him to appear in the mortal realm without a summons, and the only two people in the world who could see him had been refusing to bring him back.

His entire form was stained red as he took note of his surroundings, whirling around to spot Holidae staring at him quietly. She looked so small in that moment, not buried under layers of intentionally baggy clothing, dressed in a ragged shirt and long pants; her hands picking at the stray thread at the hem.

“Where’s Lyds?” Beej finally asked, brushing something off his sleeve.

“Sleeping.” Holidae shifted her weight back slightly.

He chuckled, “Oooh, sneaking around and summoning ghosts behind her back? Shady. I love it.”

Beetlejuice brushed past her, going over to examine the objects around the room, making a point of ignoring her completely. One particular object caught his attention, his clawed fingers dragging across the familiar pages, taking note of the bookmarked passages.

“How did you get the book open? Got another dead guy hanging around?” Beetlejuice turned glanced at her, tempted to shut the Handbook in spite. “Trying to find a way to get rid of me for good?”

“Recently Deceased is a really vague term once you think about it. One of the houseplants died and she pried it open with one of the stems.” Holidae explained, crossing the room to join him. “They really should take at a look at phrasing once in a while and revise that Handbook. There are so many loopholes. Lawyer’s dream text.”

Beetlejuice abruptly moved away before she could get too close to his back, spinning on his heels to face her head on, his hand covering part of his chest, “I take it you’ve done a little light readin’, Jolly Holiday? Did we find out anything interesting? Exorcisms? Seances? You could have just asked me about stuff like that, you know. A genuine denizen of the Neitherworld.”

“I don’t want to exorcise anyone! If it’s anything like the movie, I want no part of it. No sir. Too sticky and gross and ugghhh…” Holidae made a face, trying to hold back the involuntary dry heave as she recalled the film. “Nevermind. Listen. We need to have a serious discussion.”

“A serious discussion? Oh… well, in that case, we need to be in a serious mood.” He nodded, “But we can’t be serious like this. This calls for a more adult theme.”

With a snap of his fingers, he transported the two of them onto Holidae’s bed. Beej was settled against the headboard, and Holidae was facing him while straddled over his lap. His hands were holding onto her waist; fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt to keep her balanced. Holidae tried to pry herself out of his grip, or at least move his hand so it wasn’t pressing against her green-yellow bruises.

“Hey, I mean it when I say it’s serious, Lawrence.” She thought the use of his proper name would get her point across. “Lydia and I were talking when you left…”

No longer covered in his angry red hue, his tone was turning more azure by the moment, “Yeah? And what, pray tell, does that have to do with my beautiful self?”

Falling silent, she tried to think of the best way to speak her peace without upsetting him, staring at his necktie as if it held all the answers she required, “Is it true you’re promiscuous?”

Not the most tactful way to phrase the question, but it was the only thing that sprang to mind. The ghost blinked at her slowly… once, twice… before wetting his lips with a noticeably long tongue. Holidae caught the last bit of he before it went back into his mouth, momentarily distracted by the appendage. Her resolve was already failing and they hadn’t even started talking.

“Loaded question, babes.” Beetlejuice’s voice was low, and he pulled her in a bit closer. “What brought up my sexual history?”

“It… may or may not have been implied that you are prone to sleeping around for fun.” Holidae’s pulse jumped, already regretting her whole plan. “Which… is something I’m not… I mean. It’s fine, do what you want, I’m not going to judge. I’m not your keeper. I just… it’s not something… wait, that’s not going to sound right. I-I-I don’t know what… how… to do this.”

“Whoa whoa… hey now, take a breath. That’s something breathers need to do. It’s in your name.” He let go of her waist, bringing his hands to the sides of her face. “Whew, you’re a little toasty there. I think you’re circuits are frying, ya know? I’ve seen spontaneous combustion and it is not pretty. Chunks everywhere. Don’t do that.”

Taking a few hiccuping breaths, Holidae tried to get her mind back on track, “I don’t sleep around!”

“Why are you so fixated on this- wait. Wait wait wait. Let me take a wild stab in the dark and say that my bestest best friend just happened to let slip my sex life after she happened to catch us together? Even though we weren’t even doing anything fun yet. Trust me, you’ll know when the good stuff happens.” He ran a hand through his fluff of hair, the color shifting from blue to deep green in moments. “What did she say?”

Holidae was picking at his necktie now, rolling the fabric between her fingers, “…that you’ve never talked about the same partner twice.”

He rolled his eyes, knocking his skull against the headboard, “Ugggh. Wow. Could she have picked the worst phrasing or what? I just tell her that kinda stuff to gross her out. It’s fun. If she wouldn’t get all squidgy about it, I would find something else to talk about. Do you like hearing about your friend’s sex lives in graphic detail? …wait, if you do, that is actually a very attractive quality and I would like to know more.”

She shook her head vehemently, “No no, that stuff isn’t my business.”

“Annnnnnd that is why it’s so fun to annoy Lyds with my sordid sexual conquests. She gets all weird and throws stuff at me, it’s hilarious.” Beej’s hands settled on her thighs this time, his claws tapping lightly in random patterns. “So you got the impression that I was just gonna pull the old money’s on the dresser routine with you?”

Nodding, Holidae was still fiddling with his tie, keeping usually focused and quiet.

“Did you summon me here with the intention of telling me we shouldn’t fuck if that’s all I wanted?” He pinched her leg, trying to get her attention.

“Ow,” She dropped the tie, rubbing her sore skin. “I would have said it more politely, but yeah.”

With a toothy grin, Beetlejuice tossed her on the bed next to him, rolling over her and pinning her to the mattress. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, feeling her pulse flutter underneath the skin, nipping along the vein with his teeth.

“There are plenty of other things we could do, ya know. Why jump to the main course without savoring the appetizers?” He laughed, sticking his hand under her shirt, gliding along until he could feel the slightly raised bruises. “Could give you another one of these as a little treat, hm?”

“N-no, that’s not… what I meant.” Holidae panted softly, trying to gather up the will to stop herself from giving up too easy.

“I know.” He ran his tongue along her collar bone, dipping below the fabric of her shirt. “You’re adorable, you know that? I can hear that brain of yours firing on all cylinders wondering how you can get it through to me. But don’t you see, Holidae, you don’t need to. I know exactly what you’re afraid of, and surprise surprise, I’m not that kinda demon. You gotta trust me, babes.”

Holidae slipped her hand into his hair, gently pulling him away from her neck, watching as his eyes turned darker and his head leaned into her touch. He seemed sincere through his words; his deep, gravely voice somehow soothing her fears like a balm.

“Lydia’s going into town for the weekend, some photography camp out in the woods.” Holidae whispered, lightly scratching his scalp with her nails.

He let out a sound that reminded her of a large animal purring deep in its chest, “It’s a date.”

Writing Tags: @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @ashemspirit @asriells

[inactiive-shit]

Life As A Sanders

Part Eight: Taking A Break From A Break

((Previous))//((Next))

LAAS Masterlist

Read on AO3

Warnings: none

Pairing: Familial DLAMP

Summary: Roman and his brothers get ready for a vacation.

Words: 2,309

Ages: 13 & 17

Here we go, y’all! Just some fluffy fluff to make up for...next chapter...

Hah. Well. Anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roman had been living with the Sanders family for about a year now. He was seventeen and his birthday had passed spectacularly, in a manner reminiscent of when his parents had still been alive. It was the funnest birthday and quite possible the funnest day Roman had had the privilege of experiencing in years. Roman absolutely loved his Dad and his brothers, and he would give them the world to make them happy.

It seemed that Dad, however, was the one who was intent on giving them world-not just to Virgil and Logan, but to Roman, too. That was why, after a period of saving and careful planning, Dad had sprung a vacation on their heads. They were going to New York! Dad had promised them one broadway play, at least one concert in Central Park, one visit to the Hayden Planetarium, and of course a trip to Central Park Zoo to pet all the animals.

The screams following this declaration probably made the neighbors think someone was getting murdered, but they were all too excited to care.

Now, however, Roman was exhausted. They’d spent the last two weeks getting everything ready for their departure, and it turned out to be a lot more than Roman initially thought. There were friends to tell and schoolwork to complete and household chores to be done and eating their perishable food, just in case it went bad while they were gone. Now, though, it was the night before they were meant to leave, and they only had one last thing to do before they could go to sleep: clean-up and lock-up the bakery.

They were driving up, so they had a very early day ahead of them. Roman was also going to be driving part of the way so that maybe they wouldn’t have to stop to sleep. He absolutely refused to even chance missing Cats, and especially not the Broadway production. So, all the sleep possible was exactly what the doctor ordered.

The three kids were cleaning different areas of Sweet Stuff to “optimize their efforts,” as Logan put it. If that were true, though, Roman didn’t know why he could hear whispering coming from the kitchen. Roman briefly considered that they were getting robbed, and the scene played out in his head for a few horrifying seconds before he threw the brakes. They were not getting robbed and his brothers were fine. The whispers were probably just Logan talking to himself. He did that, sometimes, when he was doing particularly hard math, or reading a particularly engaging book or article. It was just Logan.

He should check. Better safe than sorry.

Roman crept toward the kitchen and pushed the door open a crack. There, in front of the oven, was Virgil. Logan was leaning over the counter, wiping it down again. Again, because Roman had already seen Logan clean that counter.

“Uh, guys? What are you doing?” Virgil spun around and hissed at Roman while Logan let out a tiny shriek and jumped. The rag he had been cleaning the counter with was, inexplicably, gone. Roman snorted.

“Why don’t you make some noise, Roman? You always walk so quiet,” Virgil muttered, shaking his head.

“I have to be light on my feet, Virgil. I’m a dancer. You know that.” Roman did a fancy maneuver that had almost gotten him hospitalized when he was learning it, and then laughed outright the expression of horror on Logan’s face.

“The human body should not be able to bend or move like that,” Logan announced. He sounded almost sick, and it almost made Roman feel bad. Almost, but not quite. He did it again. Logan dry heaved and Virgil screamed a little bit. Roman couldn’t help but laugh.

“Seriously, though. What are you two up to in here?” Roman leaned in. “Is the oven on?”

“Mm-hmm.” Virgil nodded. “We’re, uh, making-making-” He gestured helplessly at the oven door.

“We’re making cookies,” Logan filled in. Virgil nodded gratefully. “More specifically, we’re making chocolate chunk cookies and we’re going to put icing on top. They are too sweet for me, but Dad likes them that way. And he has been a little stressed recently, most likely about our trip to New York. I believe these will help relieve some of that stress.”

“Really?” Roman tried not to deflate. They were making Dad destressing cookies and hadn’t even told him?

“Yes. Dad likes sweet things so much, and he has not been consuming the same amount as he usually does.” Logan motioned toward the oven, and then motioned for Roman to come closer.

Virgil met his eyes for a second, and he smiled a little. “We were gonna get you when they were done. You can’t, uh, can’t bake for shit, but-”

“Language,” Roman and Logan said at the same time.

“Make me,” Virgil said, and then kept talking like they hadn’t interrupted. “You’re really good at the, uhm, the-ya know, the pretty stuff on top.” Virgil wiggled his fingers in the air as though to show something.

“Icing?” Logan suggested.

“Yeah. You’re the best at the icing, but we didn’t want you touching the cookies before they were done baking. You’d burn ‘em.” Logan is nodding behind him, and Roman supposes that’s fair. Some people just can’t bake.

Roman let the hurt drain out, unfounded as it was, and then turned his brightest smile on his brothers.

“When will they be done?”

“Twenty minutes or so. I cleaned all of my areas,” Virgil supplied. “L was bored and decided to wipe down the counters again.”

“I think that’s going to be kind of hard,” Roman said.

“Why is that?” Logan asked.

“Where’s the rag, pocket-protector? You can’t clean the counter without something to clean with.” Logan hissed and immediately looked embarrassed. It was a habit he’d picked up from Virgil, and he hated it. Virgil, however, though it was hilarious. He burst into mirthful laughter with Roman. Roman patted Logan’s shoulder and then peered into the oven. The cookies looked fine.

Virgil dragged Roman away from the oven by his arm. “Hey!” he exclaimed indignantly.

“Nope.” Virgil popped the ‘p’. “You are not to be anywhere near still-baking cookies. Just your presence seems to make them burn.”

“Yeah,” Roman said, “cause I’m too hot for them to handle.”

Virgil groaned.

“You do realize that what both of you just said was entirely nonsensical and not in any way grounded in facts, right? Neither one of those things is physically possible. And if your body ever got hot enough to burn the cookies, then we would have a much bigger issue to deal with.”

“I love ya, L, but why do you take everything I say so literally?” Virgil shoved Roman toward Logan and then peered into the oven again.

“I do not know what you are talking about, Virgil,” Logan said in a tone that indicated he knew exactly what Virgil was talking about. Virgil debated the benefits of biting his brother.

“Lo, did you hear about the new space movie coming out?” Roman asked, stopping the spat before it got started. Logan lit up and began explaining what he knew about the movie in depth - Roman did not even know the name of the movie, he just knew that Logan would love it. He was rarely wrong about his brothers.

Suddenly, Virgil came over and wiped a bit of icing on Logan’s cheek. Logan cut off mid-sentence and stared at Virgil. Virgil smirked.

“What is it, specs? Is something wrong?” Virgil asked. Roman looked at Virgil’s face, mischievous enough to have Roman on his toes, and then to Logan’s face, which was frozen. Then something vaguely resembling the widnow’s error noise came out of his mouth.

Roman thought that Logan would simply wipe the icing off his face and give Virgil a disapproving look.  Very occasionally, Roman was wrong about his brothers. This was one of those times.

Logan reached behind him, hand coming into contact with a bag of flour. Which he exploded on Virgil, hitting Roman with the shrapnel. Roman stared, frozen, as his two younger brothers began a food fight with whatever was in easy range. And when rainbow sprinkles rained down on Roman, he seemed to reboot, and then he was in the middle of it, too. There was flour and icing and sugar and sprinkles everywhere. Logan slipped in the flour coating the floor, and fell into Roman, who used the moment to smear some chocolate syrup into Logan’s slicked back hair. He shrieked in outrage and then Virgil was behind Roman, squeezing chocolate onto Roman’s entire outfit. Then it was Roman’s turn to be outraged. Until he noticed that Virgil seemed to have gotten off far easier than he or Logan had.

“Logan, would you like to form an alliance?” he asked. Logan smirked dangerously at Virgil.

“I would love to, Ro.”

The look on Virgil’s face was priceless.

Within minutes, all three of them were sitting on the floor, laughing at the mess surrounding them. Virgil’s hair was white from the amount of powdered sugar and flour in it, Logan’s glasses were smeared with something that looked like strawberry syrup, and Roman had never been so sticky in his life.

“The cookies are done, I think,” Virgil said. Logan washed his glasses off and then checked.

“You are right. Somehow.” He turned an eye on Virgil. “Are you a psychic?”

“I don’t know, L. Am I?” Roman snorted at the look on Logan’s face for the second time that night.

“Alright, you two ice those, uh, the-the-”

“Cookies?”

“Yup. Ice the cookies. I will clean this up,” Virgil said.

“Are you sure that you would rather clean than help ice the cookies?” Logan asked. Virgil shook his head.

“I’m garbage at icing and you know it.”

“But I don’t know how!” Roman cried, ever-dramatic. “You are a wonderful artist. So why can’t you use icing?”

“It doesn’t behave like paint or charcoals or pens or markers or, or, the uhm, the graphite things. It just isn’t an art supply,” Virgil defended himself, pulling his sticky white jacket off. “Okay, I’ve gotta clean this.”

“Got to,” Logan quietly corrected as Roman said,

“You’re getting awful serious over there, Virge.” Roman watched as Virgil folded up the jacket and placed it on the counter.

“Yeah,” agreed Virgil. “I’m going into cleaning mode.” And then he started cleaning.

“Do. . .do we even have any icing left?” Roman asked Logan, though his eyes remained on Virgil, who was moving around the room quicker than he had any right to go.

“Yes. It is in those cabinets.” Logan motioned up to highest doors in the room.

“Of course it is,��� Roman muttered, crawling onto the flour-slick counter. When he opened the doors, however, he saw all the same things they’d just destroyed sitting in pristine condition. “Uh, Logan? Why is all this up here? I know Dad can’t reach it.”

“What?” Logan mumbled, looking up from the cookies. His eyes widened. “I don’t know why that’s there. V?”

“I made sure it was there,” he said, still working on cleaning.

“When? Why?” Roman asked.

“Because Logan and I were in a similar situation a few years ago. And Dad told us we were asking for truffle, and also that the bakery was expensive. I didn’t want Dad to be mad that we, uh, we-shit-

“Language,” they chimed.

“That we trashed the place.” Virgil shrugged and kept mopping the floor.

“How’d you even afford all that?” Roman asked, awed.

“I got Missy and Emile to help me out. Plus, we really didn’t use that much.” Virgil paused to look at his brothers. “We have to put it all away when we’re done, though, and then hide the evidence this ever happened. I don’t want Dad to know.”

“Very astute, V,” Logan said, still shocked. “Wait, that means you planned this!” Logan motioned animatedly to his head.

“I most certainly did not plan for that to happen to your, uh, your, the strands of stuff.”

“Hair?” Logan suggested.

“Yeah.” Virgil grinned. Roman could see the murder playing out in Logan’s eyes. “But I have to say that I very much approve.” Virgil smiled at Logan, who shook his head in despair.

Virgil went back to cleaning, Roman got all the ingredients down to help Logan put away, and then the pair of them iced almost all the cookies. They left a few plain for Logan, because they all kind of wanted cookies, and while Virgil and Logan were not as good as Dad, they were a close second.

“Let’s go home,” Logan mumbled tiredly when they were done. Virgil, looking dead on his feet, agreed.

“Yeah. We gotta give Dad the cookies. And then, if we’re lucky, sleep.”

“What do you mean, if we’re lucky?” Roman asked. “I could sleep through a nuclear explosion right now.”

“Sometimes you can just tell when you won’t be able to sleep at night. You know?”

“No, I don’t think I do,” Roman said quietly. At Virgil’s panicked look, he amended, “I’m sure it’s fine Virgil. Just do your best to sleep tonight. If you can’t, there’s a whole car ride in front of you tomorrow.” Roman walked his little brothers home, smiling.

And if they walked into the house covered in flour and chocolate, and if Dad burst out laughing at the sight, and then crying when they gave him the cookies and said he was “very fondue you three”, and if Virgil didn’t sleep at all that night, it was fine. It was totally fine, and there were some things that could be dealt with after their vacation, and there were some things that they didn’t need to talk about. Patton knew his kiddos loved him, and he loved them just as much.

Maybe a sprinkle more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @trashcanego @supersoftsupersleep

[writerpyre]

Addendum: Skyhook

So. I’ve been writing this tiny thing on and off since Skyhook came out oh four-and-a-half-years-ago where’s the damn time gone!?, and I finally managed to get it finished tonight. Amazing what an age without looking at this thing -- and randomly getting vibes while trawling through @lenle-g’s old fanart -- can do, but here; have a oneshot everybody.

 *An addendum to the end of Skyhook, because no bloody way did he not get saddled with anything remotely health-endangering. It made me quite indignant, but what can we do about animation budgets and not scaring small children?, but anyway. :) As usual, I only do this for the joy, not money. Many thanks as always to my beautiful beta (co-writer), LexietFive; who, without her encouragement and love, I wouldn’t still be doing this stuff. Love you L. xx

Enjoy. xx

~

John is starting to feel rather unwell by the time he ushers Fischler and his recently-fired associates through the final airlock between Thunderbirds Three and Five, an hour after he'd locked the nosy creatures in the galley to stop them from ferreting out the secrets of International Rescue. His head is pounding, his skin aching, and his scalp to his toes and everything in between feel hot and heavy and painful. His limbs feel like they weigh several tons, even despite the lack of gravity, and his throat feels thick and tight; every inhalation feeling like a wholly unnecessary effort. His heartbeat slowing as the still-lingering adrenaline from the rather unorthodox rescue finally burns out, John lets out a weak sigh of relief as the airlock between finally seals shut behind his three unwelcome guests.

He loves 'Five, but he is heartily sick and tired of spinning around in that damned gravity ring. The ache is intensifying swiftly now the excitement is over. His brain feels like it has been scrambled from the pressure of being flattened against the panels, and has been since he managed to pick himself off the ground, and his right arm and shoulder are pure bruise from where he'd been slammed down in the process of reaching the cut-off switch. Seems to be a rather recurrent event as of late, he muses wearily. At least last time it was only 3Gs, Alan having managed to slow down the spin with Thunderbird Three before the still-malignant EOS turned him into a John Tracy pancake, but still, after that one he'd had a pressure headache and vision problems for three days. He wasn't pleased to be repeating the experience so soon.

Sucking in a painful, stuttered breath against his battered, bruised ribs, John gives himself a moment to regroup, promising himself that he'll do a systems' check shortly, just as soon as the station stops whirling around him. When that started exactly, he's not sure, but he thinks it must've had to do with the black-out he had in those moments before he forced himself upright to deal with the reverse thrusters. This is why he doesn't do gravity all that often, it always screws him up for the rest of the damn day!

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five, are you there, John?" And there goes that plan. His eyes flicker open and John grimaces as he forces his arm up to bring his comm. level with his face, wincing as his head and neck throb with the motion. That's gonna get irritating real fast...

"Thunderbird Five, reading you strength five, 'Three," He contemplates sitting up and addressing his siblings and their holograms properly, but his eyes and his entire body are turning swiftly into agony right now, so nope, stuff it. It's only Scott and Alan, having come up to fetch the high-ballooning mis-adventurers - crapped-up second engine and all. They won't care.

"Planning on turning us and the Space Invaders loose anytime in the future, Johnny? We're kinda stuck til you release your grip..." John blearily watches Scott's eyebrows rise up his forehead as his sibling takes him in, lolling on his back in midair, and he blinks painfully as a wave of nausea-induced dizziness rolls over him, his eyes shuttering to half-closed with no warning. Yup, definitely time for a nap before those checks...

"Make EOS do it..." John mumbles chokedly, forcing them back open, and his older brother just looks at him, with that ridiculous expression he gets when the Terrible Two are being morons and he can't believe they can be so childish. "I'm tired..." He isn't whining, he isn't, but some part of him says that he should probably be alarmed, especially when his head is aching so, but right now, John just doesn't have the energy to devote to it. He feels all sick and wobbly and... eurgh.

Something's wrong, he thinks as the pain suddenly spikes enormously, forcing him in on himself with a cry of pain, and Scott seems to have had the same lightbulb moment as John, because his brother is suddenly hollering rather inadequately for Alan, and it's all John can do to roll himself over in the air before he's throwing up the gorgeous, floating chunks of what only a few hours ago, there were two rather delicious breakfast bagels and his morning vacuum flask of coffee. John groans and clutches his stomach, his ears ringing as his body convulses, the undersides of his eyelids tinged red by pain.

Wonderful, motion sickness at the very least; bloody centrifugal and gravitational forces have gotten him, goddamnit, and so suddenly too, which means it's a bad bout, because he's not experienced that since he went through astronaut training, years ago. Apparently twenty-five Gs and more can do that to a guy. Yup, his rather muddled, normally-intelligent brain remembers that right now, at least. Yummy.

John retches again - because that thought is definitely not appropriate right now, when he's dirtying up the pristine, sanitised atmosphere of his beloved 'Bird - and he wonders absently where the hell EOS is, as, quite abruptly, the chilled hands of John's older brother are on his arms, pulling him into an upright position and away from the contents of his stomach. He flails blindly, because dear God, his head is killing him, but John tries to wriggle away regardless, because those damned idiots in Three's passenger bay are far more important than him dealing with a bit of nausea... Or not, as the case may be...

Deny it, and it’ll be all okay… Yep, sound advice, Tracy.

It doesn't seem like Scott has gotten that memo though, because he only grips John tighter and pulls his head back firmly but carefully, straightening the slighter man out, literally forcing him to gasp for air to regulate his breathing. That only makes it harder to bear the pain, rapidly growing stronger now, like the veil on the shock of what happened barely half an hour ago and the damage he has apparently inflicted upon himself has fallen away, leaving raw, naked agony in its wake.

"Easy, John, easy..." Scott mutters in his ear. "I know what you're thinking,  but none of them are hurt but for a bit of altitude-headache, and right now, you're coming down with us whether you like it or not. They can wait til we've got you settled in 'Three, and then you can come home and Brains can check you out; you're shaking like a maraca."

Coughing, his eyes streaming even as he grips his brother's arms blindly in dizziness, John glares up weakly at the fuzzy form of his eldest sibling. Scott knows his thoughts on that matter - he knows that John much prefers to spend his time up here unless he has to be elsewhere, and right now, John doesn't want to. He'll be fine once he gets an hour or so's nap, EOS - whenever the apparently-absent AI deigns to reappear - can mind the shop for anything desperate, but so help him, he isn't going to move from his 'Bird, thank you very much, Scott Tracy!

"There will be no arguments, John." Said AI, almost as if she's read Scott's mind, is suddenly right in John's burning face with her green-blinking camera lens, making him squint painfully at the light. "Your body temperature has risen and seems inclined to do so further, your pupils are dilated and unwavering at this time, and if my data on this subject is indeed correct, you are suffering from the condition called Non-Impact Concussion. There are indications of the presence of stress fractures in your subclavian, thoracic, pelvic and cervical regions, and thermal heat readings signify that there is an abnormal level of swelling radiating from the area surrounding the axillary nerves in your right shoulder. Medical treatment on this is strongly advised. Sensors compute that you also may have microscopic muscular, bone and tissue damage, particularly in your internal organs and within your skeletal system... This must be assessed. Scott Tracy,"

The AI that John shares 'Five with suddenly turns her 'face' to his brother, who seems to be containing John and his wobbly limbs now, rather than restraining, much to his puzzlement. John is stuck by an absurd flash of irritation that not only has his body and 'Bird turned against him today, but so has his supposed companion... Brilliant.

"... From what I can determine," The AI continues doggedly, the high whine in John's ears making him cringe, "This situation is not life-threatening to John currently, but according to my calculations of duration and pressure in relation to the fragility and subsequent mortality of the human form, it is suggested that he does not return to work until he is satisfactorily sound. This coming period will be very... What is the term? Unpleasant. It is recommended that he be closely supervised and examined to ensure that there will be no complications. For this, John needs to leave this station and seek appropriate treatment."

"You need some time to rest at the very least, so no arguing." Scott murmurs, his voice raspy and thick in John's left ear. "There are no ifs, buts or maybes about it. You've endured freaking twenty-five Gs of gravity in one hit, and I can tell you right now, you're not in good shape, Little Brother, even if your brain is too scrambled for you to realise that yourself."

And oh shit, Scott actually sounds concerned, God help him, John realises, closing his eyes painfully. That certainly means that something isn't connecting right for him right now, because though they might tease and mock Scott and call him 'Smother Hen' and all other assorted samples of you're-too-overbearing-for-your-own-good teasing, John and the others know that Scott doesn't outright order them around outside of a rescue unless something is actually very wrong.

And yes, somewhere in his shit-that-freaking-hurts brain, John knows the reality of all those things that EOS listed off. He learned the ramifications of that amount of gravity on the human body years ago - twenty-five Gs is nothing to sneeze at - but quite honestly, right now he's in so much pain that it's starting to engulf his rational, sensible mind, and he doesn't really want to uncurl himself from where he's hunched over his screaming ribs and cramping stomach. Lost in the burning waves of pain shooting through him now his body has stopped spinning, it's suddenly all he can do to not pass out properly. This is going to be interesting...

##

Without being aware of it, John realises that he has indeed blacked out, because when he's opened his eyes again, it's to find he's strapped firmly into one of 'Three's jump seats, with the hard ridge of a cervical brace digging into his chin, and the firm, almost painful pressure of the restraints holding him securely in it. Struggling to force his fluttering eyelids open properly - yeah, that should not be as hard as it is right now - John can feel the shuddering of the ship underneath him, and he can barely restrain himself from moaning as his entire body protests the whirligig sensation. Strangely enough, his head, while still feeling like it has the Mole digging through it, feels a little less raw and abused, but the rest of him still feels like an elephant sat on him. And his stomach is still rolling. Fantastic.

Somewhat winning the battle to focus his vision, John is aware that there is sound around him, the voices of what he assumes are his brothers as well as the life-support machinery and the piloting systems, but it's not until he lets out a sharp cough and a subsequent, burning gasp of oxygen, that he realises that Scott is almost right above him.

"Hey Starman," Scott's accompanying smile is strained and relieved at the same time, and John wants to wipe it all away - because his brother being relieved means that John has scared the pilot, and John doesn't like frightening his brothers, any of them... "Nice to have you back." Scott's hand comes up out of nowhere to press into John's dishevelled, sweaty hair, gently carding through it, and John feels more than a little confused and disconnected, because, he should be able to pinpoint what his limbs are doing, and holy effing crap does it actually hurt to breathe right now...

Oh, yeah right; no more microgravity... Blurry eyes, nausea and freaking, disorienting weight on top of him again... Cos returning to earth and all sucks even when he's healthy and hasn't been crushed by his own gravity ring... Why'd he do that again? What a stupid idea.

"Mmmm." John agrees with his brother belatedly, because again, the breathing thing, and good, sorta-numbing drugs apparently affect his ability to make coherent sounds. Not to mention the solid, thumping agony of his head, even despite the clear attempt at pain relief... "Di'nt, w'nna lea'e, Sco'..." He tries to frown - because why did they move him? - but his face scrunches in pain as the hot jagged edges of his shoulder and ribs decide to arc up, and his attempt at displeasure rapidly turns into a fiery ball of ouch.

Well, it was worth a try... He thinks miserably, trying not to let his stomach rebel again - a bad idea in hypergravity...

"Yeah, I thought so," Scott seems to commiserate with him, even if he can't understand him - jee, thanks Scoot, John loves being humoured when he knows he's incoherent - but then his brother brings up a bottle of water into his rather patchy line of sight, and John suddenly is so thirsty that all thoughts of annoyance are crowded out of him by the sheer, one-track gratitude he feels at that fuzzy realisation.

Reaching out clumsily for the receptacle, John can't help but feel irritated as Scott gently but firmly pushes his aching, painful arm back down and holds the bottle to his lips. Not a baby, Scott, he finds himself thinking somewhat irrationally, even as his mouth clamps to the bottle, his tired, burning, painful body mass literally demanding he drain it dry; he feels so dehydrated and parched.

John grimaces slightly as he forces himself not to gulp at the water, summoning the last bit of strength as he sips. By the stars, the water feels so good, he can almost swear he feels it soaking into his tissue. Feeling greedy, he forgets himself and tries to take an extra big swallow of the liquid, before grunting angrily as Scott suddenly pulls the bottle away.

"Nuh-uh, Johnny, no more yet, unless you want to be sick again?" His big brother's voice is low and full of compassion as John feels him sweep a hand over his forehead on the pretence of smoothing away that cowlick curl of red-gold hair that never stays gelled back for long, but exhausted and ill as he is, John isn't fooled, Scott is fever-checking. All four of his younger brothers know the signs, though it's been a very long time since he himself has been on the receiving end of Scott's worry.

Weakly, John attempts to pull away and wreaks his own undoing as the quick movement forces the mother of all headaches to rip through his skull. The pounding ringing, burning pain resonates behind his eyes, through his very brain it feels like, pushing down his nose and through his ears  with such intensity that he can't help but let out a strangled squawk as he forces his hands up in the air. He needs to know what seems to be sluggishly flowing on his face, surely he didn't drop water on himself?

"Oh, shit!"  Scott's voice sounds strangely far away and thickly muffled as John squints painfully through narrowed eyelids, trying so hard to bring the rocket's lounge into focus. He feels something soft and thick mopping at his tingling, sore eyes and covering his nose as his body convulses with the agony he's being forced to adapt to. "Close your eyes, John,"  Scott orders, a note of fear penetrating John's thoughts despite the fuzzy thickness of his ears.

John obeys, he's not stupid, he knows what's happened, that the sharp movement has caused the built up pressure in his head to vent outward, that he's probably perforated his eardrums, that the thin straw like liquid mixed with earwax is running from his ears, and that his nose is definitely gushing with blood, hence Scott's concern. In fact he'd hazard a guess that the sclera of his eyes are now pink and watery, possibly even bleeding out slightly from his ever-increasing blood pressure. As an astronaut, he is well-versed on the dangers and what to expect. So is Scott.

He gropes out suddenly, clasping Scott by the forearm. "H'w b'd is it?” He grunts.

“Blood pressure has skyrocketed dude,” Scott’s voice is tight with worry. “Your heart rate is way up and your respirations are shit. Deep breathing exercises now, you're not having an aneurysm just because you wanted to see what it felt like to try and separate your elements John, do it.”

“Was that a science joke, Scott?” John wheezes incredulously, because that wasn't bad at all. Not like usual. Huh. What's the world coming to?

John feels himself choke painfully with amusement, and immediately regrets it. Laughter is a spectacularly bad idea. He sucks in a breath, and well crap; that’s the end of him isn’t it?

Dizzy is an understatement, John thinks fuzzily.

Hello, darkness.

“Hey, hey! No you don’t,” What must be his brother’s hand snaps sharply at his cheek, and John startles; torn between anger and confusion as his eyes snap open to meet his older brother’s determined stare. “You are not passing out.” Scott orders, voice fully infused with Field Commander deliberation. “You can take an order; your WSA training says so, Starman.” His brother tells him, with a sudden, sly smirk. “Don’t blink out on me now; not after we’ve nearly got the blood stopped and all.”

John is still confused and dizzy, but his amusement returns at his brother’s quip, which gives him some optimism that this nasty little episode might stop soon. Once his body stops throwing a temper tantrum, at any rate. Urgh.

Scott’s brusque love tap seems to have cleared his head a little, however, and blinking a little, even as his brain seems determined to keep bashing itself against the inside of his skull, John’s attempts at deep breaths seem to be at least reassuring Scott. The fear in his face has disappeared, in any case. Phew.

John realises that the older man is still clamping a cloth from the medkit over his nose, careful to not obstruct his mouth, and he can still feel the unpleasant, gritty wetness of his ears leaking awfully down the sides of his neck and into his suit, but at least the nausea has lessened a little. Awareness of his own body comes flooding back with the return of cognizance, and John frowns as he realises both his hands are held in a one-hand vice grip in Scott’s left, and that there’s that hard ridge of the neck brace cutting into his chin again. Ew. The awful feelings retreat a little, to be replaced with an awful lot of oh-hell-no, when he realises exactly what the plan is next for him when they finally get back to Earth.

Honestly, he should’ve seen it coming, and it’s inevitable and needed, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it! He hates being carried out on stretchers. No-no-no no-no-no-no! Shit.

Scott seems to have read his mind, and has a sly, half-amused expression on his face, just barely concealing the undeniable look of sheer relief still lingering there. John knows that it’s because once again, he seems to have scraped himself out of yet another life-threatening situation by the mere skin of his teeth. Gordon has joked in the past that if John were an animal, he’d be a cat, by virtue of the fact that he seems to have an inordinate amount of lives to chew through, what with all his assorted mishaps. He has to get through the damn medical tests and examinations first though, and it isn’t fair, because it’s not like he does these things on purpose.  Not like the idiot younger three, and Scott, who didn’t get his nickname from Dad for no reason. The man fell out of a tree when he was a teenager; too busy trying to see the planes at the airfield, for crying out loud!

John’s eyes widen further as he realises that once they’re all reassured he really is actually okay after this jaunt (not that he feels that way right now, he’s going to be stuck in bed for at least a few days, especially with these ribs, he just knows it), his three younger brothers are never going to let him live the repeat of his out-of-control-hamster-wheel antics down. Not to mention his idiot of an older brother; don’t you dare to pretend otherwise, Scott Tracy!

Huffing out an indignant breath, as Scott suddenly breaks out into full-on-laughter at his epiphany -- still trapped in the dual vice-grip of his brother’s firm restraint and the pain of his battered body -- John can only make a face of resignation.

Jerks. He thinks. Jerks; the lot of them.

~

Fanfiction.net // Ao3