#i was in therapy for nearly as long just unraveling the things she said to me

[i-hate-gravel]

“somebody i used to know” as a phrase really does so much and has never been more relevant actually

[violetlilysunshine]

Plenty of Times

Boyfriend Chris Evans x Female Reader

Requested - Anon: Hey! Is it all right to request for Chris Evans where reader comes in after a girls night and just dotes on him and loves on him and its sickeningly fluffy and he’s like what’s gotten into you? and reader breaks down because one of her friends vented that her husband is abusive and neglectful and she sees how important it is to have a good man in her life 🤍

WC: 1,619

Warnings: Pet names [bubba, babe, honey], talk of a bad relationship [neglectful husband - but not about Chris/reader], mention of phone sex [but it doesn’t happen here]

A/N: I’m so so so so sorry this took so long, I’m working on clearing out my inbox though! 

IF YOUR NAME IS SCRATCHED OUT I CAN’T TAG YOU - I’VE STARTED REMOVING PEOPLE, SO IF IT’S NOT WORKING AND YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED SHOOT ME A MESSAGE AND WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT

MASTERLIST - Join my TAGLIST

You haven't gone out with your friends in so long. You’re all busy with your own stuff - work and relationships, some with kids to care for. So, when the opportunity arises, Chris encourages you to take advantage of it. 

The night was pretty simple, dinner, a couple of glasses of wine, and a few shared desserts before everyone was ready to head home. Most of your friends were not night owls like you by any standard, so when dinner wrapped up early, it was no surprise. At least that meant you got to go home to your man. 

“Bubba?” you called as you walked through the front door.

“In here,” he answered.

You followed his voice to the living room, finding him lounging on the chaise sofa, Dodger soundly asleep next to him. Some movie played on the screen; you hadn’t paid attention to it long enough to know what it was.

You headed to the connected kitchen, dropping your keys and purse on the island, hanging your jacket on the back of one of the barstools, and slipping out of your boots before hurrying back to Chris. 

He paused the movie when he heard you approach him from behind. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your hands splayed across his chest, as you pressed a long kiss to his temple. 

He hummed at the contact, placing one hand over the top of both of yours, before turning his neck to meet your lips with his. 

The kiss was sweet and simple, you could feel him smile against your lips as you lingered longer and longer into it. 

He chuckled when you finally pulled away, a big smile etched across his face and a glimmer in his eyes. 

You unraveled from his neck and stepped around the sofa. Dodger finally perked up when he heard you walking and you greeted him of course. 

“Hey, bub,” you whispered, scratching Dodger’s head for a second before turning to Chris, “can we cuddle?” you asked quietly. 

“Sure, babe, we can always cuddle,” he answered with a small smile, opening the blanket for you. 

You slipped under, resting between his legs with your back on his chest. He wrapped the blanket and his arms around you, splaying his palms over your upper chest and rubbing gently, just as you had done to him. You ran your nails over his arm as light as a feather with one hand, the other rested on top of his clasped hands, tangling your fingers with one set of his as best you could in this position. 

You tugged on his hand, pulling his arm further over your shoulder so you could place kisses on his bicep. 

“How was girl’s night?” he asked, placing a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Fine,” you whispered, squeezing his hands for a second, “was nice to see everyone. They all seemed to need a good vent,” you ended with a breathy chuckle.

You felt his laugh rumble through your body, “don’t they always?” he asked, another kiss being placed on top of your head as he looped his legs around yours.

“Seems like,” you giggled, stroking his calf with your foot. 

“Well I hope it was nice either way,” he said, “I’m glad you got to see them.” 

“Mm, yeah, me too,” you answered quietly.

He slipped one hand from your grasp to grab the remote, causing a whine to leave your lips, disappearing into his skin as you had your lips placed on his bicep again. 

He chuckled at the noise, “want me to start it over?” he nodded, making reference to the movie.

“No, it’s okay,” you whisper, pressing another lingering kiss to his arm. 

“You sure? I’m not that far into it...” 

“I’m sure, I won’t really be paying attention anyway.” 

“Why’s that?” he asked, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Can’t focus with you wrapped around me,” you giggled.

“Mm, yeah, sorry not sorry,” he laughed, playing the movie again.

You giggled, bringing his hand up to your lips to give it a kiss.

He gave his other hand back to you and you entwined your fingers with it as well, giving both of his hands small squeezes every once in a while. 

You placed random kisses on his arms, pulling his hands up every now and again to press kisses to them as well. You didn’t want to do it too often, so you wouldn’t annoy him, but you couldn’t help but give him a few. 

You tilted your head to look up at him, his eyes focused on the movie before he looked down at you. 

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice sounding a little tired. 

“Nothing,” you whispered, passing him a small smile. 

“You’re lying,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead, “what’s on your mind?” 

You sighed deeply, “have I told you how much I love you?” 

He reached over and paused the movie, quickly tangling his hand with yours again: “all the time,” he smiled. 

“And how great you are?” 

“Plenty of times,” he chuckled. 

“And how thankful I am for you?” 

“More than once,” he answered, a sense of questioning coming into his voice. 

“And how kind and good you are to me?”

“Never in those words, but you deserve it more than anything,” he said, “where’s this coming from?” 

“Jenn was really upset tonight,” you started. 

“And that has to do with me, how?” 

“She was talking about how rough her marriage is. And I know everyone says the first year is the hardest, but he doesn’t prioritize her, and never really has, and if I’m being honest I always thought she could do better; and she feels so disconnected from him and he’s so distant and she’s just not happy,” you rambled, tears pricking at your eyes, “and of course the whole time she was talking I felt so bad for her, but I couldn’t help thinking that I’m so lucky to have a guy like you and that made me feel even worse. Ya know? Like guilty because I was sitting there thinking ‘well at least I’m not in her shoes,’ and, god, you’re so good to me and I appreciate and love you so much. Don’t feel like I tell you that enough, but, you’re the best,” you finished, taking a deep breath. 

“Honey,” Chris soothed, “you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, first off. It’s not your fault he treats her like crap, and all you can do is support her with whatever she chooses to do about it. She can leave, or they could go to therapy, or she might just ignore it all together, but the only thing you can and should do is listen to her vent and offer support, or sometimes advice if she asks for it.”

You smile, “I know, but it’s just a shitty situation. Like I wish she wasn’t going through it, because she’s great, and I wish he was as good to her as you are to me.” 

“Well no one’s as good as me,” Chris joked, trying to lift your spirits.

You laughed lightly in response, turning over a little bit and scooting up so you could lay face to face with him. 

“Second,” he continued, “I’m only giving you what you deserve. Wish I could do a lot more sometimes, if I’m honest,” he said almost under his breath as he wrapped his arms around your back.

“Chris, you do more than enough! I should be doing more for you!” 

“Babe, you give me everything I could ever want,” he smiles, “you’re amazing. Wish I could do more, like I wish I wasn’t away from you so much. Don’t like leaving you, ever.”

“You’re the best,” you lean forward, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, “you do plenty for me even when you’re away.”

“Not nearly enough,” he says, “gotta come up with something new for us.” 

“We’ve done plenty of new things while you’re away.” 

“Yeah? You think?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hey, without you, I never would’ve tried phone sex,” you giggle, “love trying new things as long as it’s with you. Especially that thing...” 

He lets out a breathy laugh at that, “I love you too,” he says, referring back to your ramble but also your willingness to try anything for and with him.

You giggle, this time pecking his lips, “I don’t deserve you,” you whisper against his mouth. 

“No, you don’t,” he says shortly. 

You pull away from him, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. 

“You deserve better,” he smiles, a glimmer in his eye again.

“You’re so corny!” you laugh loudly, causing Dodger to grumble next to Chris. 

“Sorry, bub,” you laugh at Dodge.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Chris suggests.

“What about the movie?” you ask, tipping your head towards the TV.

“Eh, won’t be able to pay attention now anyway, and I’ve lost the flow,” he shrugs. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” you whisper, stroking a few fingers across his cheekbone. 

“‘S alright,” he whispers, “like you better anyway.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyelids heavy as they start to flutter closed for a kiss. 

Chris closes the distance between the two of you, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, “I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. 

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

Your lips seal in a gentle kiss, and he brings a hand up to rest on your cheek before pulling back: “you can always make it up to me anyway,” he says, a smile giving away his attempt at being serious.

You laugh at him, “alright, bubba, let’s get you to bed.”

TAGLIST: @hogwartsmarvelmommy @tulipholland @cupids-crystals @sunwardsss @mrspeacem1nusone @elishi03 @golden-hoax  @patzammit @serrendiipty @katiew1973 @princess-evans-addict @high-on-darren-criss @gnemgn @amelia-song-pond @scorpiowidow @multixfandomwriter @wildxwidow @na-nou83 @fdl305 @gotbangtan @dumbhead1 @evansxchalamet

[erodasfishtacos]

harry adores yn with his entire being and i can tell that she loves him just as much but the poor thing is just so scared, and by what you have showed us she has a fair reason to have struggles

Through Hell and Back

warnings: cheating, mentions of domestic violence, this could just be overall triggering if you have experienced trauma or family struggles.

this is a very important blurb to understand dynamic and history of the characters.

PLEASE let me know your thoughts.

—

Harry’s out at a bachelor party for his friend, Jack, at a noisy bar downtown where there is a mechanical bull and half-naked waitresses.

His phone rings at two-thirty in the morning, he already knows who it is and why she’s calling him so late.

He steps outside the noisy bar, “Hi puppy, y’alright?”

Harry already knew she wasn’t.

Her voice is shaky, “Er, are you still out at the bachelor party?”

If he says yes, she’ll just try to say have fun and was just calling to check in - a lie because she felt like such an inconvenience at all times.

“No, just got home,” He lied smoothly, he could hear her trying to hide a sniffle - she must have had a bad dream.

Every since she started trauma therapy, they’d been getting worse, as she worked through her struggles with a therapist.

—

“I-I don’t want to g-go in,” YN whimpers as she sits in Harry’s passenger side outside the clinic, “I can’t talk about it.”

“Baby, you need to do this. You need to talk to someone who’s trained to help you, okay? You promised you’d try it f’me,” He hums, rubbing a thumb over her wet cheekbone.

She shakes her head stubbornly, “It’s all going to come back.”

“Yes, it will. Because you didn’t work through it, you repressed it. There is a difference, okay?” Harry’s heart feels like it’s being ripped in two as YN looks like a caged animal.

YN squeezes Harry’s hand so hard it hurts but he doesn’t mind, he can feel her fear being shared through the rough touch.

She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, “Please, H. I don’t want to remember.”

He sighs softly, “I would never force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you really want to leave, we can.”

YN searches his eyes, sees his sadness and she knows she has to push through because she loves him so much, “Will you walk me in?”

“Of course, s’fucking proud of you. My strong girl,” Harry praises, kissing the top of her head, and shutting off the car.

He walks her in, watches her as she hesitantly goes back in with her new therapist, and sits in the waiting room for the hour and a half until she comes out.

He does that every week without miss.

Drives her, walks her in, sits in the waiting room, and then drives her home.

She doesn’t usually talk much after the sessions, her eyes swollen and puffy which is a telltale sign she cried during the appointment.

Harry holds her hand on the ride home, sometimes draws her a bath or tucks her in for a nap under his covers.

One day, after therapy, they crawled into his bed together. She hadn’t said one word since she walked out of the office but she looks tiredly at Harry.

“Why?”

Harry frowns, “Why what?”

She hides her face into the fluffy pillow, words mumbled, “Why do you want me? I’m so broken.”

“Hey,” Harry responds loudly, pulling her up and giving her a serious look, “You are not broken. Even if you were, I’d love every broken piece, okay? I want you because I’m so in love with you it doesn’t make sense.”

YN shakes her head, “I don’t deserve you. You-you have to drive me to therapy every week, leave work early, have to make it up the next day.”

And well, his heart breaks a little because she truly believes that.

Harry grips her jaw, gently, “If you need to go to therapy for the rest of your life, I’ll drive you until I’m ninety. I’ll drive you five days a week if you need it.”

He continues,“I don’t deserve you, sweet girl. Strongest, bravest, most resilient person I’ve ever met. You are my soulmate and I believe that wholeheartedly.”

“I want to nap now,” She whispers, crawling back into her shell where she’s safe from the world, from facing her fears.

Harry just stares at her, the girl he’s had a crush on since fourth grade, the girl he’d been in love with since ninth.

When she felt broken, well so did he.

—

“Mum, I want to do more for her,” Harry cries to his mother one night at dinner after school.

“I know you do, Harry. There is only so much you can do. She has parents tha-“

“Those aren’t parents, mum! You know that!” He shouts angrily, “I need to do more for her. Help her!”

Anne looks at him with a soft, understanding expression, “You’re doing all you can, Harry.”

—

He was still doing all he can.

“I wa-was wondering if you wanted to come over and watch a movie?” YN acts casual despite the tremor but he won’t call her on it - on the phone at least.

“I’d love to pup, I’ll be over on a tick,” already walking away from the busy bar.

Harry can hear the relief in her voice when she says, “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

When he uses his key to open the door, she sat on her couch with all the lights in the house on, not one off.

“Oh, pet,” Harry murmurs, all the blinds were drawn shut and he knew she’d already triple checked that the windows were locked - despite the state of the art security system he had installed for her.

“Um, so are we feeling a scary movie or romcom?” She ignores his words, picking up the remote, and pulling up Netflix.

He flicks a couple of the bright lights off until it’s normal dim and he sits next to her on the couch, taking the remote and turning off the television.

“Talk t’me,” Harry coaxes, unraveling her from the heavy weighted blanket, and tugging her into his chest.

“M’fine,” YN lies on a choked whimper.

“Y’safe, you know I’d never let anythin’ happen to you . Please puppy, tell me,” He’s not to manly to beg for her to open up.

He allows her to nuzzle her face into his neck, “He cam-came back an-and he -,” her voice drops, “broke in here and I wo-woke up as he was opening my door.”

Harry holds her for a very long time that night.

-

With Harry and her therapist’s constant encouragement she’d been able to be more open and up front with Harry - which made him feel unexaplainably proud of her.

Anna almost fucked everything up, all the hard work without even realizing it.

It was nearly three in the morning this time.

Harry was stuck at Anna’s house with her and her friends for a movie night.

He’d gotten up to go to the bathroom when his phone rings.

Anna sees who it is and picks it up, “What do you want? Harry’s busy and doesn’t have time for you right now. You know it’s not all about you, right?”

Then she hangs up, all of her and her friends giggling at how she just treated YN.

Harry is unaware of the call for a few minutes when he gets back until he gets a text from YN.

I’m sorry I bothered you. I am okay. Have fun tonight x

He scrolls through his phone in confusion until he sees the call, he glares over at Anna, “Did you answer my phone?”

She has a cocky look on her face, “Yeah, I told YN that the world doesn’t revolve around her and to leave us alone.”

All the friends are giggling - but that comes to an abrupt halt when Harry stands up, knocking over the little table of drinks with his anger, “Where the fuck did you get the idea that you could touch my phone, let alone answer it?”

All of them are quiet.

He scoffs, “Now all you annoying prats are going shut up? Get the fuck out of my way,” he orders to Anna who’s pouting.

“C’mon, it was a joke. Don’t leave,” She whines, grabbing at Harry’s arm which he instantly rips out of her grip.

“Don’t touch me. I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” He tells her honestly before storming out of her house without a look back at her teary face.

-

When he arrives at YN’s house, a book is automatically been hurled at the front door when he opens it, then another.

“Hey, puppy, stop tha’. S’just me, you’re okay. S’just me,” He coos, rearming the security system to make her feel better.

She is only in one of his shirts with the company logo on it and soft cotton boy shorts, hair frizzy atop her head.

“Y’have another nightmare?” Harry asks softly, all the lights were on again, every single one.

YN clenches her jaw, “No.”

He hardens his expression too, “I was in the bathroom when she answered that call. As soon as I found out, I came over here. Don’t be sour with me.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

“I know y’bloody lying because your legs are still tremblin’. Now cut the bullshit and talk t’me, we’re not going backwards,” Harry tells her seriously, with all firmness he can muster.

“I love you.”

It takes him aback. YN told him how much she adored him but it was something that didn’t come easy for her.

To hear it flat out, well….he nearly almost melted on the floor into a pile of goop.

“I love you too, puppy.”

She takes a deep breathe, “It’s been that same nightmare, but it’s not really a nightmare? It’s a flashback to…”

YN swallows before she continues, “Remember when….when I ran from my parent’s house to yours and my dad came and found me…”

Harry doesn’t want to remember but he does.

—-

“Harry, he-he just pulled up,” YN cries, peeking out his window, “I don’t want to go home.”

“Harry, he’s screaming at your mum. I have to go.”

“Harry, I have to go before he does something stupid. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Harry, don’t cry. I’ll be fine, he’s just really upset. I’ll just deal with it and it will be over before we know it, okay?”

——

“I remember,” He wavers like he normally doesn’t, feeling like a helpless sixteen year old again.

It was moments like this were no matter how hard he wanted to be angry or scream at her for making their relationship so difficult, that he couldn’t be.

How could he blame her for her commitment issues?

Why she struggles to trust?

Why she never feels good enough?

“I’m sorry to bring that up-“

“Do not apologize,” Harry interrupts, “I want to know everything you experience or feel no matter how traumatic or upsetting.”

YN despite her own struggles, when she heard Harry say things like that…well she knew full heartedly that he loves her with no conditions.

She knew this was so hard on him, “I am so in love with you, H.”

His eyes automatically soften and he reacts like he’s being praised. His face lights up without him even knowing it does.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen, thank you for being my person. I appreciate everything you do for me.”

It was something she had been also working on in therapy, expressing gratitude- specifically to Harry.

And it works because Harry actually starts tearing up, eyes watering with emotion, “I love you. I’d walk through hell and back for you.”

He would and he has.

[master-sass-blast]

Not Normal.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Not gonna lie, this whole fic is me projecting just how bad I want a massage.

Summary: “I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

AKA you get Lin to agree to some self-care, for once in her life.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T on account of my love of swear words.

Word count: 4.5k.

There’s a certain element of “razzle dazzle” that comes with “seeing” --or, perhaps more accurately, being fucked by--Lin Beifong.

You know that the Beifongs are an old money family; hell, everyone in the world practically knows it. The flying boar crest pops up in nearly every major Earth Kingdom enterprise, from mining, to textiles, to political halls.

Lin, despite her staunch pragmatism, is no exception. Her apartment is in the nicest complex in the city --one of the nicest in the world, even--where rent goes for several tens of thousands of yuan a month. She drives the latest model Satomobile (and even with her personal acquaintanceship with Asami Sato, it’s no small financial investment). The fixtures in her apartment --what of them there are, given Lin’s leanings toward minimalism--are all high end, from her furniture, to her bed sheets, to the toiletries that neatly line the built-in shelf in her shower.

And, if she has an occasion to stay somewhere other than her apartment, her tastes don’t waver in the slightest.

According to Lin --who’d given you a short, gruff answer when you’d asked the first time about why she’d invited you to the Four Elements and not her apartment--it’s because of the Spirit Vine entanglement that’s taken over a good chunk of the city. Whenever she has to work in the outer reaches of Republic City, she stays in a hotel suite until everything’s resolved since the drive back to her apartment has practically tripled.

(Personally, you’re not complaining. It’s not every day you get to sweat up the sheets in a bed of a five star hotel room.)

You stride up the steps to the entrance of the hotel, a spring in your step. Your mind’s already awhirl with countless options for the evening; all of them end with your ability to walk being severely impaired.

(It’s the small things in life.)

The front desk staff already knows you (a credit to how often Lin wrecks your back). A crisply dressed concierge member hands you a heavy metal key when you detour to the desk, then gives you a polite “Have a pleasant stay” as you head over to the elevator banks.

It’s a long, tortuous two minutes to the penthouse.

The penthouse comes with its own butler --something you know rankles Lin, but it’s hotel policy. They greet you when you step off the elevator and usher you into the sitting room.

Lin’s there, stretched out on a velvet upholstered sofa with a pillow propped under her head. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her mouth is set into a tight scowl.

You can already feel the bruises on your thighs; a shudder runs down your spine. “Rough day?”

Lin grunts, then tries to sit up --only to gasp in pain and stop halfway.

You frown, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lin spits through gritted teeth. She winces as she forces herself to finish sitting up and settles against the couch gingerly. “It’s just my hip.”

You cross your arms over your chest and arch one eyebrow at her. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps.

“I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

“Like what?”

“I do have a job aside from letting you fuck my brains out,” you quip, which gets a terse chuckle from the older woman. “I’m a healer. Massage therapy and chiropractic adjustment, with a specialty in dealing with injury and scar tissue rehabilitation.”

Lin stares blankly at you. “Oh.”

You do an internal victory dance; it’s not everyday you manage to surprise Lin Beifong. “I might be able to get you some pain relief.” You purse your lips when her expression sours and put your hands on her hips. “Pride isn’t worth pain, Lin.”

She opens her mouth to argue --then winces again and sighs. “Fine.”

You nod --after a moment to process your shock. “Okay. I’ll need to pick up a couple things from the office I work in.”

She waves one hand and tips her head back against the couch. “Fine.”

You stare at her for a beat, then turn on your heel and head to the door before she can change her mind.

***

It’s times like this that you’re grateful for the invention of the phone.

Thanks to the Spirit Vine blockages and rush hour traffic, it takes an hour to get to your office. You call Lin from there to let her know that’ll likely take you a while to get back --which she accepts with little more than a grunt--then pack up what you need.

Thank Spirits for the invention of the portable massage table, too.

By the time you get back to the Four Elements, the sun is setting (although, for late winter, that’s not surprising). Your foot taps against the floor of the elevator car as it whirs past the countless floors to the penthouse. As soon as the doors open, you exit --the butler lets you into the penthouse proper--and head straight for the sitting room.

Lin’s still there. She’s laying on the couch in the dark with one arm over her eyes.

“I need to turn the light on so I can set up.”

She grunts in response.

You turn on a table lamp, then start setting up your massage table. You keep glancing over at Lin, try to suss out what’s ailing her.

She’s tense --but, then, Lin’s almost always some sort of tense. Her jaw is clenched tight, and her hands are curled into fists. Her whole body looks keyed up, almost like relaxing hurts.

You realize she hasn’t taken her arm away from her eyes. “Light sensitive headache?”

Another grunt.

“Does talking hurt?” When she grunts again, you tut softly in sympathy. You secure the last leg of the massage table, then pick up your fur skein you use to hold water (it’s easier than toting around a bowl) and amble over to the couch. You crouch next to her, study her face and where she’s holding tension for a moment, then quietly ask, “Is it your scars?”

Lin tenses --likely on reflex, you’ve seen it in several trauma patients--but grits out, “Partially.”

“Alright.” You bend some water out of your skein. “I’m going to try to get you some relief so you can open your eyes and talk, okay?” When she nods, you continue. “I’ll need to work on your face, head, and neck. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Lin purses her lips, then takes her arm away from her eyes and nods.

You gently place your hands against her cheeks and use the water to feel along the tissue and muscle there. You can feel the scars --the angry, inflamed, knotted stripes of tissue that streak across her right cheek--and, sure enough, when you start massaging them gently, you can feel the pull of tension shooting into the surrounding muscles, up her forehead and scalp, and down into her neck.

“Yeah, that’s a gnarly one,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you try to find the root knot. You move one hand to Lin’s neck and start pressing your fingers against it. “Did you take a hit to the right side of your face recently?”

Lin’s lips curl into a tight smirk. “Got slugged in the face by a perp.”

“Ouch.” You suck a breath through your teeth. “Yeah, that would probably do it.”

“Should see the other guy.”

“Oh, I already knew they’re worse off.” You smile when she chuckles, then focus on feeling out the tension in her shoulders and neck. “Okay, I think I’ve got at least part of the root here. I’ll be able to get the rest of it once we get you over to the table.” You take a deep breath, then place your water-covered hands on her shoulders. “I’m gonna start down and work my way up so that the bigger muscles help the smaller ones release. You’re probably going to feel really warm from all the blood flow moving through the tissues again. If you need me to stop, tell me.”

Lin takes a deep breath to brace herself, then nods. “Just do what you need to do.”

You nod back --out of habit, her eyes are still closed--and start using the water to massage the muscles how you’ve been trained. You knead her shoulders with your waterbending, using the water in her muscle tissue to massage out the adhesions. “Come on,” you mutter as you work at a particularly stubborn knot. “I know you’re not happy; please let go for me…” You smile when you feel the muscle --finally--relax. “Thank you.”

From there, it’s like chasing after an unraveling rope. The release in the shoulder muscles triggers relaxation in Lin’s neck and face; all you have to do is follow along and catch any stragglers.

Lin lets out a gasp, then relaxes against the couch.

“That’s it,” you murmur with a smile as her body goes limp. You focus on the crown of her head, make sure the headache finishes dissipating properly, then bend the remaining water back into your jug once you’re done. “How’s that?”

Lin opens her eyes and blinks. “Feels like I got a full night’s sleep for once.” She pauses, then grimaces. “And like I’ve been out in the sun.”

You laugh quietly and nod. “That’s the blood saturating your muscles and soft tissue. It’ll settle in a bit --slowly!” you hiss, placing your hand against her back to help her sit up. “Don’t fucking undo all my hard work.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lin says, smirking. She lets you help her stand --though she glares at you a little for it--then winces as she straightens.

“Yeah, I figured there’d be more,” you mumble as you look her up and down. “Sit on the center of the table, arms down. Do you mind if I turn on another light so I can see better?”

“That’s fine.”

You turn on another lamp, then skirt around the table so you can better examine the set of Lin’s shoulders and her back. You press your fingers down the length of her spine, checking for resistance. “It’s your left hip that bothers you, right?”

“Yes.”

“That tracks with what I’m seeing,” you mutter as you check her ribs. “Can you turn your head to the left for me? And to the right?” You place your hands on her neck so you can feel the motion of the joints and muscles, then tap the left side of her neck. “You’ve got a lot of resistance here, likely caused by your body trying to correct your favoring your right side. I’m going to do some massage work first; the bones move easier if the muscles are already relaxed.” You step back and dig through the bag you’d brought with you. “Are you sensitive to scents?”

Lin grunts, displeased. “No fucking lavendar.”

You chuckle, then opt for the unscented massage oil, just to be safe. “Shirt and bra off, please, then lay flat on your stomach.”

Even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, the sight of Lin Beifong topless is always enough to leave you breathless. The musculature in her back, shoulders, chest, abdomen, arms, even her hands, to say nothing of her tits…

You force yourself to close your mouth before you start drooling.

Lin lies down on her stomach, lets you reposition her arms and adjust the angle of her neck…

You sigh when you realize her hands have curled into fists. “Lin.”

“What?”

“I need you to relax.”

“I am.”

You arch one eyebrow at the back of her head. “For a cop, you’re not a very good liar.”

“Not supposed to be. That’s the attorneys’ job.”

You snort, then shake your head with a sigh. “Lin. Please. It’ll be harder for me if you don’t relax.”

She sighs --and then slowly, reluctantly, she lets her body go limp against the massage table.

You murmur your thanks --and tuck away the interesting fact that she conceded to make things easier for you--then pour some massage oil onto your hand and rub it between your palms. Once your hands are warm, you place them on Lin’s upper back and start working.

There’s a lot to work on. Between Lin’s sheer muscle mass and the stress-slash-physical wear and tear of her job, there’s knots and adhesions all over her back.

Lin grunts when something near her left scapula goes crunch. “What was that?”

“Gristle,” you reply with a smile. When she scoffs, you laugh. “I’m serious. The muscles around the shoulder blades get used a lot. The knots that form give the muscle tissue about the same consistency as gristle.” You dig your thumb into another line of knotted muscle and press it through. “Crunch, crunch, crunch. Do you do any yoga or regular stretching?”

“I do some stretching as part of my workout routine.”

“Good, good. I’d recommend adding some upper body stretches to your regimen; it’d help with all the tension you carry up here.”

Lin snorts, low and soft. “Whatever you say, kid.”

***

It’s slow work. There’s a lot of trauma and scarring on and in Lin’s body --no surprise there, given her line of work.

You switch back to waterbending-based healing when you get to her left hip. You grimace when you feel how inflamed the joint is, then start working on calming the irritated and overworked tendons. “You need to take it easier on the job.”

“I need to do my job properly,” Lin fires back, sucking in a breath when you adjust her hip further.

You switch to pain relief techniques. “You won’t be doing your job at all if you destroy the joint.”

Lin grumbles under her breath, but doesn’t argue further.

Once you’re done with the massage work, you let her get dressed before having her lie down on her back. “Have you had a chiropractic adjustment before?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, good. I’m going to work on your back first.” You put a padded board underneath her back, then have her cross her arms over her chest --one atop the other, hands on her shoulders so her arms make a ‘V’ shape. “Alright, curl your chin up.” You put one arm around her, supporting her back, then help her up so you can put your fist between Lin’s back and the board. “Okay, deep breath in… and let it out.”

Lin grunts when you roll her down over your hand and something in her back pops. “Shit.”

You freeze. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Keep going.”

You keep working up her back, then take the board out from under her back once you’re done. “How does that feel?”

Lin shifts experimentally. “Better.”

“Good, good.” You move to stand at the head of the massage table and start palpating her shoulders and neck. “Alright, let me take the weight of your head in my hands.” You gently turn her head to the left, feeling for any resistance. “Just let your body relax… okay…” You get her neck in position, feeling out where the tension rests. “Tilt your chin up for me, please.” You adjust your grip on her head. “Alright, deep breath in, then out…” You wait for her to exhale, then jerk her head to the left.

Lin groans when her neck cracks. “That felt good.”

“I bet.” You repeat the process for the right side, then have Lin roll on her sides so you can adjust her lower back. “Lay back down, I want to check your knees and ankles.”

Lin arches one eyebrow at you. “Is that… normal?”

“They can be safely adjusted, if that’s what you mean.” You flash her a teasing grin as you walk down the side of the massage table. “Besides, call it a hunch.”

“What ‘hunch?’”

By way of response, you start feeling around her knees and ankles. You nod, then laugh. “Yep. Definitely an earthbender.”

Lin smirks up at the ceiling. “Your first hint was?”

“You lot are rough on your ankles and knees. All that stomping around. I can tell just by how jammed up everything is in here.” You adjust her knees, then move to her ankles --and frown. “What the hell kind of shoes are you wearing, day to day?”

“My uniform boots.”

You squint at her from the base of the massage table. “The metal ones? With the retractable soles so you can use your seismic sense when needed?”

“...Yes.” Lin lifts her head, then chuckles when she sees the stink eye you’re giving her. “They’re practical.”

“They have no support for your joints,” you fire back. You smack her shin --albeit not harshly--when she lets out a huff of laughter, then set about adjusting her ankles. “Stubborn old fart.”

Lin snorts. “Pigheaded kid.”

You smile and shake your head.

***

By the time you finish, it’s nearly ten. The sky is dark, save for the few visible stars --thanks, light pollution--and the sounds of the city have wound down to a gentle roar.

Lin stands, stretches, then lets out a sigh of relief when there’s no pain or resistance. “Thanks.”

You wave your hand as you go about packing up your supplies. “No problem. I wasn’t about to let you suffer.”

Lin nods after a moment, then pads over to a nearby desk. “How much do you charge for your services?”

You gape. “I-- Lin, no--”

“I can always pick a number at random.”

Your mouth snaps shut. You sigh, but acquiesce (mostly because you’re certain she’ll pick an absurdly high amount just to get a rise out of you). You rattle off a price --an expensive price, maybe worth two or three day’s work in total--then accept the check Lin hands you moments later. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You huff a little --it still feels weird, taking a friend-but-not-friend’s money--as you tuck the check in your bag --and then your stomach decides to imitate a dying whale.

“I’m guessing you didn’t have dinner,” Lin surmises.

You shrug. “Kind of hard to give a massage and eat at the same time.”

The corner of Lin’s mouth quirks up. She nods to a nearby phone. “Kang’s is still open, if you want to put in an order.”

“...Okay.”

This entire night is a break in your usual routine. Massage and chiropractic work aside, normally you’re either headed home or in the middle of being fucked into the nearest solid surface by now. There’s no casual hanging out --and, sure, Lin’s ordered take out for the two of you on occasion, when you were both hungry, but all this still feels… different.

(You’re not sure what’s scarier, the change or the fact that part of you likes it.)

You put in the order --fortunately, Lin’s ordered from Kang’s before, so you know what she likes--then put down the phone just as the clock strikes ten. “Oh! Murder Mystery Theater is on!”

Lin looks over at you. “What?”

“It’s a crime-drama radio show. They run a new show every week.” You gesture to the radio. “Do you mind?” You take Lin’s hand wave as the permission it is, and turn on the radio before tuning it to the right station.

The sound of slightly muffled string instruments floats out the speaker.

“This week! On Murder Mystery Theater…”

You make yourself comfortable in an armchair that matches the velvet upholstered sofa. The new shows air at nine, so this one’s a rerun, but you recognize it as one of your favorites --a dramatic game of cat and mouse between the intrepid detectives and a serial killer hiding in plain sight.

Five minutes in, and you realize that Lin’s listening along, even as she reads from a newspaper. You catch her looking over at the radio or staring off into space while she processes the story unfolding before her.

Eventually, she flips to the next page of the paper and says, “The doctor did it. He gets off on killing his patients.”

You raise your eyebrows as you look over at her. You already know she’s wrong --it’s the mortician’s assistant, who so happens to be the doctor’s son. A smile stretches across your lips as an idea forms in your brain. “Wanna bet?”

Lin looks up from the paper and smirks at you. “What’s your wager?”

You mull it over, then grin wickedly. “If you’re wrong, I get to use the cuffs on you at some point.”

Lin scoffs and sets the paper down on the coffee table in front of the sofa with a thwap. “And what could you possibly offer to make that a balanced wager?”

“If you’re right… I’ll behave for a night. Whatever you want, no complaining, no fighting.”

Lin’s eyes light up. She smirks, then extends a hand out to you.

You grin and shake her hand.

***

Dinner arrives halfway through the show. You and Lin eat in the sitting room, listening to the show while eating (spicy possum chicken with steamed vegetables and rice for her, braised hippo beef with spring rolls for you).

“--but Jang said she was with her husband at an evening show until eleven.”

“...Which means he can’t have been playing cards with his friends at ten.”

“Not unless he’s a Spirit. Come on, I’ll drive. Let’s go see if Lee remembers this ‘show’ he went to with the missus.”

“This isn’t half bad,” Lin comments around half a mouthful of possum chicken.

“I thought you liked Kang’s,” you fire back, even though you caught her meaning the first time.

She rolls her eyes, swallows, then continues. “I meant the show. Its description of police procedure is actually on point.”

“The creator shadowed police departments in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation for over a year before writing the first episode,” you explain before biting into a spring roll. You chew, swallow, then add, “He used to work as a PR rep for law enforcement when they had to work difficult cases.”

Lin nods, impressed. “It’s definitely better than all the crime family and love triangle shit that gets put out there.”

“Well… that stuff happens, doesn’t it?”

“Not the way the media likes to write it.”

You concede with a shrug --then perk up when you realize the script is heading towards the twist reveal. You shove the rest of your spring roll into your mouth to keep from tipping off Lin to your “insider information.”

“Lee Jang is a servant to this city. He’s been my coworker for three years! I think I’d know if he was a psychopath murderer.”

Lin’s brows knit together. She sets down her container of chicken and glares at the radio. “The mortician’s assistant?”

You shrug and take another bite of your entree to keep from grinning like an idiot. “Eh, there’s still time for things to shake out different. Each show always has a twist.”

Except it doesn’t “shake out different.” The mortician’s assistant is arrested, there’s a few brief trial scenes, and then it ends with an allocution when it’s apparent that the case isn’t going in the defendant’s favor.

Lin tosses her chopsticks against the coffee table and slumps back against the couch with a disgusted scowl. “Fucking dammit.”

“I guess that makes me the winner.” You tidy up your take out trash, pretending to pay Lin no mind as she glares holes into the side of your skull.

There’s no hiding your smug sense of victory --especially from a seasoned detective such as Lin Beifong.

She narrows her eyes. “You knew how the story would end.”

You lift your gaze to meet hers and smile, smug and unrepentant. “New shows air at nine. Reruns air at ten.”

Lin rolls her eyes. “So you cheated.”

“The odds are always in the house’s favor.” Your smile slips when you take in her obvious discomfort and displeasure. “We don’t have to hold the deal if you’re that upset about it.”

Her gaze cuts over to you. She studies you for a minute, then relaxes minutely and shakes her head. “It’s fine. A deal’s a deal.”

You’d argue, but something in her eyes --a familiar glint you’re accustomed to seeing before starts undressing you, or spanking you, or bending you over the nearest flat surface--makes you stop. Your cunt throbs, and you push through it by crossing your legs. “Alright, then. I’ll let you know when I want to collect.”

Lin rolls her eyes --but she’s smiling, just a hint. “Brat.”

“Funny, I thought that was why you liked me.”

Lin merely rolls her eyes again (but you swear you see her smile get bigger, just a bit).

You stand, stretch, then turn off the radio when it switches to a commercial. You eye the clock, then groan when you realize it’s almost eleven. “Dammit. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

It’s too late for a cab --again--or the hotel’s car service. Lin could drive you, but it’d be forever to get to your apartment building from here (thank you Spirit Vines and bureaucracy for impeding the city infrastructure).

Lin glances at the clock, then stands and starts clearing her share of the take out trash. “Stay here. Use the second bedroom.”

You nod, grateful (it’s not the first time you’ve stayed over with her at the hotel, given that the Spirit Vine roadblocks aren’t exactly new). “Thanks.”

Lin nods--

And then the two of you just stare at each other.

(Because, while this isn’t the first time you spent the night in her hotel suite, normally she fucks you in your bed, then heads to her own bedroom once you’re sated and on the verge of passing out.

But, if it wasn’t clear, this isn’t exactly “normal procedure.”)

Lin moves first. She nods again --awkward and jerky--then carries her trash over the bin in the kitchen before striding off to the room she usually uses. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you reply, soft enough that you’re not sure she hears you. You blink when the door to her bedroom thumps shut, then sigh and force yourself to clean up and head for bed as well.

(Despite the luxurious mattress and bedding, sleep is a long time coming.)

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton (Part 6)

<- Part 5

Frederick Chilton x Reader | The Good Place crossover

Final chapter! Warning: The Good Place spoilers, and a timeline that makes perfect sense because Jeremy Bearimy, baby. 

2,800 words

“No way. It’s too dangerous!”

“I thought you said we were in this together?” Chilton quirked a brow, eliciting a petulant grumble. You crossed your arms.

“Or maybe you think I’m expendable, so you’re willing to take risks with my life. Afterlife. Whatever.”

Frederick Chilton, who was not, as originally advertised, your soulmate, nonetheless clasped your hand with gentle tenderness. I would never do anything to hurt you is what a normal person would say in that moment, and perhaps his eyes said it, somewhere deep in their searching pools of green. But Dr. Chilton had a repressed way about him, tending toward overly clinical just stating the facts (or the sarcasm). Anything but genuine, vulnerable, sentimentality.

He guided you by your hand to sit down beside him on the baroque loveseat in one of his many living rooms, studies, and salons. After you settled yourself on the velvet cushion, he leaned his shoulder against yours in that quiet way he showed affection.

“After reviewing the town records,” he said, “I believe we may be the only two humans in the neighborhood. Some of the residents are far too dull—Chidi Anagonye, the moral philosophy professor who spent his life writing a single manuscript, Jianyu the silent monk—while others are too perfect—Glen, that one who is constantly volunteering, Tahani, the philanthropist. Real people have flaws, secrets, hobbies. I can only be certain of myself and you.”

“How’d you figure out I’m real?”

“I didn’t. I simply refuse to accept the alternative,” he said with a sad smile, and you began to think Dr. Chilton was sentimental after all.

***

Their voices were muffled even with your ear pressed to the door of Michael’s office—not that it mattered much what they were talking about. You were just waiting for the signal, and at that moment, it came. Their footsteps and voices grew louder as Frederick and Michael approached, and the door handle clicked.

“—which is why cannibalism loses more good-person points than defenestration but fewer than chewing loudly on a crowded bus.”

“Fascinating. I never thought about it that way,” said Chilton, looking genuinely disturbed.

You flattened yourself against the wall next to the door, thinking thin thoughts as the pair exited the office. A tall houseplant barely disguised your presence, and if Michael had any kind of peripheral vision, he would see you standing there plain as day.

But Dr. Chilton spoke animatedly, fixing him with a challenging laser-stare as he asked a probing follow-up question. Locked in Chilton’s eyes, Michael failed to notice the movement just behind his left shoulder as you slipped through the closing door before it could latch shut.

Safe.

Michael’s office was quiet and filled you with serenity in much the same way a teddy bear is filled with stuffing: forcefully and by no will of your own. Like the welcome room with its happy green plants and happy green words on the wall assuring you everything is fine, the office peeled your defenses away. Cream-colored walls yawned out around the perimeter, punctuated with bright windows, a portrait of Doug Forcett (a stoner from the 1970s who guessed, on a mushroom trip, how the afterlife really worked), and various artifacts of humanity enshrined like museum pieces, despite seeming perfectly mundane.

At the top of the room was a large mahogany desk.

Yesterday, Chilton watched Michael put away files in the desk that he wouldn’t let him look at. Chilton was certain they were the key to unraveling the mystery, so he suggested working together—he would distract Michael while you sneaked in to find the files. It was risky, but it might have been your only chance of discovering what was going on, and if there was a way to escape.

You began poking through the desk and found stacks of papers in an unreadable alphabet. The only thing you could read were lyrics to a genuinely terrible song Michael was writing titled “Love Train to the Cosmos.”

The last drawer wouldn’t budge.

Yanking the handle didn’t work. Banging on the side with your fist failed to unstick it. It was locked. Locked drawers were suspicious. The answers had to be in there.

You eyed a mountain of paperclips lovingly displayed on a pedestal labeled “Human Things.” Snatching two off the top, you unbent and re-bent the stiff metal wire, and inserted it into the lock. Faint clicks sounded as you turned and finessed the paperclip, feeling each pin in the tumbler slide into place. Then you gently turned it, and—pop. The drawer opened.

A single manila folder stamped TOP SECRET in threatening red letters rested inside, as if waiting to be found. You picked it up and opened it, and your breath caught. They were reports on “The Good Place.” The Good Place in quotation marks. Reports about you.

A pleasant bing sounded.

Janet materialized in front of the desk. For once, she was not wearing a cheery smile.

***

Frederick Chilton had always been a selfish man. Any opportunity that could advance his career and put him in the spotlight, he would take it no matter who it hurt. “Unorthodox therapy,” he called it in his private chats with Dr. Lecter. They bonded over their shared interest in unorthodox research before he learned Dr. Lecter was a cannibal. That would have been a clue to anybody else that it was time to change his ways, but Dr. Chilton spent the rest of his years just as selfish and petty—more so, even, as his disfiguring injuries gave him more reason for spite.

He could never accept himself as he was.

By the time he died, Chilton was an intolerable asshole who paid back the world’s cruelty with his chronic foul moods and acerbic sarcasm. He kept everyone at a distance.

And yet, here, in death, he found himself worrying over someone else.

The sun was shining in the ever-blue sky, dappled by lush green foliage before reaching the two men as they strolled the neighborhood below. Michael was built like a sapling with longer legs than he knew what to do with, making Chilton nearly jog to keep pace. He had a warm smile and an outgoing demeanor—always flattering Chilton’s ego and asking for his guidance. But something malignant hid behind those smiling eyes, and Chilton’s mind kept rushing back to you, hoping you were OK.

He hoped that you were safe. Not that the plan was going smoothly. That you were safe.

There was a difference, and Dr. Chilton noticed right away that his twitchy nervousness was not wrought of self-preservation. It was a new type of panic—worse than fear for himself, which he never thought possible considering the amount of terror he had experienced on his own behalf.

To distract himself, Chilton threw himself into the role of Michael’s assistant, focusing on his task of supposedly identifying psychological issues causing problems with the neighborhood.

“Our interviews should go in alphabetical order, under the pretense of a survey—a sort of afterlife census—to avoid suspicion. It should be feasible, with only three hundred residents—”

“We know,” Michael said coolly. His voice dropped from the usual friendly, flattering demeanor, slipping off like a mask.

“You know how you are going to handle the interviews? It is imperative the subjects do not suspect they are being studied.” Chilton swallowed, knowing full well that he was talking to the real Michael for the first time.

“Don’t play dumb.” Michael smiled an entirely different type of smile, twisted and clever with no warmth in it. “We’ve been watching you, Dr. Chilton. We knew you would figure it out eventually. It was only a matter of time before you saw through a psychiatric study.”

Chilton’s interest piqued at the same time his blood went cold. He wet his lips. “Is that what all this is, then?”

The pair came to a stone bridge that arched gracefully over a reflection pool. Michael stopped midway across, leaned one of his long, pointed elbows on the railing, and cocked his head at Chilton.

“You haven’t figured it all out yet? That’s disappointing. You humans really are so dense.” His tone was so mean that Chilton took an unconscious step back. Michael only laughed and told him there was no point in running away. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to offer,” he promised.

Most of what you had been told about the afterlife was true, Michael explained. There was a real good place, and there was a real bad place where bad people were tortured for all eternity. But the bad place had a problem: it was boring! Humans get used to physical pain after the first few centuries, no matter how creative the punishment.

“Once you’ve flattened a thousand penises, you’ve flattened them all. I’m trying to do something new here. Innovate!” said Michael with an energetic swoop of his hand. “Emotional torture can cause the same level of discomfort, but in a more sustainable and (more importantly) entertaining way. That’s what this neighborhood is for—to study you humans and find out what makes you miserable.”

And then he offered Dr. Chilton something that grabbed his attention. The opportunity to design bad place neighborhoods.

“You are asking me to help implement psychological torture?” Chilton turned over each word cautiously.

“Oh,” Michael scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re concerned about the ethics? Doctor, I’ve read your file.”

Chilton winced. He had done truly amoral things in the name of discovery—things it made him sick to be reminded of. Strange, though. In the past, he would have been proud to be treated as a peer by a psychopath. Not ashamed.

“Think of it, the glory, the prestige. You would be designing the afterlife for billions of souls. You will be remembered throughout eternity as the man who reformed the bad place!”

“And my soulmate?”

Chilton blurted it without thinking. It sounded so childish and naive, and sure enough, Michael shook his head and had a long chuckle at his expense.

“There’s no such thing! I thought you knew,” Michael slapped his knee. “I made it up so you would torture each other! But once again, I underestimated the human libido. You people all think with your genitals, it’s—it’s gross. Humans are gross.” He made a face. “That’s why I need your help to design a better system. With your understanding of the human mind, we can make condemned souls miserable for thousands of years.”

Chilton couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for this plan, and Michael frowned.

“If it makes you feel any better, consider this the humane option. The alternative is going back to scooping eyeballs out with melon ballers and replacing them with live bees. What do you say, doctor? Join my team.” Michael extended a hand, and Chilton eyeballed it.

“Can my soulmate—”

“Not a soulmate.”

“—come with me?”

“This offer is only open to you.”

“So they will be tortured? Alone? For eternity? In a system I help design?”

“Nothing you can do will change that. They are going to be tortured—the only person you can save is yourself, if you decide to help me.”

Frederick’s brow knit together. He thought about refusing. He really did. Abandoning you seemed unthinkable, especially after your promise to each other to stick together. But he was a selfish creature, and choosing to be punished wouldn’t protect you. If he was lucky, by teaming up with Michael, he could design a more comfortable torture for you one day.

“Maybe this will help make up your mind,” Michael said. “Hannibal Lecter.”

“Lecter?”

“He’s here. In the bad place. So far, he has been especially resistant to traditional torture. I thought you might have a personal interest in taking a crack at him?”

***

On a floating, room-sized projection screen, Frederick Chilton shook Michael’s hand. Your head fell forward, shoulders slumping. The screen flicked off and dissipated into the office air.

“This is the 764th time he has failed,” said Janet, giving a sympathetic simulation of a sigh. “We were sure he was going to make the right decision this time.”

You shook your head. “Fame and glory? Revenge? He’ll never refuse those. Trust me—he died because of them and still never learned his lesson.”

“That is what we’re afraid of. Some people never pass their tests. Fun fact!” she perked up, “Hannibal Lecter’s test is working at a Burger King where he can only cook Impossible Whoppers, and his 19-year-old manager calls him pee-paw. He gets reset every time he eats a customer. His longest record is twelve hours.”

When Janet found you snooping in Michael’s desk, you expected to be dragged away, never to see Frederick again. Instead, she explained everything to you—the truth.

A long time ago, the bad place was exactly how Michael described it—a place where souls were sent to have their orifices filled with spiders for eternity. Then he decided to try something new. Originally, he paired you with Dr. Chilton hoping you would drive each other crazy. But no matter what happened, you kept falling in love. You kept supporting each other, and taking care of each other. The same happened with his other human test subjects—they kept improving and becoming better people than they were on Earth. Eventually, Michael changed, too.

He redesigned the bad place to be a test—a chance for human souls to earn their way into the good place. At the end of each test, you either pass and go to the good place, or your memories are erased and you start over again.

“So, what happens to me now?”

“You passed. You can go to the good place now, and spend the rest of eternity in paradise. The real one.”

“And Frederick? He’ll be alone?”

Janet nodded.

“Put me back in. Reset me, and make me his soulmate again.”

“Are you sure?” Janet asked.

“I’m not going without him.”

“He would leave you behind. You just saw that.”

“That wasn’t fair. Anyone would accept that deal. I would accept that deal!”

“No. You wouldn’t,” Janet said. “You passed your test a long time ago.”

For a while, a heavy silence fell between you as you processed this. Finally, you thought of the only question worth asking. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

“762.”

“Well then,” you said. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I do. But you retain a vague sense of your memories from previous tests. At a subconscious level, you might realize you’re tired of this.”

You smiled. A big, genuine one that balled your cheeks and creased the corners of your eyes. “That’s not how I feel at all. I think I love him more every time.”

Janet nodded, but gave one last warning before erasing your memories again. “If he never passes, you could be stuck here forever.”

“Stuck falling in love with that insecure jerk over and over again for thousands of years? Sounds like heaven to me.”

“I thought you might say that.”

***

The first day, you really wanted to punch his pretentious snobby face for thinking he was so much better than you.

The first time you laid eyes on Dr. Frederick Chilton, he was waiting behind a mahogany desk with an ancient hardcover book in his hands. Not reading it—waiting, posed deliberately to be discovered that way, and give the impression of intellectualism.

“This is your soulmate,” said Michael, introducing you.

Chilton took a step back after shaking your hand and looked you up and down critically, as if he were appraising livestock. And right away, you knew there had been a terrible mistake. Who the fork did he think he—

Fork. Fork! Why couldn’t you say fork?!

***

Bright light streamed in through the open bedroom window. The weather was always perfect here, except when some glitch made it rain caviar and jelly beans. Or that time Frederick had a vivid nightmare, and organs began falling from the sky. Every day, something horrible seemed to go wrong in the good place. Things that challenged you and pushed your soulmate to his limits.

But most mornings were like this. Quiet. A time just for the two of you.

Your fingers lightly stroked his chest, delving into the soft hairs that rose and fell with his steady breathing. You pressed a soft kiss to his skin, then another, tracing a line of them lower, over a jagged, raised line down his abdomen. His scars let you know he was waking up. This was the good place—he didn’t have to let them show. Usually, he chose to appear as a younger version of himself, before all the indelible trauma. But on peaceful mornings like this, he would let them show just so you could soothe them. He never thought he would be that comfortable with anyone. That he could trust anyone so much.

Every day, you both knew you could overcome anything, so long as you were together.

[ilkkawhat]

1. What do you think is Nick’s greatest strength? 2. His weakness?

I've thought long and hard about this all day and I think to answer both, it's his empathy.

It's a strength in the way for the exact reason he points out to Grissom--you can't ignore the human element when it comes to the cases they work. It adds that extra layer of idk, not necessarily urgency but in some ways, yes. Would they have found Cassie alive in Gum Drops had Nick not been so personally driven because he was rescued so why couldn't this little girl, who's proven to be smart, to be a survivor, like him, why couldn't she live too? He gets more details talking to victims and suspects and witnesses like an emapthizing person would rather than some of the other CSIs. Look at the way he talked to Tommy in Death and the Maiden--which honestly I will forever think was the second installment in the exploration of Nick's childhood trauma trilogy with Overload, that ep, and Let's Make a Deal though they weren't like, as outright about it in DatM. Look at the way he talked to that one kid in I think a season two/three episode who had wet the bed--really any of the kids he talks to and helps, and helps him in return. The way he comforts his fellow CSIs (Sara in Empty Eyes always gets me, "she didn't have to die alone" because he damn near did back in that box and that's probably all he could think about), the way he's driven when one of them are in trouble, just...sort of the way he's kinda like, idk, the soul of the team?

Now that's not to say it's not a weakness--we watch him unravel and actually break down because he empathized too much with Haley in Turn, Turn, Turn and beats himself up cause he didn't do more for her. We watched him get close to Jason McCann only for the kid to turn on him and nearly kill him (and that's when another weakness of his shone through--his own explosions of anger) and saw him get to a point (before he knew the kid was involved, sure,) where he said: I'm not afraid to die, let's see if they are because he was just so wound up and had disregarded his own life (and really, I always felt like he already did ever since Warrick died, he grew more and more reckless which I think is another weakness of his) and it did land him in some hot water in a few season 4 episodes with warrick and sara (which built up to his "so what?" speech to grissom in 4x11) And I think that stubbornness he gets when people do prod him about his empathy, or when he feels that there is an injustice towards someone he kinda feels for (like that kid in compulsion and how he was super stubborn, and rightfully so, with how pushy Cavaliere was getting)

some other minor weaknesses would again, be that recklessness with his life esp in those later seasons where it seems like he thinks he's indestructible, his reluctance to get therapy, his reluctance to truly talk about his feelings, the occasional short fuse of his anger, his loyalty can cause a fault--oh and that's another part of the empathy, with how loyal he was to Ray and how they both fucked things up for themselves in season 11, his ignorance--which he does get better with as the series goes on

but also some more strengths of his: the loyalty esp when he was challenged by ecklie to try and throw grissom under the bus and did his best not to feed into it, his attention to detail and strong intuition, his endurance (I firmly believe nobody else would have survived grave danger), his charm--he seems to get along with pretty much everybody not to say he doesn't have a few people he has spats with, his courage in those situations which, a bit tragically, do make him a hardened individual who can get back up after getting shot at and who literally rose from a premature grave and I guess this bit lends into that empathy again, but just...his passion. the way that when he loves somebody, he is devoted (no matter what kind of love, platonic/romantic) and always seems like he will do whatever he can/needs to for those he loves

[simplybakugou]

Bound to You

↝ In a society where matching scars signify two souls bound together, you stumble upon your fated soul mate who happened to be one of the biggest pro heroes.

BINGO SPACE: Soul Marks

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!mina x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: the slightest of angst, mostly fluff :) ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2884

A/N: here’s another bingo piece for the bingo event happening with @bnhabookclub​. thank you to @fandomtrashsammy​ for requesting mina for this prompt! this was my first time writing for mina and basically any female character from bnha! I’m really enjoying trying to write for different characters and i think i can say mina is definitely one of my favorite characters to write for omg. credits to @eraserhead-transparents​ for the mina cap!

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 07.22.2020✐

If there was one thing you couldn’t stand, it was relationships. Now it wasn’t like you hated other couples and how happy they seemed, but rather you hated how their happy, loving relationships would be shoved down the throats’ of single people. 

In this world, soul markings were crucial in identifying one’s significant other. They appeared when your fated soulmate would undergo an injury, leaving a permanent scar on their body and their significant other’s body. Although the other person could not feel the same agonizing pain, the matching scars were still evident.

Nonetheless, you absolutely hated the markings. It was almost like you had no control on who you would end up with, who the person you would spend the rest of your life with. You hated having to grow up and hear your classmates squeal excitedly when finding scars from small cuts and scrapes that their soulmates endured on their bodies. You even hated when your own friends would pester you about the scars that littered your own body at a rate that was mildly concerning. Every morning you’d find another scar littered on your skin, the same appalled expression on your face as you tried to envision what your soulmate could be doing to go through such injuries. 

Were they a stunt double? An acrobat? Or maybe they were a criminal on the run as they harmed more and more people as the days went on… or maybe you were thinking about it too much.

However a year had passed and it had been a while since you woke up to various blemishes on your body. Who knew what happened to your soul mate, maybe they were in prison or they were caught up in business that ultimately led to their death… but either way you didn’t care. 

Since then you decided to not seek out your mate like your friends and peers did, dating whoever you desired and not caring enough to check if they were your fated other half. But like everybody else, all of your exes were paranoid when they realized your scars didn’t match. Your ex-boyfriend even broke up with you once realizing you weren’t his soulmate.

But to hell with them. You refused to live by the rules of this weird society you were brought into.

You clocked in at the front desk, briefly greeting the receptionists who gave you a warm smile in return. You proceeded through the hospital, until you reached the break room, grabbing a mask and other equipment needed for your round of checkups.

“Y/N!” You heard a faint voice call from down the hall.

Itsuki, your close friend and coworker, caught up with you, walking by your side with a bright smile. “Guess what? I think I found my soulmate in 143.”

You rolled your eyes. “Itsuki, how many times have you said that this week? This is a hospital, of course you’re going to find people with similar cuts and bruises.”

She pouted, sticking her tongue out at you playfully. “You’re no fun. It’s not fair that you get all the cool, distinct scars while I get like two and they look like everyone else’s!”

You look down at your most recent marking, the last one that had shown on your skin since the appearance of the blemishes ceased a year ago. It was dark in color, indicating how severe and painful it must’ve been. Fortunately you never endured the pain yourself but you could feel yourself wince at the mere thought of undergoing such pain.

“It doesn’t matter if mine are distinct or not. These marks are pointless, they don’t mean anything.”

“I still can’t get why you’re a nonbeliever. Don’t you ever wonder who your match is?” Itsuki let out a small squeal, overjoyed by the thought. “It’s all about the mysteriousness, Y/N.”

“It sounds like crap if you ask me,” you muttered.

Itsuki caught what you mumbled under your breath, elbowing you in your side. “I’m telling you, once you meet your mate you’re going to be so in love with them and I’ll just laugh in your face!”

“Dream on, Itsu. We’ll see about that,” you said, smirking at her as she walked into her next patient’s room.

Meanwhile you made your way to your first patient of the day. In fact, she was the first patient you saw every day at work. The woman was in a coma for nearly a whole year. Your superior had informed you that she was the famous hero, Ashido Mina, but you knew that already. It was impossible for anyone to not know Ashido. 

Back in the day she and the rest of her peers at U.A. were constantly in the limelight from being attacked by the League of Villains and for being one of the top pros. 

At least until her accident.

You weren’t familiar with the specifics of the accident but you knew she had encountered a villain, one that harmed her so harshly that she had been put into a coma. And now it was uncertain when she would wake up.

You were responsible for monitoring and recording her recovery process every morning, making sure she was in stable condition.

You entered Ashido’s room, sliding the door closed behind you. You checked the monitors, jotting down her breathing rate, heart rate and the like just like you did every other day. Only this day it was different. You noticed her stability had wavered slightly, her breathing and heart rate seeming off.

Your boss had told you, as you were a fairly new nurse in this certain hospital with your fairly average healing quirk, that irregularities would occur but it was still concerning to say the least. 

Just as you were finishing up writing down any inconsistencies, you felt a shiver down your spine as you could hear mumbling from behind you. You turned your head slightly, watching as Ashido muttered something, her lips parting slowly as her lashes fluttered partly open.

You immediately paged a doctor to come in, slamming the door back open to grab anyone’s attention. As you made your way back to Ashido’s bedside, her eyes were open a bit more and her lips curled upwards into a small, half-efforted smile. Her eyes slowly glanced down at the markings on your arms. “That’s funny… they look like… mine.”

And like that she slipped back out of consciousness as the doctor rushed in.

***

A few days had passed since Ashido managed to regain consciousness. As rumors traveled fast in a small, local hospital like this one, Ashido was now completely awake and was on her way to recovery. Oftentimes patients who came out of comas would have to go through years of therapy depending on how long they were out for. Luckily with the use of quirks, the various doctors and nurses working were able to utilize their unique quirks for any kind of injury, Ashido’s included. This included your own quirk and although it was a simple healing quirk, it was one that could speed up the recovery of any wound. 

Nevertheless, the staff would have to keep things confidential with Ashido’s recovery process as the media would circle around outside the building with their nosy figures in an attempt of learning at least something about Ashido’s status. The only people permitted to see her were family at the moment.

In this span of time you were preoccupied with other patients, your list of usual people to deal with had been switched out with one of your coworkers. Normally this would not have been a problem but Ashido’s last few words before passing out still echoed throughout your mind. What could she have meant by your scars looking like hers? From what you could remember, her arms were bandaged up and there was no way for you to confirm this yourself. Maybe it was all a coincidence… yeah, it had to be!

But as much as you tried to tell yourself this, you still found yourself peeking into her room every now and then, psyching yourself out whenever you were almost caught by Ashido herself or by another doctor or nurse in her room.

Finally your boss changed your schedule back to how it was previously, and you were nervous as you headed inside, sliding the door closed. Ashido whipped her head up as she was sitting upright on her bed, flipping aimlessly through a magazine that was laid out on her table. “Oh! You’re the pretty nurse from before!”

“Uh, yeah I guess,” you said in a hush tone, thrown off by her sudden compliment. Your eyes gravitated to her arms as you were supposed to change her bandages that particular day. It was the moment of truth.

Ashido looked down at her own limbs, putting two and two together. “So you’re changing these today?” 

You nodded, placing your clipboard with her file attached to it on the table and sitting beside her bed. “That’s right. Before Doctor Tanaka comes in, I have to change them.”

You pulled out a roll of gauze and bandage you were supposed to be using. Ashido extended her arms out, watching you carefully as you slowly removed the first set of bandages on her left arm. You sucked in your breath at the sight of her bare arm. 

Due to the obvious difference in melanin, as Ashido’s skin was literally pink, her scars appeared differently in color compared to your own skin but even then there was no doubt about it; you two had matching soul marks.

You cleared your throat, examining the state of the blemishes as you proceeded to unravel the bandages from her other arm. “It seems that your skin has healed well, most likely from the year that you were in a coma which gave your skin enough time to heal on its own.”

You stood to your feet, tossing the used bandages in the trash and shoving the gauze and new roll of bandages in your pockets. “Let me go get Doctor Tanaka and hear his input on this--”

“Wait!” Ashido exclaimed, grabbing onto your wrist. She winced slightly, not used to applying force to her fingers just yet. “You can’t leave now. All my life I’ve been trying to find my soul mate, dating and meeting different guys and never finding who it was. And now I meet you, a woman, here… you can’t just ignore that we’re mates.”

You turned your head, gently shaking her grip on you. “I’m sorry, m’am, I need to administer my other patients. The doctor will be here soon.”

And like that Ashido could only watch as you quickly exited her room.

***

Even more time passed since your encounter with Ashido. The doctors and other authoritative personnel had Ashido undergo physical therapy before she was finally dismissed from the hospital, her being physically functional to walk around almost as good as she was before the accident. She suffered severe burns and trauma from the accident, ones that had healed over the time in her comatose.

In the past months that had passed, you had initially vowed to forget what you had learned about your relationship with Ashido. You avoided her room at all costs, managing to convince Itsuki to cover for you on the mornings you had to administer Ashido, although Itsuki did attempt to get you to tell her what was going on in which you kept your mouth shut.

With the passing time and hearing that Ashido was dismissed from the hospital, you felt an invisible weight lift right off your shoulders… at least in the beginning.

You found out that Ashido, who ignored the crowd of reporters circling around the building as they wanted to hear about Ashido’s plans for the future for a scoop in their papers, visited the hospital every morning, wanting to catch a glimpse of your figure. After a few days she decided to ask the receptionists directly, somehow convincing them to give them your number for “medicinal purposes.”

You were then flooded with texts from an unknown number, immediately deleting them when realizing who they were actually from. But that didn’t stop Ashido. She would text you from different numbers, berating you with messages and calls, all of which you ignored.

When she realized you were just going to block her number, she visited the hospital for any minor inconvenience, whether it be a strain that she “felt” in her muscles or a mere paper cut. Even then she refused to be seen by any other nurse or doctor except for you.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore and you gave in, asking her to meet you in the breakroom of the floor you were covering. And there you were, waiting patiently inside the room for her, tapping your fingers against your arms as you were beyond frustrated. 

The door finally slid open and Ashido waltzed right in, a smile on her face. She approached you, in which you walked past her and shut the door, closing the blinds on the small window on the door. You then turned back around, facing her with an irritated expression. “Why are you constantly annoying me? What do you want?”

Ashido let out a laugh, taking a step towards you in which you took one step back. You felt you back hit the wall as she stood hovering above you with her figure. “It’s pretty simple actually. I want you.”

You felt yourself become flustered by her words and the proximity of her body with yours. You felt drawn in by her piercing golden eyes, like you were being sucked right into them. Her flattering and smooth words were only making things difficult, making you wonder why you were avoiding her in the first place. 

“I don’t get it. We’re obviously soulmates, I mean no one has these kinds of marks so why are you avoiding me?” Ashido questioned.

You tore your eyes from her gaze, looking down at the floor below you. “I just… don’t believe all this crap, alright? I’m not going to trust some scars on our bodies to be the thing that defines who my significant other will be.”

Mina chuckled at your response, placing her hands on your shoulders. “That’s why you’ll never know till you try, silly! We finally found each other and I don’t know about you but the minute I found out you were my mate, you were the only thing I could think of. And if you’re willing to, I want to see if this really is fate, if these scars are just silly marks or if we’re really meant to be.”

You looked back and forth from her left and right eye, internally battling out your struggles. You had always told yourself you had no interest in finding out who your mate was and yet you would be lying to yourself if you said Ashido wasn’t on your mind. She was a pro hero, one that saved countless lives and even sacrificed herself during a major accident to save others, one that resulted in her being in a coma. And yet you were a simple nurse, trying to save lives in your own way. She was optimistic about this all and you were as pessimistic as anyone could be. You were both so different yet similar.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” Ashido teased lightly. 

You blinked, shaking your head from the conflicting thoughts running through your mind. You let out a sigh, looking down at the floor again. “Fine… we can give this a try.”

Ashido grinned widely, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you into her embrace. You sucked an air in, feeling flustered once more as her body pressed against yours. Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you knew she could feel its rhythm against her skin. Your face was burning up as she pulled away, bringing a hand to your cheek.

“It’s kinda funny… my whole life I’ve been looking through the wrong people for my soul mate and yet she was right beside me, taking care of me without me knowing it,” Mina mumbled, her thumb caressing your cheek.

You felt frozen in place, drawn in by her inviting aura and captivated by her presence. She had a way with words, but the way her touch felt against your skin, the way that she made you feel hot and bothered in the way no man had ever been able to boggled your mind.

“The minute I saw you I wanted to do this…” Mina uttered, dropping her hand to your mid-back and pushed you to her. 

You gasped as her lips met your own, her hand still gently holding your cheek. Her lips were warm yet soft and you moved yours against hers in a slow and steady rhythm.

You wanted to curse yourself out for avoiding her in the way that you did. But in that moment, none of that mattered anymore. You had finally found your soul mate, one that finally matched your scars and one that wasn’t going to run from you in fear of fate breaking your relationship up.

You were willing to give her a chance… as she was fatefully bound to you.

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[actuallylorelaigilmore]

TATMILB, CHAPTER 4

Penelope spent her life writing love letters, which didn’t seem like a terrible idea until the letters were mailed out and Schneider received one of them. Hoping to fool their exes, they agree to fake a relationship. But are they lying to everyone around them, or to themselves? aka my To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before-inspired AU.

Penelope x Schneider, ODAAT. available on ao3 with extra author’s notes.

Chapter 4: Ben comes to Penelope’s door bearing a letter. Penelope explains the situation to Schneider over ice cream. She scoffs at his proposal but can’t wave it away so easily once she’s alone with her thoughts.

Dear Ben,

It’s been a really long time since I felt the way I did when I was with you--I know talking about it makes me sound like a giddy teenager. 

But in so many ways, that’s how you made me feel. I was full of lighthearted happiness, hormones and that need to know everything about somebody that only happens at the beginning of a relationship.

The story of how we met sounds like a movie: I poured my heart out to you, thinking you were gay and couldn’t possibly be interested in me, and you turned the tables by asking me out. A night full of self-loathing and guilt led to a moment where I felt really attractive. And considering how hard life had been lately, especially in the romance department, it meant a lot that you looked at me in my emotional half-drunk state and saw someone worth getting to know. 

All of that makes how we ended worse. I’m sorry for what happened with Victor, for how easily and how quickly I became a cliche--the ex-wife who takes back her apologetic husband, who believes and trusts when she shouldn’t...who gives up a good man for a familiar one. 

We had fun while it lasted, didn’t we? It’s the what-ifs that haunt me now. The possibilities. Maybe you would have gotten along well with my family, when it was time for you to meet them. Maybe you would have been a good husband someday.

I know I don’t have the right to hold on to you, to the idea of us, when there was barely an us in the first place. Some nights, though, I pull out that mental picture and let myself live inside for it a little while. I still feel happy there. I wonder if you do, too.

Love, Penelope

****

“Ben!”

Penelope steadied herself by gripping Schneider’s arm, which also helped to steady him as they wobbled in the doorway after their near-collision.

She saw the letter Ben was holding, on yellow paper she remembered too well, and offered him an overly-bright smile, aiming it like a shield. “We’re actually just on our way out. Gotta go get dessert for the family before there’s chaos, y’know?”

Her laugh was as forced as her smile, but she ignored the look Schneider gave her and hoped Ben would buy it. He didn’t know her nearly as well; not everyone had Schneider’s keen eye for her tells. 

“This is Schneider,” she added, shutting the door behind the two of them. She kept her grip on his arm, pulling him past Ben. 

“Yeah, hi,” Schneider said, with a facial expression that could best be described as ‘trying to do calculus in his head.’ Great, Penelope thought, now she would have even more to explain to him once they made it free of the building. And Ben.

“Listen, I don’t want to hold you up,” her ex said, lifting the letter to her eyeline. “I just wanted you to know that I got it, but that I’m actually--well, I’m engaged now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Congratulations,” she said, shaking his hand and trying to hurry along as though that would be the end of that.

“Penelope.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I really enjoyed the time we spent together too. And I did think about you--about us. For a while. That was such a long time ago, though, and where my life is at these days...I’m really happy. I hope you will be soon.”

The hint of pity she detected got her attitude up, but if she made a scene it might bring the family out into the hall, which was the last thing she needed to add to this insanity. She exhaled through her clenched teeth instead.

“Thanks Ben, I appreciate that. I’m glad things are going well for you.”

“Anyway, I wanted to give you this back. It doesn’t feel right keeping it, while I’m planning my wedding to somebody else.”

“Alright. We really gotta go, but I hope the wedding goes great and it doesn’t rain. Best of luck to you both!” she half-shouted as she sped down the stairwell, not bothering to look behind her. Schneider would catch up, and she needed Ben to stop treating her like a crazy woman who was still nursing a crush on him years after they went on a handful of dates.

Not that her behavior in the hall was likely to make her seem more sane. 

Her cheeks were burning as she exited the building, and she wished the air outside were cool enough to settle her racing heart. There was no denying it now--all of her letters must have been sent, every single mortifying one of them. Her innermost thoughts and feelings, directed at men who were never supposed to read them. This was beyond terrible. This was a catastrophe. This was--

“Pen! Wait up!” Schneider let the exit door slam shut behind him, making short work of the distance between them on the way to her car. “You know, I can’t go with you to get ice cream if you leave without me.”

“I know. Sorry.”

The scoop shop was only a five minute drive from their building, but it was a deeply uncomfortable five minutes, with Schneider watching her from the passenger seat and Penelope stuck on the image of Ben and his pretty, sympathetic face handing her back old dreams on paper. 

She hoped he really was blissfully happy with his new fiancée. She hoped they had a long and happy marriage. 

She hoped she never had to see him again.

****

Schneider managed to hold back as they waited in line at the shop, but he was restless next to her, filled with anxiety and questions. Penelope wasn't exactly in a hurry to explain; her nerves mirrored his.

“Let’s just order ours, okay?” She said before they approached the counter. “We can talk while we eat it, then get the rest to go after.”

Schneider nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He ordered an oversized monstrosity, filled with a jumble of flavors and toppings that Penelope eyed with suspicion. 

She got cherry gelato and frowned when he paid for them both, but didn’t bother arguing. She was the one who caused this whole mess--there wasn’t much point to starting a fight on top of it.

Schneider sat down across a corner table from her and made no move to touch his dessert. “Listen, Penelope, I’ve tried not to push. I kept quiet through dinner, I didn’t corner you in a moving vehicle, but I’m kinda out of patience now. What was that back there?”

“At...the hospital?”

It was stupid to try and buy herself more time. She wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous to talk to him--this was Schneider. He always understood even her craziest moments. Yet there she was, still stalling. Keep on digging that hole, Penelope.

“Yes, at the hospital, when you kissed me!” The last part came out louder than he’d intended, and Schneider looked around like they might be under surveillance, before continuing. 

“What was that about?” he pressed. “I thought that I was pretty clear about where I stood, and then you kissed me anyway. No means no, Penelope!”

“Yes...you’re right.” 

When he put it like that, she felt even worse than just embarrassed. If she found out Alex was going around kissing girls who told him they weren’t interested, she would be so pissed at him. She would read him the riot act. What could she possibly say to defend herself to the one man who understood that better than anybody-- who knew her behavior totally contradicted what she believed in?

“Sorry.” She watched her gelato melting in its little cup, swirling it with her spoon. “You’re right, there’s no excuse.”

“I don’t want an excuse--though the apology’s appreciated. I want an explanation. It doesn’t make any sense, what you did. And you always make sense. Come on, talk to me.”

“I don’t have a good explanation.” She sighed, trying her gelato before it was completely liquid. It didn’t taste as good as it would on a day when her life wasn’t unraveling. “It was out of character. No argument there. It just sort of happened.”

“But why?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she warned him, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t avoid this forever. He practically lived in their pockets--she couldn’t avoid him in general.

“You just made out with me,” he shot back. “I already know you’re crazy.”

“It was one kiss! I did not make out with you.” She dug into her gelato more emphatically, letting him sit with his own melting dish for a minute, almost as annoyed at Schneider as she was at herself for ending up here. 

“That letter that you got from me, it wasn’t the only one I wrote.”

“Okay.” He blinked, taking that in. “You’re in love with people besides me?”

“I’m not in love with anybody, you dope. And I didn’t send you that letter.”

“I’m confused.”

“I write letters. I always have. To process stuff, get my thoughts out. I didn’t have therapy, you know, before the last few years. And between my mom, and the Army, and Victor...I had a lot of stuff to deal with. I’ve never been a diary person, but when things got really intense, I would write...”

“Love letters.” 

“Yeah.”

He nodded as he dug into his ice cream, listening intently now. Schneider was good at that, even when he was visibly baffled--like he seemed now. 

“I used to write other letters too, when I was a kid, letters to my parents when I was upset or frustrated with them. But I never held on to those ones--I had this feeling that no matter how well I hid them, Mami would find them, so I always trashed those. It helped enough, writing them.”

“When it comes to Lydia, I think your paranoia was probably well-founded.” 

There was a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth now, fondness not just for her mom but for Penelope. The wave of relief that flooded her settled some of her anxiety. Kissing him had been dumb and desperate, but she didn’t want it to ruin their friendship. 

One kiss couldn’t do that, right?

He pointed his spoon at her gelato, a silent request. She nodded, passing him her spoon for a taste. She hadn’t really been in the mood for ice cream to begin with; she’d just wanted a place away from home for this confession.

“So, yeah, I write letters sometimes. Not all that often, because I was with Victor for most of my life. There haven’t been that many guys. But when I needed to put those feelings somewhere, I wrote them down and tucked them in my favorite duffel.”

She took her spoon back and gestured with it. “Over the years, I wrote five letters, including yours. And somehow they disappeared along with my duffel bag. The letters got sent out. I realized it when I saw you and Max.”

“And Ben,” Schneider added, putting the pieces together. “So, if that makes three, is the fourth Victor?”

“Oh, god.” She knew, of course she knew, exactly who she’d written her letters to. But she was so busy fighting the initial panic, she hadn’t thought about Victor yet. “Yes, I wrote to Victor. A couple of times. Ay dios mío, I hope that one gets shredded in the mail. I cannot deal with that right now.”

Schneider was lost in thought for a while, long enough that she took her cup to the trash. “Who’s the last one?” he asked when she sat back down. 

“Huh?”

“I’ve known you since you and Victor separated. After Victor, there was Ben, then Max, then I guess you wrote my letter, since it was after Lydia’s hospital stay. I can’t think of anybody else you dated. Did you have a secret lover?”

He looked intrigued by the possibility. She swatted him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be so dramatic. You sound like my mom. The other letter was my first big crush, back in high school, a boy named Joe.”

She reached for his spoon and Schneider let her, bemused. He knew she usually hated his topping combinations. She just needed a second to gather her nerve again. 

“I really am sorry,” she tried to explain, more carefully this time. “For kissing you like that. And for you ever seeing that letter. I was busy trying to figure out how it was possible, and then I saw Max coming, with a letter in his hand too, and I knew what it had to mean. I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up, my head was reeling--I couldn’t imagine explaining to him why he was getting a love letter from me a year later. I panicked.”

Risking a look at him before pinning her gaze back to the table, she continued. “It hit me that if he saw us kiss, he might assume we were a couple and be thrown off enough that I would have time to regroup. We could pretend the letters never happened.”

Schneider’s face was unreadable now. When she gave his spoon back, he didn’t go back to eating, just kept watching her.

“It’s not logical, I get that, but like I said, I panicked. And I know it was wrong of me to pull you into this, but I really would like to pretend the letters never happened, if we could. Especially yours.”

“Yeah?” 

She ran the risk of offending him--she was aware of that--but their friendship was too important for her not to fight for it. She couldn’t tell what Schneider was thinking, though. That same perfectly blank expression stayed in place. At least he hadn’t left the shop yet, Penelope reminded herself. He was still giving her a chance.

“Yes. I was in a terrible place when I wrote your letter, Schneider. It was a few months after Mami’s stroke, after giving up Max had me convinced I’d lost my chance at love, and I was so lonely and scared and sad. About all of that. 

“And there you were, so present and kind...and, well, loving. All the time. You were the one person I knew I could count on and we spent all those nights together. No matter how rough the day had been with the kids or at the hospital, you would find a way to make me laugh. Remember?”

“Of course.” His face was still guarded, but his voice had that comforting softness to it. That tone that meant he was ready to help. The voice of her best friend. 

“I was vulnerable then, and I wrote it all down, because it had to go somewhere. It took me a while to step back from that place, to get back to feeling stable on my own even when you weren’t around. And once I had that distance, that balance back, I could see clearly again. I was never in love with you, not really. I mixed up how much I care about you as part of my family, as my best friend, with love. I mixed up how good you were to me with the idea that we would be good together. 

“Once everything was okay again I felt like an idiot about it, and I was so glad I never said anything. I don’t want to lose you. And I never would’ve sent that letter as some attempt to awkwardly hit on you. I’m mortified to even be talking about it now. So, could we just move on? Like this was a weird day but we both agree it was a fluke and laugh it off?”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Schneider agreed, clearing his throat. “But what about the other letters?”

“What about them?”

“If Max’s letter is like mine, a love letter with no extra context, then are you going to have to do this all over again? Tell him you’re not still in love with him?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m really hoping it won’t come to that.”

“Because he saw us kiss and that’s a magic barrier to all future confrontation...or because you can’t honestly tell him that?”

He knew her too well, Penelope thought. And she’d had to share enough deep emotional truths for one day. 

“Wow, look at the time,” she said, standing and nodding toward to the front counter. “If we don’t get the rest of the treats and head back, they’re gonna think we lied about the whole dessert run.”

She put in the requests that she knew her Mami and Alex would want and moved down to the other end of the counter. Schneider followed, clearing his throat again. 

“What is it?”

“Speaking of lying, I just got a text from Nikki about our kiss.”

“What? How does Nikki know?”

“One of her friends saw us in the parking lot, I guess. Nikki’s super pissed.”

“Have fun with that.” She shook her head. “Luckily for me, I only have to see Nikki at school functions and some of Alex’s games. You’re the one who decided to hook up with her.”

“She’s pissed in a jealous way,” Schneider added thoughtfully.

“I’m shocked.”

“Hey, Pen. Hear me out: what if we kept up the lie for a while?”

“As in, the lie where I kissed you and you freaked out about it?”

“My freakout was in response to your freakout. Glass houses, Penelope. But yeah, the kissing. The public display of affection, emphasis on public. It got Nikki’s attention, and I wasn’t even trying to do that. If seeing me with you makes her realize she misses what we had, maybe we could stop this vicious cycle of breaking up all the time.” 

“You want to pretend to be into each other just so you can get back with Nikki? Gross. No way I’m volunteering to be used for that.”

“Hey, you used me first--and I didn’t volunteer.”

An aproned employee passed her the sack of ice cream and Penelope walked out ahead of him. 

“It would solve your problem too,” Schneider suggested. “Isn’t that why you kissed me in the first place, to make it seem like you were taken?”

“I was temporarily insane,” she insisted. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m just saying we could both get what we want. Think about it,” Schneider added before mercifully dropping the subject as they made it home.

She ignored Schneider for the rest of the evening, as best she could, until he headed back to his own apartment. If her mom or Alex wondered what took them so long--or why they ate their dessert on the way--neither of them asked. 

****

Penelope was in her bedroom, finally able to take a moment to decompress from the chaos of her life, before it occurred to her to check her phone. She fought so hard to keep Alex off his at the dinner table; it helped a little when she set a good example. 

“Three missed calls,” she told her empty room, staring down at the name next to all three of them. 

“Yep, and you didn’t pick up even once.”

The day had clearly been too much for her, if her imagination was so easily manifesting Max there next to her bed. She closed her eyes for a moment and reopened them, only to find the illusion of him still watching her.

“You can’t call a guy back anymore? Especially after you ditch him in a public place? That’s not like you, Penelope.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” 

Okay, so she was hallucinating. Not a big deal. She was stressed out and had him on the brain, especially now.

“Got your letter,” Max said, smiling down at her where she sat. “Of course, you know that already. It’s why you’re avoiding me. How long do you think you can keep that up?”

“I have no idea. How long do you think you’ll keep trying to confront me with it?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m in your head--what do I know. If you want real answers, you should give me a call.”

“Can’t say I like that idea very much.”

“Yeah. If we talk, you’re going to have to answer my questions. Why did you send the letter, why did you write the letter, did you mean what you said.” 

She swallowed hard, staring into Max’s warm eyes. What would she say, when she had to explain it all to him?

“Do you still...love me. That’s the million dollar follow up, right? That’s the one that counts.”

“I’m not ready to explain any of it,” she admitted. “I’m not ready to tell you how I feel. I’m not sure I know, myself.”

“Then you know what you have to do,” Schneider told her, popping up in the dark space where Max had been standing moments before. “Get your cover story on, chica.”

“God, don’t call me that. Don’t call anybody that.”

“All I’m saying is, you can’t avoid Max forever, right? There’s a solution staring you right in the face. What are best friends for, if not to act as a human wall between you and your relationship issues?”

Penelope frowned, trying to find a counterargument. 

“Hey, if you’ve got a better idea, then go ahead...tell me no. A backup plan? Anything?”

“I’m thinking.”

“No, you’re stalling. And the clock is ticking on that strategy. But my plan, it can last as long as we need it to. Until you figure out what you want to do--with Max, Victor, all of them. We can be each other’s wingman and cover story at the same time, Pen. You help me, I help you...everybody wins.”

“Aaagh.” Penelope groaned, gripping hold of her hair for a second. When she lifted her head back up from her hands, she was alone in her room. 

She didn’t know if Schneider’s idea was a brilliant one, or a terrible one. But at this point, it might be her best chance to save her sanity.

That was reason enough to consider it.

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Four

Summary: In which Nesta and Elain are introduced to the Inner Circle. Note: Read it on AO3 here! Warnings: mention of eating disorder, weight loss Bittersweet Masterlist

September

Nesta was staring at her reflection when Elain knocked on her bedroom door.

“Feyre’s here!”

“I’ll be right out,” she called back.

Nesta directed her gaze back to the mirror. She didn’t know what to make of what she saw.

Her face was jaunt, the shadows under her eyes resembling purple bruises. Her face had always been angular, but never so bony. Her thick golden hair now hung limply, greasy strands falling into her face. Nesta hadn’t showered in days, and her breath reeked thanks to a lack of nutrients. She was the color of a ghost, nearly blending into her surroundings with her tiny presence. Nesta was shrinking into herself little by little. Until nothing remained.

She had never been so underweight, not even when their mom forgot to cook most nights. At Nesta’s normal weight, her toned thighs touched each other. Rolls formed on her stomach when she bent over. She looked like a woman.

But as she stared at the mirror, Nesta looked like a girl.

It wasn’t intentional. Gods, she’d seen what that sort of thing did to people. Elain struggled with an eating disorder since she was thirteen.

Those couple years were brutal. Their dad was emotionally absent, their mother gone. Feyre was working every day. Nesta did as much as she could, but… there’s only so much she could do. Their family couldn’t afford a therapist or nutritionist. Elain didn’t want to get better.

Then, Elain passed out walking home from school. That’s when Nesta had enough. She couldn’t stand to watch her sister completely disappear right in front of her eyes. So, she talked to Elain’s guidance counselor, Alis, who was the only qualified person there. The other counselors did shit. All they cared about was academics and nothing more. Alis gave Nesta pamphlets for free group therapy. Nesta marched home and told Elain about it.

She refused for a month.

Nesta had never seen Elain so angry and hopeless during those few weeks. Angry at Nesta for getting into her business. Hopeless in the way that she didn’t particularly care what happened to her.

Then, one day, Elain found Nesta sobbing on the floor of their bedroom. When Elain took a step closer, Nesta snapped. She screamed. Gods, did she scream. She begged – begged – Elain to stop killing herself. Nesta was desperate, and she knew the only way Elain would agree to get help was if Nesta asked her to do it for her. And so Elain agreed.

It took a long time; recovery isn’t a linear process in the slightest. But with time, Elain healed. She healed until she was doing it for herself, not just for Nesta. And now… now, Elain cherished her body. She’d once told Nesta that the intrusive thoughts still surfaced, but they weren’t nearly as loud as they used to be.

Nesta’s sudden weight loss… it wasn’t the same. It was the depression that was gnawing at her very flesh, the guilt that was eating her away until it hit bone. She didn’t care to eat. She didn’t care to do anything.

Elain had been trying to get her to eat every day. Three meals a day. She had always been a fabulous cook, baking and cooking until the sun set. Nesta wished she could stomach Elain’s food, but she felt as if she would throw up if she consumed anything more than a piece of fruit.

Nesta sighed with resignation. Turning her back to the mirror, she walked out of her room to find Feyre and Elain lounging in the kitchen. Elain’s profile was backlit by the window above the sink, highlighting her light hair.

“What do you want?” Nesta asked as she approached them, taking a seat on the stool. She’d completely lost energy during the past few weeks, and any semblance of patience was easily lost on her.

Feyre ignored her brash tone. “How are classes going?”

“Fine.” She didn’t bother elaborating. There wasn’t much to tell anyway.

“You look thin,” Feyre commented, running her eyes over Nesta’s barely visible body.

“Are you here to criticize my appearance or can I retreat back into my room?”

“It was just an observation, Nesta,” Feyre told her. Then, she addressed both of them. “My friends and I are having a dinner party tomorrow night at my house. It’s a small tradition that we do every other week. Do you guys want to come?”

“Yes!” Elain jumped up excitedly. She gripped Feyre’s shoulders, the latter smiling widely. “I finally have a reason to dress up!”

Feyre unraveled herself from Elain’s grip and turned to Nesta. “Are you in?”

“I’m invited?” She couldn’t help but ask. Feyre hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to spend time with Nesta. It wasn’t like Feyre was cruel to her; they’d simply become strangers after years of no communication. Feyre had shown Elain around town, but that courtesy didn’t extend to Nesta.

Feyre blew out a breath of air and nodded. “I want to try to fix… this.” She gestured between them.

Nesta would have laughed if it weren’t for the nervousness in Feyre’s eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m ready to meet your friends quite yet.”

I know I'm not ready.

Nesta had been doing better since the semester started; that much was true. Even so, she rarely talked to anyone, save the obligatory conversations with professors as well as her T.A.’s. She only left the apartment for classes and never lingered on campus to study or socialize. Considering it was a challenge to talk with her peers, Nesta was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to make conversation with her estranged sister’s friends.

“It would mean so much to me if you met them, especially Rhysand.”

“I said another time.” Nesta’s voice was hard.

Feyre squeezed the bridge of her nose as she tried to reign in her temper. “Please, Nesta? It would be good to get out of the apartment.” She looked resigned, as if she knew Nesta would refuse. “You don’t even have to say anything. No one there will question your silence, I promise. They’re all easygoing.”

She wasn’t asking much of Nesta. In fact, Feyre was asking for the bare minimum. And as much as Nesta dreaded the idea of being surrounded by a group of complete strangers…

You need them as much as they need you. Her father’s words echoed in her head.

Nesta nodded. “Okay.”

And with that, the tether between them began to mend.

------------------------

Feyre and Rhysand’s house lay at the edge of the city, the stars brighter without the light pollution of the city. Elain marveled at the mountainous backdrop as she and Nesta pulled up to their spacious home in Elain’s old Beetle. Nesta’s stomach twisted when she noticed several cars parked in the driveway. She should turn around and return home, she wasn’t ready for –

“Let’s go inside!” Elain sang as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She wore an off-the-shoulder pink dress, the pastel color complimenting her fair skin. The soft fabric fell just below her knees, a gentle breeze caressing the skirt of the dress. She was stunning. Nesta had told her as much when Elain emerged from her room.

Nesta, on the other hand, had chosen to wear ripped jeans and a black hoodie. How she and Elain were related, Nesta had no idea.

They strolled to the front door, Elain bouncing with each step. She’d gushed throughout the entire car ride about the stories Feyre had told her about Rhysand, which somehow led to Elain rambling for ten minutes about her dream wedding.

Gods, Nesta had never met a bigger hopeless romantic.

Sounds of laughter could be heard from inside as they stepped onto the front porch. Elain didn’t hesitate as she knocked three times.

Feyre answered the door just seconds later. Her golden hair tumbled to her shoulders, an easy smile on her face. Nesta had never seen her sister look so happy. She was glowing, and it wasn’t because of the warm lights behind her.

“You made it!” Feyre exclaimed happily, opening the door wider to let them inside. She noticed the dish in Elain’s hands as they walked past her. “You didn’t have to bring anything, El.”

Elain only scoffed as Feyre closed the door behind them. “Like you would have been able to stop me.”

Just as Feyre was about to address Nesta, a few people – her friends, Nesta presumed – entered the foyer.

“Everyone, these are my sisters, Elain and Nesta.” Feyre gestured to them as they stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Elain and Nesta, this is everyone.”

A tall, dark haired man approached them, sliding his hand onto Feyre’s lower back.

Nesta knew who it was before he spoke.

His violet eyes sparkled. “I’m Rhysand,” he reached in to shake their hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you both.”

Elain really wasn’t lying about his eyes.

 He directed a blindingly white smile at Elain to which she returned. But when his gaze slid to Nesta, his grin slipped slightly, eyes narrowing.

What the hell?

“Well, isn’t this lovely,” a seductive voice drawled. Nesta’s attention was grabbed by the tiny girl who’d spoken, her hair sleek and short. She was standing at the kitchen table with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at Rhysand, and a raised brow that seemed to say, Really?

“I’m Amren.” She flashed Elain and Nesta a wicked grin. “Excuse Rhys’s poor manners.”

Nesta liked her already.

“This is Azriel,” she pointed to the brooding man behind her. He nearly blended into the shadows, his presence calm and quiet. Nesta couldn’t help but notice the scarring on his hands. She instinctively pulled her sweater over her wrists.

The man – Azriel – gave them an awkward wave, his gaze hovering on Elain who returned his greeting with an equally awkward wave of her own.

“I’m Morrigan,” a raspy voice sounded from the kitchen counter. A woman sat at the breakfast bar with a wine glass in hand. Her lips were painted the same crimson color of the drink she held. “But you can call me Mor.”

Another woman stood behind her, hands playing with Mor’s blonde hair. Her skin was a dark hazelnut, waves of thick, black hair framing her face. She wore a bright smile. Together they were regal, the picture of beauty. “This is my girlfriend, Aurra.”

Aurra murmured a greeting, to which Elain reciprocated with a bubbly enthusiasm.

“There’s one more of us, Cassian, but he’s in the Marines. He’s stationed in Turkey right now,” Rhysand explained. He directed the statement towards Elain. He didn’t seem to care to acknowledge Nesta’s presence. “He’ll be back in December.”

“Oh, I completely forgot!” Feyre jumped in. She looked at both Nesta and Elain. “I meant to mention this to you guys when I visited you the other day. Cassian actually lives in the same apartment complex as y’all. I think his place is just a floor above you, so you guys will get the chance to meet each other. It’s hard, though, because he never knows when he’s going to be deployed.”

Nesta nodded absentmindedly, uninterested in these people’s lives. She doubted she would see them again, much less the friend who lived near them.

After the introductions, everyone got settled. Feyre gestured Nesta and Elain to follow her into the living room.

“Dinner isn’t ready quite yet,” she explained, sending a pointed glare where Rhysand stood. He lifted his hands up in surrender. “So, I figured we can just drink and chat until Rhys can cook us something edible.”

Mor snorted from the kitchen at Feyre’s jab. She grabbed Aurra’s hand and they waltzed to the armchair that sat next to the vast fireplace. Aurra pulled Mor onto her lap, Mor giggling as she took a sip of her wine.

Feyre offered them wine. Nesta took hers and followed everyone to the living room. Luckily, she found a seat that distanced her slightly. Feyre sat atop a stool, Rhysand behind her to keep an eye on dinner. Amren lounged on a plush floor cushion, leaving Elain and Azriel on the loveseat.

The conversation came easy. Rhysand and Mor fired question after question at Elain, to which she answered happily. Feyre kept her word; everyone respected Nesta’s space. She was faced only with the occasional, “More wine?” or “The bathroom is over there.” It gave Nesta the opportunity to sit back unbothered and listen to the conversation.

“So how do you all know each other?” Elain asked curiously, gesturing to Feyre’s friends.

Rhysand smiled with fond memories. “I lived across the street from Azriel as a kid. Cassian is my adopted brother, so we all grew up with each other. Mor over here is my cousin. We all went to the same university. Amren…” Rhysand got silent. A small, contemplative smile grew on his face. “I don’t really know how she joined us. I’m pretty sure she approached us and told us that we were now friends with her.”

Amren nodded to confirm as everyone laughed. Her smile resembled the Cheshire Cat.

“And Feyre darling,” Rhysand looked at his girlfriend lovingly. “She stumbled upon us in our sophomore year. That’s a story for another night though.”

Nesta couldn’t help but snort at his nickname for her. Feyre shot her a glare.

After dinner, which ended up being soup thanks to Rhysand’s lack of cooking skills, they all retreated back to the living area. Feyre popped open yet another bottle of wine to top everyone off, and Elain brought out the cupcakes she’d made.

As they were enjoying her sister’s dessert, which was droolworthy like every dish in the past, Elain and Azriel caught Nesta’s attention from the loveseat. She’d noticed they hadn’t spoken much beyond “Hello” and “How are you?” Nesta attributed that to Elain’s innately nervous nature, so she was surprised when she struck up a conversation with him.

“Do you go to school?” Elain asked Azriel timidly, taking a sip of wine.

His head dipped down, tufts of black hair falling into his eyes. “I, uh, work at an animal shelter.”

Elain gasped loudly. She clutched his leg and looked at him with wide eyes. “I love animals! I want to rescue a dog.” Elain began rambling about the bunnies who lived in her garden, the many strays she’d found on the street back in high school, the bird she tended to when she noticed his broken wing.

Nesta watched Azriel smile for the first time tonight. Where most men would cringe from Elain’s incessant chatter, he leaned forward with interest. Nesta could tell he was hanging on to every word that left Elain’s mouth.

As the night went on, Nesta watched the dynamic between everyone. Where Azriel was timid, Mor was booming. She was always laughing at something (usually her own joke), and she made her opinions known. Nesta respected that.

Amren, though? Amren was a creature of her own. She was snarky to her friends, but the love could easily be seen in her eyes. Nesta immediately took to her.

And Rhysand? Nesta was unnerved by how… domestic Feyre and her boyfriend were. They acted like they were a married couple, for gods’ sake. She got second hand commitment phobia just by looking at them.

When it was time for them to leave, Feyre’s friends demanded they join again next week. Elain promised they’d be back again with a giggle, and Nesta swore she saw the light in Azriel’s eyes flare.

So, once a week, the lot of them got together to hang out. Feyre and Rhysand hosted most dinners thanks to their spacious house but occasionally, Mor and Aurra offered their place which was equally gorgeous.

As the weeks passed, Nesta slowly became more comfortable with everyone – though Rhysand typically avoided her, and she did the same. Though she remained near silent during the nights, Nesta found herself looking forward to the dinner gatherings.

And perhaps, perhaps she could find a home here.

[fandomfanfics12]

We Are A Family-Part 31

Title: We Are A Family. Pairings: Steve x tony, Peter x Wade, Nat x Clint, Sam x Bucky. Part: 31/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slowburn. Summary: When Nat comes into the avengers tower with baby Peter Parker, the avengers didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. But now that Peter is here,Steve and Tony both feel protective over him. It doesn’t help that Peter hates everyone other than Steve and tony. But as Steve and tony raise Peter, they start to fall for one another. Will this superfamily work out or will it all turn to hell? A/N: I’m going to start wrapping up this fic within the next couple parts but i have a lot planned. I’ve been hit with insane amounts of inspiration whilst in quarantine, hope everyone is staying safe

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30

Steve couldn’t believe it when tony had first told him. They were going to get back together, they were going to get Peter back, and then things would be right again. They’d get to live out the rest of their lives together and happy and in love. I love you Steve. It had taken Steve’s breath away to hear it, it was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to hear again. Each passing day he’d longed for the sound of tony’s voice forming those words, but he hadn’t thought he’d ever actually get to this point. Get tony back and explain himself.

“When this is over, we’re going to therapy.” Tony said as he made his cup of coffee.

“What?” Steve shook his head and Tony looked up at him.

“We’re all going to need it Steve. You especially, this is a fight you’ve been battling for years.” Steve looked down at his hands.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t but he wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

“Then go for me, so I feel less alone.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get back, once we bring everyone back.” They were waiting for the others. Because they were going into space to get back Peter.

“You sure I can’t come with you?” Tony asked and Steve met the eyes of his husband.

“You’re still recovering. I don’t want to lose you too.” Steve said and Tony nodded his head.

“alright, I’ll have dinner waiting for us.”

“Chinese?” Steve quirked an eyebrow and Tony narrowed his eyes.

“if you’re lucky.”

“Thank you.”

“I might even make us some cookies.” Steve couldn’t contain the grin as he thought back to that one night in his tiny kitchen in his apartment, all those years ago.

“wait until we get back. It can be a family activity.” Tony nodded and Steve crossed the room to him. He wrapped his arms around tony and rested his chin atop Tony’s head. They were going to bring Peter back, and then they would recover from this nightmare.

“Stay safe out there Stevie.” Tony whispered and Steve nodded but still didn’t let go.

“Rest up here. I love you.” Steve kissed Tony’s forehead and forced himself to step back.

“I love you too.” Nat had complained that the two of them were extra gushy with one another, but she’d been smiling as she said it. she said it was good to see them together again, after all this time.

“I’ll see you soon.” Steve promised and then left the room before he kissed Tony for real.

-

Tony had everything set up, he’d ordered the food and set the table and had bought ingredients for cookies. He hummed to himself as he got everything organised, they were getting Peter back.

“I should have gone with them.” Wade complained and Tony glanced to the young teenager. It was still adjustment, with all the scars. But Tony was getting used to them.

“we’re still not sure of your powers yet.”

“Cut off a limb and it grows back.”

“That doesn’t make you invincible Wade.” Tony told him and Wade looked down at the floor.

“I don’t know if Steve told you this, but I was meant to go in the snap.” Tony’s hands stilled and he frowned.

“meant to go?”

“I started to get all dusty, started to disappear, and then I didn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Bruce said it was this new power I have. My cells regenerated faster than the stones could get rid of me.” Tony just stared at Wade in disbelief.

“so you’re telling me you’re meant to be…” Tony trailed off and Wade nodded.

“I should have gone with them.” Tony looked down at the floor. They’d be back soon if things had gone to plan. They’d come back home and Peter would be with them and Tony’s life could get back on track. The plates rattled on the dining room table and Tony nearly collapsed with relief. Right on time. He thought to himself as he and Wade rushed downstairs and outside onto his not-so-green-grass-anymore. The ship was landing, they were back. Tony’s heart hammered in his chest, he could hug Peter again. Could move on from that awful memory of Peter begging for his life. Tony hobbled and Wade helped him over to the ship as the doors opened and the Avengers emerged. Steve was the last one out.

“What happened? Where’s Peter?” Tony asked and Steve pulled Tony into a tight embrace. Everyone was watching, everyone knew the news Steve was about to tell him.

“I don’t know what to do.” Steve sobbed and Tony clung to him.

“We’re bringing him back, what’s going on? What happened out there?” Tony whispered as Steve’s body shuddered against his own.

“Thanos…” Bruce’s voice trailed off. Tony craned his neck to look at Bruce but his view was blocked by Steve’s shoulder.

“Stevie?” Tony whispered and Steve’s grip tightened.

“What the hell happened out there?” Wade asked and Tony rubbed Steve’s back. Whatever it was they could fix it, whatever had been said or done could be fixed. They just needed to get Peter, they’d be alright.

“When Thanos used the stones, it was so he could destroy them.” Tony didn’t understand, usually he knew what was going on, could analyse a situation perfectly, but he didn’t understand.

“What’s happening?” Tony whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

“We lost.” Natasha said, answering Tony’s question.

“I know we lost!” Tony snapped and Steve finally pulled back, his need to comfort his husband more dire than the grief.

“Tony…” Steve’s voice was hoarse but Tony just shook his head. He wasn’t listening to them, he didn’t want to listen to them.

“That’s what we do. We’re the a-vengers. We lose but then we fix it, that’s what we’re doing. We’re getting the stones and we’re bringing everyone back and-“ Steve placed both hands on Tony’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. Steve’s were red and shining and Tony hated seeing Steve like that. Hair all ruffled and eyes swollen.

“Stevie?” Tony whispered and Steve’s eyes squeezed shut.

“There’s no stones Tony. There’s no way to bring them back. Everyone’s gone.” Steve’s voice shook with each word and Tony went to step back but Steve held tight.

“No, but Peter, we need the, I have to bring him back. You don’t get it, he begged me. begged Steve. He knew what was happening and I have to-how could you say that?” Tony began to cry and Steve nodded, pulling tony into his chest. Steve clung to the Captain America uniform his mind unravelling. I don’t want to go. the sobs racked out of him and his whole body began to tremble.

-

Steve clung to his husband as he sobbed, the others all looked away and shed their own tears. Steve had been a mess and probably wouldn’t have made it back onto the ship had Natasha not dragged his ass back onto it. the whole time he wondered what he’d say to Tony, but now the words were out there in the world and Steve was crumbling. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“He’s our son.” Tony sobbed and Steve nodded.

“I know.” Steve whispered, where did they go from here?

-

Wade felt like he’d been submerged into a fish bowl. The whole world looked funny and no one was talking. Well, they were talking but he couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t make out the words. No one was looking at Wade, too focused on Tony and Steve who were visibly breaking before everyone. But Wade couldn’t comprehend it.

“Wade?” someone asked but he wasn’t sure who it was. The only thing that could brutally shatter Tony and Steve would have been losing Peter. For real. Which would have meant that they’d lost, but the Avengers didn’t lose. At least not the second time around.

“No.” Wade whispered and wrapped his arms around himself. There was no way that his dorky best friend and boyfriend was dead. No way that Peter was gone, not his Peter.

“Wade?” someone had wrapped an arm around him but he shrugged them off.

“No. no fucking way.” He stumbled backwards and then he was running, bolting for the compound. Once inside he raced upstairs and found his phone in the kitchen, he dialled Peter without a second thought.

Ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring..ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring

“Hey it’s Peter, you know what to do.” And then the god awful beep.

“Petey? It’s me, I just, there’s no way you died. That’s not possible, not when I’m still here. I think we can both agree that you’re the better one out of the two of us and it’s wrong that I’m here and you’re not. We were supposed to bring you back and something went wrong and I just, you need to call me back. You need to be here. Please Petey. I don’t know how to breathe without you here so you call me and I’ll come get you.” Wade hung up and began to tremble. He was gone, he wasn’t going to call Wade back because he was gone.

Wade curled in on himself, a cry falling out of him as he curled up in a ball on the floor, he was really gone.

-

Steve felt like an empty shell as he walked into the kitchen three days later. He poured himself a cup of coffee and Natasha watched him carefully.

“How are you doing?” her own voice was raw, Steve’s hand trembled slightly and he spilled coffee.

“Fuck.” He whispered underneath his breath and Natasha snorted.

“good to know.” Steve grabbed some paper towel and began to clean up the mess he’d made.

“I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Grieve?” Steve hung his head and let out a slow deep exhale.

“I feel wrong for grieving Peter.” He admitted and Natasha straightened.

“Why? He was your son.”

“but that’s just it, I wasn’t around. I wasn’t a good dad to him, for years. He’d changed so much since I’d left the picture that it makes me wonder if Tony and I are grieving the same person. I mean, Peter died in Tony’s arms and I wasn’t there and I feel terrible for grieving and being so broken because Tony is so good to me and I just…” Steve trailed off and Nat sighed.

“You didn’t actively walk out on them Steve. That was Thanos’ doing and you know it.”

“But I still wasn’t there, I still missed out. I didn’t know Peter the way I should have. I wasn’t his dad in the end.” Steve drank from the coffee, his head was pounding with exhaustion. Natasha began to laugh. “What?” he snapped, not having the patience for her.

“I’m going to take this opportune moment to remind you that I was the one who brought Peter in. I was the one that found a baby on our doorstep and hand delivered your son to you and Tony. And I remember the agreement that we all made, that we’d all take care of him. Tony had first watch, then you and then Clint.” She was smiling but Steve still didn’t understand.

“I remember Nat, what’s your point?”

“When you gave Peter to Clint nothing happened, but when you left he started crying and screaming. I was on the phone with Clint for six hours trying to help him with Peter but it didn’t matter what we did. Not until Clint turned on the tv and an old recording of an interview with you came on.” Steve tilted his head, he’d never heard this story before.

“and then what?”

“He just stopped crying. And then the next day Clint brought the kid in, handballed him to you and Tony. Even as a baby, Peter knew who his parents were. He knew you were his father and he chose you just as much as you chose him. Don’t forget that. Maybe you weren’t there as much in the end as you would have liked, but you had no control over that. But he still wanted you, even in the end.” Steve shuddered, and then Peter said that pops should be here.

“Where do we go from here?” Steve asked and Natasha sighed.

“I’m not giving up on bringing them back, there’s no way that Thanos just destroyed the things that created the universe.” She shook her head and Steve rose a brow.

“They’re gone.”

“Just because he said that doesn’t mean it’s true. We didn’t get the chance to interrogate him further because Thor cut off his head, but I’m not giving up. I can’t.” Steve nodded, glad to know that someone was still fighting to bring everyone back.

“Then I’ll help you. I don’t want Tony to know though.”

“because keeping secrets from Tony has worked so well before.” Steve set his cup of coffee down.

“because I can’t give him false hope again. I can’t tell him that we’re bringing Peter back if we’re not. I won’t do that to him.” Nat nodded.

“if you say so. I strongly advise against it but you’re a grown man.” Steve nodded, he couldn’t break Tony’s heart again. Couldn’t tell Tony that he had failed again. He’d work with Natasha, bring Peter back, he didn’t care how long it took. He would do this, Thanos wouldn’t get away with this.

[itskateak]

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 8

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: Bucky's life isn't easy without her, but he's getting by. And he's getting better. 

Words: 3.2K 

Warnings: Mentions of war, mild language, PTSD, Relapsing, Anxiety, canon typical violence, some fluff, harassment

A/N: I know the words of the song are the same as the last chapter, but that's because that section repeats. 

Masterlist

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𝓛𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮. {𝐿𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒}

Bucky glanced at his gloved hands, fingers laced as he rested his elbows on his knees. The waiting room was silent except for the receptionist taking calls from other patients. A diffuser puffed intermittently, spraying oils into the air. He recognized the smell of chamomile and lavender. It was meant to calm and relax people as they waited. Instead, it just made him more anxious.

He hated waiting in the open like this. He was lucky there wasn't anyone else in the waiting room with him and he was seriously considering leaving without even holding his appointment. The diffuser huffed out another dose of the anxious elixir. 

Steve had offered to come with him, but he didn't want his best friend to see how broken he actually was. In some ways, Steve glossed over the cracks and believed the front Bucky put on when he was having a rough day or week or even month. It had been especially worse now that Velika hadn't been around. 

"James Barnes?" A dark-skinned woman in a pair of jeans and a blue knit sweater called for his attention. She had a pair of thick-rimmed glasses pushed up onto her crown, holding her unnaturally colored box-braids back. Her eyes were a soft brown, which matched her soft and friendly smile.

Bucky stood slowly to not startle her and gave her the kind of smile people give when they hold doors open for others. 

"I'm Doctor Naomi Winters. It's nice to meet you, James." Naomi extended her hand to him in a manner that didn't pressure him to return it. He did, though, and shook her hand.

"Bucky, please." He kept his left arm at his side and still. 

"I'll make a note of that because I'm sure I'll forget in the next five minutes. It's been a long week. Come on back." Naomi rolled her eyes at herself and gestured with her head.

Bucky followed her down the hall. The walls were painted an awful beige color that reminded him of the sun-faded flour sacks he hauled down on the docks. Random paintings and pictures were hung between offices. Some were of plants and flowers, others were what he thought were meant to be inspirational quotes but really just sounded condescending.

Naomi opened a door to his right and invited him in, shutting it softly behind him. The room was a cool grey with paintings hung on one wall. A black bookshelf filled with various medical journals and alternative books was pushed into the corner. A plush rug in black was laid out across the floor, one edge of it hidden under a desk with a couple of computer monitors in sleep mode. A comfy looking grey couch was under the paintings and a chair by an end table sat opposite it. A deep red blanket was thrown over the back of the couch and a pair of decorative pillows sat against one of the arms. The room was dim, lit up by warm fairy lights in plastic jars. 

"If there's anything you need to make you more comfortable, please let me know," Naomi said, grabbing a file from her desk and sinking into the chair. 

Bucky nodded and sat cautiously on the couch, unsure of himself now that he was actually in the room with her. She picked up a pen and made a note at the top of the first page.

"Do you need a few minutes to get used to the room?" She asked, pulling her glasses down to rest low on her nose. She looked at him patiently over the top of them.

"I'm okay." He responded, voice much gruffer than he intended. He winced slightly and cleared his throat. "It's fine."

"Okay, Bucky. I glanced over your file and there's a lot to cover. We can start wherever you want and I won't push a subject if you tell me you don't want to talk about it in that session. I want this to be helpful to you and at your own pace," Naomi set her pen down and picked up a steaming mug on the table beside her. She wrapped her hands around it and took a sip.

Bucky nodded hesitantly. Where would he even begin? He furrowed his brow and dropped his gaze to the floor, eyes flickering over the threads of the carpet. There was a lot to cover over his life and finding a place to pull the thread without unraveling the carefully woven web he'd created was more difficult than he expected.

"Alright, I have an idea. I can see you're having a hard time trying to find a place to start. We can start with the intro survey you filled out and talk about each section. This will allow me to help diagnose you properly." Naomi spoke softly and with an evenness that was already loosening the tension in his shoulders.

"Okay." Bucky nodded again, lacing his hands together again. 

"You checked most of the boxes for the anxiety parameters. Let's talk about that first." Naomi set her cup aside and took her pen up again. 

Bucky took a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

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"You okay, Bucky?" Steve checked in with him, putting a hand on his shoulder. They were between meeting people as the groups were being switched out.

"Yeah, why?" Bucky glanced at him before smiling to a fan who had called his name. He waved in the direction of the shout. The sea of people in line didn't let him pinpoint exactly who had said his name.

"I'm just making sure. It's a big crowd and it's a lot of people," Steve said, taking a step away as the next group of people were brought in.

"I'm okay. Promise." Bucky gave him a reassuring smile and had his attention diverted by one of the convention's staff. He greeted the person in front of him, making casual conversation and giving them a hug when they asked. He smiled for a photo, a warm feeling in his chest. 

People had been wary to accept him at first. He hadn't attended public events like this often. He would sit on panels and do interviews, but other than that, he never did meet and greets. After attending therapy for a few months, he had felt stable enough to attend a short one.

A small boy, maybe ten, approached him with wide eyes and a smile. His mother stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. 

Bucky opened his mouth to say something when he noticed a pin on the boy's shirt. Immediately, he kneeled to be on the boy's level and pulled his sleeves up to the middle of his forearms. 

"Hi!" Bucky signed.

The boy's eyes widened further in surprise. Even his mother seemed a little surprised. They had expected Clint Barton to know sign language since he was hard of hearing, but they really didn't expect Bucky Barnes, the ex-Winter Soldier, to know sign language.

"Hi!" The boy beamed.

"How are you?"

"Excited and happy to talk with you. How are you?"

"A little nervous. My sign is rusty. But happy to talk with you, too. What's your name?"

"My name is James."

"My first name is James, too. But everyone calls me Bucky." He tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "What's been your favorite part about the con so far?"

"Meeting you." James ducked his head sheepishly. "Your arm is so cool! I really liked the-" James broke into a flurry of signs that Bucky couldn't keep up with. 

"Hold on! Slow down, please. I can't understand at that speed." Bucky chuckled at his enthusiasm. It made his heart swell.

"Sorry. I got excited. I talk fast when I'm excited. I really liked the red star on your silver arm, but I know it was tied to really bad things in your past so I'm happy for you now that it's gone. Your new arm looks really, really pretty! I love the gold designs." James' enthusiasm wasn't dulled even with the slower signing. He was nearly bouncing on his feet.

"Thank you. I didn't design the appearance but I really like it, too. Shuri was excited the whole time she was fitting it. It's not as glitchy as the silver one, which means less time I have to spend around the compound missing an arm." Bucky wrinkled his nose up in mock disgust before chuckling. "Did you see anything cool today or buy something from the vendors?"

"I got this replica of your .... and meeting all of you guys was really fun!" 

Bucky furrowed his brow and looked to his mother, repeating the sign he didn't understand and asking for its meaning. 

"Oh! Motorcycle. That's not a sign I've seen before. I usually fingerspelled it. Would you like to take a picture?"

"Yes, please!"

"Do you mind if I use my phone to also take a photo?" Bucky verbally asked James' mother but signed as well so James could understand him.

"Go ahead!" 

A staff member took Bucky's phone from him and he wrapped his right arm around the boy. He held his left hand up with the sign for I love you and smiled. 

James' mother counted down with sign and snapped a few photos. The staff member followed her lead. They handed Bucky's phone back to him and he nodded to them in thanks.

"Can I give you a hug?" James asked with a shy smile. Bucky opened his arms up and nodded. James threw his arms around his shoulders, squeezing tightly. Bucky squeezed him back, rocking from side to side slightly.

James' mother tapped James on the shoulder and signaled it was time for them to move on. James pulled back and waved, thanking Bucky. 

"I love you, James. You're a superhero."

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Bucky wandered through the bookshelves, head tilted inquisitively as he read the titles. His hands were sunk into his pockets. He'd discovered this small bookshop with Velika on accident. They had been wandering through New York's downtown areas when the rain had suddenly started to pour down. They found shelter in the family-owned bookshop tucked between a thrift store and a business office.

He pulled a book that had caught his attention from the shelf, reading the synopsis curiously. He'd been reading a lot more, finding it enjoyable again. Usually, his mind would wander while reading, and his thoughts would be completely unrestricted. Now, he could read for hours and be uninterrupted by his intrusive thoughts.

The synopsis wasn't as intriguing as he'd hoped so he put it back in its place and continued down the row.

A scoff behind him interrupted the quiet calm of the shop, but he paid it no mind. He did step closer to the shelf in case it was someone wanting to pass behind him. He took up a good amount of space in the small aisles and didn't want to be a bad person.

"I see you're letting anyone in here." The voice was muffled, and obviously feminine, but he heard it clearly. Blame his superhuman hearing.  

"What do you mean, Loraine?" The owner, a kindly old Jewish man, asked in a gentle voice.

"You let a criminal in here." She whispered. "He deserves to be in jail. Not browsing your shelves."

"He has done no harm and he is quite kind. You would know if you talked to him. He's a hero. He saved my mother from certain death when he was a Howling Commando. This bookshop wouldn't exist if not for him. If you are going to continue, then you will leave." The owner's voice was firm and the door slammed closed shortly after. "I'm sorry about her, Mr. Barnes."

"You don't need to be sorry, sir. It's completely alright. I'm used to it." Bucky rounded the end of the shelf with a soft smile.

"But you shouldn't be. You should not be judged on the actions you could not control but rather the actions you did. That is what makes you the man you are." The owner extended his hand to Bucky.

"I have never asked your name." Bucky shook his hand firmly and smiled.

"Mendel Belenky. It is a pleasure to truly meet you, Mr. Barnes." Mendel said in a wistful tone.

"Please, just call me Bucky. Would you like to talk sometime about your mother and the war?" He offered, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"I would love to, Bucky. And know you are always welcome in my store." Mendel's warm eyes crinkled up as he smiled. 

"Thank you."

"Now, I haven't seen that lovely woman that is usually with you in awhile. Did you two break up?" Mendel asked.

"Ah, no. We weren't dating. We're just friends. Velika is currently fighting on the frontlines of a war between her homeland and her birthland." Bucky explained, face flushing lightly.

"I do hope she comes home. And you finally ask her out." Mendel winked and returned to the counter. 

                       ⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅ 

𝓖𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓰𝓻𝓸𝔀. {𝒢𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌}

"So, how has the last week been?" Naomi asked, settling in her chair with a sigh. She flashed him a genuine smile as she picked her ever steaming mug of tea up.

"I didn't have any nightmares. At all." Bucky grinned, a feeling a pride spreading through his chest. 

"That's great! That's really good!" Naomi's smile grew and she wrote it down on the notepad. "How many times did you feel overwhelmed or anxious this week?"

"Twice. I went on a mission Monday to Wednesday, so I was nervous beforehand. The second time was after I got out of the shower. I was thinking too much and it just hit me." Bucky stretched his right hand against his left, gloves tucked away in his pocket. He'd stopped wearing them as much in public.

"Any progress made is good. You were overwhelmed and anxious five times at the time of our last visit and you had two nightmares. I say that you're definitely getting better with every week." Naomi made another note. "Let's talk about fears this time since you mentioned feeling like you have irrational fears last time we met. Can you tell me more about that?"

"It sounds ridiculous, but I'm terrified of falling. Heights don't bug me, but falling? It scares me." Bucky sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Ever since I fell off the train and into that ravine, I just...I dunno."

"It's perfectly rational, Bucky. You fell something like five hundred feet. Anyone would be scared to fall after something like that," Naomi said.

"Jeez, you sound like Velika. She nearly said something identical to that a couple of years ago." Bucky smiled fondly at the memory.

"Tell me about that, then. And tell me about her."

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"Bucky, there's two on your tail!" Nat shouted from across the room before swinging herself around a guy nearly twice her height.

"Copy that." Bucky turned and engaged with the two men who had followed him. They weren't anywhere close to being a match for him. He continued towards the main server room, hand on the top of the pistol strapped to his right thigh.

"You guys have five minutes to get back out here before the charges go off. Get a move on!" Tony ordered through the coms.

"Yeah, yeah. We're movin' as fast as we can." Bucky ducked into a hall, firing rounds off at the people coming at him. He heard someone approaching from behind him but he wasn't concerned. 

A round went off behind him and an exasperated sigh followed. "Barnes, you nearly just got your head blown clean off. What the hell was that?" Natasha asked.

"I...thought Velika was here again. Thought she had my six." Bucky admitted in a quiet voice. Nat's expression changed and she patted his arm sympathetically.

"I know, Bucky. We all miss her."

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"You son of a bitch!" Sam howled, nearly coming across the kitchen table in rage.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you say something, Wilson? I couldn't hear you over the sound of all this money." Bucky dramatically fanned himself with millions of dollars worth of Monopoly money. He had a shit-eating grin as he watched Sam turn red in rage.

"He cheated. He had to have cheated." Tony threw his money onto the board in frustration.

"That's it. You're banned from playing Monopoly with us ever again." Nat threw a handful of popcorn at Bucky and he started laughing.

"Sleep with one eye open, Barnes. You're gonna pay for taking away my win." Sam fumed, crossing his arms.

"Whatever you say, Wilson. Whatever you say."

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𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰.

Bucky leaned his head back against the seat of the couch, emotionless gaze staring at the grey wall. He hadn't slept for the last two days and he was exhausted both physically and mentally. He'd been doing so well and suddenly it all fell apart. So here he was, sitting on the floor of his therapist's office.

Naomi settled next to him, reaching over his legs to set a mug of tea on the solid floor. She held her usual cup in her hand, sitting cross-legged and facing the wall with him. He wasn't ready to talk. He felt numb. Shattered. His arms laid limply in his lap and he stared blankly ahead.

"If you need anything, you just have to ask. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here. I've cleared the rest of my schedule so you can be here as long as you need." Naomi quietly broke the silence.

"You didn't have to do that," Bucky muttered, voice gravelly and hoarse. His gaze didn't waver from the grey wall.

"I didn't, but I felt it was the best option for you. I felt it was what you needed." Naomi took a sip of her tea. "I will be here whenever you're ready."

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Bucky felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the notification. Rain tapped against the window, breaking through the soft jazz music playing from an old record player. He unlocked his phone and navigated to Instagram. A memory had popped up from two years ago. He clicked on it and couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

The photo was of him and Velika on the fallen tree above the river. She had her braid pulled over her shoulder, a bright smile on her face as she leaned against his shoulder to be in frame. His left eye was squinted because they were facing the sun, but he was smiling as well. Today's adventure included nearly falling into a river because that one wanted to sit on a tree above the water.

"Let me see her," Mendel said, shifting his glasses further down the bridge of his nose. Bucky looked at him with mild confusion. "Oh, don't pretend it isn't her. I know that smile when I see it."

Bucky turned his phone around to show him the photo and Mendel smiled with a nod. "She is beautiful. An angel, yes?"

"You have no idea."

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Bucky laid on the roof with his left arm under his head, watching the stars. It wasn't the same without Velika, but it brought him comfort on the nights he couldn't sleep. He played with her dog tags as he stared, a slight smile on his lips.

"I love you, Velika," He whispered to the moon.

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀.

Taglist-

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

All We Want For Christmas, pt. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: Marvel AU. Will be a few parts. PG-13

Warnings: divorce, therapy, childhood trauma. 

Summary: Two years after divorcing, Steve and you live separate lives. Christmas is a hard time for the two of you, but this Christmas, miracles are up in the air. Will the two of you reunite and move past the hurt? Or will the two of you be alone under the mistletoe?

The city was alive with Christmas spirit and joy, well mostly.

Steve Rogers was trailing alongside his best friend, Bucky Barnes - listening to him spew out a list of gifts he still needed to get. Steve listened half-heartedly, not because he was a bad friend, he was a great one, but because this time of year brought back painful memories. It had been nearly two years since he had divorce papers drawn, not knowing what else was left in a marriage he once thought was his biggest purpose in life. He had not planned it to happen during the holiday season, but he just couldn’t go through another empty Christmas celebration with a wife who didn’t seem happy. Steve was heartbroken when he finally presented the papers to you, placing them down beside your laptop. You were working on a think piece for the online magazine you worked for, and when the papers landed in your line of sight, you let out a sigh.

That killed him the most, the relief in your eyes when he said he’d being moving out with Bucky. That he didn’t want much but what he came with and if it was fine, the large oak bookcase the two of you had bought at a flea market two summers ago. You agreed, eyes drifting back to the computer screen, and when Steve finally walked away after a few seconds, he heard the tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

“You seem distracted.”

“This isn’t exactly my favorite time of year.”

Bucky paused for a long second before stopping Steve midstep, hand on his shoulder. “It’s been two years, you just going to hate Christmas for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t hate Christmas, Buck. I don’t hate anything, I just don’t feel up to it this year.”

“That’s what you said last year,” Bucky remarked, nodding to a corner cafe across the street. “I need some caffeine, maybe some will do you good.”

The two men crossed the street and walked into the warm cafe, a steady buzz of talking and the calling of orders filled the air as they approached the counter. Steve’s attention went to the baking goods in the display as Bucky order two coffees, asking if he wanted a muffin. Steve declined, wandering off to an empty table in front of a large window. He sat down and took off his jacket, tugging at his blue henley. He stretched his feet under the table and crossed his hands against his chest. Knowing he was being a regular Grinch, he tried to relax and let himself smile. His shoulders relaxed as Bucky approached, sitting down with a wide smile.

“I think I’ll get Clint a gift card from here, he basically runs off coffee.”

“You could get him one of their reusable mugs too,” Steve added, trying to sound more positive. “I think he’d like that.”

Bucky’s face lit up just as his name was called - he quickly got up and pointed to the display case behind Steve. “Go find a mug, I’ll get the coffee.”

Watching as his friend walked away, guilt riddled Steve’s chest. He was faking it and fooling his friend in thinking he was fine, when he clearly wasn’t. Hadn’t been since you signed the papers - god, he was such an idiot thinking you’d change your mind. Getting up from his chair, Steve walked over to the mugs and started going through them, coming across a purple one he thought would suit Clint. Satisfied, he turned to find Bucky back at his seat, coffees on the table. He made his way back and placed the mug in front of Bucky, but as he started to tell him about the mug, someone caught his eyes through the window.

….

“The question is do you think you’re ready to date?”

“I’m not sure, I think I’m in a better place than I have been in years.”

“Well, let’s start from there.”

Holding the cell phone to your ear, you waited at the stoplight and watched as people passed by. The city was buzzing with life and you had to admit how good you felt. You had been in therapy for a year now, trying to rebuild years of damage brought on by cold parents and a failed marriage that you took the entire blame for.

“My friend suggested Tinder, what do you think?”

“What was your initial response to their suggestion?”

Sighing, you started crossing the street to the corner cafe - wanting to grab coffee before heading to work. You were editing now, instead of writing the stories. It wasn’t like you didn’t write, but now when you did write, it was for you. There was no more pressure to write some brilliant, smart story on the political climate of a country or the dangers of deodorant.

“I think it’s silly,” you confessed, stopping in front of the cafe. “I’m not really into meeting someone online, I like meeting people face to face.”

“There’s your answer.’

“Right, well...I need to go. Thank you for taking my call.”

Katie, your therapist, said that’s what she was there for. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, but call if you need to.”

“Thank you.”

Hanging up, you felt a wave of relief lift off your shoulders - life had been hard after the break up, you like to think of your marriage as a houseplant. It was exciting to have and at first you were so eager to take care of it, you watered it everyday, and then one day you forgot to water it. A day turned into two, then three, and before you knew it - it was dead in the corner, next to the stack of unread books.

It wasn’t the greatest analogy, but it put things in the simplest perspective.

Walking into the cafe, you were greeted with a rush of warmth, prompting you to unravel the scarf around your neck as you approached the counter. A young woman greeted you, asking what you’d like. Ordering four coffees, you paid and moved off to the side, waiting patiently for your order. Your cell buzzed with a text and when you took it out, you saw it was your coworker. Replying back that you were getting the coffee, you shoved the cell back into your pocket and walked over to the baked goods display, deciding if you should get a muffins too.

“I had the muffins here once, they were good.”

Your body tensed as the familiar voice graced your eyes - a voice you had love hearing over the phone during the first weeks of your relationship, when the two of you would stay up all night to talk. The voice that was groggily in the morning and whined when his coffee became too cold. It was the voice that belonged to your ex-husband.

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[cozycarson]

Chase Brody - Medicine

(Hella old draft from sometime around May, 2018. Finally got around to finishing it. :') Based off of Hollywood Undead's "Medicine."

Word count & Warnings: 1243; Medication abuse, hallucinations)

"I think I must be sick," Chase whispered to the reflection staring back at him, face distorted through the countless cracks in the mirror. He pulled the skin below his right eye down and let out an exasperated groan. It wasn't like him to become ill this easy - he took fairly good care of himself - but it seemed that something inside of him had just... changed.

If he had to pinpoint a start date for this hell, it was near the time he was forced to sign the first divorce paper. It's just stress. You're drinking too much. You're going to kill yourself if you keep this up, Chase. Phrases he heard all too often from his doctor. He's been stressed for goddamn years, he knew the difference between regular stress and this. This wasn't something brought on by his failed marriage. He knew damn well the difference between "stress" and this illness.

This was far different.

It wasn't detectable in any kind of bloodwork test, X-Rays, mental evaluations or any other kind of prick-and-prod tests he had been subjected to. It was almost as if it someone - or something - had ingrained itself deep inside Chase's head and was just playing some kind of sick joke on him. It had a mind of its own and it fucking knew when to go back into its dormant state and hide away like a coward.

He had hoped after the first few weeks that it would fade on its own. Patience pays, Henrik always says.

However, at five weeks in, things were becoming worse. He went from headaches that ruined his entire day, panic attacks that never seemed to end and multiple scratches and bruises that were littered all over his body. Shadows of what once were lurked just outside his field of view and mocked him relentlessly with their barely audible murmurs.

Six weeks after the first "incident" and he became Henrik's test subject. He knew he'd be in good hands. Hell, he'd give the man his life if he needed to.

Eight weeks brought upon narcolepsy and constant sleep paralysis.

Thirteen and he's stared down the barrel of a loaded .45 more times than he'd like to admit.

Eighteen presented a half-assed "Depression" diagnose. He's spent disgusting amounts on therapy and antidepressants that only seemed to make him worse.

Twenty-four landed him in ICU.

Here he was, four days shy of thirty weeks deep in this hell of his, looking for any goddamn way to solve his pain.

"Again." Chase pulled open the medicine cabinet and rubbed his temple harshly, hoping that it would ease his headache. Henrik had always said that pressure helped the pain. He couldn't be wrong, could he?

Chase took a step away from the sink, catching a handful of bottles that fell towards him when he opened the medicine cabinet. He had meant to clean the cabinet a while ago but he couldn't find it in himself to waste energy on it. Maybe now would be a good time to clean, get his mind off of his current situation.

He grabbed the nearest bag and tossed the empty bottles into it, checking each label before doing so. He was never able to stick to one prescription for more than a month before they changed him again. Dozens of bottles, all from a different kind of doctor, yet all having the same useless effects. It was if they were just handing him nothing but sugar pills in hopes to placate him. Or maybe they had decided to wring out every filthy cent from him that they could.

It wasn't long before he had the bag in his hand full to the brim from bottles and post-its on who he should let dissect him this time around. He closed the now barren cabinet and tiptoed through his house, towards the kitchen. Even after not seeing his kids in months, he still had the habit of being as quiet as possible.

As he placed his foot on the final step, he heard what he could've only assumed to be a small cry for help. He wasn't sure exactly where it had come from, but it seemed to have been from behind him. He turned around slowly and peered up the steps, nails digging through the plastic bag and embedding it into his skin. He tried desperately to recall if he had heard something while he was cleaning, but all his mind gave him was fuzz.

Having decided that it was nothing more than just a neighbor playing a movie far too loudly, he backed away from the landing and made his way into the kitchen. He felt his way along the smooth wall for the light switch, growing more uncomfortable in the darkness with every passing second. "Goddamn it." Chase pushed himself away from the wall and carefully moved through the darkness.

He set the bag down beside him and leaned against the counter, resting his head in his hands. "How'd I sink so low?" His voice was nearly deafening in the silent room. He hadn't expected anything more than a low groan from the barren home; after all, it didn't hurt to toss your problems to the void sometimes.

He let his head sink between his hands and onto the cold counter-top, marble stinging at his skin. It'd been a long time since he had been like this, slumped over in the kitchen with his face hidden. So long, that he could barely remember the laughter from his kids as they hid away from him, waiting for him to admit that they were masters at hide and seek.

Of course, he had let them think he didn't find them, it was the least he could have done for them. They trotted around the house with their heads held high and poorly made "Hide and Seek Champion" banners. They were so proud of their victory that Chase framed the banners and hung them above their door frames.

"You're a pitiful sight. Filling in the gaps with false memories are we?" The voice pierced Chase's spine and left him paralyzed, as if he were a deer that had finally been caught. "You know that's not what really happened, is it? There's no need to lie to yourself any longer, we're all friends here, aren't we?"

Chase let out an unsteady breath and closed his eyes tightly, trying to convince himself this was just another hallucination of his. This was nothing more than his subconscious fucking with him, or maybe he had simply passed out from exhaustion?

Either way, he didn't want to stick around to find out. He dug his fingernails into his hands and pushed himself away from the counter and stumbled backwards into the fridge. Even in the dark, he was able to make out a figure lounging on the couch, twirling something between their fingers.

They stood up slowly and limped towards Chase. "You meant to hurt her, didn't you? You knew she was running up the stairs and yet," The figure stopped before the patch of moonlight shining into the kitchen. "You're truly are a sick man." The figure dropped what they had been holding and charged at Chase, causing him to cower and cover himself with his arms.

When nothing had struck him, he unraveled himself to find an empty house once more.

Chase fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he knew all too well with shaky hands, not even allowing his friend to get a word in.

"I think I'm gonna need another prescription."

[kiss-my-freckle]

Raymond Reddington dialogues.

The real Raymond Reddington is dead.

1x22 - Red: The way Sam told the story was that one night - an old friend showed up at his door, scared. The friend told Sam he was leaving town, that he was in danger, and that he needed someone to care for a little girl - that her father had died that night in a fire. So Sam took the little girl in, and he raised her as his own - always sheltering her from the truth about her biological father. Liz: And that’s why you killed him. Red: I killed Sam because he was in pain and he wanted to die, and because I had to protect you from the truth. Liz: What truth? The only memory I have of my real father is from the night of the fire. I remember him pulling me out of the flames, saving me. Red: Yes. And knowing his identity would put you in grave danger. Liz: Why? Because he’s a fugitive on the “Most Wanted” list? Red: I loved Sam, Lizzy. Taking his life was of all the difficult things that I’ve done, that may - may be the most. But I did it to keep you from learning the name of your real father, to protect you. And you must understand - having done that, I’m certainly not going to tell you who he was now.

1x22 -

Liz: Tom told me something right before he died. Red: What was that? Liz: “Your father’s alive.” Red: Lizzy, look at me. I’m telling you, with no uncertainty, your father is dead. He died in that fire.

2x22 -

Liz: I remember. I remember everything. Red: Remember what? Liz: The night of the fire. I know what happened, and I understand why you didn’t want me to find out. When I pulled the trigger - when I shot Connolly, I - it came back to me. It was like I was there. I could hear them arguing. He was hurting her. And I know why my father died that night. I shot him. That’s why you blocked my memory - not to protect yourself. To protect me. Red: Yeah. 

3x14 -

Red: Your parents loved each other very much. The Cold War was hard - too hard for your father. When the Soviet Union was collapsing, he took you from her. She gave up everything to follow him, to follow you. Liz: The night of the fire - that’s what they were arguing about? Red: Your mother, despite what he’d done, she wanted him back. She wanted them to be a family. As much as it pains me to say it, he was probably the only man she ever really loved. Liz: And I shot him. Red: It was an accident. Liz: Tell me. I need to know. Red: Your mother was never the same after that. The man she loved killed by the child she adored - it was just too much. Two months later, she went to Cape May and left her clothes on the beach, walked into the ocean and was never seen again. Liz: So that night, I killed both my parents. Red: You were a child. There should never have been a gun for you to grab.

4x8 -

Liz: You know, I really believed he was my father. Red: You had every reason to. Liz: Except for one. You. You told me my father died when I was a little girl. I just - I guess I didn’t want to believe it. I really wanted my dad here to see her grow up. Red: He would’ve wanted that too.

4x17 -

Katarina: There was a fire. Too many people. There was shouting and fighting. And Masha -

4x19 -

Liz: I understand suppressing memories, helping someone to mute out a traumatic experience, but manipulating them? Red: The memory of an accident, a tragedy, a fire in which a 4-year-old girl killed her father. Liz: This man, is he the one who erased my memory of that night? Red: That’s how Kaplan knows him.

Red: She’s using him to pull at threads to continue to unravel my life. He sidelined Ressler. He’s trying to do the same to you. Liz: You did it once. Red: Yes. When you were a child, to protect you from the memory of killing your father. I hired Krilov once. Never again.

Liz: I know now that those bones in that bag are Raymond Reddington’s - the real Raymond Reddington. My father.

Red: Agent Ressler, was I a good intelligence officer? Ressler: Raymond Reddington was one of the best. Red: Sorry? Raymond Reddington was? Ressler: Yes.

6x19 -

Katarina: We did the right thing, right? Ilya: What thing? Katarina: Pulling him from the fire, trying to save his life? I can’t stop thinking about those firefighters, what might have happened if we’d left him there - if they found him, maybe they could’ve gotten him help, saved Raymond’s life. Ilya: He would’ve burned to death. We did everything we could, and we got him out. Katarina: And yet, he died.

Ilya: Reddington’s dead. Katarina: You and I know that, but the Cabal think he’s on the run, a liability. They’ll discredit him to undermine his proof of their existence. Ilya: Okay, so, you destroy the reputation of a dead man. Katarina: He had a wife and a daughter. She’s nearly the same age as Masha. Jennifer’s her name. They’ll be told that he was a criminal and a traitor -

Katarina: It’s clever. But it’s absurd. Ilya: No one knows that Reddington’s dead.

Katarina: It was easy to get those funds wired in, but Raymond would have to show up in person to access that money. And since he died in my arms, he won’t be able to.

Ilya: What if Raymond Reddington were alive and able to walk into those banks? Of course, we couldn’t pull it off alone. We’d need help.

7x9 -

Young Ilya: No one knows. ⋘⋙ Impossible. [Typewriter slams out loudly: “R” “e” “d”] Young Ilya: A fugitive and traitor to his country. Voice of Young Ilya: [Echoing softly] Reddington’s dead. Reddington’s -

Our Raymond Reddington is an imposter. 

1x1 -

Red: Everything about me is a lie.

1x9 -

Red: We become who we are. We can’t judge a book by its cover. But you can by its first few chapters. And, most certainly by its last.

1x10 -

Red: What is the question, Lizzy? Liz: Are you my father? Red: ... No. 

2x4 -

Naomi: I’ll tell you this, though. He’s not who you think he is.

3x19 -

Katarina: You’ve been here before. Red: Once, a long time ago. I was a very different person then.

4x22 -

Liz: Why didn’t you just tell me who you were? Why keep it a secret? Come into my life, give up everything, go broke trying to protect me, and not tell me you’re my father? Red: Broke is such a harsh word. I prefer illiquid. Liz: What was so awful that you withheld the answer to a question I’ve been wondering my entire life?  -- Dembe: You didn’t deny it? Red: I didn’t. Dembe: And she thinks that’s Kate secret? Red: Yes. Dembe: So she doesn’t know about the suitcase? Red: Not yet. Red: It is gone. Dembe: Raymond, I’m not sure Elizabeth will ever be ready to learn about what you did to Katarina. Red: We gotta find that goddamn suitcase.

5x14 -

Liz: You’ve been to therapy? Red: God, yes. Therapy helped me become - an entirely different person.

5x19 -

Garvey: Everything you believed for the last 30 years has been a lie. You’ve spent a lifetime hiding for no reason.

5x20 -

Red: In 1990, the KGB and the CIA had almost nothing in common except the mutual determination to hunt down one individual. Being a fugitive from American law enforcement is a lot easier than being a fugitive from the two most powerful nations on Earth. 

5x22 -

Liz: I know that this man is an imposter. Why he came into my life, why he took your life, why he spent the last 30 years pretending to be Raymond Reddington. I’m gonna figure all that out, and then I’m going to destroy him.

6x1 -

Mrs. Koehler: Why are you doing this? Red: As I said, Hans was a friend of mine. I wouldn’t be the person I am if it weren’t for him. 

Liz: This isn’t the complete list, is it? Red: No, it’s not. One file has been deleted. Liz: Yours. Red: I prefer to keep my nips and tucks to myself. Forgive an old man his vanity.

6x2 -

Red: Good for you, Archie. I’m a great fan of reinvention. Liz: Of keeping your true self hidden. Red: Or of becoming your true self, even if you have to take on a new identity to achieve it.

6x8 -

Sandoval: French lady. Fancy French name. Margor - Red: Marguerite. Marguerite what? Sandoval: Rennerd? Renard. Red: What else did you find out? Sandoval: If I solve your problem, how do I know you’re gonna solve mine? Red: Because based on what you’ve already told me, I’m deeper in your debt than you could ever be in mine. - Red: Elizabeth knows. She knows I was once someone else. She doesn’t know who, but she is looking for someone who can tell her. Marguerite Renard. We need to get to Renard before she does. Dembe: How does she learn about Renard? Red: I don’t know. And we don’t have time to find out because after I tell you how to locate Renard, I’m also gonna tell Elizabeth. Dembe: Why would you do that? Red: Because she’s looking for her sister, Jennifer, who was kidnapped and possibly taken to a place where Renard is located. Telling Elizabeth may be the only way to save Jennifer’s life. - Red: Did she say anything before you got there? To Jennifer? Dembe: Yes. That Katarina arranged the procedure. Nothing more. Red: That’s more than enough. You know what needs to be done. Dembe: There are alternatives. Red: There were before, not now. Not when she mentioned Katarina. Now Elizabeth will stop at nothing. Wherever we put Renard, she’ll be found, and she’ll talk. I’d do it myself if I could, but I can’t, and it must be done.

6x9 -

Red: Someone identified me to the caller. We both know who and why. Dembe: You have no proof it was Elizabeth. Red: No. And I hope I’m wrong, but she’s hunting for my past. And putting me here makes it more likely she’ll find it.

6x9 -

Red: Mr. Sima asked you if I was a traitor. You hesitated with your answer. Why? Ressler: What difference does it make? Red: Is it because you’re uncertain? Or aware of mitigating circumstances that have given you a different opinion of me? About who I am today as opposed to who I once was? Ressler: I don’t think you want me to answer that.

Red: As a result, the Cabal remained in the shadows, Rostova disappeared, and Raymond Reddington became a completely different person. A man who has done many brutal, scary, illegal things. But not a single one - ever - that was treasonous.

6x18 -

Red: One day I’m captured, the next, you’re looking for someone who knows I was once someone else? I knew that wasn’t a coincidence, but I let my hopes convince me that you’d never betray me like that. Liz: If I had - Red: That neither of you would. Liz: If I’d known what was gonna happen - Red: That they’d put me on trial, sentence me to death? Liz: Yes. Red: That surprised you? Liz: No! The only thing I knew is - you aren’t who you say you are. Red: And you think you deserve to know the truth. Liz: I do. Red: That you’re entitled to that? Liz: Yes! Red: That entitlement justified risking my life? Liz: I thought it justified anything, yes!

7x4 -

Cooper: How do you even know about Hutton? The real Reddington was there. He was part of an oversight panel and testified about it later. But you’re not him. How do you know anything about it if you weren’t there? Red: I know because - I know. Because whoever I once was, I am now and will continue to be Raymond Reddington.

Cooper: How do you do it? Wake up each morning, content to live a lie? How do you put on a face for the world? Red: I don’t live a lie. I may once have had another identity, but that identity no longer exists. I am exactly who I am. And I can assure you, I’m a far more interesting Raymond Reddington than Raymond Reddington ever was. Cooper: And what about Ilya Koslov? Red: I’ve always believed who you are should define you, not who you were. 

Red: Did you tell Panabaker the truth about me? Cooper: I did. I told her your true identity. Who you are, not who you were. I told her you’re Raymond Reddington.

7x9 -

Young Ilya: I don’t think you’re entirely grasping what I’m suggesting. Young Katarina: What are you suggesting? Young Ilya: Becoming Reddington. Purposefully stepping into into the shoes of a man -

Ilya: - into the shoes of a man destined to be condemned as a traitor. Woman: But how?

Young Katarina: That would be impossible. Young Ilya: What if it’s not?

Ilya: We devised a plan to steal the money used to frame Reddington and disappear. Woman: But the plan, it didn’t work. Ilya: Not like we thought. Woman: No. Help me to remember. The plan. Who did it involve? Ilya: It was myself - Katarina - Dr. Koehler. Woman: And the person under the knife - the man who walked into the banks and impersonated Reddington - tell me what you remember about him. Skovic: He’s guarding the memory. Even in this state, he knows there is a secret he should not reveal. Woman: Who was impersonating him, Ilya? Skovic: Stop! I need to bring him out. Woman: No! Not yet. Skovic: No. His blood pressure’s through the roof! I need to push Lidocaine. Woman: Then stop! Let him rest. But we are not bringing him out.

Young Dom: Listen to me. Your ruse with Reddington didn’t work. All it managed to do was anger the people who want her dead.

Young Ilya: I should tell him. Young Dom: We’re not telling him anything. Young Ilya: Oh. I know how you feel, but Reddington deserves to know what we’ve done.

Skovic: Why? Why does Reddington deserve to know anything? Ilya: Because he’s a part of this. Woman: You’re protecting him. Ilya: I made a promise. Woman: But you cared about me. Ilya: Yes, and I do, but I c - Woman: I had everything taken from me that night. I can’t show my face, use my name - Ilya: I’m so sorry. Woman: - I’ve been hunted like an animal! Skovic: We need to stop. Woman: And Reddington? Whoever he is, he’s still out there! The benefactor to all of this. Why?! Skovic: Stop! Woman: You’re protecting him, but people are trying to kill me. They’re hunting me! Answer me! Why?! Skovic: We need to stop! Get back! We need to keep his airway clear. Woman: I only want the truth. Skovic: You won’t get it if he’s dead.

7x10 -

Liz: If Reddington isn’t Koslov, then who is he? Woman: That’s just one of the mysteries I intend to pull from Ilya’s head.

[sewerpigeonart]

Trans matt and shiro (for th prompts request

ok so asjdkfasdkl i have no idea what it was you were expecting but i wanted to roll with it, so i started writing this with no idea of where it was going, and yet i still got a little carried away so i hope after all that it’s okay sjksjkldjsa

Matt hesitates.  Then, he groans, “I’m way too sober for this.”

Next to him at her desk, Pidge rolls her eyes but keeps herattention on the whooshes and hi-yah!s of her online game. “You really wanna risk drunk dialing him?” she deadpans, having surelyhad enough of Matt’s pussyfooting.  As if to iterate this, she adds, “It’salready been a week.”

The cursor on Matt’s phone blinks with such a mocking rhythm—absolutelycruel, if he’s to be honest.  It’s beating much slower than his heart, atleast, that’s for sure.  Shiro’s lasttext hovers over the keyboard like a stubborn ghost, or maybe a bad smell:

[Coffee then? If that’s easier?]

“He’s too… accommodating,” Matt says with a grimace.  “It’sgoing too well.”

“I’m sure you’ll take care of that in no time,” Pidge snorts. “You’re a slut for self-sabotage. Consider this: he’s crazy about you, dork.”

“Statistically? Unlikely.”

“Stop that.”

Matt sighs, apologetic.  “It’s a defense mechanism.”

“You don’t have to be defensive.”  Pidge’s eyes never strayfrom her own screen, but Matt glances to her anyway at the gentle shift in hertone.  “You said he was super cool about everything.  You’re the one who’s trying to backout.”

“I’m not backing out,” snaps Matt—defensive.  He tries again,softer.  “I’m not backing out, I’m just…I’m just—”

“You’re ‘just’ scared.”

“No… Well, I mean, okay, yeah.  But, like—”

Finally, Pidge swivels in her chair to face Matt with an emphaticsmack of her pause button.  “Matt. I promise, I will personally cover the additional therapy billsif this turns out the way you think it will.”

Her stern eyes look disarmingly like their mother’s right now—somuch so that Matt straightens in a residual Pavlovian response to beingchastised as a youngster.

“But,” Pidge continues, “if you don’t text him back right nowand tell him you’ll go out, I will personally kick your ass when youcome in here in a month whining about letting him get away.”

Matt rolls his eyes this time, mostly at himself, but in part tothe way his sister is always unfairly the most rational.  Lifting his phone again,he hesitates only another moment before texting back:

[coffee @ 8 sounds gr8]

Matt just can’t seem to bring himself to look directly at Shiro—no longerthan needed for a quick “thank you” when he pays for Matt’s coffee—even uponnoting the way Shiro’s dark V-neck fits so, sowell.  Like, damn.

After meeting Shiro at the coffee cart on Main, Matt had thought not being alone would make things seemless intimate, but it turns out he could feel every set of eyes in the city onhim and it made him want to puke.  So he’d asked Shiro if they couldgo to the park and sit, and he’s hardly said a word since.

Shiro never presses—albeit, the awkward pauses in between hisexperimental dialogue starters make Matt want to rip his own hair out—but that’sMatt’s own fault.

“Anyway,” Shiro says after a third failed attempt at small-talk, “I’mglad you were free tonight.”  He pauseswith an obvious intention to say—or inquire—more, but he cuts himself off witha sip of his coffee instead.

Matt sips at his own, expertly masking the pain of it burning histongue by staring far too hard at the now-useless caution on the plastic lid—which doublesas a cover for what must be immense discomfort contorting his facial features.  At thispoint, he might as well go for the record time of awkward silence.

Shiro visibly steels himself in Matt’s periphery, and Matt preparesto wince until he hears in the utmost sheepish voice: “Did I… Did I dosomething wrong?”

Off-guard, Matt at last lifts his gaze to meet Shiro’s, and thesharp crease of concern in his brow enhances the wounded-puppy look of his darkeyes, nearly bringing Matt to tears upon first contact.  “What?” Matt queries, but he’s already shaking his head. “No, no, what wouldmake you say that?”

Unconvinced, Shiro stifles a sigh, and his eyes dart around as ifliterally searching for the words.  “Ijust… Ever since we talked Saturday, you haven’t said much else since, and Iwas trying to tell myself that, of course you don’t have to answer every singletext or call because you surely have a life and other obligations, but…”

He starts talking faster, shoulders hunching.  “But, I kept going over the conversation and Ididn’t know if I said something wrong, because no one’s ever come out to me astrans before and I didn’t know for sure what I was supposed say and I really hope I didn’tmess something up because I really likeyou, Matt, and if I said something wrong I didn’t mean—”

“Shiro,” Matt soothes,hoping he sounds reassuring enough over the incredulous mix of relief and horror atthe realization Shiro’s been second-guessing himself all week.  The tensionof the evening had already been working itself into a knot in Matt’s throat,and he swallows around it.

Placing ahand atop Shiro’s, Matt can’t stop a breathy laugh—a defense mechanism.  “Shiro, you didn’t do anything wrong.  In fact, I’ve been quiet because, frankly,you’ve been perfect.  And that’s…”

Matt considers for a moment, a tight sigh spilling out of him inprelude to his metaphorical guts.  “Iguess I just… wasn’t expecting that.  Andit freaked me out because I thought, ‘well, if he’s not reacting negatively,then obviously there’s amisunderstanding here, and it’s gonna become clearer later on and then it’ll be bad.’  Because I’m just—I’ve never—I’m not—”

Matt retracts his hand, drawing back into himself with a shudderingbreath.  It was a relief to voice thesethings, but he’d been holding it all in for so long that his insides felt thickand clogged with the emotional equivalent of tangled headphone wires.  The knots are finally getting untangled, butMatt begins to unravel on the outside now too.

Fuck, don’t cry!

He takes another breath to continue, but it’s… a lot.  It’s always a lot, and Matt has to hold hisbreath behind a clenched jaw just to keep himself together.

“Sorry,” Matt tries to laugh after a beat.  “I guess I’m still…”  Matt shakes his head, frustrated, and laughsagain.

Shiro leans in closer, radiating palpable waves of I want to help you feel better-ness.  Such achingly human compassion.  Matt feels stupid for wanting to cry, butthat’s an achingly human thing too.

Hovering for a moment’s hesitation, Shiro sets his coffee on theground and pulls Matt in close.  As if he’dbeen waiting for the embrace without even knowing it, Matt sinks into it withautomatic ease.

They sit like that, quiet, for a long time—or at least, what feelslike a long time.  Long enough for Matt tosteady his breathing and for his coffee to cool just a little too much to enjoynow.

“We’ve both got baggage then, huh?” Shiro laughs softly into Matt’shair, flexing his prosthetic fingers.

Matt twines them with his own and smiles.  “It’s like that part in Lord of the Rings when Sam is like, ‘I can’t carry itfor you, but I can carry you’.”

“Never saw it, but that’s a good line.”

“What?”  Matt jolts upright to face Shiro.  “Seriously? You’ve never seen Lord of TheRings?”

Shiro tucks his head, shrugging helplessly.

“Holy shit,” Matt laughs, taking Shiro’s other hand and pulling himto his feet.  “Okay, come on, we have to watchit right now.”

“Right now?” Shiro laughsin turn, though Matt doesn’t miss the ease at which he comes along.  Isn’t it like, nine hours long?”

“Are you opposed to all-nighters?”

Shiro shakes his head, his smile so warm and gentle that Matt can’thelp but return it.  Shiro squeezes Matt’shand, walking closer than he needs too at Matt’s side.  “I’ll clear my schedule.”

[sunevial]

The Sorceress and the Sergeant

Why does this exist? @missvulpix212 is why. Blame her for this because it was her idea to commission me to write her a thing and I took the job for some reason (but hey, I’m now offering writing commissions so that’s a thing). Now...how to explain this...

rubs temples

Okay, so, you know my Followers fanfic. Well, one of the characters by the name of Old Priestess likes to write fictionalized accounts of her colleagues in horrible trashy romance situations and then sells them. The Sorceress and the Sergeant is a fictionalized account/probable AU of the relationship between the Witch and the Lieutenant and is absolutely no way canon to my Followers fic.

So, uh, enjoy?

The dimly lit hallways were silent for once, the stressed single mothers and frantic college students somehow all asleep at this godforsaken hour. Fumbling with a key ring sporting more baubles than keys, Marjory clicked the lock open and rammed her shoulder into her apartment door as quietly as she possibly could, forcing the sticky thing to move for once in its unhappy existence. She glanced around the inside, checking the darkened corners for movement or unwelcome visitors, before dragging her partner inside and shutting the door firmly behind them both. Only then did she risk turning on her little side table lamp.

“Sorceress, this really isn’t necessary,” Ollie protested, leaning his back up against the doorframe and giving her the most neutral stare she had ever seen him pull off with those ice blue eyes. “You know I am more than capable of regrowing my own skin and muscle tissue.”

Not bothering to roll her eyes, she tossed her earthy green pea coat onto one of her fold out chairs and pointed to a couch that had seen one too many games of Mario Kart in its day. “It’ll heal faster if I help. So, please sit down and take off your shirt. I need to see the wound,” she said, grabbing a step stool and setting it down in her little kitchen. Rolling up her sleeves, she hopped onto the little box and threw open a cabinet, rummaging through the endless stacks of incense and oddly shaped crystals for the bag hidden somewhere in the endless mess.

With an ever so mischievous smirk crossing his face, he kicked off his shoes and plopped down on the worn sofa. He shrugged off his dark gray hoodie, wincing only ever so slightly as it brushed the massive burn along his left shoulder. “Are you sure that’s all you want to see?” he asked with a smile, tossing the ruined sweatshirt off to the side and inspecting the t-shirt now partially fused to his skin.

“Yes, I’m very sure,” she squeaked, her voice going just high enough to hurt even her own eardrums. Her free hand fiddled with a bit of the sweater dress hugging her body. She could feel the blood rising from the bottom of her stocking feet to the top of her rusty red hair, pooling in her cheeks and making the room go from being like inside an icebox to being unbearably warm.

“According to what I know of mortals, your cheeks say otherwise.”

A tiny shriek escaped her lips, one she immediately pushed down into the depths of her throat. Muttering several curses under her breath, she reached for the black ribbon tied around her head in a fashionable bow and pulled it tight against her skull. Ollie wasn’t the first man in her life to poke fun at how easy it was to make her turn the color of a firetruck, not by a long shot;. he just happened to be the one being in this universe who could make her sputter and curl up into a ball of embarrassment nearly on command, and he definitely not use this knowledge responsibly.

Snatching up a small velvet bag, Marjory dumped out a single spool of black ribbon. Resembling the one in her hair in every manner, it seemed to exist only in two dimensions at any one time. Soul ribbon: a material that could save a life as easy as it could take it, the signature weapon and healing instrument of those who served a certain god who oversaw the endless cycle of life and death. It was a tremendous honor to just have a single strand, much less the ability to manipulate nearly endless amounts of it to her will.

After a bit more searching, she fished out a small glass bottle of shimmering red liquid. Holding it above her head, the glittering bits caught rays of light and scattered them onto the white tiles lining the kitchen wall. She smiled a little as she shook it up, still proud of the fact she had been able to craft a true healing potion with the magic she had been given. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she brushed it away and stepped off of her box. No, focus; she had a job to do. Sighing, she walked back into the living room just as Ollie peeled the t-shirt over his head.

The smell hit her first, acrid and reminiscent of eldritch horror and hellfire mixed into some unholy union. It looked just about as nice as it smelled, the flesh a sickly green and charred black wherever it wasn’t oozing a substance that she could not identify but was definitely not blood. Biting back the bile rising in her throat, she unraveled a length of ribbon and snapped it with a pair of scissors. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” she asked, pulling and stretching at the mystical fabric it until it was wide enough to be used as a bandage.

“Because it’s not,” he replied, pushing his long raven hair off of the exposed wound. “As far as acid spitting abominations go, that one was weak at best, considering the most menacing form it could take was a Chinese ursine.”

“It’s called a panda, Ollie,” she said, dabbing a little of the potion onto the piece of ribbon. “One that threw you into an air conditioning unit and gave you a massive third degree chemical burn. That’s not nothing, you know! I’d have to be in the hospital for weeks if I got something like that, not to mention all the skin grafts and blood transfusions and physical therapy for the damage to the muscle structure.”

“I am here precisely because of the fact that grievous injury is much more harmful to you than it is to me,” he said, tapping a chin against his neatly trimmed beard. Before she could blink, two silver wings sprouted out of his back and unfurled against the thin wall separating her from her overly religious neighbors who already didn’t appreciate having a pagan woman next door. “I am your Sergeant, Sorceress. Your guardian. My job is to protect you. That includes getting hurt in your place so you can do your job.”

“It’s Marjory,” she said, taking the medicated bandage and slowly binding up the wound. “And even so, I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I knew all too well what serving a god of death would entail, Marjory, better than you did when I came to fetch you,” he replied, his voice low and soft but placing a little more emphasis on her name. Shifting a little under the bandage, he gazed at the black ribbon for a long stretch of time. The silence hung in the air between them like a comforting blanket. “I have been protecting mortals like yourself long before you were so much a thought to your parents and will continue to do so long after you move on to wherever it is your soul is destined for. You need not waste your worry on me.”

“But you…you’re important to me,” she said in an equally low voice, winding the wrap under his arm. Her fingers lightly brushed against his exposed skin, soft despite being littered with scars from countless skirmishes against forces she couldn’t name. She tried to keep her gray eyes on patching up her injured partner, but her gaze kept wandering across his chest and down his torso. No longer hidden under relatively shapeless clothing, he was much thinner than she expected, built with the speed and grace of a swan in mind. The heat rose to her cheeks again. “And I worry about the people who are important to me, Ollie.”  

He caught her traitorous gaze and smirked, leaning back as much as he could while she deftly tied up his shoulder. “So I was correct in my assumptions.” Before she could sputter out a defense, he held up his good hand and put it on her shoulder, smiling sympathetically even as his gaze was as cool as his eyes. “You have a good heart. A good, kind, bleeding heart who wants to help the hurt and sick.”

“I wouldn’t be in med school if I didn’t,” she said with a chuckle, her words shaking a little as she tied off the wrap with a small bow.

“But turning that heart on me is dangerous, Marjory,” he continued, keeping his gaze and tone eerily even. “You know that Ollie is just a pet name our other colleagues have given me. You know that if I was ever human, that was long in the past. And you know what I am capable of doing to others…what I am capable of doing to you.” His words trailed off to nearly nothing before he sighed. “It’s best if you keep a heart like that closed around someone like me.”

Marjory held his gaze, memories flashing before her eyes of that first day in the alleyway. She remembered the same steely look in his eyes as he pinned her against the brick wall and pressed a the sharp edge of a knife into her throat, any remorse or guilt for his actions hidden behind years of experience and a touch of obedience to their boss. She remembered beginning to bleed out when ghostly magic erupted from her fingertips, clinging to the wound gouged into her neck and stitching her up as if she had always been able to call upon the endless webs of energy sustaining the world. She remembered his genuine smile as he offered her his hand, saying she had passed the test with flying colors.

She remembered the training sessions, his gentle touch on her arms and legs as he showed her how to more accurately conjure her magics to heal and to help. She remembered the casual teasing and the playful banter between them both as they spent nights traversing rooftops and the realms of the dead. She remembered the nights of teaching him how to sew and understand references to youtube videos and the long conversations over coffee about how strange being human really was as the two of them laughed for hours on end about everything and nothing at all.

“That’s not an option, Ouriel,” she said with a weak smile, laying a hand on his arm as his real name slipped from her lips. “I know who you are and what you can do…and I’m not scared if that ends up hurting me.”

Ever so slowly, he stood up from the couch, reminding her on just how much taller he was than her. He gently took his hand off her shoulder and cupped it over her cheek, resting his palm against her warm skin and turning her head so they looked each other in the eyes. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, the corners of his mouth breaking into a smirk unlike any she had seen before. Chaos danced his irises, flickering no longer with the harsh winds of a blizzard but the gentle winds of an October afternoon. He curled his fingers under her chin, lightly brushing just the tips against her neck.

Her whole body quivered as her cheeks burned with a fire she didn’t know existed in her, one that burned up her body with a bright flickering flame that she knew would not die for anything less than a sleepless night for them both. She didn’t dare look away, instead taking both of her hands and slowly crossing them at the wrist. Letting out a long shaky breath, she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes as the heat spread to her chest and down her stomach. “Go ahead…do your worst.”

A true smile crossed his lips as his other hand reached behind her ear and pulled the ribbon out of her hair, freeing her curls from their prison. As if she weighed nothing at all, he brought her face up to his and sank his lips against hers. It was cold, cold like a comforting autumn breeze, cold like the first snowfall, cold like polished steel, cold but so incredibly warm at the same time. She closed her eyes, letting ice freeze the fire in her body as she fell into his embrace, feeling soft fabric wind its way around her wrists as they sank into darkness together.