#i woke up thinking of blue flame but i posted that a year ago

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 21

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 4.5k

Chapter 21: 'I'm Your Man'

Juliet’s POV:

Juliet’s eyes opened to a multitude of colours. Shades of blue bled through gaps in the thick canopy of leaves above her. It was dull, but not dark. The last remnants of daylight still brightened the sky, postponing the darkness a little longer.

Juliet lay on the ground, staring up at the branches filtering her view of the sky. She blinked a few times, allowing her eyesight to focus. The fog of sleep still lingered, blocking any frightening thoughts from entering her fragile mind. Juliet stretched out her fingers and found that she was lying on something, it felt soft and warm, a sleeping bag? 

She listened. There was a sizzling sound, joined by the smell of tomatoes? Juliet wasn’t sure, but her stomach rumbled in response. A groan escaped her lips as she attempted to turn her body in the direction of the sound, and the smell. There was a blurry figure to her left, hunched over what she assumed was a camping stove. She could see the faint blue flames flickering below the outline of a black pot. Juliet blinked another few times, attempting to fully regain her eyesight. 

As her body shifted to the side, fresh pain radiated across her stomach, bringing tears to Juliet’s eyes. She almost collapsed back onto the ground, but the fog was clearing from her mind and Juliet was desperate to gain a proper grip on her reality. So she bit her lip, her teeth piercing the delicate, cracked skin, and used her shaky arms to push herself up until she sat upright on the sleeping bag, facing the direction of the blurry figure. 

Juliet was breathing heavily, her whole body echoed the tiredness she felt deep in her bones. The longer she was awake, the more pain started to travel across her body, lighting a blazing path through her limbs, across her stomach, and up to her head. Juliet reached her hand up to the side of her face, gently hovering over the crusted blood with trembling fingers. A long groan released from between her gritted teeth. 

“Juliet?” the blurry figure called, his voice sounded gentle but urgent. 

“Hmmm,” she moaned, her eyes were closed as she waited for the fresh wave of pain to subside. 

Juliet didn’t know where she was or who she was with and, as the fog continued to clear, she began to feel unnerved by this thought.

Then her eyes opened into a deep, piercing shade of green. 

“Ethan?”

His blurry figure had moved from the stove to the space next to Juliet’s hunched body, tilting sideways on the sleeping bag. 

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice cushioned with concern. 

Juliet blinked again and remembered the last time she woke. Her terror, her scream, the pity in Ethan’s eyes. She had been so delirious, so confused, so caught up in her father’s lie. God, what must Ethan think of her? To have saved her all those years ago and then watch Juliet fear the sight of him. 

“Juliet, please,” Ethan breathed. “I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you,” he begged in a quiet voice, inching closer to her frozen form. 

Juliet forced herself not to back away, to stay entirely still as Ethan moved towards her. Juliet believed him, that he would never hurt her. He had saved her, cared for her. He had loved her once. But the sight of him brought ugly memories to her brittle mind, banging on the brick wall she had built around the worst, most disturbing thoughts that she was still too weak to remember. 

“I know,” she murmured, forcing her bottom lip between her teeth again.

A breath of pure relief rushed from Ethan’s mouth and his eyes softened as he continued to stare at her. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It reminded Juliet of warm summer days, lounging on the grass. It reminded her of shy, gentle touches in dark rooms. It reminded her of hope, of something good in the world.

Juliet allowed herself to look at Ethan, really look at him for the first time in almost four years. His eyes had lost a little of their light, they were duller, darkened by deep purple circles beneath them. His jaw, which he had always kept clean shaven, was speckled with hair. His cheekbones were sharper, more defined and his cheeks looked sunken, hollowed. 

What had happened to him after she left? 

Juliet was desperate to ask, to discover why her father had bragged about his work with Ethan, the journey to salvation he had also promised her. But Juliet was overcome with a deep aching guilt which had wrapped around her heart for the past four years, forcing the words to rush from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry I left. I shouldn’t have let you push me through the gate, I should have come back for you earlier, I -”

Juliet’s list of regrets were cut off by the feel of Ethan’s hands as they cupped her cheeks. She flinched as Ethan’s fingers brushed the bruising on her face, her skin had instantly begun to throb under his touch. 

He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes, which were now only inches from her own. 

“You have nothing to apologise for. All I ever wanted was for you to have a life free from Elijah and everything he did to you. You were supposed to stay away. God Juliet, why did you come back?” Ethan soothed, his words rushed. 

Juliet’s lips parted as Ethan reached his thumb up to brush away the tears she hadn’t realised had begun to fall from her blurry eyes. Ethan’s words washed over her, bringing a new tide of horror. She couldn’t begin to explain the letter, or the journey back to him. She couldn’t think of anything other than her father and the memory of what Ethan had told Joel outside the dark car. 

“He’s… he’s dead, isn’t he?” Juliet breathed, struggling to get the words out as the realisation choked her. 

Shock blazed in Ethan’s eyes.

“I -” he started. “Yes,” Ethan nodded. “He’s dead.” 

Juliet was thankful for Ethan’s gentle hands as they held her upright, taking the weight of the horror in her head. 

“How?” she demanded, reaching her trembling hands up to place on top of Ethan’s, urging him with her gentle touch to clear up the confusion in her head, to fill in the gaps and the missing pieces. 

Ethan stayed silent. Juliet could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head as she stared into his glossy eyes. His eyebrows furrowed and he swallowed rough before he broke eye contact. 

Ethan looked to his left, beyond the camping stove which continued to cook whatever food he had left on top of it. Ethan’s eyes strayed into the forest around them, searching for something. 

Searching for someone.

When his gaze returned to her, Ethan realised his mistake. His eyes had revealed more than he meant to. 

Juliet started to pull back from him, understanding beginning to stiffen her muscles, but Ethan wouldn’t let her. His fingers pressed harder into her cheeks, holding her in place, forcing her gaze to remain within his eyes. Juliet’s bruises were roaring in pain as Ethan’s grip tightened. 

“Please Juliet, just let me explain what happened,” he urged. 

Juliet didn’t want to hear an explanation. She just wanted a name. She just wanted to know who had killed her father. 

But she already knew. Juliet knew exactly who Ethan was searching for with that look. 

Right on time, the sound of crushed leaves and broken twigs entered the space. Juliet couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t look at the approaching figure, as Ethan’s hands continued to cradle her face. But Juliet would recognise those thundering steps anywhere. 

“What are you doin’?” his deep, gritted, voice demanded. 

Ethan instantly let go of her and Juliet turned to stare up at Joel as he towered over them. 

“Joel,” breathed Juliet. But she didn’t need to get his attention because his intense stare was already locked onto her, his eyes roaming over her face, darkening when he caught sight of the bruises and the dried blood.

“You should be restin’” he told Juliet before his eyes darted to Ethan, who had let go of her face but hadn’t moved away. Ethan’s legs were still pressed against her own, his body still leaning towards her. 

“Food’s burnin’” Joel practically growled. Ethan’s eyes shot to the stove and he lept up, scrambling to take the pot off of the heat.

Juliet released a weighted breath. 

Joel had killed her father.

Some more gaps in her memory began to fill in, she remembered the basement, she remembered the slap, she remembered the hot poker. And then nothing.

But there was more, she knew there was more that she was missing, more gaps littered through her memory. 

Juliet’s eyes dipped from Joel’s to his hands and the bloody, open skin on his knuckles. 

Joel had killed her father and, by the look of it, used his own hands to do the job. 

Juliet felt like her whole worldview was titling. How had her life changed so much in a matter of months? And then again, in a matter of hours? 

There were too many emotions, too many thoughts swirling in her head. Threads of guilt, fear, and anger were entangled and, looking at Joel, she found that she was unable to separate them. 

Looking at Joel... Juliet was afraid.

Not so much of him, but for him. What had he been forced to do to save himself? To save her? Juliet brought him there, she had bribed him, convinced him to take her home. And now he stood before her with broken knuckles and a wide eyed, horror filled expression. 

“Joel, what happened? Where are we?” she whispered, staring up at him through damp eyelashes. 

His eyebrows pinched together as a muscle jumped in his jaw. Joel’s eyes darted to the forest around them before his hand found the back of his neck and his eyes found hers again. 

“We’ve been drivin’ bout a day and a half, since we left…” he cut himself off. 

Juliet nodded, the action forcing more dizziness to invade her vision. She thought she saw Joel move to step forward, his hand widening towards her. But when she looked up again, he was standing as still as carved marble. She must have imagined it. 

There was so much to say to him. So many questions to ask. He had killed her father, and Juliet couldn’t make sense of how to feel about it. The most prominent emotion firing through her mind was guilt, an unbearable feeling of remorse pressing tight against her chest. 

“What happened?” she pressed again, desperate to gain a full picture of that night. How had Joel and Ethan met? Did Joel find her after she had passed out? Every question that floated through her mind was accompanied by a new flash of pain in various parts of her body. Everything ached.

Joel gritted his teeth and Juliet watched as his jaw moved from side to side ever so slightly. Then he parted his lips and Juliet’s heartbeat quickened with anticipation. But before Joel could utter a word, or even give a hint of an explanation, Ethan appeared between them with two metal plates in his hands, each containing a strange looking red sludge with dark, burnt patches.

“Here,” he muttered as he handed one to Joel without looking up at the daggers in his eyes. Then Ethan bent down and gave Juliet the other, placing it carefully in her lap. 

Juliet nodded her thanks before her eyes returned to Joel. She started to remember what happened in the car. The way he touched her face with such tenderness and the soothing words he whispered. Juliet craved that closeness again, she needed him next to her, to hold her as she was falling apart. 

Juliet blinked, startled as Ethan sat down beside her with his own metal plate, shifting so that their knees touched. Juliet watched Joel follow the movement with a lethal focus before he clenched his hand around his plate, took two steps back and sat down on the ground opposite to them.

As the sky darkened, Joel brought out his torch, placing it on the ground to illuminate the small patch of forest the three of them occupied. Ethan started eating with a ravenous pace, Joel was slower, more careful of the food, savouring it as he ate. Juliet worried for Ethan, when was the last time he had a proper meal?

Juliet looked down at her plate. It didn’t look edible, but most foods didn’t look edible nowadays. Still, she couldn't bring herself to eat. 

Juliet bit her lip hard to stop tears from forming in her eyes. She had done enough damage, she refused to show Ethan or Joel more of the mess that lived inside her head. Juliet picked up the metal fork Ethan gave her with shaking fingers and started to push her food about the plate, putting on a show.

“Need to decide where we’re going, Juliet,” Ethan said between mouthfuls of food, nudging her with his knee. 

Juliet’s eyes darted to Joel. He wasn’t looking at her, but she noticed that his hand had stilled over his plate, and she watched as his fingers curled tighter around the fork. 

Slowly, she turned her head to Ethan. He had continued eating but Juliet knew he was awaiting a response. 

She had never considered where she would go after leaving her father’s community because she hadn’t even considered that she would have a life after returning home. Ethan’s question seemed like a fairytale, the idea that Juliet could choose what to do with her life was a fantasy. Her brain struggled to conceptualise a future for herself beyond the forest they sat within. Juliet found her mind drifting to the man who sat opposite her, his broken knuckles flashing red in the torchlight. Having spent years working alongside Joel in the QZ and then months sharing every moment of every day together… Juliet struggled to imagine a future beyond him. 

Juliet made a noncommittal sound with a shrug of her stiff shoulders. “I’m not sure,” she answered, staring down at her plate. The guilt in her chest grew again. Ethan had never left the community and had always dreamt of leaving and travelling the country, finding other survivors, making a life for the both of them. 

Her heart squeezed with shame when she realised that she didn’t share that same desire. Juliet had been on her own for a while now, had travelled the country, and had experienced the worst parts of humanity. She was tired and weary of the world. Juliet just wanted to feel safe. 

Ethan should have been the one to escape that day, not Juliet. She didn’t deserve the freedom, it was never her dream.

“Come on,” he urged. “We always talked about leaving, going anywhere we wanted.” Ethan’s voice was confused and almost pleading. 

Juliet had tried not to indulge Ethan’s fantasies in the past. Even when she responded with polite words, her chronic cynicism had always shone through. Ethan must remember a different image of her, one tinted by the rose coloured lenses of hope and fear. 

“We could travel the country, meet new people,” he continued, now turning to face her again. “Even see the world!” Ethan said with a laugh. 

Juliet flinched, stilling her fork over her untouched food. She saw Blake’s face in her mind, the night he found her in the woods. She had been so afraid, so utterly unprepared for life outside of the gates of her father’s community. Juliet paid a lot for his protection. And god did she need it. Her journey to Boston taught her a lot of things. She learned how to kill and how to not feel bad about it. She learned how to swallow her tongue and she learned how to survive. Ethan had no idea what he was talking about, and she was glad. Juliet never wanted Ethan to see the things she had seen or experience the things she had experienced. Ethan was a logical person, having spent his days studying medicine, but he had one fault and it was his unflinching ability to preserve his hope at all costs. Juliet just prayed his hope wouldn’t get him killed one day. 

“I -” she began, stopping when the words almost choked her. 

“She’s already seen it all,” a gruff voice interrupted. 

Ethan stiffened, sitting up straighter. Juliet risked a glance at him from the corner of her eye and found that he was staring straight at Joel, his mouth transformed into a tight line. Juliet’s eyes flickered to Joel next, surprised by his words. But he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes, blazing with fury, were positioned on Ethan’s irritated expression. 

“It’s a big world, Joel,” Ethan argued, his eyes darting to Juliet. “Juliet and I have been given a second chance, we’re not going to waste it.” 

Juliet frowned, reaching a hand to rest on Ethan’s knee, attempting to get his attention. The air had grown incredibly tense and Juliet was too tired, and in too much pain, to bear witness to whatever pissing contest was going on in front of her.

Joel’s eyes followed her movement, his jaw hardening at the sight of her trembling fingers on Ethan’s leg. 

“What does Juliet think?” Joel mused, his words dripped in bitterness as the sly shadow of a smile darkened the corners of his lips. He still didn’t meet Juliet’s very pointed stare, rather continuing to pierce Ethan with his downward gaze. 

Ethan, finally noticing her touch on his knee, turned towards Juliet. A crease formed between his brows. Her heart skipped a beat when she realised they were both awaiting her answer. 

Juliet stared into Ethan’s eyes and took a deep breath. She had to be truthful with him. “I don’t know what to think, I just want somewhere safe. I’m tired, Ethan. I’ve seen enough,” Juliet explained, softening her words to ease Ethan’s discomfort. 

Ethan’s eyes flickered with hurt, and fractures formed in Juliet’s heart as she eased her hand off of his knee. He swallowed rough then turned his attention on Joel, attempting to mirror his look of contempt. 

“Well, what’s your plan then?” Ethan demanded. “You’ve saved Juliet, you’ve got your supplies - where are you going?” 

Juliet looked between them both. There was such anger in Ethan’s words, Juliet wondered what had caused such a rift between them after knowing each other for such a short time. 

Joel completely ignored Ethan, instead choosing to stare directly into Juliet’s eyes. She found that she had to stop herself from squirming under the weight of his sole attention. 

“Tommy’s still out there, I’m gonna go find him,” he began, his words quiet but forceful. “And my guess is he’s found somewhere to hole up, maybe... somewhere safe.”

Juliet’s breath caught in her throat. His words were clear, Juliet understood exactly what he was saying.

He had presented her with an offer, another amendment to their original deal. 

“Somewhere safe,” she instantly repeated.  

Ethan’s head whipped between them. 

“Juliet you can’t seriously want us to go with him,” Ethan argued, realising what her words meant, leaning closer into Juliet, attempting to speak into her ear. “You know what he’s done.”

Juliet’s head turned sharply, her nose almost touching Ethan’s as she stared at him with a piercing look. “Ethan, Joel got me to you. He helped me save you. I know exactly what he’s done,” she whispered back, her words almost transforming into a hiss as they continued to rush from her lips. “The only difference is that you don’t know what I’ve done, what I’m capable of now.” She paused, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them back into Ethan’s shocked stare. Her anger had taken over so suddenly, Juliet hadn't realised how much rage bubbled under the surface of her skin.

“I need this journey to end, I want us to have a life without fear or bloodshed. Maybe we can find it there, together,” she continued after a breath, softer this time. 

After a moment, Ethan’s eyes finally softened at her words and he leaned back. He turned towards Joel, then back to Juliet, and nodded slowly. “Where you go, I go,” he declared, pinning her with his stare. 

The tension began to crack and Juliet watched Joel release his vice-like grip on his fork and continue eating. She breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, Juliet’s panic began to subside. She knew it was selfish, but she was terrified of a possibility where she was separated from Joel, where she would never feel his commanding presence walking behind her, or feel his touch whenever he let his guard down. 

Juliet stared down at her plate. “Where you go, I go,” she repeated in a whisper. 

Juliet wasn’t entirely sure which man her words were meant for. 

………………………………….

Later, when Ethan had passed out on his sleeping bag, Juliet was still awake.

She sat hunched over, her plate of food still sat on her lap, uneaten. The pain from her burn had reached a point where she was unable to move, any adjustment of her body forced every muscle on her torso to lock up in agony. 

She could see Joel in the distance, standing between two trees, a shotgun in his hands. He had taken the first watch but Juliet assumed his watch would last the entire night. She could tell that Joel didn’t trust Ethan and Juliet was currently unable to stand. So, Joel held the sole responsibility of their safety once more. 

Sat on her sleeping bag, unable to lie down, Juliet had a lot of time to think. She recalled her time in the basement, forcing herself to re experience every horrible second to try and uncover that final missing piece of her memory. The thought of it made her stomach churn so she knew that her body remembered, but something in her mind was holding it back. 

When the memory of the hot poker and the satisfaction in her father’s eyes reentered her mind again, Juliet knew enough was enough. She had to get to sleep. So, she managed to slide her pate off of her lap and onto the ground beside her, then she sucked in another deep breath and -

“Fuck,” she gasped out as she attempted to twist her body to the side. The pain was unbearable, tears burned in her eyes as she attempted to slow her breaths. 

Seconds later, a hand gently grasped her chin, forcing her gaze up to meet his. 

Joel knelt down in front of her, his shotgun now dropped onto the ground next to her plate.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded as his dark eyes searched hers. 

Juliet was so tired, she didn’t have the energy to disguise her pain anymore. Tears began to cloud her vision.

“I can’t move. Can you help me?” she murmered, her voice cracking as she said the words. 

Joel’s lips parted as he nodded once, sharp and quick. “What do you need?” he asked softly.

Juliet was always amazed by the gentleness that lay beneath Joel’s hard, rough exterior. And she was beginning to notice that it only ever appeared when they were alone, when Joel would look into her eyes in the dark and feel the electricity spark between them. 

“Can you help me lie down? It hurts too much,” Juliet replied as a yawn worked its way up her throat. 

“I can do that,” Joel assured her in his quiet voice, thick with his southern drawl when he spoke this low.

Juliet braced herself as Joel positioned himself behind her and slowly tugged her body down onto his lap. The tears were freely pouring from her eyes, the pain was a blazing fire on her torso. But Joel’s touch was soothing and within seconds, he had her lying on her sleeping bag with her head on his lap. She wasn’t sure how they managed to get into his position but she released a quiet moan as soon as her head hit Joel’s thigh, she was so tired and his body was so warm, Juliet could feel herself drifting off. 

But before sleep could take her, she felt the rough skin of Joel’s fingers sweep a lock of hair off of her face and tuck it behind her ear. She opened her tired eyes to find Joel gazing down at her. Even in the dark, Juliet could see the way his pupils flared, darkening his eyes even further. He waited a moment, then tucked his hands under her head, pulled his body out from beneath her and laid her head onto the sleeping bag.

Juliet didn’t take her eyes off of him and, although she no longer lay on his lap, Joel didn’t move from her side. As Juliet watched him, she saw Joel’s eyes dart to the plate of food on the ground and his jaw tensed.

“You’re not eatin’” he said. 

Juliet swallowed and licked her lips. “Not hungry,” she murmured, not breaking eye contact. 

Her sleep deprived brain didn’t have the same filter as normal and Juliet found herself desperate to ask Joel about her father. She had to know if it was true. She had to hear it from him. 

“Joel,” she breathed. “Ethan told me what happened.”

Joel’s entire body stiffened but he didn’t look away, he didn’t try to deny it. 

“What he did to you -” Joel started, then paused to shake his head. “He had to die.” 

Joel’s words were so clinical and detached as though his memory had taken him back to that moment. 

Juliet felt lightheaded at the thought of Joel seeing her like that. The fact that Joel had witnessed what her father had done to her… what she had let him do to her. Juliet was ashamed and the guilt choked her. 

“I know,” she said.

Shock blazed in Joel’s eyes. Juliet watched the muscles in his throat move. 

“I never meant for you to get involved. You were supposed to get your supplies and leave. I never thought it would turn out like this, that you would have had to ….” Juliet trailed off, breathless from the release of her guilt soaked words. 

“Don’t,” Joel ordered as a dangerous look began to cross his face. He opened his mouth and looked like he was going to say something else but then his eyes dropped to her hands which hovered over her stomach and he stopped, his lips pressing together. 

He shook his head and his eyes shot to the stars that filtered through the trees above them.

“You should’ve told me,” he said quietly with an aching intensity after a long moment.

But Juliet’s eyes had fallen closed and the sound of his slow breaths had already lulled her to sleep.

___________________________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

[kharmii]

how far are you into BNHA?

just curious when I saw your reblog earlier!

I've been out of the loop for quite a while but I'm still follow from the sidelines a little.

Last I saw, Crunchyroll had a few episodes of the BNHA Season 7 sub but none in English yet. That was a few weeks ago. Since then, I've been watching Jujutsu Kaisen (am on S.1 E.19) and won't watch anything else until I'm done with it. I'm also looking forward to the next season of Demon Slayer coming out this month.

I've watched everything BNHA out including the movies and one shots (loved the Mr. Smiley one and got a chill from what happened in the one where Shoto gets triggered by a treadmill in an abandoned building, and what the viewer thinks happens after). With the manga, I've only skimmed sections of characters I'm interested in. IE: Saw what happened to Dabi and Skeptic but didn't read most of the endless Shigaraki battle.

As always, I'm fixating on specific characters and will post them to death. I thought I'd be over Dabiten by now, but then I had to go and find that Japanese artist who did a hundred or so beautiful comic panels about the ship, and now I'll end up laboriously trying to translate it all based on emotions and awkward Google lens translations. The two complement each other in a sweetly sad way, like Geten could have eased the agony of Dabi's existence which would eventually make him forget out his grudge. Instead, Geten ends up rotting in prison while Dabi.....well.

I'm assuming Dabi is dead based on how he was last seen in the manga, but maybe there's hope for him because he has always been dubiously alive. He's a guy whose villain name means 'cremation' because he was burned so badly by his own quirk he ended up in a coma for three years, then wasn't expected to live longer than a month after he woke up. Supposedly, his hatred and longing for revenge gave him life.

In that way, Dabi reminds me of a human version of the pokemon Ceruledge, a fire/ghost type called the blue flame arm-blade pokemon who 'wears the malicious armor of a grudge bearing soul'. Pokemon has a way of making adorable chibified versions of beings out of a horror movie. Ceruledge is a similar horror to the 108 tormented souls of spiritomb, or all the child-snatching soul eating 'mons, such as drifloon, litwick, palossand, etc. Dabi is a good parallel representation of the idea of ceruledge.

Another fun ceruledge fact is it's one of the pokemon that 'un-alives' itself at its peak evolution. Other examples of this would be alolan marowak, decidueye, froslass, shedninja, hisuian typhlosion, basculegion, skeledirge, and annihilape. Many ghost pokemon are ghosts or possessed objects, but all the 'un-alived' 'mons are undead creatures resembling ghouls, zombies or vampires.

Art credit: Dabi, Apocrypha, refined taste / 謹賀新年VIOLET - pixiv

[a9saga]

alice nine - funeral // I felt really bad when I forgot to post this on saga's 40th birthday

[littlemisslipbalm]

I live in the neighbourhood

When Y/N moved to Hampstead she was unaware of the implications the decision would have on the course of the rest of her life.

or

Harry is Y/N’s eccentric neighbour who sweeps her up in the whirlwind that is his life

this gif bc its maybe my favorite clip of him EVER holy fuck - this is the harry of my dreams this is the harry of i live in the neighbourhood

HEY YALL it’s been a minute and I missed yall so much and I’m just about to be on break so maybe i’ll be back to posting writing regularly but with school its so hard and I think I’ve been working on this for months so yeah <3 lol PLS PLS PLS leave me feedback and reblogs and that stuff bc otherwise my writing just feels...empty and you have no idea the smile i get when even just the tags say like “god this was everything” it can be anything honestly but it keeps my passion up. Thank you again and hope you enjoy.

Word Count: ~10k | Warnings: swearing probably? no smut (yet), rich and famous harry - mentions of Taylor Swif 

-

She considered herself an average young woman in her mid twenties. She liked screaming Taylor Swift and Megan Thee Stallion songs alone in her car and thrifting on weekends. She hated cable because of commercials and when doordash didn’t deliver all of her order. She had asthma when she worked out or the air quality was bad. She had dumb celebrity crushes that her friends and her still laughed over with every new instagram post. She had hopes and dreams she had yet to achieve and she had past trauma that many would never know about, especially at first glance.

Sure, she was successful. She would admit that. How else would she be able to afford even the modest little house she had found in Hampstead? She had studied international business in college and hopped on a plane to London the first chance she got. After a few years of a more than decent paycheck and an advantageous stimulus check from her kind parents, she was able to move out of her starter flat into the suburbs. The definitive push for the move was two-fold. Her parents wanted her to take her dog and her apartment complex was strict on no pets. Then her promotion at work - which included a pay raise - made it hard to wave off taking full ownership of her childhood ten-pound best friend.

So with life happening as it usually does, Y/N first found herself scouring Zillow, then touring homes in the area, and finally standing outside a three bedroom, two bath, two-story cream house in Hampstead. Her house.

The little moving truck she had rented sat beside her as she stared at her future. The realtor had told her they would be there in ten minutes. For the next ten minutes all Y/N had to do was keep herself from combusting, or worse, sobbing.

She felt overwhelmed already. Renting a flat in London was one way to describe herself as independent. Owning a home in Hampstead seemed like a whole new level of adulthood she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, Y/N walked up to the gate that kept her front yard narrowly separated from the sidewalk. She lifted one hand from beneath the box she clutched tightly to her chest to push past the iron-rod gateway. The garden was cute, a little bland, and she thought to herself that maybe she’d develop some gardening skills now that she had her own front yard. The thought made her smile a little, refraining from laughing aloud while on her lonesome, since she had never taken interest in gardening before. But this house. This house. It was a new beginning. It was a fucking unwritten journal. Blank film. Unknown territory. She could be anyone in this house.

She gently placed the cardboard box on the first step up to the front door. There was no porch, but she couldn’t complain. It was gorgeous and she was lucky to get it at the price she did. The house was cream with dark blue accents and a grey shingled roof. Lots of windows. It was classic and it was hers.

After the realtor came with her keys and made sure everything seemed alright, Y/N’s couple of friends, Amélie and Daniel, arrived with their cars filled with items she had needed picking up from various stores. They helped her move her stuff into the house. Thankfully it was already half furnished, meaning she didn’t have to go out and buy beds or couches or any of those big items that are both expensive and a hassle to deal with.

By the time the evening had rolled around, everything was in the house and it actually seemed semi put together. Y/N looked around, sweat apparent on her face and hands on her hips, proud of what she had accomplished. The nerves from earlier had been drowned by pride.

-

The next day, she woke up from her first night in the house. It felt like a dream even though she was sure she was awake.  

She had to navigate her way to the airport today to pick up her dog from his long flight and then mainly settle into the house. Her house sat on Sherwood Avenue, one of the many streets in Hampstead. It’s neighboring houses were much larger. The ones directly next to and across from her weren’t drastically bigger but what she had yet to learn was that next to the house across from her there were two houses that had been joined together by their slightly eccentric owner. A man who would be the match that ignited the flame that was the rest of her life.

This unknown fact quickly became known after Y/N’s first few weeks in her new neighbourhood. The eccentric - more so absurdly rich - neighbor who conjoined the houses was Harry Styles.

The first time they crossed paths she wasn’t even aware of it. It was the day she moved in. He had been out for his usual morning run and was rounding the corner when she had pulled up in her moving van. Once inside his home, he snoopily watched on as his neighbour began to move in. He hadn’t taken note of much about her, just that she was new and that she had a nice pair of jeans on that day.

The second time, Y/N was convinced she needed to get her eyes checked because there was no way that she had just seen Harry Styles key himself into the house across the way from her. There was no way that she had moved into the same area as him, let alone the same street. It seemed far more plausible that she needed a psych evaluation or a strong glasses prescription.

But the third instance of them crossing paths, she was proven wrong. She was on her way back from the neighbourhood park when she saw a guy jogging towards her. With a yellow beanie and a black Columbia sweatshirt paired with running shorts and shoes, he was hard to ignore running straight towards her. The iconic curls, strong jawline, and soft green eyes were dead giveaways this time. After making brief eye contact as their paths literally crossed, she felt herself make a little face of odd interest. Her head quirked and her eyes narrowed, lips pursed with slight confusion. That was definitely him.

After that, she found herself seeing Harry around the neighbourhood a relatively good amount. She’d see him at the park, at the coffee shop, on their street, and more. They didn’t speak. She really didn’t think he would want to be bothered by his neighbours and she certainly wasn’t willing to test the theory. They sometimes gave a small smile of acknowledgement but nothing really friendly. Just ‘you exist and I know that’.

-

Fridays are Y/N’s favorite day. It’s the beginning of the weekend, she never has to go into work and it’s simply a nice day. People are happier, they smile brighter and it just seems like the world is a little better than usual.

Friday was especially amazing today because her childhood best friend, Cate, was arriving at London Heathrow in the evening. Y/N had begged Cate to fly out to see the new house in person and Cate had finally found the time to run away to England for a week.

She shut her front door carefully behind her and placed her headphones in her ears. Rori, that little terrier, who had made a similar flight to see Y/N’s place not too long ago, scampered out the door with her and jumped happily at her legs as she fiddled with her phone. Her coat ruffles around her disturbed from the morning air. It’s blanket-like fabric that consisted of a deep blue backdrop with felt giraffes sewn on it, kept her warm while she walked. With her mind racing with weekend plans and ideas for her and Cate to do both in Hampstead and the city, she crossed the street like usual and began to walk with her dog to the coffee shop for her morning tea.

Unlike usual, she fumbled just as she was putting her phone in her pocket and bumped into something large and definitely not sedentary.

“I’m so sorry!” She blushed and moved backwards from the man who had just been shutting his own front gate to head somewhere.

“S’alright. No harm, no foul.” He looks down at her and her dog. Rori seems excited by the stranger and sniffs him eagerly. A single paw prodding at the man’s long leg.

She grimaces, hearing the voice and stepping back allows her to fully recognize who she had just bumped into. Her neighbour. The runner. Harry Styles.

“Sorry.” She mutters again as Rori continues to prod at Harry’s leg.

She tries to coax Rori away, but Harry simply smiles and leans down to the small dog.

“Hi there buddy,” he coos and rubs the top of the fluffy dogs head, in between his pointy ears, “What’s your name?”

“Rori.” She states easily, Harry’s eyes flickering to her smoothly. Rori makes a smile babbling noise that sounds a bit like a tiny roar - hence the name - and Harry chuckles to himself.

“He’s really adorable,” he finally says and straightens up from his admiring of the dog.

The grimace becomes more of a smile on her face and she mumbles a “Thank You”.

As her neighbour - who hasn’t introduced himself (which wasn’t necessary, but still) or bothered to ask for her introduction - seems to be about to say something new when his phone begins to vibrate obnoxiously. He twitches, his large hands immediately going to his pockets for the important device. He checks the message and looks back at her face.

“Sorry, I have to run...um,” he’s not sure what to say. He really does have to go, but he doesn’t even know his neighbour’s name. He’ll have to make sure to get it at some point in the near future. Especially now that he’s acquainted with her dog.

“No worries,” she smiles completely this time, relieved for the whole interaction to be over. She felt like she was going to explode with each passing moment. In the presence of a legendary musician, c’mon, who wouldn’t be freaking out. All she could think about was how Harry Styles now knew her dog’s name. What the fuck!

-

Upon arriving at the airport, she waited patiently for Cate to walk out of the customs area.

When she did, the two young women began jumping up and down excitedly, Y/N squealing only slightly. They hugged and began chattering intensely, catching up on lost time that generally occurs when you live an ocean apart.  

Finally, one comment rings through the constant back and forth and Cate stops.

“Wait, what did you just say,” she questions as they begin walking to catch an uber back to Hampstead.

“I think my house might be haunted?” Y/N’s voice raising because she’s unsure if that’s what Cate was talking about.

“No, no, the thing after that. I think I must’ve misheard you.”

“Harry Styles is my neighbour?” Y/N’s brows raise as she looks over at her best friend, curious to know what she will say.

“Yes! Explain. Now!”

“It’s not really a big deal. It’s a nice neighbourhood, it makes sense that celebrities of his caliber want to live there.”

“That is not explaining. You have to introduce us!”

As they climb into their uber and settle in for the short ride back to Hampstead, Y/N sighs and tells Cate everything she knows.

“We’ve only just spoken today and I’ve been here for a couple weeks. He lives across the street and down one, I guess. I just see him around, it’s not like he knows who I am. He didn’t even get my name today, just Rori’s.” She laughs lightly, still finding it funny that Harry knows her dog’s name.

Cate nods, leaning in slightly to her best friend, hardly able to contain her awestruckness from the story and baffledness at Y/N’s calmness. “So, like, when do I get to meet him?”

“Girl, I don’t fucking know. Never, if you’re going to act wild. I don’t want the neighbourhood to think I’m not chill.”

“Sometimes…” Cate starts and leans away from Y/N jokingly, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They both smile, bumping elbows silently. The song on the radio fading in louder as their words die out.

-

The next day, Y/N took Cate to the local park. It was expansive and connected to the football fields that local teams would play at. The park section was a luscious green that was maintained with copious amounts of watering by the township.

She and Cate settled on a patch of grass near a slender tree that would offer some shade if the sun’s rays became too harsh. The quilt they sat on was something her grandmother had made her when she was maybe 8 years old, meaning it was torn in places and completely worn in a different shade of pink than it had been initially.

They set up their picnic and played music, enjoying the sunny day. Something rare and fleeting as the fall began to creep up on Hampstead.

They eat and catch up on life for about an hour. Basking in the sunlight, Y/N had laid on her back and was staring up at the clouds passing along the sky. Cate was carefully watching their surroundings, simply taking in her friend’s new home, but possibly for another reason too.

“Hey, isn’t that…” Cate trails off, trying to subtly nod in the direction of an approaching figure.

Y/N sits up, her hands holding her up from behind her. Her hair fails in front of her shoulders slightly and it’s a little disheveled from being mused in the grass. She looks discreetly in the direction of Cate’s nodding and then looks at her friend and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but don’t say anything, he might not even notice me and I’m certainly not calling out to him.”

‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift is playing off her speaker and as she’s about to change it, Cate turns it up slightly. They share a glare with one another before trying to act casual again, even though both of their eyes kept flickering to the man who seemed to be continuing closer and closer to their set up.

It became clear that Harry was approaching them after all and Y/N tried to carry on an unbothered conversation with Cate, which was hard with the constant nudging of Cate’s foot on her shin.

He stops a mere foot away from their blanket, beaming at the two young women lounging on the ground. He makes an attempt at a casual wave, his large hand splaying his fingers quickly, before opening his mouth to speak.

Cate beats him to the punch. “Hello there!”

“Erm, hi!” He says nicely to her and then looks at Y/N.

“No Rori today?” He inquires.

“No,” she smiles, slightly blushing at the fact that he remembered her and her dog. “He’s napping.”

“Ah, I see,” He pauses, “I feel like I need to apologize.” He continues.

“For what?” She questions and Cate watches on anxiously, mesmerized by Harry and dying to see what happens next.

“I ran off before I could even ask for your name or introduce myself. It was terribly rude.”

“Oh,” she can’t stop smiling, “It’s nothing to apologize for, I’m sure you’re busy. Besides I had to get my day started, otherwise I would’ve been late picking her up.” She points to Cate who smiles sheepishly, still internally screaming over the fact that her friend is able to talk so easily to a celebrity.

Harry nods and looks at Cate again, “Just visiting I take it then?”

She nods quickly, words escaping her. Y/N chuckles under her breath and swoops in to save her friend any embarrassment. “Cate’s my best friend and she’s been kind enough to take time out of her extremely busy life to come look at my new house.”

He hums, still standing a respectful distance from their set-up. “Nice to meet you, Cate,” he says very kindly. Then he laughs, but in a way that is like he’s beside himself. The two women both quirk their heads at him. Y/N squints her eyes slightly, trying to understand the guy she is talking to and connecting him with the man that is all over the news all of the time for his musical genius.

“Now I know your dog and best friend’s names but still not yours. At this point, I’m begging you to tell me.”

They all laugh and Y/N feels nervous for the first time since Harry had walked up.

“You first,” she smiles slyly.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then go back to normal. Harry was very smart, she likely knew his name, but one, she was trying to be funny and two, she was also trying to be courteous. He preferred to introduce himself rather than just be told who he is, even if people already knew. It allowed him to maintain some normalcy.

“‘M Harry,” He says with a smile.

“Alright.” She says and then remains quiet.

Harry’s lips quirk up in a faint smile, amused at her expression.

“I thought it was a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ type of situation or was I mistaken?” He finally asks when she remains silent still.

The two young women laugh and Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, both feeling flustered and completely in control at the same time.

“You weren’t mistaken, I was just thinking.” Then she pauses again and Cate thinks Harry is about to combust and Harry thinks he’s going to as well with all the anticipation that has been built up over his neighbor’s name, even though he was pretty sure he’d heard it in passing at one point or another but had forgotten quickly afterwards.

“It’s Y/N.”

Harry releases a facetious sigh of relief, “Oh thank god! Finally!” His words quickly turn into an infectious laugh that is paired with a shining smile and she feels like she’s swooning right then and there. The control has gone out the window and she’s taken with her neighbor. He’s wonderful in that moment and she forgets about Cate or the park or anything. It’s just Harry and how it seems like he’s smiling just for her.

“Now that I’ve gotten your name,” he smiles pointedly at her after his laughter has faded away. The smile doesn’t leave his face though, his eyes still crinkled, his dimples still showing.

She nods, encouraging him to continue. Cate feels like she’s watching a movie unfold in front of her and she wishes she could record the entire interaction.

“I can finally ask you, Y/N, where did you get that fabulous coat I saw you wearing yesterday?”

She twitches further upright, eyes bringing themselves directly inline with Harry’s gaze. “Oh,” she inhales, “The giraffe one, yeah?”

He nods.

“I got it from a Goodwill years ago. It’s some vintage company that used to only make sleepwear. I looked up the tag one time and it doesn’t exist anymore. Super cool, though. Wish I could buy more.”

“Yeah,” Harry says eagerly, even taking a step towards the women, “It was so intriguing. Maybe, if you didn’t mind of course -” he falters, losing his courage for a moment, “you could bring it over and my stylist could check it out. I would love something similar and I’m sure he could figure it out.”

She shrugs. It wasn’t crazy, especially not for Harry - she assumed. She was certain he often found things he liked but there was only one of them so he would just order his own. She couldn’t help the pride that was swelling inside her though it that moment. Harry Styles liking her jacket so much he asked where it was from and then wanting his stylist to look at it. She’d jump for joy when she was in the safety of her private home later tonight with Cate.

“One condition,” she says and Harry’s brows quirk amusedly at her.

“You are a very tit for tat person,” he muses.

“Fair’s fair,” she shrugs again and then looks around her quickly, “It’s simple so don’t get too worked up over it, buddy.”

He laughs slightly again and tries to figure out what she’s looking for. When she extends a scratched up, sticker-covered point and shoot film camera he smiles.

“Can you take a picture of Cate and I? It’s always just the two of us so we never have anyone to take pictures of us together.”

Harry grins at this and her sincere face. Cate is a little taken aback, because while it’s technically true, it’s not entirely factual. They have plenty of film pictures of them - maybe not recently though. And she wasn’t going to question Y/N right now. It seemed like she knew what she was doing.

Harry takes the camera and begins to look through the viewfinder. The women scoot closer together and Cate wraps her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She leans in to press her cheek against her best friend. They smile up at the camera and Harry crouches slightly to get a better angle.

“Alright,” he mumbles, “Ready?...Cheese!”

Their smiles stay hung on their face as they listen for the click and when the faint sound befalls their ears, Cate laughs and Y/N pulls away. She reaches forward for the camera, her hand easily brushing Harry’s large one.

Their smiles meet each other and Cate can’t help but notice how they grow as the two of them look at one another.

“Thank you,” Y/N says sweetly and pulls back to retake her seat on the blanket.

Harry straightens up, his grin falling back into that signature smirk. “No problem.”

“So-” He begins but she cuts him off.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He clears his throat, feeling thrown off. “Yeah, sure. I guess next time I see you we can talk about when a good time would be for your jacket to come over?”

His voice raises at the end of his question a little more than usual, he’s trying to get her to bite, but she doesn’t seem like someone who is easily thrown off. He is trying to read her and she’s been completely cool the entire time. It’s intriguing. Even more so than the jacket, even though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, it wasn’t really his focus when he walked across the park to her and Cate.

“Yep! It was nice finally meeting you Harry.”

He feels the cue to walk off and says his farewells. As he walks off, back on course to his intended destination, his head is filled with questions. Most important of them being when he would see her again.

Cate and Y/N watch him walk towards the football fields. They see him meet with a group of men and it seems like they’re there to practice or play a game. Y/N couldn’t be sure.

“He likes you!” Cate finally bursts out.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Stop trying to make me take the piss. That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

“It’s not! He likes you and you obviously like him, I mean, but we been knew.”

“Having a crush on the famous Harry Styles when you’re 17 is different than me liking my neighbour Harry.”

“But you like him don’t you? He’s even better than he was when he was 19. Now he’s all grown up and established and more your style anyway.”

“Shut up! He could hear you.”

“He really couldn't, he's yards away, you’re just paranoid.” Cate continues to tease and ridicule her best friend over Harry and Y/N is just about ready to up and leave, but she also can’t help but laugh it off.

“I’m literally gonna kick you out if you keep talking,” Y/N says between laughs and the women feel like they’re back in high school losing their minds over the stupidest joke ever.

“Okay, fine. But all I have to say is I will hold this over you when you end up together.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. Just be prepared to wait forever because I can promise you Harry Styles and I are never ending up together.”

--

Two Weeks Later

Y/N walked to her door after hearing the doorbell ring and opened it to find her neighbour standing with his arm raised ready to knock.

“Hey, Harry,” She greeted easily, but not entirely sure why he was here.

They hadn’t really seen each other since their official meeting in the park. It hadn’t bothered her and it hadn’t really bothered Harry either. It seemed like they both had extremely busy lives that they didn’t plan on throwing out the window because they had said they would meet up at some point. She liked that.

Harry had come over because he finally had a break in his schedule and was hoping to talk about the jacket and anything else really. He was interested in getting to know her and he didn’t care to hide it.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go get a coffee or something?” He asked, leaning himself against her door frame now.

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen a little bit, not completely sure she heard him correctly.

“Right now?!” She asked incredulously.

She was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and black bike shorts that peaked out from underneath the sweatshirt hem. One of her socks was shoved around her ankle while the other was pulled up flat to touch the base of her calf. She didn’t think she was looking the most presentable at the moment. She had been basking in her day off by simply laying on the couch watching hours of Netflix.

He nods, his smile growing on his face. Her flustered expression only made him happier. She was always so nonchalant with him, he wanted to see her a little more antsy.

“Unless you’re busy,” he adds seriously, not wanting to bother her, just wanting to spend time with her.

“No, no. I’m not...I’m not busy. I just wasn’t expecting any plans where I would be required to go out in public. Let me just...um, come inside and then give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles again as he steps into her home.

Her smile is sheepish and much less genuine then the one Harry holds on his face as he takes in her abode. She tells him to make himself comfortable and then runs to her room to try and possibly fix her state in under five minutes.

She tears around her room, heaving off the frumpy sweatshirt and grabbing a long sleeve striped v-neck top she had hanging out half out of her hamper, a sign known to her that while it was clean enough to wear, if she happened to do laundry she should wash it. Slipping it over her head, she walks to her dresser and leans over to open the bottom drawer and unfolds a pair of dark wash oversized jeans. There’s no holes in them and she throws them on the bed so that she can slip out of her current pants. Next, onto the socks, she swaps out the current ones for a fresh black pair and finds her tortoise print boots to flick on. As she just about runs into her en suite bathroom, she zips the two boots up between steps. A quick comb through her hair, deodorant, two spritz of perfume, her eyelash curler and mascara and she’s running back to where Harry is waiting in her living room.

He blinks surprisedly at her promptness, usually giving people more time then what they say they need. She had indeed gotten ready in five minutes. He thought she looked breathtaking. And she felt like she was at a lack for breath in any case.

“It’s a bit cold out,” he glances to the window.

“Isn’t it always?” She smiles, finally catching her breath.

He chuckles and then nods, a smile appearing on his face as he feels a warmth in his chest at her wit.

“Ready?” He checks in.

She nods, grabbing a coat she kept hung by the door.

“Just the coffee shop down the way?” She inquires as they exit the house and she locks the door behind her.

Harry hums, waiting down a step for her to turn around and walk beside him. It was so strange to her, this felt all too normal with him. Like he was just a friend who had come to pick her up for coffee, her neighbor, nothing more.

“Did you hear the new season of the Crown is coming out soon?” Harry asks as they walk shoulder to shoulder (technically since her shoulder wasn’t in line with his).

“Really?” She looks at him, “I love that show!”

“Me too,” He looks at her and smiles happily.

“That’s amazing,” she breathes mostly to herself, half about the show and half about how Harry watches television and that he watches one of her favorite shows.

There’s silence. The brisk air pricking their cheeks as they walk down their street. Their puffs of breath create a slight mist of white ahead of them and then quickly dissipates.

Her eyes flit up to Harry’s chiseled jaw and face and she watches him as his eyes carefully and meaningfully take in his surroundings. Was it her turn to take a stab at conversation? It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but she just wasn’t sure what was going on.

“You play football right?” She says finally as they turn onto the next street that would bring them closer to the café they both frequented.

She remembered seeing him there on several occasions. The tips he left were always overly generous, which she assumed you could do when you were exorbitantly rich. He always smiled when he ordered and knew the baristas by name. His order rarely differed and she hated to admit but she knew his two regulars. His actual “regular” was a 12 ounce black coffee, dark roast, no cream and no sugar. The other, his “I’ll actually have”, was a 16 ounce iced green tea, no cream and no sugar.

She couldn’t help that she was observant and that when ‘H’ was called at the bar she looked at what was pushed out, patiently waiting for him to come snatch it up with a smile and nod to the workers before he left. Sometimes he’d even smile at her over the lid of his drink as he exited the establishment. It was warm and inviting and she felt good about the twinkle in his eye that never seemed to waver no matter the day.

Now they were going there together and she’d have to pretend like she’d never noticed what he got as a drink.

He responds to her question with another glance at her and a simple “yes”. His hands shove into his pockets and one side of his pink lips quirk up. He continues, “I’m on a local team with some mates. We’re in a little competition with our league. The final match is coming up this Sunday actually...You should come.”

He says it so casually it almost doesn’t catch her off guard. Harry inviting her to his football game, maybe this was going to be her life now. Going to her neighbours football match. Going to Harry Styles’ football match.

“Sunday…” She sounds out, choosing to look out into the distance instead of at him. “What time?”

“Eight.”

“P.M. right?” She responds quickly, worried since she never wakes up that early and rarely before 10 a.m. on the weekends for that matter.

“Of course,” he chuckles.

They’ve come upon the café and he’s quick to grab the handle to open the door and let her go before him. She can’t stop the blush and smile that spread on her face as she ducks her head into the warm and cozy shop. Men had opened doors for her before and she really thought of herself as a strong woman who didn’t need a man for anything, but something about Harry’s action felt especially, and specifically, chivalrous. Why, she had no idea.

Neither of them stop to look at the menu. They were regulars and they both knew that about each other as well. He gestures for her to go first and she mutters her thanks before turning to the patiently waiting barista. She orders and is about to hand over her card when Harry suavely steps in and says, “Don’t worry about it. I invited you with me, I’ll pay.”

It was both completely unexpected and expected at the same time. Knowing she’d never win this fight, she thanked him again, glanced at the man taking her order and then stepped aside. Harry orders his own drink and then pays for both. Today he leaves double the amount he usually leaves for tip, she assumes since it’s two drinks he was paying for.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” She says quietly to him once they’re in a corner of the café waiting for their drinks.

He stands slightly slumped against the wall, closer to her height right now. He only shrugs, his good natured smile not once leaving his face since he entered this place.

“I wanted to,” he said simply right as the drinks were ready since it wasn’t particularly busy on this random Friday afternoon.

They glance outside and see that it’s begun to drizzle while they’ve been inside. She sighs, having hoped to walk around a little after being inside all day.

Instead, they sit at the corner table in the café, across from each other. She moves on from the paying thing, knowing it was simply how this guy probably operated most of his life.

He got a black coffee today, the cold and rain likely contributing to that choice.

As one pop song fades out, slightly under the sound of the coffee machines, she’s about to tell Harry she’s pretty sure she can make his final football match when ‘Cardigan’ fades in. It’s the second time a Taylor Swift song has been playing while she’s been in the presence of Harry and they were conversing. She tries to ignore one of her favorite songs at the moment. Harry doesn’t seem to pay much mind to it. His foot is tapping against his other, but it’s been tapping like that since they sat down.

“I think I could probably make it to your game,” she says finally after a pause and a sip of her own drink.

Harry grins at the response and launches into how great it will be if they win and how happy everyone will be. She smiles along and doesn’t notice the slight head swaying to the song that she’s begun.

“Fan of Taylor?” Harry inquires and Y/N’s face drops, eyes widening cartoonishly.

She stutters, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth before she can actually say something. How does she respond about liking Taylor Swift to a man who counts her as an ex. She’s at a loss.

“Yeah, uh,” she finally starts.

Harry watches her curiously, obviously noticing her discomfort as his question.

“I used to not really consider myself a fan. I don’t really follow her just because I don’t really follow...um...musicians,” she chokes out the last word realizing Harry fits that category. “But, after folklore, I don’t know, this album really spoke to me. I also really like Lover and...uh” she pauses again, sticking on 1989, an album she has argued with her friends about how it’s basically a tell all of the man before her and Taylor’s relationship.

He nods, hoping she’ll continue. He wanted to get to know her and he kind of liked seeing her squirm. “1989?” He finally supplies.

Her blush isn’t able to be covered this time. If her hair didn’t fall in front of her ears she was sure they’d be flushed with blood.

Then she draws out of her own self stress and looks at the smooth man before her and grows calm. He was amazing at winding her up and she didn’t want to seem like some young, impressionable fangirl to him. So, she squared her shoulders and straightened up in her chair.

“Yes, it was pop perfection as one of my college friends liked to say. I’d always listen to it at the gym.” Then she pauses, taking a measured breath, gaining her confidence back. Her eyes meet his, “Is there any songs off it that you particularly enjoy, Mr. Styles.”

He chuckles, mostly because of her emphasis on ‘Style’.

“Shake it off?” He asks.

“Oh fuck off!” She laughs and he joins in with her.

When they catch their breaths from laughing, they simultaneously take sips of their drinks and settle their eyes back on one another. Exes and songs written about oneself weren’t exactly the topics Harry had in mind for the coffee outing he had asked Y/N out on, but talks of exes had never been this funny with anyone else. He was grateful for her playfulness, her demeanor.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asks quietly and seriously.

“I think we’re past that question, love,” he responds.

“Yeah, I guess,” she pauses and just about whispers, “Pretty much all of them are about you right?”

He shrugs again, his felt coat rustling around his seat. “We never really talked about every single song.”

She leans forward at the ‘we’ Harry is using about himself and Taylor Swift.

“But when I listen to the songs, I hear us in just about every one but a few.”

“Wow,” she breathes and sips her drink. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lived through something that intense and then someone commemorated in a masterpiece.”

“Do you have a favorite on that album?” He asks, moving on from her revelation.

“I love ‘I know places’, it has a cool sound. But I also really love ‘Wonderland’. They both have kind of dark sounds, yet it still is like what you have is so special that the bad bits are worth it. I don’t know, it just seems like a tv show. I don’t think my life could ever be that crazy or dramatic.” She doesn’t notice her use of ‘you’ because she had meant it as a form of analyzing the song theoretically as she had done hundreds of times with her friends,  but this time the ‘you’ is literally the ‘you’ the song is talking about.

“Love can turn anyone’s life chaotic.” Harry muses.

The green eye’s that flashed at Taylor throughout that album look at Y/N from across the table and she feels a flip in her stomach at his tone.

Maybe he notices her mild discomfort, maybe that’s just who he is. But after a beat, Harry’s onto the next topic on his mind. He launches into how he’s just returned from Scotland for a shoot for something so undercover he can’t even divulge to her, much to his dismay. She’s taken aback since she didn’t consider her someone Harry would divulge any of his private matters to, but it seemed like he already considered her a confidant. Just not for that. He wants it to be a surprise.

She smiles and listens attentively. She wonders as he goes on about his interesting yet absurdly lavish life whether he even knows what regular life is like anymore. Or if he’d even enjoy it if he experienced it.

Sure, coffee and football were plenty part of regular life . But the football league was something novel to Harry. He had just gotten to do it and he was thrilled by its normalcy.

She regarded him carefully, unsure what the next step was in this budding friendship. Was it dangerous to get involved with someone’s life which seemed to be filled with whirlwind rigor and constant change.

She liked her chaos, don’t get her wrong. She felt like she often was the odd one out in life. Always thinking differently than the ones around her. She often was the one to suggest spontaneous late night trips around town or exploration of an abandoned building known for spooky stories. She liked inviting friends over for themed parties for no specific occasions and she liked taking film pictures of friends like they were models even though it was only for her and her memories. She thought of herself as silly and fun, but what Harry described as his chaotic fun actually was regimented tight schedules of constant travel and work. Interesting experiences came out of that constant travel and work, but didn’t seem like something she necessarily wanted to get herself wrapped up in.

After coffee, they leave the café and it’s pouring now. Instead of going home, Harry insists on walking her to her place. She relents, realizing, once again, that Harry wasn’t someone who took ‘no’ for an answer. She then invites him in because it’s the polite thing to do. And Harry being Harry accepts.

“Want a dry sweatshirt while you wait?” She asks as she slips off her wet shoes and jacket in the entryway. Harry follows suit, his knit sweater being pelted with rain for the last eight minutes left him feeling cold and shivery.

He nods as he toes off his shoes and ventures back to the living room she had him wait in a few hours ago.

“Here,” She says as she tosses a grey sweatshirt in his direction. She believes it's her one from earlier, an innocuous pullover with ‘London’ in collegiate lettering on the front. He catches it as she rounds the corner to turn up the heater.

Her mistake was being so careless to not look at the sweatshirt before handing it over to her neighbor. Anyone else, maybe they wouldn’t have questioned it. But Harry, how could he not.

“What’s this?”

“A sweatshirt,” she doesn’t spare him a glance on the coach as she fiddles with the thermostat.

“It’s one of my sweatshirts,” Harry says and she can hear the smile on his face.

“That’s impossible, I’ve never borrowed-” Her brows had raised at what he said but now her words fall short.

He didn’t mean one of his personal sweatshirts that she possibly borrowed if they were better friends. No. He meant his merchandise.

“It was a gift,” she sighs as she turns to face him. He’s now wearing the sweatshirt proudly and grinning up at her smugly.

She rolls her eyes when he gives her a knowing smile.

“I didn’t know that it was the one I was handing you. Honest!”

“I thought you didn’t “keep up” with musicians,” Harry says playfully, his fingers making quotes appropriately.

“I don’t.” Her tone is serious as she plops on the couch beside Harry.

“I enjoy your music from time to time. Is that a crime?!” She finally exclaims when she can’t handle Harry’s knowing smirk.

“No it’s not, you could have just told me you were a fan!” She tries to stop him and protest that she wouldn’t consider herself a fan, but he continues, “I still would have wanted to have been friends.You’re one of the liveliest neighbors I’ve got. Everyone else on the street is rather dull.”

She chuckles, remembering finding out quickly that the street wasn’t a lively bunch.  

“I just wouldn’t say I’m a fan,” she presses and sits across from him.

He continues smiling like he knows the truth.

“I don’t think you’ve met an average person in awhile, Harry.” She finally says after they sat in silence for a few minutes because they were both too stubborn to be the first to talk.

“I would hardly call you average if that’s what you’re implying, Y/N.” He nods her way and he shifts on her plush couch, his legs adjusting themselves on their own accord. “And I know plenty of average people,” he adds huffily.

“I normally wouldn’t either, but compared to who you seem to surround yourself, I very much am. And that’s not meant to be a jab at anyone involved.”

His right hand sneaks up to his head to scratch at the base of a particularly perfect curl. His eyes squint a bit as his mind processes her claim.

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’m just curious to see if you’d actually like me in your life. It seems like you want to be friends with me and that’s great, but realistically I don’t know how much I would fit into it.”

Harry scoffs, “That’s literally bullshit, just relax. I’m so chill you won’t even know what to do with me.”

Now it’s her turn to scoff. “Chill?!” She asks incredulously. Harry nods with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before.

“When’s the next time you’re flying off to another country for work?”

Harry pauses, “Um...the day after the final match. I’m beginning to film a movie, so I’ll be there for a month.”

“Busy bee,” she muses and they both chuckle.

There’s something about the somber look Harry is giving her. His eyes twinkled in the coffee shop and with playful winks she was excited to be in his presence. But after she mentions when his next trip is, he seems saddened. There’s skepticism behind his eyes and maybe he doesn’t like being challenged about who he is from other people, especially those who are new in his life.

But that’s who Y/N is, she’s straightforward and doesn’t lie to someone. If Harry was now her friend, she was going to tell it like it is to him. That personality trait she worried wouldn’t make her long for his world.

“So the cardigan? Do you have it here?” Harry changes the subject, clearly not wanting to actually consider a realistic friendship together instead just charging ahead with no hesitation. Whatever happened they would deal with it as it came. Maybe she should just go with the flow, let herself be swept up into his madness. Maybe it would be easier than fighting it.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I do, I was joking. Where else would it be?” Her tone is light, trying to get back the shine she had seen Harry exhibit before it had vanished.

Maybe that was Harry’s effect on people. He was vibrant and like an Elton John song. You never wanted that shine to go away, never wanted the song to end. Never wanted him to stop shining his light on you. She felt this happening in just a few hours with him. When he was happy so was she and when he wasn’t entirely shining she wanted to do whatever she could to get it back.

A smile curls on his face and his green eyes narrow slightly. He’s trying to figure her out, know what she’s all about.

“Do you want to go and grab it?” His voice sweetening, almost like a tease. Maybe he means to bite his lip, maybe he doesn’t, but the effect on her is nonetheless earthshaking.

She pops up and smiles back, happy to have made him happy. As she walks out of the room to go get the cardigan that had started this all, her head tilts and she furrows her brow wondering why she felt such a sense of pride just for making him happy.

Would this man cause her to finally put someone else’s wishes ahead of hers?

-

“Are you on your way?”

She listens to Harry’s slightly worried voice crackle over the speaker of her phone as she shuts her door with the hand not holding her phone to her ear. His voice is raspy and muffled. She assumes it’s from the cold air of London at night and the scarf he is likely got wrapped around his neck.

“Yes! Jeez, I’m on my way. Walking over right now.”

It’s the final match for Harry’s football team and if they win the game then they get a trophy and it’s all Harry has been talking about since they got coffee and she handed over her cardigan.

Harry huffed an “alright” on the other side of the line and she called a “see you soon” before hanging up.

He was both eager for Y/N to come and possibly meet some of his teammates and a few of his close friends who he had invited and for her to arrive so that she wasn’t walking out late at night alone. He hadn’t known her for long, but he felt a certain protectiveness over her. She was relatively alone here, only two friends at work that she had mentioned and everyone else lived far away. She said she didn’t mind it, but Harry had a hard time understanding it since he surrounded himself with his friends as much as he could and was constantly either traveling or having them travel to see him.

He had even contemplated inviting her to come to Los Angeles with him for a month, but knew she would remind him of her ever important job that she couldn’t just randomly take a month off.

He’d have to ask her what exactly she did because every time he tried to remember, it always slipped his mind.

When her figure came into sight below the fluorescent lights, he breathed a sigh of relief. A grin spread on his face as she beamed at him and waved a bit. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see how special she was. Every time he saw her he felt himself straighten up and feel a bubbling in his chest. Her smile was infectious and the way her eyes glittered when she looked away quickly and then returned eye contact made him want to stay in her presence forever.

“You made it!” Harry said and scooped her up in his arms, not realizing just how happy he was to see her, swinging her around in a half circle.

She laughs in surprise, but appreciates the warmth Harry’s hug offers her. She’s not quite sure they had ever touched each other before this moment beside shoulder brushes and hand touches. Nothing so...purposeful.

“I made it,” she confirms and pats him on his broad shoulders.

Questions in her mind raced as she questioned whether it was normal for friendships to happen like this. She knew in college friendships could happen this quickly. And that’s when it dawned on her, she really hadn’t made a new friend since college and that was why everything with Harry was so odd to her. She had forgotten what new friendship was. She needed to stop questioning everything and just live in the moment with a person she really liked being with.

Harry’s hands move from her waist and one stays to lead her forward so he can introduce her to some of his mates, as he had promised.

She felt at home in that moment. His hand on the small of her back, his heat radiating off of him and her hair swept behind her ears and her cheek pressed to his shoulder staring up at him sweetly.

She meets Charlotte, a member of Harry’s band who lives in London, her boyfriend, Mitch (who had just happened to find himself in Hampstead this weekend), Ben, and a few more people she couldn’t remember all the names of.

Harry’s team wins the game and Y/N’s not sure if she’s ever seen someone so happy to win an adult league football match. There wasn’t any official trophy except the one Harry had made himself and said he would even give to the other team if they won. It was engraved with the words “The World’s Greatest Football Team of Stars Ever. October 22, 2020”. It doesn’t even make sense but she’d been holding it for the entire night as he played.

He goes down the line of his friends who have been watching and gives them all jubilant kisses on the lips. When he reaches Y/N she holds out the trophy and he grins and gives her a kiss on the cheek. His lips are surprisingly soft and his scratchy stubble tickles her and she swiftly pulls back, a smile on her face and blush on her cheeks nonetheless.

Charlotte and Mitch share a look between the two of them and Ben’s eyes narrow slightly at the interaction. His eyes narrow just as they had when Harry had strutted over to the group with Y/N before the game. He had happily named everyone and she had shaken all of their hands with a warm smile on her lips. Ben had regarded her warily and she had shaken it off as the chill of the night air. But there it was again, not quite trusting of the neighbour girl Harry had just randomly befriended a few days ago.

The team and the friends of the team decide they deserve to celebrate this win, mostly at the request of Harry.

Y/N tries to find a time to leave, to return to her place so she can prepare for her day at work tomorrow. But no excuses will be heard from Harry and she has a hard time saying no to his sparkling eyes and gorgeous grin that she’s growing far too accustomed to.

She’s ushered down to the closest pub with the rest of them and finds herself chatting with Charlotte’s boyfriend. He’s the most...normal. She’s not sure how to explain it, but he doesn’t seem to be regarding her as different, unlike every other one of Harry’s friends. They were all perfectly nice and cordial with her, but she just felt like she wasn’t a part of their group, their world and she didn’t know how to explain it.

Charlotte and Mitch are rather nice too, but they’re more reserved with her. They’re musicians, like Harry, and they somewhat have that air of awareness around them that Harry sometimes gets. She thinks it’s from the fame, having to constantly be wary of who is around you, what everyone is doing, what is happening next. She doesn’t mind it, it’s just not something she’s used to.

She wishes she could just throw back some drinks and she could allow herself to be more...well just be more. More of a presence, more of herself, but she has a job she has to get to bright and early. Tomorrow was Monday and for her that meant work. So she sips a beer that Harry insisted be on his tab and she makes small talk with Charlotte’s boyfriend about how he’s been helping her produce her first EP. Charlotte occasionally pops in when she hears her name, but mostly is conversing with Mitch over something silly. Y/N knows because they keep laughing.  

Harry is going around to just about everyone in the party and she watches as he happily talks with every one of his friends. He’s ecstatic and she wonders if she’s ever experienced happiness like he has.

At midnight she attempts to make a French exit, as her mother always called it, and slip away with little to no farewells, but Harry spots her before she can.

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asks loudly, the euphoria of winning his silly little game and drinking a fair amount of pints has him at his peak boisterity.

“I have work tomorrow,” she says warily, slumping slightly from the weight of Harry’s arm slinging around her shoulder.

He turns serious and straightens up slightly, his green eyes looking especially dark in the pubs dim lighting as they look her dead in the eye. “Let me walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself,” she laughs, shrugging off his hold. “Plus, the host can’t leave his own celebration.” She gestures to everyone else happily celebrating on a Sunday, somehow not bothered by the beginning of the average week.

He steps closer, his brow furrowing for the first time that night. One of his large hands raises to his tousled hair and he runs it through the tresses. He even nibbles at his lower lip as he contemplates his decision. Then quickly and suddenly, he makes up his mind,

“No, I’ll escort you. Can’t have my neighbour walk home this late alone. I’ll just leave my card with Mitch. He’ll settle up the tab.” He smiles at his perfect plan and she grimaces feeling slightly embarrassed that he would leave his friends to walk her home. “Won’t you Mitch?” Harry calls as he grabs his coat from the wall next to the door. Mitch simply nods and Harry yells his farewells, Y/N waves meekly.

“That was...interesting,” she mulls over her words as they walk through the cold night air outside of the pub.

“Amazing, right?” Harry speaks over her less enthusiastic voice.

“You have a lot of friends,” she mused, trying to sound less disheartened than she had in her last statement.

Harry only hums and shivers slightly from the cold. His breath comes clearly out in puffs in the cold night air. Y/N’s is muffled by her scarf wrapped tightly up to her chin. She’s tucked his face as far into it as possible but her nose won’t stop from freezing as they walk.

Her hand goes up to it and she rests her palm to the tip of it. The motion grabs Harry’s attention and he looks directly at her curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freezing,” she muffles out, “This helps my cold nose not be so..cold.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder and she easily folds into him, welcoming any warmth right now.

After another moment of silence and them enjoying each other’s warmth and slight smell of whatever perfumes they had chosen earlier that night as well as beer and wood of the pub, Harry nuzzles his head above hers and then asks her something.

“Was that overwhelming for you?”

She’s quiet, thankful his eyes can’t reach hers right now. He was too powerful with those things.

“I, um, a little. I just...I just realized today that I haven’t made a new friend since college outside of work and it was overwhelming just hanging out with you. So all of your friends as well, yeah, it was a bit much for me.”

Harry looks out at the empty street ahead of them and sighs in realization. In his excitement, he hadn’t accounted how she might have felt tonight until just now. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of her feelings, but other’s feelings slipped his mind so easily sometimes.

They round their street corner and she nuzzles back into his side.

“I’m sorry, love.” He rubs at her outer arm, “I didn’t think about it like that. I was just so excited for my plan to come together. Maybe next time, it’ll just be a couple of them rather than so many?”

“Sure,” she says quickly, wanting to make him happy, knowing how much he cared about his friends. “I feel like we need to hang out more with just you before I osmos into your friend group though if I’m being honest.”

“Well that can definitely be arranged,” he says and reluctantly lets go of her body. They’ve arrived at her door.

“I also want to see the inside of your house at some point.” She tugs at one of his hands before it can disappear into his warm coat pocket. “Houses,” she corrects.

“That can also be arranged,” Harry smiles with his lips closed. Pink lips and rosy cheeks extra bright from the cold. He plays with her fingers as the two stand close to one another, happy for the alone time and chalking the proximity up to heat sharing.

“You leave tomorrow right?” She finally asks.

His head falls and he sighs.

“Yeah…”

“It’s just a month,” she smiles, trying to stop Harry from being so dramatic. Especially when there was no logical reason for him to be so upset over not seeing his neighbour - she keeps telling herself.

“Are you sure you can’t quit your job and just fly out with me?” He pleads.

She throws her head back in laughter and shifts closer to him, her front porch light illuminating and shadowing every perfect place on Harry’s gorgeous face.

“Not even a chance.”

“That is a shame,” he takes an experimental step closer and she feels his breath fan across her cheeks at his last word.

She wrinkles his nose at the smell of his last beer, even though coming from him it was endearing.

Just as she feels him being to shift his head closer, she steps forward and gives him a tight hug.

“Goodnight Harry,” she whispers into his ear, “Safe travels.”

Then she’s stepping back and swiftly unlocking her door. She moves it slowly so as to not wake Rori and then Harry’s left alone and dumbfounded on her doorstep.

He definitely preferred being with her alone, but now he didn’t even have that chance until next month. And nonetheless she had just sidestepped his kiss with such ease he’s not even sure if he meant to kiss her. It had felt right, but why? Because it was cold and picture perfect? Or because he was enchanted by her and liked her as more than a new friend?

She slumps in her kitchen and fixes an Emergen-C to stave off the chill of the night and any germs that might have been lurking around the pub. She hopes when she walks to her bedroom she can check the front porch and see that Harry has gone home because she would hate to turn the light off on him.

How could he have expected her to kiss him just then? They’ve only just met each other a few weeks ago? And he’s Harry Styles and she just lives in the neighbourhood. What the actual fuck had happened to her life?

[drxwsyni]

Always, and Forever

Pairing: Yandere Koushi Sugawara x f!Reader

Synopsis: Koushi has taken care of you for so long, by now it’s something you’ve come to find solace in. And so it pains you to have to part from him on purge night, forced into the outside world in hopes of quelling your lingering embers of desired independence, however that may happen.

a/n: This is my fic for the Yandere Purge AU writing collab, hosted by the Lovesick Discord server! Here’s the link to the m.list where you can read the other fics members have written for this collab! I really didn’t mean for my part to get this long, but alas I have zero self control. 

Thanks you so so so much to @yanderart​ for beta-ing this fic, you literally always work wonders for me while also being the sweetest human being ever. Many kithes for you my dear friend.

9.7k words

Warnings: Dubcon, heavy stockholm syndrome, infantilization, attempted assault (when Daichi makes a brief appearance), injury, depictions of violence, gaslighting, manipulation.

_____

He felt like home.

Koushi’s embrace, his words, his smell―the stability he surrounded you with.

The love he surrounded you with.

You felt light around him. Mind in another place, floating off into feelings of quietude. A swell of comfort bloomed in your chest at the sight of him. His warm and familiar smile, adoration for you shining in his hazel brown eyes. The way his fingers ghosted across your skin, gentle, as if you were made of the most delicate glass, and any move too unintentionally harsh would break you.

It’s why he took such good care of you. Making sure you were safe, out of harm from the dangers of the outside world. Tucked away in his home a small ways away from the outskirts of the city. He held a certain pride to it all―the knowledge that you were protected from all that could ail you, and all because of him.

You doubted that there was anyone else on the planet who would do the same. Who would learn every single little thing about you, know you better than you knew yourself. Nobody else existed that would dedicate so much to making sure you never had to worry your pretty little head over the stresses of everyday life.

There was nobody but Koushi.

As he held you close, your back pressed into his as the two of you lay in bed, it was obvious that he was all that you needed.

His arms wrapped around you, and with the lulling sensation of sleep slowly washing over you like a rising tide, it was easy to melt into his embrace. If you relaxed enough, let your inhibitions escape you, just how he always urged you to do, you might just feel like all is right in your small world with him.

“...You know what day tomorrow is, right?”

But that was why you couldn’t relax.

Koushi keeps you on your toes, biding his time for you to step out of line. He waits patiently, observing, but not compelling you more than normal on any given day. Your lover keeps with routine, fearful that changes will be too much for you to handle. Only, you wish there was a change, anything to stave off the mental consequences that repetitive actions brought.

You couldn’t relax, because even if he felt like home, it was still not your home. You lost that a year ago tomorrow.

...Purge night.

Free reign given to those like Koushi, and for those such as yourself. To have and to hold, or to run free. Two opposing forces in a race against the clock to fulfill their desires.

But you didn’t even make it past the first five minutes.

• • •

Seated on his couch, TV mantled above the fireplace, a warm glow dancing across the room.

You were nervous―painfully so.

That dreaded letter came in the mail. You were selected to be a participant, the government mandated notice read. Unfortunately for you, it didn’t read who you were selected by. It was why you were scared out of your mind, and why you went to the only person who could calm you down.

At his side, his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer, Koushi soothingly reassured you that everything would be alright. With his words, low and gentle, softly spoken in your ear. Or with his actions, a welcomingness that you could never refuse. His home being a safe haven, his touch coaxing you to let yourself accept that you had not a single thing to fret about with him.

He offered protection for the night. And you knew that you wouldn’t make it out there by yourself, so of course you obliged.

You obliged when he said to make yourself comfortable, when he offered to put on some music to ease the tension, whatever could assist your shaken soul. Your nerves were quite clearly running rampant― “Nothing a good cup of tea can’t fix.”

Koushi was right, it did wonders for your state, subdued more and more by the second.

Soon, the announcement played across the screen. Words in bold urging caution for some, and sparking adrenaline for many.

For you, things felt...strange.

The task of placing who had signed you up for this dreadful night was mind boggling. You thought to your coworkers, childhood friends, even lingering acquaintances that had entered and left your life in the span of a single day.

Still, nobody came to mind…

Not until the announcement ended.

Or the sirens outside ceased their countrywide alerts.

It wasn’t until you lost the feeling in your limbs, did you know where your mistake lay.

Taking the form of your always caring friend, never the one to leave you unguarded. Constantly checking up on you, ensuring you were looking after yourself. Doing everything he could to take responsibility for all those little things you couldn’t handle, just to lift that extra weight off you.

But really, Koushi didn’t think you could handle anything. Not like he could. Your struggles weren’t something you, a fragile and vulnerable thing, could ever possibly manage. In his eyes, you just weren’t made to take care of yourself.

That’s what he told you as he shut the television off, and as he laid you down on the couch.

He spoke so lovingly, “It’s alright, my sweet girl.”

By then it was too late. You were reduced to being completely defenceless, at risk of quite literally everything.

...That’s not how he saw it, though.

To Koushi, you’d never been safer.

That was the reality―you in his home away from modern dangers. Then, and now still.

• • •

A year had just about gone by. You no longer thought for yourself, for the most part. Koushi tried to force you into a state of complete dependence, and you couldn’t deny that he did a good job of it. You knew this because mostly, your memory was in shambles. From days upon days upon weeks where you let him do all the work, things didn’t really stick. And what significant thing was there to remember in the same laid out and unfaltering routine?

He would always dote on you, not once have you needed to ask him to do so. “It’s my responsibility,” he would repeatedly tell you. It wasn’t your place to fend for yourself―that was his job.

With how thorough he was with that agenda, not letting you slip up for a second without reprimanding you, Koushi had molded your mindset to fit his ideals. A year of reminders, of insisting submission upon you―all serving one purpose.

To make you see, make you understand that he was the only one for you.

But he knew just as much, if not more than you, that still there remained the flickering flames of autonomy. The need for it dim, but its light still a beacon of strength that fueled you to resist him.

Koushi waited for an answer, an acknowledgement to his question that no doubt stirred conflict in your mind.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets, a seed of dread planted in your chest. Just slightly, you nodded your head in confirmation. Of course you knew what tomorrow was.

The day where, only because it’s illegal not to do so, those like you were given a chance at freedom. To make up for failing last year, and to obtain that independence you once held.

You didn’t even know if you completely wanted it though...

Behind you, Koushi pulled you closer into him. Carefully, he leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss against your temple. His hand intertwined with yours, giving it a small squeeze.

And nothing more was said on the matter.

_____

You woke up in his arms, a safe cocoon under the sheets with the morning daylight seeping through the cracks of the closed blinds. Of course, Koushi was already awake.

Sometime throughout the night, you shifted into your current position―head resting on his chest, arm thrown over his torso. You sighed happily as you were met in your waking state with the feeling of his hand on your waist, holding you against him as he thumbed the soft and nightgown clothed skin soothingly, a repeated back and forth.

His morning voice always made you feel different. A little raspy, but still coated in his loving tone, creating butterflies in your stomach. “Mornin’, pretty girl.”

Still wrapped in the comfort of a post sleep haze, you nuzzled your face into his chest. “Mmmn...mornin’.”

If you were looking at him, you’d be able to see his expression that was practically dripping in admiration. You might find his tiredly intimate words and motions endearing, but he found that of yours to be nearly enough to stop his heart.

Really, everything you did had that effect.

...It was a shame he’d have to go without it later tonight.

For now however, he’d let you sleep in. It was the weekend after all, and you needed your beauty rest. That, and he wasn’t about to ruin this moment by discussing the inevitable.

_____

Neither of you had yet to speak of what was soon to come, but that didn’t matter. Not when, even from the moment he got you out of bed, that reality was already having an influence on your day.

Normally, Koushi would opt to dress you in something a little more delicate. He liked the sight of you in a silken nightgown, an earthy pale pink, or pastel blues. Something to represent how fragile he thought you to be. Of course, it was never a practical outfit. But you had nowhere you needed to be, remaining inside his home your only job.

This morning's upgrade of a real dress, one with pockets, double lined and long sleeve, was the first reminder of tonight’s main event. All in all, it was pretty. You liked it, you were grateful for it.

But it only made your chest tighten, an indescribable hint of trepidation taking hold of your being.

The day goes on, you once again settling into routine. It wasn’t hard doing so, especially since now you’ve grown used to how unwavering it is. You actually find it quite nice.

If you forced yourself to step outside of your adopted headspace, it was just barely possible to pinpoint when you became this docile. When the rules Koushi had both mentally and physically beat into you became automatic actions. Or, when they didn’t seem like rules, but more so guidelines for a healthy routine that you genuinely wanted to complete.

Because you did feel healthy. You got plenty of sleep, since you always went to bed when he told you to. You had a balanced diet, because even though Koushi was busy with work, he always managed to prepare you a proper meal. You felt at peace, because you forgot why you were here in the first place.

So, separating from that compliance, and forcing yourself to remember your reality―you’d say it’s been roughly three months since you started to enjoy living with Koushi. And now that you’ve memorized the routine he’s set up for you, you know that when he sits you down on the couch, while he remains standing in front of you before speaking―these are special circumstances.

It’s just after dinner, a little past 5 o’clock. He has yet to help you switch into your evening routine, which normally consists of giving you a task such as reading or drawing to pass the time, until you have to get ready for bed.

You know that he’s looking down at you, but you can’t bring yourself to return his gaze. When you caught a glimpse of it, it only stirred anxiety inside of you. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t upset. He seemed...casual.

Too casual for the conversation you were about to have.

“I know this is stressful for you, sweetheart. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Your hands are folded on your lap, nails digging into the skin in an attempt to distract you from the developing worry encasing you.

Much to your dismay, Koushi crouches down in front of you, a hand placed gently atop your knee. Like an adult trying to get on the level of a child, which honestly is what he makes you feel like sometimes when he speaks in such a soft tone. It forces you to look him in the eyes.

He’s right―you could always say no.

Mandatory by law, those like you who are bound to your ‘lover’ by their legal ownership over you must be given a chance to regain independence. However, you’re completely within your rights to deny the offer. Of course, this would mean that for another year you would be stuck with them.

The problem is, many of the individuals who deny the offer no longer find it as being stuck.

You don’t know what you would define it as.

What you do know is that if you go, the odds of making it out with that sense of freedom aren’t very encouraging. Your stamina is all but entirely depleted, given how the most activity you get is by walking throughout the house to either the bathroom, living room or kitchen.

On top of that, you have zero clue where you’d go. Being in the same spot for a year hasn’t exactly done anything for your sense of direction, or your understanding of the city’s layout. And the last time you went outside, the most you saw was the same view from the living room’s window.

Because you only got about ten feet from the back door before Koushi caught you.

That experience didn’t give you anything to help you in trying your hand at tonight’s offer. In fact, it only made things more difficult. The mere thought of what had ensued after he dragged you back inside his home was immobilizing.

It was likely the very reason as to why deciding if you wanted to attempt to leave Koushi was so debilitating. When even thinking of taking a single step outside struck fear into your core.

...

You should say no.

But of course, things would never be that simple. Not now at least.

Those embers of resistance still burned inside of you. Albeit dangerously fleeting, you could just barely recall the indulgences of your past life. A time where you still held that independence, when you could choose to do things for yourself. Small things you took for granted, like fast food or staying up late and binging shows―while the memories were clouded, you could still recognize the feeling they gave you.

Of warmth, or of the mindless pleasure that you used to never think twice about seeking.

A pang of guilt shot through you, realizing how selfish you were for wanting to leave Koushi over that. He’d been so good to you, making sure you barely had to lift a finger. Yet here you were, yearning for things that would only do you harm, a fact he’d repeated countless times in the early days of living with you.

But, tonight was the only night of the year when you got to be a little selfish. The prospect of earning those little independent privileges was strangely like fuel to the nearly burnt out fire of your lingering resistance.

You looked back at the grey haired man, still calmly awaiting an answer.

“N-no, no...I want to do this, I think…”

And there was that smile again, all too soft and gentle for what you could only guess was some well contained detestment for your words. He looked understanding, and to anyone else the way he regarded you would be endearing.

What a loving boyfriend….

If only they knew.

With that, he let you remain on the couch, waiting patiently for his return while he moved momentarily into another room. Soon he returned, and for the first time in a whole year, he let you watch television that wasn’t dumbed down animated shows, or wholesome animal documentaries.

Koushi put on the news, or more specifically, the countdown broadcast to the purge.

_____

You could almost laugh at how rattled simply watching the news made you. It would be amusing, accept your heart was beating too fast, mind racing with worrying thoughts to realize the irony of the situation.

This night was supposed to be your only chance of gaining legal custody of your own independence. You should be beaming. Yet here you were, anxiously bouncing your leg, bottom lip between your teeth as the announcer went on with scripts of how people across the country were preparing for when 6 pm hit.

And Koushi, the one who should be stressed with the possibility of you slipping out of his grasp―he was doing fine.

For the most part, at least.

Sure, a small hint of dread for the highly, and he means highly, unlikely was present in the back of his mind. But Koushi knew you. He knew every single little thing that made you who you were.

Of course he did, he loved you after all.

So that flicker of dread remained almost nonexistent. Because he also knew how this night would end, and that was more than enough to calm his nerves.

Unconsciously, you leaned into Koushi’s side. He was seated right next to you on the middle of the couch. An arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Your left hand in his and placed on his lap, his fingers not so absentmindedly drawing soothing circles into your skin.

You didn’t see, but his eyes never left your troubled and practically shaking form.

He felt bad for taking pride in the sight.

It meant that you were terrified of leaving him. And you should be, it was so dangerous out there. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself, it’s why he did it for you. So, seeing this proof that in less than ten minutes, you’d be going out into the night alone, had you shivering in fear―it only told him that what he was doing was right.

Yes, it did hurt him to see you so distressed, but you needed to learn your place.

Which was next to him, always.

And when he thought about it, this is how his lessons always went. Koushi would never hurt you unless you deserved it. Unfortunately for you, you tended to do a lot of things that warranted punishment. And he was eager to help you see things his way. Tonight was no different.

You’d never be in any real danger.

He’d never go as far as to permanently damage you in any way.

If you deserved the punishment, then he should be allowed to have a little fun with it.

Both of you were brought out of your respective intense thoughts as the room was bathed in red. The television screen, now vibrantly pigmented in the colour, began playing the annual emergency broadcast, alarms blaring from the speakers.

Koushi saw how you flinched, and like the loving person he was, he reached for the remote to turn down the volume. You were still shaking like a leaf, stare fixated on the bolded words rolling across the screen.

In an attempt to console you, Koushi gently moved a hand onto your shoulder, urging you to lean back into him. Your heart skipped a beat as he placed a kiss on the crown of your head, lingering there for a moment.

He spoke in a delicate whisper, just loud enough that it would drown out the automated announcer from the last broadcast to be had tonight. “...Shhh, you’re alright sweetheart.”

Unconsciously, you nodded with his affirmation, trying to convince yourself of the same thing.

Information continued to dance across the screen. You would have twelve hours, starting at 6 pm, which was in two minutes, to do whatever you needed to obtain your ideal outcome. So would those opposite of you in nature, which didn’t exactly help your chances of fighting for your freedom.

A myriad of other rules and such were listed, most of them being useless to you. It was more so meant for those of the bolder type. What weapons you could use, who you could injure, and how far you could take things.

You didn’t want to hurt anybody. You just wanted to go back to how things were before naively falling for Koushi’s trap―or at least that’s what you thought. The whole decision still felt a little cloudy in your mind, even now.

Abruptly, the television stopped it’s recount of the mandatory notice. The red returned to black, because for one, there was nothing more to and. And, because Koushi had turned off the TV, the resounding click bringing you back to reality.

Neither of you moved as the countrywide sirens rang out. The fixed speakers outside sounded off, letting everyone who wasn’t tuning into the news segment that finally, the purge had begun.

Your gaze remained fixed on the floor, feeling like it was taking an eternity for the roaring noises to cease. Eventually they did, leaving you and Koushi with the silence of the living room, the hushed sounds of a crackling fireplace being the only thing to meet your ears.

Naturally, he has to do everything for you. And, naturally, he doesn’t mind.

“C’mon, sweet girl.”

Carefully, so as not to scare you more than you already clearly were, Koushi pulled you off the couch. Not moving too quickly, he kept your hand held firmly in his as he led you to the front door.

You couldn’t remember the last time you got this close to the entrance. His various methods of reprimand doing wonders to keep you from drawing near it. Sometimes, even looking at the door was something you feared.

But now, here you were, standing right in front of it.

You followed Koushi’s movements, your hand falling at your side as he released it to begin undoing the excessive amount of locks.

Not excessive to him of course, anything to keep his perfect little girl safe.

The quiet beeping of the door’s alarm was the only thing to be heard aside from the noise of your heart beating in your chest, the sound reverberating in your skull. Then came the manual locks, Koushi’s hand reaching into his pocket to grab the keyring.

With each lock coming undone, your mindset continued to spiral.

You can’t do this. It’s too much to handle. You have no clue where to go, or where to hide.

And the comfort that he provides―you really do like it.

How he touches you, tender and lovingly, able to feel with every movement how much he cares for you. When he wraps you in his arms, that familiar and comforting smell that’s so undeniably Koushi sedating those thoughts at unease. He speaks to you, always saying the right things, so softly.

You realized that lately, there was nothing to worry about with him.

But you would lose all you earned the second you stepped out of his home.

Yet, as he finishes with the locks and turns back to you, it doesn’t feel like you’ll lose anything.

Not as in, once you leave, his presence will be gone, and that you’ll never have to experience it after you make it out of this night with your freedom.

Rather, once you fail, he’ll be waiting, ready to snuff out those pangs of anguish you’re feeling right now, just like he always does. That kind of comfort didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

The thought alone was enough to quell many of your concerns.

Koushi stepped towards you, his hands reaching for you, finding their destination in gingerly cupping your face. Nervously, your eyes flitted from his frame to the door’s handle.

The man in front of you sighed slightly, taking in the details of your expression. The furrow of your brows, how you had trouble focusing on any one thing while a plethora of thoughts raced through your mind.

He liked knowing how much this was bothering you. Showing that at the end of the day, you were more dependent on him than you realized.

Koushi was the first to speak, you tensing at the startling noise.

“I’m not forcing you to do this, sweetheart. You know you don’t have to go out there.”

He studied you intently, and you felt the urge to shrink from his focused gaze. It would be so easy to just stay home. To curl up with Koushi in front of the fireplace, relax into his arms as the night went by.

But as you looked back to the unlocked door once more, you knew that wasn’t an option.

“I do have to, I’m sorry…”

You didn’t know if you were apologizing to him, or to yourself.

Koushi smiled, a thumb momentarily caressing your cheekbone before pulling away.

“Well, then―I’ve got something for you.” His hand once again fished around in his pocket before pulling out the object in question.

Your eyes landed on it immediately―a burner phone.

It was simple, a black flip phone, old model and with little use aside from calls and texts that took far too long to type out on its inconvenient keyboard.

Koushi stood next to you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he flipped the device open. The artificial glow of the screen illuminated your face while he held it open for you to observe.

“My number is on speed dial, just press here―” he went through the motions slowly, letting you follow the steps he was taking, “―and you’ll be able to call whenever you need me.”

Slowly you nodded, amazed at the prospect of using an electronic, even an ancient one. You hadn’t touched a phone in so long.

Koushi slipped the device into the pocket of your dress, choosing to face you once again. This time he gripped your shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze to grab your attention. “If you can’t handle being out there, promise that you’ll call me.”

For the first time this night, you looked him in the eyes. Those full of compassion and care, you not knowing the feelings they hid from you.

“...I will, Koushi.”

A moment of silence lingered in between the two of you, and before you could make any first move, his lips were softly connecting with yours.

An action full of devotion, you had no choice but to melt into it. Because now, it no longer caused discomfort to eat away at your system, but the exact opposite.

When his lips parted from yours, instead of immediately letting go, Koushi pulled you into his embrace. His arms wrapped around your waist, your head settling into the crook of his neck.

You finally realized that there had been tears slipping down your cheeks this whole time.

His voice sent shivers down your spine, spoken against the shell of your ear. “I love you, so much…”

Your hands gripped his shirt tightly in response.

“...But, you won’t stand a chance out there.”

An odd choice of words, while although it did send an icy fear throughout your body, it still made you want to go out there and prove him wrong.

Whether or not he realized that fact was beyond you.

Koushi pulled away, not before pressing a final kiss on your cheek. His hand reached for the doorknob, turning, and swinging it open.

The cold air of the evening hit your body, the sun rapidly setting on the horizon. It brought about a new sense of coldness to go along with that which was stirred by your anxieties. Breaking your attention away from the outdoors that lay just a few feet away, Koushi voiced his plans.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll give you an hour as a head start, sound good?”

Silently, because you couldn’t form the words to make a response with an impossible lump in your throat, you nodded. But you still remained in place.

Waiting for his permission.

He smiled at your expectant behaviour.

Koushi waved a hand, gesturing to the outdoors. “...Go on, now.”

Hesitantly, still greatly unsure of your own decision, you did as he said. Feeling almost light, with your body seemingly moving on its own, you stepped through what, up until now, was a forbidden threshold.

The breeze in the air made your dress flow, the feeling of the forceful chill against the bare skin of your legs a foreign sensation after all this time. You could hear the sounds of crickets chirping in the grass, many living past the tree-line of the forest surrounding his home.

The sun was what you were least expecting.

Just barely managing to peek through the mostly overcast sky, its intense rays landed upon your skin. You could feel its heat, a warmth contrasting the fall temperatures. Tilting your head up slightly, you closed your eyes to bask in its natural gift.

But as soon as it came, the sensation was gone.

The sky fully clouded over, leaving you in the cold, and in a darkness threatening to grow worse as each second ticked by. Still battling an inner turmoil to go through with your wants, you turned around to face Koushi one last time.

Still at the front entrance, he was bathed in the inviting warm light coming from inside the house. He made no more moves to sway you in any which direction. Instead, he simply stood in the doorway, casually leaning against it with his hands in his pockets.

That’s when it dawned on you.

You were wasting time.

No wonder he was so calm. Letting you spend precious seconds getting nowhere.

Your eyes met his. Koushi gave you that signature smile that suddenly wasn’t so comforting.

And then, you were gone.

_____

Your heart was thudding loudly in your chest, desperate gulps of air entering and exiting your already exhausted system. Previous calculations on the few strengths you’d have going for you, and the many weaknesses holding you back were correct.

After less than two minutes of running, you already had to reduce yourself to a walking pace.

Your limbs felt increasingly strained at the sudden exertion, calves aching and lungs burning. Once you slowed down and your wits returned, you noticed the particularly painful sensation in your feet.

Koushi failed to give you proper shoes for the night's events, instead leaving you in your fairly thin lined slippers that now weren’t even good enough to keep out the chill.

Or perhaps, he did that on purpose?

Those facts didn’t quite matter at the moment. You had finally reached the edge of the city, making good time as you didn’t have the need to make it there under the cover of the forest. A quick glance at your burner phone would tell you that you still had fifteen minutes of free time, so there was no problem being out in the open as you took to the road to reach your destination.

The stretches of trees were replaced with encroaching buildings, starting out small and changing into impressive structures as you ventured further into the city.

Overall, it was quiet. Aside from a few stray pieces of litter blowing in the wind, there was nobody out on the streets aside from yourself. Really, many people didn’t have a reason to be out. Not everyone had someone to be running from, or oppositely, had someone to be running after. If you didn’t fall into either of those two categories, then you had no reason not to stay inside.

After all, getting in someone’s way could mean risking your life.

This constant and looming reality, that the only reason why you were out was because of these special circumstances―it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.

Even as you caught your breath, your heart remained beating rapidly inside your chest. Your feet stumbled awkwardly along the sidewalk, wincing with each shot of pain that ran up your legs.

You only paused when your eyes landed on red and bolded graffiti on the side of a boarded up shop.

“KNOW YOUR PLACE.”

However, you failed to understand what that was anymore.

The sudden noise of a shrill scream sounding from some indiscernible place brought you startlingly out of your focus on the graffiti. The noise bounced off of the brick walls of buildings around you. Your head whipped from side to side, trying to understand where it was coming from.

Only, it felt like the screams were all around you.

Your hands were clenched into tight fists, nails indenting crescent moons into the skin of your palms. The wails lasted for a mere five or so seconds, but it felt like minutes with how your distress was only amplifying your panicked reaction.

In that state of immense internal torment, you unable to think of any one decision for yourself, your body once again acted on it’s own. Fight or flight senses kicking in, favouring the latter, you bolted away from what you were most sure was the best direction away from the screaming.

Really it was all you could do. Staying in one spot, frozen with fear that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, wouldn’t do a single thing for you. Even if you didn’t know the exact destination of your travels, all you knew was that you had to put as much distance as possible between you and Koushi’s home.

So you ran, only to once again forget just how ill equipped you were.

The street lights went by in a blur, wind whipping past you. The first bead of sweat trickled down your face as you willed yourself to keep moving. Not even a minute in and you were slowing to a stop, leaning against the side of a building.

You could’ve passed out right then and there, with the weight of your exhaustion, and your weakening mindset crashing down on you. But if you stopped, you knew that you’d likely never be on the winning side of this night.

Still trying to catch your breath, you used this time to pull out your burner phone. Flipping the small device open, you winced at the bright and artificial glow that you were so unaccustomed to, especially in the darkening light of the evening.

Your eyes landed on the clock, front and center of the compact screen.

7:00 pm.

The head start was up.

_____

A quiet playing of jazz music lingered in the background of the kitchen, the pinks and oranges of a setting sun behind the clouds casting part of the room in a warm hue. Methodically, and humming to himself, Koushi was drying the dishes from the dinner he had with you, fondly recalling how breathtaking you looked in your new dress.

He took a quick glance at the clock after putting the last cleaned dish in the cupboard, making sure to lock the small door shut. The device mounted on the wall told him it was nearing quarter to eight.

Expectantly, his phone rang in his pocket, him not even needing to look at the caller ID before answering. Especially not when the voice on the other line spoke before he could even get a word out.

“You still need me for tonight?”

Koushi slung the cup towel over his shoulder, leaning against the granite countertop. “Daichi, I’d really appreciate the help if you’re still up for it. I understand if you can’t though―”

“You had my back last year, the least I can do is return the favour.”

Softly, Koushi laughed a little to himself, remembering how frustrated his friend was, unable to control his other half.

He nodded, gazing out the window as he spoke. “Well then, do you remember what I said or should we go through it again?”

On the other line, he heard some indistinct rustling, paying to mind to it. “That’s alright, I know how important this is to you. Couldn’t forget it even if I tried.”

That brought a chuckle out of both of them, Daichi continuing soon after.

“I’ll get going then, gotta handle a few things first.”

This time, Koushi could make out the distinct noise of a car trunk slamming shut. Meaning his friend was already on his way to set up.

“...Of course. Thanks again, by the way.”

He heard what sounded like keys jingling, “No problem, talk to you later.”

With that, Koushi ended the call. Phone still on, he was left to look at the last app he had open, the screen still giving him live information by the second. Satisfied with what he saw, he excited the tracking software, swiftly pocketing the phone.          

Grabbing the still somewhat full wine glass on the countertop, Koushi made his way to the living room. Relaxing into the couch with a relieved sigh, he resigned himself to a waiting game, knowing it’d only be so long until he had you back, safe and wrapped in his arms.

Just where you should be.

_____

There weren’t many options: either hide in the shadows, and be at risk for unsuspected attacks, or remain in the safety of the street lights, exposed to any and all onlookers. Looking over your shoulder, not quite eyeing any one thing that meant certain danger, you chose the latter.

When the screams around you finally died down, fading into the background as you left it in the dust behind you, the sound of a distant rumbling came to the forefront. With a quick glance up, you could see that, even in the dimming light of the evening, the clouds above were growing thicker. Darkening and swirling in the sky, you knew that soon a storm would be upon you.

As the earthy aroma of approaching rain permeated your senses, your heart longed for the comfort back home. If it weren’t for that nearly indescribable need to keep moving away from Koushi, you’d be back there. Probably relaxing on the couch, a sedating melody coming from the record player. Another perfect Saturday night spent in your lovers presence.

You could practically feel the heat of the fireplace on your face if you focused hard enough.

However, that heat wasn’t coming from such a sanctuary, one who knows how many kilometers away by now. Rather, from the burning building in front of you.

Snapping out of that reminiscent trance, you came to an abrupt stop. Squinting a bit at the bright and flaming scene, you could just barely discern that the building was a police station.

The sight only brought a small quirk to your lips, knowing how useless they were to those like you.

Turning away from the building, you trained your goals on moving in the same direction, fearful of getting turned around and accidentally heading back towards home. Things once again fell into silence, only the sound of a looming and encroaching storm meeting your ears every ten minutes or so. Fatigue had set in long ago, leaving your steps sluggish, fighting every muscle in your body to keep up a consistent pace. Even if you weren’t moving fast, you were still moving.

Except, that too grew nearly impossible to reasonably manage.

The further you walked, the more disturbing sights you came upon. It seemed like all at once, things were hitting the fan. Corrupt scenes unfolding around you being horrifying to no ends.

Exiting an alleyway, the first thing you saw was a man stuffing a body into the trunk of a car. You couldn’t tell who the person was, or whether they were even alive. But those details weren’t remotely feasible, as the perpetrator caught you in his gaze.

Seeing your frozen stature, face riddled with fear, he only laughed to himself.

You were no threat to the claims of the night, so he dismissed you with ease. Leaving you in his wake as he drove off, you stayed put for an unknown amount of minutes.

The terrifying truth of what you were was unavoidable, and damn near immobilizing. Weak in everyone’s eyes, often your own included.

At some point you found the will to start moving again, only to soon pause for a breather. Mostly to ground yourself, you checked the time on your temporary phone.

It read just half past nine. In normal circumstances, you’d be in bed; or getting ready for bed, at the least. As a few droplets began falling from the now pitch black sky, you longed for safety under the covers of your bed. Bundled in soft blankets, a dry nightgown, and the soothingly mellow voice of Koushi next to you. Every night, without fail, he’d always remind you of how much he loved you, helping you fall fast asleep under the calmness he provided.

A shiver wracked your body, heart aching for his safety. Your finger hovered over the call button, one movement away from being scooped up by your saviour.

Your body was jolted out of the thought before you could bother with such a surrender.

Someone―a young girl, maybe in her early twenties, desperately clutched the sleeves of your dress. She looked up at you, expression riddled with a bone chilling dread. “Please help me! He’s...he’s trying to―”

Yet, just as she was about to finish, another set of hands painfully grasped your shoulders. A split second later and you were being thrown into the side of a building.

A man was yelling at you, quite loudly at that. Or maybe he was yelling at the girl―with the way you were sobbing, panic shutting down your better senses, it was too hard to tell. You couldn’t quite hear any one thing, the world falling into silence as the anxieties resting in your system spiked violently.

Your brain didn’t even register that you had bolted into a sprint. Not until, sheerly because your body couldn’t handle taking another step until you gave it at least a little break, you stopped, almost falling to your knees with how drained you were. Barely, you managed to keep yourself upright by leaning against a lamp post.

In that moment, there was only one thing going through your mind.

You wanted to go home.

Koushi’s home, which just as much belonged to you as it did him. That’s where you were meant to be. Not out here, by yourself in the middle of the night, rain coming down around you. Even if it was light, the slight dampness in your clothing had you convulsing in cold bodied trembles.

The phone was still clutched tightly in your hand. You knew what you needed to do.

And as the noise of gunshots rang out in the direction you came from, your plans shifted to do just that.

Shaken to your core, you shuffled into an alleyway. Seeking the refuge of a shelter to make that fated call, you blindly ventured deeper into the narrow passage. The saving grace that were streetlamp lights disappeared behind you, remnants of its glow doing little to help you see where you were going.

Doing nothing to help you see the trap you were walking directly into.

All at once, your knees buckled under you, a net you had stepped into lurching upwards. A shriek escaped your being as the intertwined rope cased around you, hoisting you into the air. Suspended only five five or so feet off the ground, the height wasn’t what sent terror coursing through your veins.

It was the fact that you were trapped, no amount of struggling enough to free you. And, because your phone had slipped out of your hand, through the holes of the net, and onto the pavement beneath you.

Out of reach, leaving you helpless to the whims of your sudden captor.

Just like that, the repeated calling for your lover spilled from your lips. Petrified in every sense, you wailed for Koushi to come and save you. Pleading cries for help were repeated until your throat grew hoarse. You only stopped when you physically couldn’t catch your breath.

But even that ceased as well, when a tall figure came into view.

You blearily wiped away the wetness pooling in your eyes, body uncomfortably folded by the sinch of the net as what looked to be a man stalked towards you.

“...Little things like you really shouldn’t be out on a night like this.”

As he drew closer, you could make out the short cut of his hazelnut hair, chiseled features, a broad frame shielded from the downpour by a waterproof jacket. Slowly, the stranger leaned down, picking up your fallen burner phone.

A small whimper escaped you, “Please…”

The deep baritone of his voice shook you as he spoke, “What, looking for this?” Mockingly, he waved the flimsy device back and forth, just out of arm's reach from you. He lowly chuckled to himself at the severely distraught look you gave him, and at the lifeline that was your phone.

The phone that, taking it in both hands, he snapped in half with ease.

Eyes blown wide, you watched in silent horror as the man tossed the unusable device aside, the noise of it clattering to the ground bouncing off the walls of the alleyway. Before you could even register what had happened, what was going to happen, the man was right in front of you.

You couldn’t even think of what to do or say as his hand reached through an opening in the net, harshly gripping your jaw and forcing you to face him.

His lips were pulled into a small and menacing grin, unspoken notions of his intentions laced into the way he regarded you as prey. A quiet hum resonated from him, scanning your features intently. Not before turning your head to the side ever so slightly, seemingly confirming what he already knew, he spoke up once again.

“...No wonder he loves you.”

The glint of a pocket knife flashed before your eyes, and a second later you were crashing to the ground. With the ropes holding you up now severed, the net fell down around you. As soon as you could stretch out your limbs, you were mindlessly scrambling away.

Your better intuitions were completely clouded over, escape once again being the only thing your body could try to achieve.

“Stop fucking struggling.” The words met your ears as an iron grasp wrapped around your ankle, roughly dragging you back to that spot a few feet away from your position, where you’d only just crawled from.

The assailant flipped you onto your back, “What the hell are you gonna do anyways? You’re not made to fight people like me off.” Strangled sobs left your system as he settled in between your legs, his hand gripping your throat. “I could snap your bones like a fucking twig, and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.”

You attempted to sputter out a response, anything to deter the man who was unashamedly handling your much weaker body. Yet, the second your lips parted, a sharp sting bled across your cheek.

“What a dumb little girl you are―dumb enough to walk right into an obvious trap.”

As the glint of a blade returned, you could do nothing but lay there as the sharp edge ripped through the fabric of your dress. The front of it fell open, leaving your bare chest exposed to his eyes, save for the bra being the only thing to defend you.

You didn’t see the knife disappear, only knowing it had gone somewhere when his now free hand groped your breast.

“I mean, what the fuck did you think was going to happen coming out tonight?” The man above you laughed to himself, knowing you were too scared out of your mind to respond.

Meaning his orders were playing out as expected.

The grip on your throat tightened, leading you to space out as he continued the one sided and condescending conversation. “I bet you could’ve avoided this too. Poor thing―too stupid to get out of her own way.”

The pleading request repeated over and over in your mind, but you couldn’t force yourself to speak it. As another smack collided with your cheek, hearing going out in the ear that was affected by the force, those spiralling thoughts got worse, a nauseating feeling rolling in your stomach.

Pleasepleaseplease just stop.

All you wanted was to go home. You should’ve never left. You should’ve never tried to leave Koushi.

Why would you ever want to do that?

Finding yourself growing lightheaded, unable to take in enough oxygen to keep yourself conscious, you felt something inside of you disappear.

If you could describe it, the sensation would be like a sudden dislodge. Relieving, a weight on your body, one that wasn’t caused by a man pressing into you, vanishing entirely.

You still didn’t feel calm, system remaining corrupted with a near crushing fright in your drifting state. But whatever familiar sense of trepidation you once suffered from was now gone.

Hands falling limp at your sides, exhaustion finally getting the better of you as you no longer had it in you to fight off the stranger choking you out, your eyelids fluttered shut. You didn’t want to stop struggling, to give up against this seemingly unstoppable force, but you didn’t have much choice, did you?

Only, a violent and haggard fit of coughs spewed from you as the suffocating force pinning you down disappeared.

Breath quick, your intake and outtake of much needed air stuttering, you heaved weakly against the wet pavement. The first thing that flooded your senses was the patter of the rain hitting the ground around you. Then, it was the feeling of that rain landing on the skin of your face. Cold and cooling, easing the burning ache of your cheeks that had been repeatedly battered just moments ago.

As your eyes closed to bask in the relieving sensation, the droplets against you left, yet still the sound of rain falling down around you remained.

Upon opening your eyes, a swell of emotions ran over you. Tufts of grey hair hung above you, a deeply worried expression of the man you loved regarding your worn out and still shaking form.

“...K-Koushi?”

If it weren’t for the rain, both of you would know full well that the water streaming down your face wasn’t from the night’s downpour. But the hitch in your voice, the tremble in your lower lip―both served as clear displays of the anguish you experienced.

His hands cupped your face, gentle as always, especially now so as not to put pressure on the tender skin. Even with the commotion of the storm beating down around the two of you, his voice was as clear as day.

“I’m right here, pretty girl.”

_____

The silence that the sanctuary of Koushi’s home, your home, brought about was like balm to your oversensitive state. It wasn’t a deafening silence, per se. Because here and there, it still carried symphonies of the outside world, while the world right at your fingertips brought ones of safety inside such sturdy walls. Whether it be the muffled noises of overhead thunder, or the soothing sounds of rippling water as your fingers danced mindlessly underneath its surface.

The heat of the freshly drawn bath was doing wonders for your strained muscles, now feeling limp in Koushi’s arms as he held you from behind. With a deep sigh, lungs still burning from previous exertion, you leaned into him. It was easy to melt into the secondary warmth he provided, your partially bruised back pressing into his chest.

With the night’s activities washed from your bodies, you needed only to bask in the presence of the man you once feared you lost. The shift from one extreme to another, immobilizing terror to heart wrenching relief―nothing had ever made your head spin faster.

Now, while you let the humidity of the bathroom seep into your skin, the sweet scent of body wash meeting your senses, the invisible weight of guilt remained burning. Your eyebrows stayed knitted, a look of worry that Koushi couldn’t see.

But little did you know, he knew it’s what you felt. He knew everything about you, right down to the last little detail. So he wasn’t surprised in the slightest when your meek voice broke through the silence, spoken in a volume just barely above a whisper, purely because your vocal cords were shot from when he heard you calling for him only an hour ago.

“...I really am sorry, Koushi.”

He wrapped his arms around you tighter, thumb running back and forth against the bare skin of your arm. “If you’re sorry, then you’ll let me take care of you. No more messing around.”

...

It’s not that you didn’t want to let Koushi do as he pleased, it was that you didn’t know why he wished to do it in the first place. Even after all the time he’d spent devoted to tending to your every last need, the reasons as to why he did so could never quite stick.

You never asked him for any of this. He just assumed the role of your caretaker without batting an eye. It was obvious he cared about you, but still you had issues accepting his motivation for it.

Letting out a shaky breath, you spoke once again. “I just...I don’t understand why you want to so badly. It doesn’t make any sense, and―”

“I do it because I’m in love with you, isn’t it obvious?”

The playfulness in his questioning tone didn’t go unnoticed, but it still didn’t exactly calm all of your anxieties. At least, not until he continued with his speech, his actions following up with affirmations.

Your head rested against his shoulder as his hands wandered, mapping out the sensitivities of your body, starting where they rested near your chest.

“I have been since the moment I laid eyes on you, sweetheart…”

When his hands found purchase on your waist, tenderly squeezing the plush skin, you harshly sucked in a breath of air. He kneaded the tense muscles of your body, speaking low, but still sending shivers down your spine at it’s proximity.

“All of your little quirks, your gentleness, how delicate you are...You’re so impossibly perfect.”

Pausing, Koushi pressed a light kiss against your temple, “...Of course I want to take care of you.”

With each word spoken, every syllable filled with innate devotion, your mind of worrying thoughts surrendered to him. Not given much choice in the matter, and not wanting to choose any alternative if there was one, you let his admiration slowly consume you whole.

“I wanna make sure nobody can hurt you, make sure you get what you deserve…”

Koushi’s hands drifted lower, deft fingers lightly trailing your body, teasing touches only serving to stir another type of heat inside you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him cup your heat, middle finger gently pressing in between your folds.

“...And, that you get what you need.”

You softly whimpered as the pads of his fingers came into contact with your clit, the exhaustion you felt amplifying your sensitive nerves. Applying just the right amount of pressure, and in the perfect spot that had you yearning for more, Koushi skilfully circled the puffy nub.

He smiled to himself as you weakly squirmed in his hold, knowing that in your state, this was the finishing touch to his game. One that he’d been playing since the day he met you, and that now was about to reach its end. Where he’d finally have you right where he wanted you, and you’d both be happy for a long time to come.

Removing the pressure from his ministrations, he bowed his head so that his lips were just ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Tell me what you need, pretty girl.”

Tears pricking in your eyes at the carnal desire you felt from even the slightest of touches, you found yourself near immediately calling for him, begging for his help without a hint of recollection from the memory that held resemblance.

“Please Koushi...I need you.”

With those small and desperate pleas, Koushi found that there was nothing he wanted to hear more in that moment. The desperation laced in your tone was the sweetest thing he’d ever listened to, and so he vowed to himself that he’d make you repeat those wanton admissions time and time again. As often as he needed them, and as often as you needed him. Which would be in your every waking second from now on, finally.

He couldn’t help but encourage you even more, the sound of your whimpers as his fingers worked you over being the most addictive drug.

“That’s it...I’ll give you everything you need. All you have to do is let me―you can do that, right?”

Only wanting to please him more, full body acceptance gripping your being, you responded by quickly nodding, incoherent words escaping you without thought.

Koushi could only laugh at your reaction, adorable in every sense. But, he wanted to hear you say it, ever the demanding one, and always wanting you to play by his rules.

Knowing you were teetering on the edge of release, his fingers slowed their pace, relenting to an achingly teasing method of feathered touches. He spoke one last question, something to finalize his long maintained agenda, goals set on crystallizing your reality for the both of you.

“Promise that you’ll let me care for you, no matter what.”

At his question, the only thing more powerful than the feelings burning inside of you from his sinfully skilled movements was how you felt about him.

The way he made you feel safe, even on the darkest of nights. How he wrapped you in an embrace that would snuff out the flames of self-doubt without fail, each and every time. He never missed a single thing about you, from the obvious outward traits, to the hidden emotions that suddenly didn’t seem like things you needed to conceal―not with him.

There wasn’t a single think about Koushi that you could bring yourself to hate.

Because right then, you loved him, just as much as he loved you.

Koushi felt like home. He was your home.

A home you never had until now. And one you never wanted to leave.

Resigning yourself to him completely, leaving not a single thing that would keep you from submitting to his passion, you held nothing back. Forever and always, you would give yourself up to him, content at the knowledge that you hadn’t a thing to fret over so as long as you were with him

“...I promise.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

[ridiasfangirlings]

Post-S2, Fushimi overworked and fell asleep at his desk. He woke up and the date shown on his PDA was one day before Totsuka’s death. He realised he could try to save Mikoto but worried about how it could affect other events. (Mikosaru angst with a happy ending pls?)

Timeskip to save boyfriend? Timeskip to save boyfriend. Say post-ROK Fushimi's working chasing after a Strain and he happens to go by the building where Totsuka died. He realizes where he is and kinda stops and looks up at it, thinking about how this really changed everything and how if Totsuka hadn't been on that rooftop that evening both Totsuka and Mikoto would be still alive and could have actually seen the Slate destroyed with everyone else. He clicks his tongue and mutters 'stupid,' it's not like he really cares that those two are gone or anything and besides, no one can change the past. As he's leaving this random person happens to just brush past him, bumping into his shoulder, and Fushimi just grumbles at the idiot to watch where he's going as the Strain that just touched him disappears down the street.

Fushimi returns to the office and starts doing his paperwork, there's a lot piling up so of course he's awake long after everyone else has gone to bed. At some point he finally just passes out at his desk and is awoken later by one of the alphabet boys shaking him awake. Fushimi's all bad-tempered and sore from sleeping at his desk and he reaches for his papers before snapping at Doumyouji that he wrote the date wrong on this one, that was over a year ago. Doumyouji's like 'Hm? That's yesterday's date, Fushimi-san.' Akiyama leans over to look and confirms it, asking if Fushimi's okay and suggesting maybe he should go back to his room because he's probably still exhausted. Fushimi glances at his PDA and realizes that it says the same date and that somehow he seems to have gone back into the past. He's trying to figure out how that happened and why this date when he suddenly realizes why the date seemed oddly familiar – tomorrow night Totsuka's going to be shot by Colorless and set off the whole mess.

Fushimi isn't sure what to do here, the obvious idea would be to save Totsuka but he's also not stupid and who knows how that could change the timeline, what if it makes things worse. Imagine he decides he needs to go for a walk to clear his head and he ends up in front of Bar Homra, just standing out of sight and wondering what he's supposed to do here, he isn't the hero type and this is so annoying. That's when he hears a familiar voice say his name and Fushimi like jumps as he realizes Mikoto is just chilling next to him smoking a cigarette. Mikoto wonders if Fushimi's here to bother Yata and Fushimi clicks his tongue like if I say yes will you leave. Mikoto says Fushimi looked kinda troubled and was the Blue King bothering him again, Fushimi's like that's no concern of yours. Mikoto shrugs and says if Fushimi's got something on his mind he should say it. Fushimi pauses and then tells Mikoto not to let Totsuka leave the bar tomorrow night. Mikoto raises an eyebrow questioningly but Fushimi just turns and walks off, wondering if he just like screwed up the timeline here.

The next evening Fushimi finds himself hanging out on the rooftop of the Hirasaka building, trying to stay out of sight as he keeps watch just in case Totsuka does show up. He's not interested in getting shot himself but he can't just sit back in headquarters and pretend like nothing's going on either. He's trying to keep in the shadows when he hears the sound of movement, Fushimi freezes and Mikoto just appears standing there holding a video camera and wondering what's got Fushimi all on edge. Fushimi's like why are you here you idiot and Mikoto says he told Totsuka not to come so he showed up to take the video instead. Fushimi calls him an idiot, like for once couldn't you have been lazy and stayed at home. Suddenly there's the sound of a gunshot and Fushimi feels this sharp pain in his stomach.

Immediately Mikoto grabs him and sends a ton of flames in the direction of the shot, someone jumps out of the shadows and laughs saying that it looks like the wrong person made an appearance. Colorless smiles as he wonders how the Red King knew he would be here, Mikoto's like 'Dunno who you are and don't care.' Colorless laughs again and introduces himself, saying that he's the person who's going to defeat all the Kings and become the only King. Mikoto gives this feral grin as he's like 'is that so,' all ready to fight, but then Fushimi weakly grabs at his arm and mumbles out 'Mikoto-san...don't....'. Mikoto gives this slight sigh as he's like looks like I can't kill you just now, turning and making his escape because he needs to get Fushimi somewhere safe before the kid bleeds out. Behind them Fushimi can hear the sound of the airship getting closer as he passes out.

When he wakes up he's like back at Mikoto's own rarely-used apartment, it was closer than the hospital and Mikoto figured he could at least try and stop the blood flow before the ambulance arrives. Fushimi blearily asks if Mikoto contacted Scepter 4 yet and it turns out that Mikoto hasn't called anyone. Fushimi decides this is his chance to try and not so much right the timeline as adjust it – telling Mikoto not to call anyone, and to let Scepter 4 know that Fushimi's been shot and killed. The plan is Fushimi will play the role of Totsuka and Mikoto will go about his 'revenge,' a revenge that's really not going to end in Mikoto getting killed by Colorless but which might end in them finding another way to solve this. Mikoto doesn't know what Fushimi's plan is but he's willing to go along with it (and of course this means they have to spend lots of time together like partners and maybe Fushimi starts to realize that not only does he not quite hate Mikoto but he also really doesn't want Mikoto to die).

[kiriluvbot]

pros of shipping rare pairs: you have to make your own content, creative freedom, less ship wars

cons: you have to make your own content

so here i am, making my own content. also, manga spoilers ahead.

—

seroroki, post war arc, in the hospital

—

nothing felt real.

not the uncomfortable plastic seat beneath him, not the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, not the ticking clock on the wall. most certainly not the school uniform clinging almost too tightly to his skin.

he was aware of every loose string of thread, of the sickly scent of sterilizer in the air, of the voices humming in tune with the lights. a door slammed to his left and he flinched.

“we can’t reach them, i don't know what’s going on—“

the battle against all for one and shigaraki ended only a few days ago, but it felt like no time at all and all the time in the world had passed. the number one hero, endeavor, had nearly been killed. half of hanta’s classmates were in hospital beds, unconscious or barely able to speak.

“endeavor, he—he’s down!”

the world had been turned upside down. hero society as everyone knew it was falling apart of the seams. heroes were dead. civilians. classmates. dead. cities were flattened, disintegrated or on fire. the very earth seemed to be crumbling.

“that—that thing. it’s coming this way. we have to move. sero—“

hanta sero wanted to be a hero. hanta wanted to be a hero dammit, but when the time came, what could he do? what could his quirk do? he was not strong enough, not fast enough, not smart enough. he applied to the best hero school in the world and trained until he felt like he was going to die and it was not enough.

the whole thing had felt like some terrible nightmare. the worst nightmare, worst case scenario, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. not as shigaraki during a whole city to dust, not as giantomachia flattened an entire forest, not as endeavor was knocked clear out of the sky. not as their friends lay on the ground dead or dying, not as civilians cried out for help under rubble, not as the bad guys slipped away like they were in no hurry at all.

“just—be careful out there, hanta. please.”

“sero, bub, come on.”

“come back to me in one piece. okay, shoto? promise me.”

a hand rests gently on sero’s shoulder. it makes him jump, immediately turning to search for the source. sero finds it’s just smiling kirishima, red hair down and framing his tired eyes. his heart races as another door shuts a little too hard.

“is it time?” sero’s voice sounds dry and foreign to himself.

“yeah,” kirishima replies. “let’s go see todoroki.”

the name alone is nearly enough to send sero buckling to the floor.

“shoto—where is he? why can’t i see him?”

“you need to calm down, kid. we’ve got everything under control.”

“tell me he’s going to be okay. tell me!”

sero is hardly aware of his own footsteps as a nurse leads them through a maze of blinding white halls. he’s numb and hyper aware all at the same time and it’s awful.

as soon as they’d gotten word that todoroki was awake, a small group consisting of sero, kirishima, satou, momo, and jirou left immediately to go see him. no word on bakugo yet, or midoriya. the three idiots dived head first into the worst of the battle. sero hadn’t known until hours later. he briefly recalls the dull look in kirishima’s eyes, how he merely clammed up and went silent. sero hadn't reacted quite the same. he only remembers falling to his knees, begging for answers.

not much comes to mind after that.

sero wishes now that he could see todoroki alone, that he could scoop him up and run away to some imaginary land where villains and heroes didn’t exist. where they could be safe.

he also considers turning tail and running back to his dorm and never leaving again. sero wasn’t sure how he could stand seeing todoroki in whatever state he was in—

“i am touya todoroki, the eldest son of endeavor.”

the flames, the smell of burnt—

the nurse leading them says, “his voice isn’t completely back yet, but he’s awake and doing well. just be careful, please.”

then the door opens. kirishima leads the way and sero finds he’s okay with that, because he’s quickly realizing that he’s not at all prepared. not even close.

shoto todoroki is leaned up on his bed, wrapped almost entirely in bandages. his baby blue hospital gown is too big for him; it dips off one shoulder. nearly his entire face is bandaged, his right arm, his chest too, it seems. what skin can be seen is dull, but his eyes are not. they shine with unshed tears that sero can see even from this distance.

“todoroki,” kirishima starts. “so glad to see you, man.”

the others chime in, smiling softly and hiding their hands behind their back, keeping a vice like grip on their self control. sero finds, for the first time ever, he can’t say a damn thing.

todoroki opens his mouth. the sound that comes out is horrible and broken, but he rasps out a simple hey, guys.

“you’re gonna need a full time translator,” kirishima jokes, and sero’s lip quirks despite the heaviness in the air.

and after a while, one by one, this little group dissipates. kirishima and sero are left, and then kirishima goes, too. his hand finds sero’s shoulder once more, and he shoots a see you later at todoroki before exiting.

and then it’s just them. sero and todoroki.

just like it’d been before this whole shit show started.

legs tangled, fingers entwined, promises made, confessions unsaid.

“hanta—“ that voice comes out again, raspy and shattered. “i—“

“you came back to us in one piece,” sero says, interrupting. “please don’t start to apologize.”

what he doesn’t say is: i didn't tell you before we left—i didn’t tell you because i was scared. and for a bit i thought i’d never see you again. for a bit i thought i was going to die. i thought you were going to—

sero sits on the bed, todoroki’s legs just barely a ghost behind him. this lighting makes him look paler than usual, makes his scar stand out, makes his hair look like fresh—

stop.

todoroki doesn’t even know where to start. he was sure he was going to die on the battlefield. he was sure he was going to die in dabi’s—no, touya’s arms. he was sure his brother was going to kill him.

when todoroki woke, all he could remember was the sheer terror he felt on that hill, his supposedly dead brother right in front of him, dancing like a mad man, laughing hysterically. it was like everything had been ripped out from underneath todoroki. he had become very unsure of everything he knew about himself, about his father, about his whole family at that moment. even more unsure than he’d been previously.

as much as todoroki wanted to deny it, wanted to scream that dabi was nothing but a meddling lunatic, the sensible part of him knew it was true.

endeavor may be number one hero but he had not succeeded at a single thing except making a monster out of his first born. the rest, well—you know how the story goes.

the truth made todoroki feel tainted, stained. it made him feel contaimniated and heavy and like maybe—maybe he should’ve let dabi finish the job. maybe, by killing shoto, touya would finally be free of whatever he had weighing on him. get rid of the thing that replaced him.

it had been on todoroki’s mind since he woke up. the truth would rage through the world like wildfire. endeavor would be scorned. shoto would forever been stuck in the shadow of his failures. he’d never be free—never—

sero grabs his hand.

sero watches as todoroki grimaces, turns his face away. he watches as todoroki starts to guard himself, starts to clam up—

todoroki pulls his hand free.

“sho—“

“you should go,” todoroki hisses. even as he speaks them, he regrets every word. it all comes out wrong and harsh, rough around the edges.

what he doesn’t say is: you’re too good for me, hanta. why can’t you see that? why can’t you see i’ll only ever weigh you down? my family’s a disaster, i’m a mess, and you’re—you’re you.

there’s a pause. the air is heavy. sero’s hand is cold. he watches as todoroki avoids his gaze, as more tears well in his eyes. nothing feels real.

“you—what?”

“hanta,” todoroki whispers. “go. please.”

and it’s like the world is ending, all over again. if he hadn’t been sitting, sero might have collapsed at the knees again. he wonders briefly if his ears need to get checked, if he heard him correctly, if the world really is ending.

and to make it so much worse, todoroki says, “you deserve better, dammit.” his voice barely raises a single octave. “don't want you getting dragged down because of me. ‘cause of my family.”

he says me like it’s poison on his tongue.

todoroki pulls into himself completely, pulling entirely out of sero’s orbit, leaving the room icy and feeling nearly empty. sero isn’t sure exactly what he’s feeling, but he knows it must be something close to anger. his brows knit together as he tries to keep a tight leash on his emotions, but sometimes even hanta sero loses control.

sero stands so fast his vision blurs for half a second. todoroki looks meek and small beneath him, hands clamped together, eyes dull and face wrapped up. sero’s heart beats all the way down to his toes, the room closing in on him slowly. it’s iciness seeps into his bones, fear and anger and confusion simmering in his veins.

“you’re out of your goddamn mind if you think i’m gonna let you shove me away so easily,” sero cuts out, ignoring the bewildered look on todoroki’s face. “i know you’re hurting, shoto. and i know you're strong, but you don’t have to do this on your own.” sero unclenches his fists but god, his chest feels tight. “we’re just kids, dammit! you don’t have to carry all this weight, just let me help you. let me be here for you!”

“hanta—“

“i’m here because i—“ you know, sho, i really— “because i care about you.”

the room seemed to shrink in that very short time period, sero’s chest heaving with all the things he didn’t say, all the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to do. he’d spent nearly every single day in the past year-ish by todoroki’s side, training, laughing, sharing manga. he’d grown close to someone who seemed so untouchable when he first met him. sero got to be there as todoroki brought down his own walls, came out of his own shell, became someone todoroki himself could be proud of.

and now this idiot wanted to push sero away? because he deserves better? because todoroki didn’t want sero to see the ugly truth of his family history? because todoroki thought he himself was too much for sero?

“just trying to protect you,” todoroki mutters, not daring to look away from sero’s face. not yet. “i’ll only—“

“don’t—“ sero snaps. “don’t say it. you know it’s not true. you know it isn’t.”

todoroki finally breaks eye contact, gaze dropping to his hands. his shoulders heave as he takes a shaky breath. if he could just get it into hanta’s thick skull that he hung the stars, that he was a god send, an angel on earth, that todoroki was unworthy and undeserving of someone like him—

todoroki doesn’t have time to reel in the tears as they start to fall. slowly at first, then all at once like the dam had finally broken. sero is at his side in an instant, like todoroki hadn’t just told him to leave, like todoroki didn't just try to make it obvious he’s undeserving of someone as kind and caring as sero. and here sero is, further proving that point as he sits carefully on the bed and gently takes todoroki’s face in his hands, fingers ghosting over bandages. the touch is searing and unbearable and not enough all at once.

“‘m sorry,” todoroki chokes out. “sorry, sorry. hanta—“

sero lifts todoroki’s face ever so slowly, and todoroki finally sees the redness of his dark eyes, the bottom lashes clumped together from a cry that might have happened just before he got here. todoroki can’t seem to get a handle on his own tears, can’t seem to reel in his uneven breathing, can’t seem to stamp out the shaking nerves dancing up his arms. grief rages inside him, grief and guilty and that same achy breaky loneliness todoroki hadn’t felt in so many months.

“please, shoto,” sero whispers, so close todoroki can’t even breathe. “everything is a mess right now but please. let me stay by your side. don't—“ his throat catches, “—don't shut me out, okay?”

“someday you’re gonna realize you don’t have to carry the weight of the universe all on your own, todoroki.”

“sero—“

sunset colors begin to pour in through cracked curtains, washing them in gentle warmth. sero’s gaze doesn’t waver, his touch doesn’t disappear. he’s light and he’s holy—pure and too kind. todoroki wraps hesitant hands around sero’s wrists, trying his hardest to reign in his tears. he lets their foreheads press together slowly, carefully.

promises are made, confessions stay unspoken. todoroki doesn’t let go, not again, not ever.

—

[smallerinfinities]

Cake

a/n: when tipsy meets twitter, all bets are off

hello! I woke up three days ago like I’d been reborn in my love for this kid, so I wrote this filth 😅 i’ve posted a few times recently about this video but if you haven’t seen it, scroll my blog or search cake lol trust me it’s worth your time. 

(masterlist is linked in my description)

warnings: 3.9k of absolute filth

Movie night had ended hours ago, giving way to sleepy rideshares and drunken footsteps into the second bedroom. Brian was passed out and snoring in the giant armchair across from you. The Top Gun drinking game had gone wrong at around the eighth high five and completely derailed at the sixth “Iceman,” which became a salud of sorts in the room. Beer cans, mango White Claws, and the occasional tequila bottle littered the kitchen island.

“Psst, are you awake?” a toe poked your side from above. Shawn looked down at you with a cocked eyebrow from under his crooked elbow. You’d taken residence behind his legs, resting your head on his hip to watch the movie, bowing out of getting totally trashed. Your lips were still tingly enough to be dangerous.

“Yeah,” you croaked, clearing your throat and stretching, “I’m awake.”

“Are you suuure?” he slurred, tired and tipsy. The smirk was audible, “I thought I felt you drooling through my sweatpants.” His breath came out in a whoosh when you punched him in the abs with your outstretched arm.

“How’s that for awake, fucker?!” He chuckled and caught at your hand, unfisting your fingers and playing with them as he pulled out his phone. You let him. You even opened your hand fully so he could trace little patterns on your palm.

It had been like this for a few months, the flirting, the touching. A drunken night of 20-somethings playing spin the bottle had ended with multiple people clearing their throats with wide eyes as Shawn kissed you.

My God, he had kissed you. Fingers splayed against your neck, his lips gently interlocked with yours. It started out chaste, just two mouths touching, but as soon as he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, it was game over. The people, the voices, your friends, all melted away and it was just the two of you. His top lip between yours. Gentle sucking pressure. His body heat radiating onto your skin. It was everything you never knew you wanted. Until Connor clapped Shawn on the shoulder and ripped him away, turning the two of you into human embarrassed laughing emojis.

Since then, it had been like this. His hand on your lower back at the coffee shop, lazy naps together after midday movies, play fighting and fake indignation after one too many shots at the bar. Your friends all shared sideways looks and snide smirks every time you hung out but you hadn’t crossed any lines again and you definitely hadn’t talked about it. Whatever it was didn’t need conversation. It was fun. It was nothing. He was busy. He was a globally-famous popstar. You were normal. The last thing you wanted was one of those embarrassing tabloid articles, “15 Things You Need to Know About Shawn Mendes’s New Fling.” So, in the quiet moments, you let him trace patterns on your palm and send shivers down to your toes.

“Hey, come up here, I’m scrolling Twitter,” he swept his fingers down to your wrist and gave it a tug, a little giddiness in his tone. He made space for you in front of him on the couch, giving you his bicep as a pillow. You settled back against his hard chest and let your legs weave into his. He’s so goddamn warm. It was a mistake wearing jean shorts to his condo. There was a part of you that wondered if he turned the A/C down on purpose but you didn’t want to think about why.

Scrolling Twitter, where Shawn saw the most fan activity, was one of your favorite pastimes. Seeing the reactions to this dude you knew in real life was occasionally shocking, sometimes horrifying, but always amusing. He held the phone out in front of you and thumbed through his feed.

Most of his mentions were about missing him. He’d been on a break since the end of his last tour, taking some time to himself without a schedule for every minute of every day. For a guy who had been taking photos with fans pretty much everyday for the last seven years, you understood why they might be freaking out. He’d broken the pattern. Thank God for that.

You tried to keep your eyes from crossing at the repeated “I miss Shawn @shawnmendes” tweets and the feeling of his alcohol-warmed fingers against your hip. I shouldn’t want this.

“Wait!” you snapped a finger at his phone, “what was that?”

“Oh, that?” he scrolled back, “it’s just an old video.” His voice broke a couple octaves on the last bit. The tweet was accompanied by the wide-eyed blushing emoji. Curious. You raised an eyebrow and watched. He was eating a guitar-shaped cake...with his hands. Mouth wide open, his face buried over and over in thick pieces of chocolate cake with some kind of blue frosting on it. It was fucking filthy. You rubbed your thighs together absent-mindedly.

“What do the comments say?” You poked at his phone before he could move it away.

“Oh, nothing really,” his voice was still high, which meant he knew what the comments likely said. You huffed and grabbed at the phone. “Shawn, you know I have Twitter, I’ll see it whether you like it or not!” You rammed your hips backward, pausing for a second when you felt something you weren’t expecting, but not for too long. He sucked in a breath, coughing, and dropped his phone—right into your waiting hands.

“Hahaha!” You jumped up and ran to the other side of the big white couch, kicking your legs in victory, “I win!” He tripped over his own oversized limbs before he got to you, falling to the floor within reach of your feet. He reached out and pulled your legs toward him, framing his face between your thighs. Your giggles stopped short and your face flamed.

“Can you assholes get a room?!” Brian was awake and fussing at the thin fleece blanket he’d scrounged off the back of the couch. He rolled over mumbling something that sounded like just fucking fuck already but you were too busy thinking about Shawn’s head still between your legs to be bothered by it.

Shawn slowly lifted his finger to his lips in the universal sign to be quiet and untangled himself to stand. He reached out a hand and you didn’t hesitate to grab it, leading you to his bedroom down the hall. You held his phone in a death grip, unwilling to let go in case he caught you off guard.

The room was dark, save for his phone, the rectangle reflecting a solid white off the wall of glass facing the city. The CN Tower lights flickered in the late night sky, seemingly suspended in midair. His unmade  bed was the biggest and brightest thing in the room. A white comforter hung half on the floor at an odd angle off the corner of the mattress, his white sheets completely exposed. The pillows were all scrunched up at the headboard, like he’d been kicking and pushing all night long. Like he hadn’t slept soundly in weeks.

“Okay, so what you’re about to read…” he shut the door behind him, scrubbing at the back of his neck, “it’s gonna be weird, but like it’s fine I’m used to it. They’re...a little invasive.” Weird? Invasive? Curiouser and curiouser…

You walked over to his bed, picking up the comforter and tossing it haphazardly back onto the bed, and sat on the edge staring at the video and letting it play a few more times. Then you swiped down.

@canadianmendussy: ALEXA PLAY BIRTHDAY CAKE BY RIHANNAAAAA

@perfectlyru1n: oh my goD does he really go down like thAT?!

“Oh...my God,” you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, “you’ve seen this before?”

He bounced on the mattress facedown, mumbling something into the sheets.

“What was that?” you asked, with Southern sweet tea levels of sugar. You ruffled his hair, brushing through his curls. He turned his head, his face flushed with more than just alcohol.

“I said yes, I’ve seen it before…” he opened one eye and looked up at you, “I usually just ignore them.”

There were over 400 replies on this tweet, some people chiding the horny stans for posting something Shawn can see, others just piling on.

@illuminateruin: is that cake gluten-free?

@kidinlover: @illuminateruin idk but I know pussy is

@particularbenito: CAN HE EAT PUSSY LIKE THAT?!?!?!

“Can he eat pussy like that...” you read out loud under your breath, your mind conjuring up that image of his face between your thighs. Shawn’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“What???” His face was practically magenta at this point, “is that a serious question??”

“What? Uhh, no. Not serious. A reply actually,” you rushed, giving him a sideways look. I mean...maybe it was a serious question? The curiosity was going to kill you. Oh, no. No, no, no. Your lips tingled.

“Well, I mean….can you?” You could hear the glint in your eye.

Fuck it all.

“Can I….w-what?” he stuttered, the air crackling between the two of you. He looked like a cornered animal, like the wrong move would get him killed.

“Can you,” you pushed a loose curl out of his face and nodded toward his phone, “eat pussy like that?”

Oh, God, did I just…?

“I’ve never gotten any complaints,” your head popped up at his self-satisfied tone. Gone was the red-faced shy boy talking about embarrassing fans. The Shawn in front of you was...confident. Hungry. His fingers grazed your ankles resting beside him. It didn’t escape your notice. You shivered.

It wasn’t cold.

“M-maybe they were just too afraid to tell a big, famous rockstar that he sucked,�� you were the one stuttering now, face heating by the second.

“Oh, sucking was definitely part of it,” his fingers traced the indent in your calf. You refused to pull away even though you should, even though part of you—a small, shrinking part—knew that if this went where it was definitely going, things were going to change. You snuck a finger under his chin to pull his gaze to yours.

“Is that a promise?”

“I don’t know,” he flashed a toothy smile, gravity and sheer force of will pulling his body toward yours, “is that an invitation?”

I’m probably gonna regret this in the morning.

Your lips crashed into his, giving him your answer. His mouth was hot, his breathing heavy. Tongues and teeth and lips wrestled together, refusing to part while he made his way above you, crawling on hands and knees between your legs as you settled against the pillows. He licked up into your mouth just before nibbling on your bottom lip, forcing a moan from deep inside you. This was primal, the need you felt with him. Like once you came together, nothing could break you apart.

His hands moved up your body, scratching gently at your exposed legs and slipping beneath your hoodie. He broke away from your lips to shuck off your top and expose all your delicate skin. His fingers slipped beneath your lace bralette and he played with the tiny clasp between your breasts.

“Is this okay?” he asked, a little out of breath, his thin t-shirt pressing against your skin.

You nodded so quickly you thought your neck might snap. He popped the clasp and spread his calloused hands across your chest. The friction was glorious. Your body chased his fingers involuntarily, bowing up off the high thread count sheets.

“Be still, baby,” he whispered, dipping his head and placing an open mouthed kiss just above your belly button. Your eyes rolled back at the pet name, another moan escaping your lips. Warmth rushed between your legs.

“Shawn,” you gasped, trying to control your breathing so he didn’t know just how fucked you were, “when I gave you an invitation, I didn’t expect you to be late to the party.” You rocked your hips up into his chest pointedly.

“Well, I can't just jump to the entrée, can I?” He fiddled with the button on your denim shorts, loosening it with a little pop. Teasing, he licked at a freckle just above your hip before sucking at it with enough force to leave a mark.

“Fuck!” Your hands shot down to his mop of curls, fingers buried in the thick locks. He pulled and nibbled at that spot over and over, all while grazing his fingers just beneath the waistband of your simple cotton cheeky panties.

When he pulled away, an angry red violet half-moon colored the skin. He took one last lick, smiling at your gasp in response.

“I love that sound,” he sat back on his heels between your legs, looking down at your heaving chest.

“I’ll make it again if you take that shirt off,” you reached for him with grabby hands, trying to Harry Potter that shit. He laughed and did the boy thing, grabbing his shirt at the back of his neck before tugging it forward off his body.

The gasp came again. Not even on purpose or because you’s promised him, but because he was so stupid gorgeous in the low light of the city you couldn’t help yourself. You’d seen him in hot tubs and at sweaty summer parties and in those fucking Calvin Klein pictures, but none of that compared to having him shirtless between your thighs just a few inches from your outstretched fingers.

His chest was flushed, some combination of adrenaline and alcohol. Little freckles dotted his lightly tanned skin all the way up his torso to the dusting of chest hair that colored his chest. His perfect pink nipples were hard against the cool air of the room, begging for you to touch or kiss or bite. Or all of the above. You reached out to trace his appendix scar where it peaked out of his low-slung sweatpants. His body danced away from you as he caught at your hand.

“Don’t,” he growled, weaving his fingers between yours and pressing his lips onto the back of your palm like a fucking Victorian gentleman. Like he wasn’t staring down at your hardening nipples thinking about how good they would feel pinched warm between his fingers. He tipped forward, bracing himself against the mattress, his mouth just a few centimeters from your skin. Dragging flesh against flesh, he left kisses at random in the valley between your breasts. Moving farther and farther down your body, he paused, sitting up on his heels.

“Are you sure?” He was breathing heavy, looking straight through you, both hands hovering around the edges of your shorts. You were nodding before he even finished his question.

He curled his fingers around all the fabric in his way, denim and cotton both, and dragged the offending pieces of clothing down your legs, lifting them off and tossing them against the wall across the room. You breathed steady, looking at him looking at you. His mouth hung open in speechless wonder.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered, settling back between your thighs, a mirror of his earlier pose on the couch. Another wave of heat rushed straight to your clit, silently screaming for him.

“I know,” you brushed through his curls, giving him a suggestive grin when he looked up at you, “I taste good too.”

That was all the permission he needed. A second later, he buried his face between your legs, nudging your knees over his shoulders. His tongue swirled in circles around your clit finishing in random flicks. He moaned into you, his lips closing around your swollen folds with gently sucking pressure.

“Shit, Shawn!” you shouted, praying to the gods that everyone still in the condo was too drunk and passed out to hear you. The white sheets bunched in your fists, arms spread wide. Your thighs clamped down against his ears.

He continued his licks and flicks, snaking his hands up your legs and gently prying your legs apart. You clenched hard as he pinned your thighs to the mattress, holding you open with his forearms. Filthy sounds echoed off the walls, wet sucking, moaning from both of you. He dipped his chin and circled your entrance with his tongue, lapping at you.

“Christ!” your hands shot into his damp curls. He was working hard down there, flexing and moaning and fighting your spasms. You looked down and saw his hips impatiently rutting into the mattress. It only made you wetter, gushing onto his waiting tongue. He drank everything you gave him.

“He’s not here,” he said in a low and gravelly voice, a little breathless. He pulled back, the bottom half of his face shining in the dark. His fingers toyed with your sensitive, wet lips, watching as you twitched and trembled, so close to the edge. A firm circle around your clit had your back bowing, contorting backward off the bed. A single tear rolled down your temple.

“I’m so close,” you panted, trapping his outstretched hand against your skin.

“Shawn, I need you.”

“Need me?” His fingers paused, “need me where?”

“Oh, God, don’t stop,” you choked out, a sob threatening. Your back arched up off the sheets again to find friction. “I need...I need you inside me.”

At some point between your words and the needy moan that followed, he’d removed his sweatpants and a black pair of Calvins. You heard him rustling his hand inside the bedside table followed by the metallic sound of foil and the sharp scent of latex. Thank fuck he’s prepared.

When he dropped down onto his forearms, hovering an inch from where you needed him, you were dripping onto the sheets, grinding down into the mattress waiting desperately for him. He ran his nose over your collarbone, peppering kisses along your neck. It was slow and deliberate. A fucking tease.

“Shawn,” you pulled his face up to yours, all squished between your hands, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I swear I will…”

He pressed inside to the hilt in one swift motion, cutting off your threat.

“What are you swearing to do, princess?” he asked, a smirk and a fire in his eyes. The moan that escaped you in response was embarrassingly loud. He stilled and closed his eyes, allowing you to adjust. You took even breaths, relaxing into his hips, holding on to his shoulders for dear life. His cock was perfect. He was perfect.

I am so fucked.

He moved, slowly at first, stroking all the right places. When his hips separated from yours, pulling almost all the way out, he rutted back inside. It was deep, long thrusts touching some place inside you weren’t sure you knew was there. Your head thrashed against the pillows. Your grip on his shoulders turned sharp, clawing long red-raw marks into his pale skin.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he hissed into your ear, “fuck, you’re so tight.” His abs scraped against your body like a washboard, the tension clear in his muscles. He was wound up, ready to shatter. He crashed into you, repeatedly slapping skin against skin. His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles in contrast with the punishing rhythm of his hips. He lifted one of your legs over his hip to change the angle, to make you even tighter around him. A bead of salty-sweet sweat dropped from his chest into your mouth.

“Right...there,” you groaned, your eyes rolling back, “I’m gonna come!”

“That’s right, honey,” he grunted, flattening his fingers across your clit with intense pressure, “come for me.”

The room went white. The sound of your hips colliding was replaced with a high-pitched ring. Your world seemed to implode, your muscles moving independently. He wrapped his arms around your middle and held you as he fucked you through the waves, his weight the only thing keeping you from being swept away in the current.

“Stay here with me,” he cooed, sweet but taut in his throat. Your heart slammed against your ribs in rhythm with his hips. He grunted once, twice, three times with his final thrusts and came undone, pumping into the condom. Biting down on your shoulder to stifle his sounds, he sucked hard enough to leave an angry mark. You contracted around him, both inside and out, curling around his thighs and back and neck, letting the full weight of his completely spent body bring you back to full consciousness.

“Hey,” you fingered his frizzed and fucked curls, “Shawn?”

“Hmm?” he nuzzled into your hands and squeezed you a little tighter.

“You’re crushing me,” you exhaled, strained.

“Oh, fuck! I’m sorry!”

He shifted to his side, accidentally pulling out too quickly, making both of you wince.

“Shit, shit, I’m so sorry,” he was so cute when he was scrambling. He got up and threw out the used condom, quickly returning from the adjoining bathroom with a damp cloth.

“Come here,” he held his arms out, making a perfect you-sized place in front of him. You slid into it easily and let him press the cloth between your legs, wincing again.

“Did I hurt you?” There was so much concern in his voice.

“No, no, I just…” you held onto his arm, glad to be facing away, “I haven’t been fucked like that in awhile.”

“Glad to be of service.” You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his smug smile. Reaching back, you slapped his thigh in retaliation. He caught your hand and kissed it like a Victorian gentleman again, like it made up for his cockiness. You tried to convince yourself that it didn’t, flushing even harder than your just-fucked body should have allowed. He wrapped his arm around your front and intertwined your legs, snuggling his face into the nape of your neck.

“So, uhhh, are we gonna do this again?” he asked, barely concealing the hope in his voice.

“Shhh,” you said, yawning for effect, “we’ll talk about it in the morning. Just sleep.”

He exhaled against your back, placing one last kiss on the mark you were sure he’d left in the midst of his orgasm. You stared out into the Toronto skyline as his breathing evened, his quiet snores barely audible against the screaming voices in your head. As the light crept into the room, as morning dawned on your sleepless night, you repeated his question over and over again.

Are we gonna do this again?

There was an easy answer: yes. Yes, yes, yes, my God, yes you were going to do this again. But there was another, harder question to answer beneath it. If we do this again, will we ever be able to stop?

***

taglist: @justanotherfangurl272  @siennarossi @trustfundshawn @alone-in-madness @harryandmolly @thatindiannerdygirl @fromthicctosticcc @softmendesss @sinplisticshawn @nedthegay @september-lace @itrocksmysocks @disaster-rose @mendesoft @luvluvxx @i-play-video-games @ihearthemcallingforyou @gentleshawn @kitykatnumber @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @ijustreallylikeshawnokay @shhhawnmendes @shawnsblue @imaginashawnns @mendesficsxbombay @shawn-youth @kerwritesthings @starlightsivann @lavenderhoneymndes @begginyouformendes @fallinallincurls @shawn-youth​ @linanilssonfurberg​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @bucky-ish​

(as always let me know if you want on/off the tag list...I realize I don’t post regularly and like half of these people could be out of the fandom lol)

[teamhappyme]

a series of promising events (4/5)

aaron hotchner x female!reader

word count: 6.7k

a/n: happy new year!! we’ve made it to part 4! this part differs from the 3 previous ones, as it takes place all in one (and a half) days. But there are flashbacks, represented with italics. if anything is confusing with the timeline, or anything else is confusing you in general, please let me know! my brain is a weird place and does not connect the dots when i post for a public audience. i hope you guys enjoy this part, it was really fun for me to write!

get ready, let’s go friends!

here are the links to part 1, part 2, & part 3

****

October 2012

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.” - Winnie the Pooh

You’re known for your predictability. Yes, you’re overly kind, extremely perceptive, and a little bit of a literary genius. But those closest to you knew the predictability of your life.

You craved routine. You woke up at 5:30 every morning, had breakfast, watched the news, and caught up on some domestic things before heading into the office. You stopped at the same bagel cart every morning, an Asiago bagel with butter for you and a coffee for Spencer. Monday’s, you treated the whole team. You got to work at 7:12, second only to Hotch. 

The team knew how you would react to every case. Missing or dead children would cause you to go silent, families being the target would choke you up, and anything including a scumbag with a signature kill made you nauseous. 

So it was safe to say they were more than surprised to find out that you’d left for a month long european holiday, from an email, with Strauss cc'd on it. The team couldn’t remember the last time you went on vacation, because you hadn't gone further than two hours in one day. 

In your travels through Europe, you stopped in countries that you’d only dreamt about visiting in your dreams. You saw Nyhavn, Denmark, the colorful canal right outside of Copenhagen. Hopped through Warsaw and Gdansk in Poland, before being silenced by your tour of Auschwitz. Next was France, the country you always said you would flee to once you aged out of the system. Besides hitting all the touristy attractions in Paris, you traveled through the alps, and made sure you stopped to see Giverny, the little village that inspired Claude Monet and his water lily paintings. The last true destination was Spain, jumping at the chance to flex your spanish minor muscles. You roamed Barcelona and Madrid, feeling a little like the Cheetah Girls as you stood in front of La Sagrada Familia.

The more you travelled, the more you’d thought about quitting. Thought about sending your resignation to Strauss through an email, leave your desk full of the mementos and picture frames, and continue falling in love with the continent you’d never been to before. 

But then you made your final stop in London, to the sister who you missed immensely, and lost the nerve entirely.

“You’ll regret leaving them for the rest of your life,” Emily said to you, and you wondered for a second if she was projecting her decisions onto you. 

“They don’t deserve me.” You’d mumbled out, just loud enough for her to hear. “I can’t continue on like this.”

You’d given the team everything you had for seven and a half years. The job demanded personal sacrifices you never thought you’d be capable of, until you met the people who signed on for this before you. The people who shared the same commitment to helping others, the responsibility to improve the world around them before the one that housed them. It was the first time you felt at home in your quarter century existence.

But the work never seized. The jet began to feel more like home than your apartment, hotel beds provided more comfort than your own pillow covered mattress. And no matter how many people you saved, no amount of gratification from loved ones could quell the loneliness building back inside you.

So you listened to Emily, and came back to the states on your original return flight, October 23, 2012. You returned to the real world in less than seventy-two hours and promised Garcia you would brush up on the next case before debriefing on Monday morning. 

You were betting on the fact that the team wasn’t lingering around the office, considering it was seven thirty on a friday night as you headed up in the elevator, fresh off your flight from the UK. The last thing you wanted was someone to corner you, when all you wanted to do was sleep off the lingering memories of your last night here. 

The glass doors leading into the BAU gave you a view of the bullpen; empty. Opening the door, you walked over to your desk, quickly glancing around the other spaces to see if anything had changed. It hadn’t.

Grabbing the files Garcia left on your desk and your car keys from the drawer, you tidied up the space the tiniest bit. You made sure everything was squared off to your monitor, updating the days passed on your desk calendar. You wrote a reminder on a yellow sticky to thank Reid for watering your small desk plant and stuck it to the screen for Monday. Everything looked like it was in its place, until you saw a blue stress ball sitting on your chair. Your head whipped up to the office at the top of the stairs, but the lights were off and the door shut. He wasn’t here. 

But you could feel the stare of his eyes from four weeks ago on you just the same.

You guys were working a local case in the District. 

The unsub had murdered three men, each with one shot to the head execution style. There were no signs of torture, and all three men were found with their eyes closed and arms crossed over their torsos; signs of remorse. 

It took the team thirty hours to stick the profile and find the woman responsible. Her name was Kathryn Downey, a forty two year old mother of three, with a law degree that hadn’t been used in fifteen years. After digging into the victims personal lives and her own, the motive and stressor became clear to everyone; her husband had cheated on her. 

You found Kathryn with a gun pointed to her husband’s head, his hands and feet duct taped, and a strip around his mouth keeping him silent. 

Her hands were shaking, and you knew from the second you saw her that she didn’t want to kill him. She was angry, and full of rage, but she wouldn’t be able to follow through with this.

As long as you use the right language.

“Kathryn, put the gun down, we’re with the FBI.” Hotch started in a calm voice, but she shook her head, hands shaking faster. 

“No. I have to do this. He,” She took a breath, pushing the hair out of her face with her free hand. “He has to pay.”

You glanced at Aaron before taking a step closer, slowly lowering your weapon. She needed to feel safe, and she needed to feel like an equal. 

“Kathryn, my name is y/n l/n. I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit from the FBI. I really want to help you through this situation, so I’m going to put my gun down, alright?” You slowly lowered the gun to the ground, kicking it back gently to Hotch. 

“Now Kathryn, I know your children are here. I don’t want anything to happen to them, and I know you don’t either, so could you tell me where they are so we can help them?” 

“In the basement, I locked them in the basement. I didn’t want them to,” She let the thought end, not wanting to manifest it into the universe. She didn’t want them to see their mother kill their father.

Hotch spoke gently into the comms, getting Morgan and Rossi down to the kids. 

“Kathryn, I want to know why we’re here in this situation. I’ve read the file, I profiled you and your family, but I want to know your side of the story. Why are you holding a gun to your husbands head?”

Her eyes widened in the slightest, and you were sure it was from the empathy in your voice. But this was your specialty, and you were determined to talk this woman down. 

“He cheated on me,” She whispered, and for a split second, you thought this was going to be easy. But then she pressed the gun harder into his head, and let out a low laugh. “After everything I’ve done for this family, for him, he just takes his pants off for another woman?”

You heard the safety click off, and Hotch’s own in return. Please do not end in a shootout.

“Kathryn, don’t look at him. Don’t think about him kneeling in front of you. Just focus on me. Tell me how you got to this moment right now.”

“How did I get to this moment? I got here by following around this sad excuse for a man for the last twenty years. Like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t escape this life of mine.” Her eyes started to water, and you internally sighed. You were getting somewhere. “I have a law degree, you know. Fifth in my class at Columbia, and I only used it for a year. And it was in sleazy corporate law. Because I got married, and I got pregnant, and Sean wanted someone to stay home with the kids.

“I went from the intelligent corporate attorney with her eyes set on the attorney general’s office, to a cliche housewife who spends her days cleaning and dotting on her husband and kids. I never wanted to be this woman,” She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall down her face freely. She looked so young in this vulnerable state, too young to have three children. Yet she looked so tired, and so defeated. “I gave up everything for this family. I gave up my career, friends, bucket list dreams, and a life that was waiting to be lived, for this man. I cater to his every need, I listen to him drone on about work, assure him when he’s feeling anxious, and give in when he needs a release. I am my children’s rock; when they need a shoulder to cry on I’m there in a second. They need help with their math homework, I’m the number one girl. But when it’s my turn to fall apart, when it’s my turn to be lifted up and supported, nobody is there for me. And he should be able to be there for me.”

If you hadn’t undergone intense training at Quantico, you would’ve been in tears by now. You empathized with this woman more than you should, and you were trying so desperately to help her out of this situation. So you continued to dig your fingernails into your palms, and spoke again. 

“I know what you’re feeling, Kathryn.”

“You don’t know what I’m feeling!” Wrong move. She ripped the gun away from her husband and fixed the trigger on you. Hotch moved so that he was only one step behind you, trying to get her to lower the gun. “You have no idea what this is like!”

“I do, Kathryn. I promise you I do. I may not be a wife, or a mother, but I know what it’s like to give yourself completely to a person. I know what it’s like to hold onto the stress and fears of the people you love. I understand, because I’m this person too.

“People like you and me, we feel the need to be the emotional support for everyone we love. We never want to see them struggle, and we never want to see them in pain. So, we listen. We overcompensate to make them feel better, and we check in regularly to make sure they’re okay. Our happiness, as strange and sad as it may be, is directly linked to theirs. We can’t be happy unless they’re happy. But once they come out of their depression, once they thank us for being the light in their lives, they walk away, and take the happy rainbow with them. And they don’t leave any for us.” Tears continued to fall down her face, but you needed to go further. She was going to break if you kept going. “Kathryn, I was in your position not long ago. I remember what it feels like when you realize that the love you have for someone won’t be reciprocated. That after everything you’ve done for them, all the small moments that you succeeded in taking their grief away and bringing happiness back into their life, they still don’t appreciate you. And it’s heartbreaking.

“But I’m standing across from you today, on the other side of that pain, trying to tell you that it gets better. It doesn’t go away, but it gets a hell of a lot better, Kathryn. So please, do not let this one moment that you couldn’t take the pain away ruin all the times you did.” 

You expected the tears. You expected an emotional end to this situation. You didn’t expect Kathryn Downey to drop her gun in the middle of the room, and collapse onto you. But that’s exactly what she did. And instead of letting go to untie her husband, instead of joining Hotch in cuffing her, you held her for a minute. You held her breaking heart in your hands, and tried your hardest to take away all her fears and pain for once in her life. 

After a minute, you pulled away and grabbed a hold of her upper arm. She gave you a slight nod, knowing this is what was always going to happen. You led her down the stairs and into the back of a squad car, as Aaron helped the husband to his children once outside of the house. 

You were leaning against the suburban that you came in, watching as the team debriefed with the local pd before being dismissed. But amongst the chaos, Hotch found your eyes, and gave you a knowing look. One that meant you were going to talk through the very personal negotiation you gave.

The team arrived back at the office just shy of ten o’clock, Penelope waiting for Derek at the elevator. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as you led the gang into the bullpen, everyone dropping their go bags at their desks. 

You lingered for a moment as Hotch made his way up to his office, knowing you’d be joining him in a few seconds. You grabbed your blue stress ball, complimentary from the C.A.L.M. department meeting, as through the curtains you could see him drop his bag before checking his phone for any messages from Jack.

“L/n,” Here it comes. “Can I talk to you in my office please?”

You and Spencer shared a look, and he gave you a comforting smile in return. You took the steps two at a time to his office, and shut the door behind you once you arrived. He was standing behind his desk, so you didn’t feel the need to sit yourself.

You waited for him to speak, since he was the one that called you in. It was a little childish, but you weren’t the one who wanted the discussion.

“I want to talk about the negotiation.”

“I thought it was pretty successful. I empathised, I got her to drop her weapon, and no one was injured in the process.”

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I meant.” He uncrossed his arms, letting out a sigh. The two of you were too exhausted to have this conversation, but that wasn’t going to stop Hotch from going on. “I told you that you could lean on me when it all became too much.”

“That was six years ago, Hotch.” Defensive, but not rude. A fine line. “And this wasn’t about work, this was personal. You’re not obligated to listen to our personal issues that take place outside the office.”

“And you are?” Stop spinning my words, Hotchner. “I know you, y/n. This isn’t just something that can be brushed back under the rug.” You scoffed. “You don’t know me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t know me, Hotch. None of you do. You know my file. You know that I got a full ride to Bowdoin, that I was a social worker before transferring here, and that most of my life before eighteen was sealed away. I confided in you six years ago about my childhood and now you think you know me?”

“Why are you getting so defensive?”

“I’m not-” You paused, knowing that if you finished that statement it would, in fact, be defensive. “I’m just really tired and I don’t want to be having this conversation right now.”

“It’s not healthy for you to keep everything in while people spill their lives to you. And you know that.”

“Hotch,” You warned, your exhaustion quickly turning into rage.

“What, you really think I’m just going to drop this after hearing you confess to a serial killer that you have no joy in your life? And now you’re going to try and convince me that I don’t know anything about you? Bullshit, y/n. I know that you talk to your foster siblings every sunday to check in and make sure they’re all doing okay. I know that you volunteer with Garcia to help the families of victims cope with their loss. I know that you cling to Spencer like gum wherever you go to make him feel less insecure in a bar.”

“Stop it,”

“I know that your favorite color is purple, that you still write articles for CNN and The Times under a pseudonym. And I know, more than anything in the world, you want to be the mother that you never got to have.”

“Stop it!” You threw the blue ball into his builtins, hitting one of his stupid administrative awards in the process. He didn’t even flinch. “You don’t get to know me like that.”

“Why not?” You let out a low laugh as tears started to fill in your eyes. He was oblivious, and that's what made it hurt even more. You cracked your knuckles for a few seconds, waiting for him to connect the words you spoke at the Downey house and your frustration with him in this moment.

But his face softened, the wrinkles disappeared from his forehead, and you knew he figured it out. He didn’t need to say the words for you to know exactly what was going through his head. But he was with Beth, and you were not going to interfere. This wouldn’t change anything.

“It’s late, I should head home. I’ll get you my report before monday.”

You left his office without saying goodnight, and you tried to ignore the rest of your team huddled around Morgan’s desk, pretending not to be eavesdropping. But they totally were. 

Instead you grabbed your bags, giving Spencer a reassuring smile as his gaze lingered on you for a second longer. You had no intentions of turning around to see Hotch’s face. But if you had, you would’ve seen the same heartbroken expression across his face, realizing he let you walk away.

You tore your eyes away from the office, not wanting to relive the memory any longer. You stashed the stress ball under your monitor before turning out the light, and making your way back to the elevator.

Once you were settled back in your apartment, you sent a text to Reid and JJ, letting them know you got in okay and that you’d see them at the office on Monday. After getting a thumbs up and a ‘glad you’re home’ in response, you turned in for the night, trying to dream of nights in Paris and Barcelona instead of at the BAU.

---

It was hard for you to get back in the routine of consulting and profiling. Garcia had left you copies of three cases the team was going to be working on when you returned, and you’d barely worked through the first one in two hours. 

Three teenagers went missing from their small town in Idaho, and all were found in Seattle in the same week. Of course, your first case back included kids. 

You resorted to calling Spencer when you really had no idea where to begin. You felt like a rookie all over again, asking for help when creating a geographical profile or running new negotiation tactics. But your best friend was quick to help, assuring you that once you got back to the office, you’d fall back into the routine.

“Did you have a good time?” He finally asked, albeit apprehensively. You didn’t leave on the best terms with anyone, and they all seemed to know what pushed you over the edge.

“I did. It’s amazing to know that there is a whole other world out there that we don’t even know about. It’s so different over there, Spence. It’s peaceful, and beautiful, and everything the place you call home should be.”

You could hear the intake of breath over the line. “Does that mean you’re moving to Spain?” A smile crossed your lips just thinking about Barcelona. But, it wasn’t home.

“This is my home, Spencer. I’m not leaving anytime soon.” You left out the part about contemplating a new life for the better part of three weeks, knowing it would only cause him more paranoia. You were staying in Quantico, continuing what you were born to do.

After drafting a rough profile and reviewing family statements, you took a break from the paperwork staring back at you all morning. 

You made your way into the kitchen to find something for lunch, the afternoon approaching quick. All you really wanted to do was crash on the couch and watch old movies for hours, until monday morning inevitably rolled around. Selfishly you wanted your vacation to last forever. But your mind, and your bank account, thought differently.

After consuming a sandwich and some chips, you brought back the fresh mug of hot chocolate to the kitchen table, ready to take on the second file. Two women raped, tortured, and murdered outside of Miami. Why the fuck did it always have to be Florida.

Halfway through the family statements, there was a knock at your door. You grabbed your gun from the side table, just in case. Only three people had a key to your apartment. One of them was in England, one you just got off the phone with, and one… you didn’t exactly know where you stood with him.

After checking the peephole and seeing Hotch on the other side, you let out a sigh of relief. No one is coming to muder you. But it was quickly replaced with the memories of your last encounter, and the unspoken realization of feelings unrequited.

You placed your gun back on the table, and unlocked the door for him. He was wearing a navy blue quarter zip, jeans, and sneakers, the ultimate Aaron Hotchner not on duty look. It made your heart beat just a little faster noticing his hair was free of any gel, flopping naturally as he walked. 

“Hi,” You greeted him, half of you hidden behind your front door. 

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips, and he placed his hands in his pockets. “Hi. I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced. I know you must be tired and getting ready for Monday.”

“No, it’s okay. Did you want to come in?” You opened the door a little more, stepping out to show your sweatpants and sweatshirt look from behind the door.

“Thank you.” He murmured as he walked through the entrance, moving to take off his shoes. You told him a million times that you didn’t follow that rule, and that you hated it when people made their guests remove their shoes. But he told you once that it was a sign of comfort, that he felt at ease in someone else's home.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have some tea bags left over I think, or I can make you a cup of coffee.”

“No, I’m okay.” 

“Are you sure? It’ll only take a second. Oh, are you hungry? I still have some sealed crackers from before I left, might have something in the freezer if-”

“Y/n,” He interrupted you and you stopped in the middle of your path to the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” You nodded, making your way back to the living room. “Oh, I um, got something for Jack while I was in England with Emily. I know it’ll probably keep him holed up in his room for a week, but I couldn’t resist.” 

You pulled out the bag of souvenirs you got for the team, grabbing the London attractions lego set you bought for the young boy. Aaron smiled when you handed it to him, knowing the two of them would no doubt be starting this when he got home. 

“You didn’t have to get this for him. But he’s gonna love it.” 

“I know.” You reached in the bag once more, pulling out the gift you got for Aaron. “And I know you’ll probably never wear this, but I had to get it for you.”

He opened the box, a british flag tie on the inside. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips, the tacky gift really meaning a lot to him. “Thank you. I can honestly say this is the most unique gift I’ve ever received.”

“Glad to hear it.” You tucked your foot underneath you as you settled onto the couch, letting Aaron set the gifts aside. You knew what conversation was coming next, but you didn’t have the courage to start it. Especially since he was the one to come to you.

He settled in on the couch, a cushion between the two of you, a clear boundary that he’d set. 

“Did you enjoy your time over there?” 

“I had a really great time. I can’t believe I’d gone thirty two years without leaving the country. You don’t realize how much of the world there is to see until you go and uncover a small fraction of it.”

He smiled while beginning to pick at his fingernails. This was a new tell of his, he was usually extremely reserved with his anxiety. “You sound like Emily.” 

“I’m going to take that as a complement.” You said with a small laugh, adoring the woman across the ocean. 

“It is. She called me a few days ago, told me you guys had a nice visit.” 

“We did. Prentiss knows how to have a good time no matter the city. It was a little too much for me, though.” 

“Nobody can quite keep up with Emily.” He added before letting out a breath.

“She also told me that you were contemplating leaving the BAU.” There goes the first shoe, dropping from the ceiling. “Are you still thinking of quitting?”

“No.” It was the truth. Em had spoken some sense into you, and you knew deep down, like you told Spencer, this was your home. “I just needed a break from everything. And Europe was an amazing distraction. But I’m back, and ready to get back into the swing of things.”

He nodded, some tension slowly released from his shoulders. He couldn’t lose another member. It was too soon.

“Was it because of me?” 

“What?” Even though you were expecting this conversation, it still caught you off guard. 

“I’m not conceited enough to think you fled to another continent because of a fight, but is that what pushed you over the edge? What led you to want to quit the BAU?”

In a word, yes. The argument was the last straw on the camel's back. You’d spent years with this unit, fulfilling a destiny that you made up for yourself so that you wouldn’t feel guilty for not having a family or friends to confide in. You spent the better part of the last three years pining for a man you couldn’t have, trying to fill the holes in your life by playing pretend. So yes, it was Hotch that pushed you over the edge. But you learned a hell of a lot about yourself in those four weeks.

“Hotch, did you know that this was the first time I went on an airplane for my own enjoyment? This was the first vacation I’ve been on in my life. I booked a flight on a Thursday night that left at six a.m. the next morning. I was spontaneous, and in control of all the moves I would make for the next thirty days. I’ve never felt more liberated in my life.

“But then I landed in Copenhagen, and had an anxiety attack. I can’t speak Danish, I have no idea how to get around a new country, and I only had thirty dollars in cash to my name. And the only thing I could think of to help me get through it, was calling you. I had your contact pulled up, ready to call you and tell you what a stupid fucking mistake I made. But then I could hear your voice in my head, saying ‘I know you’, and I’d never turned my phone off faster.”

“Y/n,” He sounded exhausted himself, but you weren’t going to give in to the apologies. Not yet.

“I had the time of my life there. I went to places that I never thought I’d get to see in my life. Places that my foster parents told me I’d never be important enough to go to. But I made it. I made it to Giverny, and I saw what inspired Claude Monet to paint the Water Lilies series with my own eyes. I went inside La Sagrada Familia and walked on the steps that Gaudi dreamt of. I saw everything I wanted to, and I wept every place I went to. Because I got myself there. I persevered and worked my ass off my whole life, to get there. I didn’t have any parents, I didn't have any siblings, a spouse, or children. I did it all by myself, and it felt pretty amazing to accomplish that.

“No one knows me like I do.” You finished. Your walls were back up starting to feel secure in your own skin again. 

He stayed silent for a few minutes, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. He was calculating his response, trying to formulate the perfect response to get the two of you back on track. It was exhausting watching his brain work, and you wondered how tired he must always be.

After another minute, he sighed and dropped his hands into his lap. “Beth and I broke up two weeks before you left.” The other shoe had dropped.

“What?” For the second time tonight, you were rendered speechless by Aaron Hotchner. This was not the response you were expecting, and not the news you expected to hear anytime soon. The two of them were obsessed with one another, how could they just end it?

“We ended it two weeks before your trip. She accepted a job in Kyoto, and didn’t want to string me along with long distance. But she also said she knew my heart wasn’t in it anymore.”

You stood up from the couch, not being able to sit still with this new information. Hotch and Beth were no longer together, he said all those things to you as a single man, understood what you felt for him, and still let you walk out of his office. For four weeks. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was his turn to stand, still leaving enough distance between the two of you to continue your pacing. 

“Don’t deflect to another conversation.” 

“You’re the one that brought it up!”

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly shaggy hair. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you again. So please, get it through your thick skull when I tell you that I know you. And I don’t mean that on a bureaucratic superior level. I know you, y/n. And just because you’ve been alone your whole life, doesn’t mean you deserve to be alone for the rest of it.” 

Your eyes started to water, so you looked away, gluing your line of sight to the wall next to you.

“You give us all one hundred and ten percent of your attention when we need you. And when I say all of us, that includes Jack and Henry. I’ve never met someone so intune to another person's feelings, who exudes so much empathy with one look and a smile. And we’ve taken you for granted for seven and a half years. Me the most.” Your eyes found his brown ones, begging you to continue looking at him. “I couldn’t have gotten through Haley’s death without you. And that is the biggest understatement of the decade. I am eternally grateful for all that you’ve done for me and Jack. But at the same time, I’m so sorry that it pushed me further and further away from you.”

His own eyes started to water, and he choked out a laugh. “What you said to Kathryn Downey, about giving yourself completely to a person and not getting the love reciprocated. I felt like an absolute idiot for not realizing that you felt the same way I did.” You closed your eyes with his confession, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. 

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you. But then Haley took Jack, and Foyet came, and the world got away from me. And I’m so sorry that you’ve felt the need to carry all our problems on your own.”

“Hotch, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Please, don’t call me Hotch right now.” He took a step toward you. “It’s Aaron, when I’m standing in front of you, begging you to just let me in.”

“I don’t,” Your voice cracked, and you rubbed your hands over your face in frustration. “I don’t know how to let someone love me.”

“I know,” He took another step closer. “You’re just going to have to trust me when I tell you I’ve been in love with you for years.”

He didn’t see the rest of your tears fall, because you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. His arms found their place around your waist, pulling you two impossibly close.

“I love you, Aaron.” You could feel him laughing with his chest pressed against your own, and he moved to kiss the side of your head. 

“I love you.” He whispered back, causing the last of your tears to fall onto his sweatshirt.

He started to pull away, just enough to get a look at your face. His eyes were no longer filled with tears, but his cheeks still glistened when the light illuminated the damp spots on his face. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his knuckles gently graze your temple. You caught his hand in the middle of his movement, lacing your fingers with his own. You’d been dying to know what it felt like to hold his hand like this for years, when you found yourself comforting him in his office one night, lightly holding his hand in yours. But this was so much better.

“You good?” He asked, and the corners of your mouth turned up the slightest. 

“I’m good.” He traced the lightest check mark on your laced hands, causing a true smile to grace your face.

“You have a tally to see who can make me smile the most?” 

“It’s just mine. Been keeping it for years. But I’m always in the lead.”

You laughed while letting go of his hand, wrapping your arms back around his neck. His eyes flickered to your lips for a second before looking back at you. You gave him a small nod, knowing he was asking for your permission. 

When his lips met yours, you knew this was the feeling that all the fairytales sang about. He was gentle at first, slotting your upper lip between his own. It was slow, and full of love from the years of knowing one another inside and out. He bit your lower lip softly, barely there, and you slowly parted your lips, letting him trace your tongue with his own. 

All you could think about was how warm he was, how his breath was actively leaving his lungs and entering your own as if you were one person. It was all consuming, and you were grateful that he took the lead, because you couldn’t focus on anything but him.

His hands slipped under your sweatshirt, resting on the skin just above your hips. You let out a small gasp as his cold fingers made contact with the sensitive skin, but it only made him laugh into the kiss. 

After a few more moments of getting lost in the feel of one another, you reluctantly pulled away, needing air to fill up your lungs. But Aaron didn’t go far, gently resting his forehead against your own. 

“I love you. And I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to stop telling you.” You closed your eyes and tilted your head up, slowly kissing him again. 

“I’ll never get sick of hearing it.” You mumbled, your lips still grazing his own. He smiled into the kiss, which only made your heart glow brighter and brighter the more he showed you how he felt.

You pulled away first, tracing the outline of his jaw with your thumbs. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He tilted his head to the side, just enough to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

The tenderness this man exudes is beyond belief. “I really love you, Aaron.”

He laughed while pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad to hear that.”

You let him hold you for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes. “I promised Jack I would take him out for ice cream to make up for missing his soccer game last night.” 

“Okay,” You said and started to pull away, but his grip on your waist only tightened.

“Really? You’re just gonna let go without a goodbye?” You laughed at his fake hurt expression, so incredibly happy that you get to see Aaron in this light, enjoying his son, his life, and you. 

“I’m not about to stand in the way of Jack Hotchner and a sugar rush. That guy loves his sugar.”

He let go of your waist, but not without a light squeeze to your sides. “I know we literally just started this, but I really would like to tell him. I don’t want to keep any more secrets from him than I have to.”

You smiled at the thought of Aaron telling Jack how in love the two of you were. It made you feel complete, in a way you never thought you’d get to experience in your life.

“Tell him. As long as he doesn’t blab about it to anyone on the team just yet.” 

“You sure?” You nodded while passing him the souvenirs as he slipped his sneakers back on. 

“Aaron, he’s your son. I’ve loved him as long as I’ve loved you, maybe even longer.”

He stood up once again, that stupid smile not willing to leave his face any time soon. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” 

“Must’ve been something pretty good.” You said with a laugh, which he silenced by placing his lips on yours. You hoped the butterflies you felt now would be there every time he kissed you, no matter how many years have passed. 

“Like that.” You said once he pulled away. His dimples were showing now, and you wished that you could take a picture of him in this happy moment and remember it for the rest of your lives. 

“I’ll call you tonight.” He said and opened the front door. 

“Okay. Have fun, tell Jack I said hi.” 

“I will.” He kissed your cheek before starting the walk back down the hallway. He didn’t even make it halfway before turning around, and giving you one final kiss in the doorway. 

“Love you,” He said and gave you one more peck, before you shoved his shoulder. “I love you too. Now get outta here, Hotchner.”

****

tags: @simplyprentiss @michaelahah @ssahotchner99 @svrgicalhands @hotchtopic @unionjackpillow @philcoolson @tommhollandzxhaz @kathleenjasmine @canimarrypizzaornah @reaperwalking @inlovewithaaronhotchner @shelbymm11 @mrshotchner23 @tropicalwrites @averyhotchner @dreamy-moments @softhxtch @crazymar15 @theinsanespaceship15 @wecouldbreakthedistance @jeor @funnycuteandannoying @andherestograce @thisisntjuliana @captwilson @kennedyblair @lovelysunflowerxoxo @rcompton @iifaequeenii @iwaizumiee @mrsaaronh0tchner @abbeyannsmith-blog @becausehello @rinacriedpower @ssa-raye @ephemeral-barnes @slxtherinchxser @baueoud @lieswithoutfairytales @hug-a-bug-boo @blogmythoughts @freebanditghostcalzone @sugarbutterbailey

[ellewritesathing]

Cross My Heart      I

Summary: No one wants to go to a wedding by themselves, especially when it’s the wedding of someone you haven’t seen in nearly four years. Going with Caliban was definitely a bad decision, but it was still better than going alone.

Masterlist Part 1 

Word-count: 1.3k+

A/N: should i be finishing up infernal? yes. am i writing another fake dating au? also yes. 

Photo by Jessica Lewis on Unsplash  

The college years were some of Caliban’s finest. High school had been a few years of heartbreak, when people were just beginning to experiment with bad decision-making. But bad decisions abounded in the college years, and Caliban was a favorite among bad decision-makers. He had all the makings of a tremendously bad decision: long hair, tattoos, and a devilish smile. Caliban was a bad decision that was bound to be repeated. 

Looking back on all his drunken escapades, Caliban felt a certain stirring in his chest. He’d had fun, sure, and everyone on campus knew his name, but he’d never made a real connection with anyone other than his flatmate. Now that they were packing up for graduation, Caliban wasn’t even so sure he could count on Adam to be there once they were in different parts of the country. He’d already spent the last month putting blue post-it notes on everything he owned and pink ones on all Caliban’s stuff. 

There weren't many pink post-it notes throughout the apartment; just on the coffee table, the french press, and the books on the living room shelf. The shelf itself had been there when they moved in, but Caliban had filled it up with secondhand books and Adam had added the lost and found box after one too many houseguests had forgotten their belongings. There wasn’t a post-it on the lost and found box. Ruefully, Caliban took a swig of his coffee, reached over, and stuck a pink post-it on the box.

Caliban had spent the past four years of his life being everyone’s favorite bad decision, but the college years were coming to a close and he was coming undone. He had been full of guts and dopamine and - according to you - full of shit. At least, that’s what you told him as you waded through the moving boxes to the living room. 

Finally, you made it around the boxes and into Caliban’s line of view before climbing on top of the coffee table - the only uncluttered surface in the entire apartment. “Jesus Christ, is the Second Coming happening and no one told me?” you asked, bending down to shove Caliban’s legs off your stage. 

Caliban sighed and put his mug down on the coffee table, making a dark rim on the top of a blue post-it. He nodded at his flatmate, who was in the process of adding another box to an already teetering pile. “Adam here likes to be prepared.” 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed Caliban’s coffee as you straightened up again. “Yeah, tell me about it.” You grimaced after taking a sip of his coffee and spun around to focus on Adam and his post-its. Caliban suppressed a laugh. “So are any of these boxes for next week or …?” 

Adam groaned and smacked his head against his notepad. “I knew I forgot something,” he mumbled. He wiped his face and looked up at you. “I can’t go with you next week, babe. I thought I told you.” 

“Well, you didn’t-” You paused to finish the coffee and grimace, holding out your index finger as an indicator to wait “-and now I’m going to have to be the only single person at that entire wedding.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think anyone would buy us as a couple anyway.” Adam held his hand to the side of his mouth and leaned in as if to tell you a secret. “On account of me being a flaming homosexual and all.” 

You punctuated your next sentence by waving Caliban’s mug around. It was one of the ceramic mugs you and Adam had made in sophomore year, with badly painted curse words coating the outside. “I know that, but all I wanted was a drinking buddy, not a real date.” 

“So take Caliban. His liver is practically indestructible at this point,” Adam said, shrugging. “Plus he’s hot enough to make that podunk ex of yours jealous.” 

“If I wanted to have someone sleep with half the wedding party, I would have asked Caliban,” you said irritably. You crossed your arms and tightened your grip on the mug. 

“You know I’m still here, right, darling?” Caliban asked, tilting his head up to you and nudging you with his boot. “This is still my apartment for two weeks and three days.”

“I wasn’t really talking to you, angel.” You were trying very hard to ignore him, but Caliban made himself very hard to ignore. He could tell by the annoyed look on your face that you were, at the very least, considering it.

For a moment, the apartment was nothing but silent anticipation, and then Adam laughed. “You two are ridiculous,” he said. “You hooked up one time about a million years ago, and now you’re like mortal enemies?”

You scoffed. “We’re not mortal enemies, he’s just insufferable.”

Caliban rolled his eyes, but he smiled at the memory of being one of the first bad decisions of your college years. The two of you had met at a bar in freshman year, got into an argument over Green Day songs, and went back to the apartment to see who was right. A couple of drinks later, and the two of you fell asleep to the sweet serenades of 21st Century Breakdown. Caliban woke up the next morning to his record player skipping tracks, a pounding headache, and you and Adam dancing to Taylor Swift in the kitchen. 

You’d said afterward that the best part of that night was meeting Adam and stealing Caliban’s old Coldplay t-shirt.

“He’s also kind of your only option,” Adam said, shrugging again and adding something to his notebook. 

“Actually, until someone asks me, I’m not anyone’s option,” Caliban said as he fidgetted with one of the knick-knacks on the side table. He smiled devilishly at your irritation.

You and Adam argued with one another without saying a word, something about your relationship that had always made Caliban envious. He'd never been close enough to anyone to communicate in looks. Eventually, you groaned and turned to Caliban. Through gritted teeth, you asked, “Caliban, will you go to a wedding with me?” 

“Say please.” 

“No.” 

“Then no.” 

You glowered and Caliban grinned. “Please,” you added reluctantly. 

Caliban set the knick-knack to the side and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin resting in his hands. “What’s in it for me?”

Adam scrambled around the boxes to diffuse the situation before you exploded. Dragging you down from the coffee table, he said, “You get a couple weeks away from your crappy family.” 

“That all?” Caliban tilted his head. 

“That and I won’t smother you in your sleep,” you said. When Caliban didn't say anything, you rolled your eyes and added laundry to the list. 

Caliban was about to say something particularly spiteful when you sighed and leaned your head against Adam’s shoulder, mumbling that this was useless. Adam adjusted his grip to make you more comfortable, and Caliban’s heart softened. He’d never had someone to lean on like that. 

“I’ll go with you,” Caliban said slowly as he got to his feet, “On one condition.”

“Which is?” 

Caliban smiled his most angelic smile. “Promise me you won’t fall in love with me.” 

You rolled your eyes and untangled yourself from Adam. “Are you serious right now?” 

“As serious as the two of you were about getting breakup bangs after the debacle with J-” 

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Adam said, pointing an accusing finger at Caliban’s chest. 

You shook your head and started the journey back through the boxes. “I’ll pick you up next Friday. If you’re not outside by 9am, I’m leaving without you.” 

Caliban rocked on his heels and tried in vain to catch your eye. “So, do you promise not to fall in love with me?” 

Without so much as a pause, you said over your shoulder, “Cross my heart.”

Adam laughed, and Caliban probably would have laughed as well, maybe even said something witty, if he wasn’t distracted by the pink post-it stuck to the bottom of your shoe. 

Taglist:  @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e​  @marrypuffsstuff​  @igorsbby  @foji2000​  @hxlalokidottir​    @artaxerxesthegreat​  @thxmagic  @luquincy  @strawberriesandknives​  @xealia​  @hotmessindisguise  @acciomaximoff  @reheated-coffee​​  @sweetrogers  @shelby-x​  @perseny-blog​  @millie-753​  @luneerius​  @shizzybarnaclee​  @lettherebelovex​  @drrramaaaqweeen​  @throughparisallthroughrome​  @ietss​  @thebookwormlife​  @mechanicalanimalz  @mariamermaid​  @nqbmf​ @roxytheimmortal​  @shephard17895  @andie-kathleen​  @clockworks-world-to-fandoms​  @blondeeee-e  @piensa-bonito  @supportstudies​  @bookishaficionado​  @perfectlysane24​  @sophia-of-sass-gard​  @insomniac-nerd-posts-things​

[matildaofoz]

Happy Deathday Pt. 1 (Vampire!Michael x Reader)

Morgan Freeman Voice-Over: "...and while she had had every intention of finishing the chapter, she didn't. Inspiration is a fickle thing and our dear author knew that such things could not be rushed."

A/N: You heard the man. To further heighten the suspense, I decided to post the first part of this for now. The second part will be coming, don't worry but I need more time and maybe another rewatch of AHS...

Warnings: Mentions of Smut, Angst, Blood, Mentions of Violence, Alcohol

Word Count: 5.1K

You woke up gingerly, the morning sun peaking through your blinds, tickling your nose as you turned to the other side, in a desperate attempt to continue your slumber. It was your birthday and ever since you had gotten to know Michael Langdon, Vampire extraordinaire, several years ago, birthdays had begun to mark an ever growing sadness. Truth be told, the first two years were spent in a dizzying bliss, unable to quite comprehend how someone as powerful and magnificent as Michael could be enamored with somebody of your...well insignificance. A chance encounter at a gala dinner hosted in the name of some holier-than-thou philanthropist you were sent out by your editor-in-chief to cover, had lead you unwittingly into the arms of the most dangerous being on this planet. That philanthropist turned out to be Michael Langdon.

How he hadn't killed you and drank you dry when he had caught you sneaking into one of the private offices upstairs in the hopes of digging up some dirt, he never revealed. He only said that your brazenness, your fire to find the truth and your unapologetic nature had caught him off guard and so instead of disposing off you as he knew how, he had invited you over for dinner the following weekend. You caught on relatively quickly that there was something otherworldly about the man with hooded icy blue eyes, set in a face so magnificent it was hard to look at him too long. He was irresistible in appearance and character, always a witty remark thrown your way when you tried to pry information from him over a dinner you would never forget. You had needed to satisfy your curiosity and solve the puzzle he presented and Michael needed, no wanted to spend time with someone who didn't eat up his every word out of his plump lips like they were starving for his approval. You did none of that and it made Michael feel almost human to have an adversary of sorts. Your little cat and mouse game culminated in you walking in on him uninvited several weeks later, or so he let you think, while feasting on a recently elected young and energetic politician, straddling her convulsing form on the dining table. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched, teeth sunken into the woman's neck to the bone, as you stood, simply watching with wide eyes. He could see you put the pieces together in that exquisite little brain of yours, lips apart and your heartbeat so deliciously erratic at the scene he had painted just for you. He was rather dramatic, you had to admit.

When you whispered out despite the horror coursing through your veins: “You're a fucking vampire, I knew it!” He groaned, tearing the woman's jugular and coming to sit back on his knees atop the table, the lifeless body of the politician straddled between his thighs, his erection straining painfully against the tight fabric of his black pants. Your gaze on him, indulging the beast he was underneath the angelic appearance, made him harder than he had ever been. Oh he wanted your blood, so sweet, pumping so deliciously beneath your skin but he didn't want to drain you like he had the woman just then who's name he had already forgotten. He wanted you and had for some time now and the urge became overpowering. He grinned at you, blood dripping down his chin, knowing that he had at last found what had been missing from his eternal monotony for so long.

Ever since that night, where Michael had pressed you up against the edge of the dining table after you had solved his little puzzle as he wanted you to - and after very little hesitation on your behalf - had fucked you raw next to the corpse, you had been lost to Michael Langdon in more ways than one. There must have been something very wrong with you to begin with, you often mused in the weeks and months after that fateful encounter but every time Michael's number lit up your phone after a long day in the office and every time he touched your burning skin, made your body sing in a way you never wanted anyone else but him to do, you cared less and less of what the world might think.

Your unholy relationship evolved as the seasons came and went and you came to imagine a life with him, as pathetic as it may sound. You knew that you were painfully mortal and your life was but a brush on the canvas to him. Michael knew, and he did everything to spoil you, taking you on vacations to places you had never dreamed of seeing, showering you in expensive gifts and finery. You always told him that while you appreciated his gifts wholeheartedly, what you ultimately wanted was him, the beast and the man and his unbeating heart constricted as he knew that what you should want, nay deserved was the one thing he could not give you.

The topic of how vampires were created came up last year around your birthday, you remembered, rolling around in your bed, thinking back to the conversation:

“So, if one wanted to create vampires, how exactly would one go about that? Purely journalistic interest,” you questioned feigning innocence, your fingers curling a lock of the blonde vampires hair around your fingers. You were seated across Michael's lap on one of his big plushy velvet red couches in the living room, a silken bed sheet draped across your abdomen, a fire blazing in the firepit on the far side of the room the only illumination. It was rare the two of you got to spend a weekend together and you made the most of it by letting him defile you on every surface in the penthouse at his leisure, not that you complained. You were still aching from round 4 of that evening. His fingers drew lazy patterns over your bare shoulder, a smirk making its way across his kissable lips.

“Purely journalistic, of course” he chuckled reiterating your words, his hand coming to cup your cheek in his large palm, the cool metal of his rings a welcome reprieve against your flushed skin.

“That's nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Michael whispered, lips close to yours, ghosting over the sensitive flesh. The words made your stomach drop. Whenever you vaguely hinted at the process, the possibilty, he tried to steer the attention away from the subject, using your neediness for him against you. Not this time. With a huff, you disentangled yourself from his chiseled form, pulling the sheet up around your bare chest and walking over to the fireplace, watching as the flames licked at the wood logs.

Michael watched you, his mind racing behind his stoic facade. He didn't want you to bring up the delicate topic but not for the reason you thought.

“You know, it's cruel what you do to me,” you whispered.

“Cruel? How am I cruel to you, (Y/N)? Do I not satisfy your every need, every desire?” Michael retorted, his demeanor changing from one second to the next at your words, stinging him deeply. You were the cruel one in that moment, using his heightened emotions against him knowingly and you regretted it as soon as the words passed your lips.

In an instant he was behind you, hands grabbing your hips to whip you around to face him. The tension had been building up over the last weeks and you both knew that sooner or later they would come to explode. A little voice in the back of your heard feared he might just end your life right then and there that you had finally pushed him too far with your incessant prying. He was positively feral, icy blue eyes swallowed by darkness, inky black veins marbling his cheeks. His true form still made your heart beat furiously, that primal nature in you screaming to run. You had long stopped listening to that side you of. You were the moth and he was the flame and he could burn you to a crisp.

“Yes and no, of course you give me everything I want, more than I want or even ask of you. You know damn well what I mean, Michael!” you shot back, angry tears you didn't know had been hiding behind your (Y/E/C) eyes shooting into the corners, threatening to spill. You breathed hard against his broad chest, not willing to back down, staring down the monster before you, tempting the beast.

“Why must you ask of me what I cannot give you, Angel?” he said, black eyes staring into yours, his iron grip on your hips becoming painful. It didn't stop the lust begin to pool between your thighs and Michael could smell it, taking a deep breath, his eyes falling shut at the intoxicating aroma and his forehead came to rest against your own.

“I swear you will be the death of me. Why you have the hold you do on me, I do not know but I don't ever want to let you go,” he rumbled, his cock twitching against your belly in response to your arousal.

“Then don't, Michael,” you whispered, lifting your hands to clutch his face and making him open his eyes to look at you.

“You know when I lie. Tell me I'm lying when I say I want to be like you,” you continued, sensing a break in his impenetrable exterior when it came to the matter of him turning you. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head, his golden locks tickling your collarbone.

“I know you mean what you say, Angel. But how can you be so sure when you don't even know what it is you're signing up for?”

“What, the blood, the killing? I think I can handle it,” you countered, thinking back to the many nights you watched him stalk, hunt, eat and sometimes kill his latest victim. It never became easier but you got used to it. It was simply the way things were in Michael's world and it had become a part of yours, for better or worse.

“No, not the killing. I know you'd be a natural,” he smiled, fangs gleaming in the warm glow of the fire.

“It's what gets taken from you. Once I make you like me, you will stay as you are now, frozen in time. You will never feel the joy of having a family, the people you love around you slowly wither away and die,” he explained, pain evident in his voice.

“So you'd let me wither away and die, Michael? It's just not fair!” the tears that you had held back flowed freely down your cheeks now, your hands pushing at his chest. The thought of you growing old and dying, while he stayed as ethereal as he had been for the last 4 odd centuries made your heart constrict. You didn't want to be a blip on his eternal radar, you wanted more. Your feelings had blossomed from a pure animalistic lust and a near certain death wish at the hands of the blonde vampire before you if only it meant he would fuck you like he had that first night, into a deeper admiration for the man. You loved him, in your pathetic human way and it showed. In the way your chest heaved, those glossy tears staining your pretty face.

Michael let go of you, not baring to watch the pain he caused you. He was so close to giving in to your wish. Like he hadn't spent countless nights mulling over the prospect of turning you when you were occupied with your day job at the newspaper or lying next to him asleep after he had driven his tongue and cock into your weeping cunt, utterly spent. He was so close to biting his wrist, forcing it over your pretty little mouth, making you to drink his blood and then draining you dry.  His cock grew exceedingly hard against his stomach at the image of you becoming immortal at his hand. And yet, he couldn't, not yet. Not until he was sure that this was what you wanted, that you knew what eternity at his side entailed. He had to give you the chance to reject his offer. He would let you go, live the life he wanted you to lead, perhaps while staying with him for as long as you wanted him. In his eyes, it was not he who held the power but you.

“If that is what you really want, Angel, I will consider it,” he rumbled, his hand coming to brush through his hair begrudgingly, his back to you. How you manged to make him change his mind, he couldn't fathom. Your head shot up, eyes glinting at his admission and a smile spread over your lips. Your arms slung themselves around his torso, your wet cheeks pressing into his shoulders.

“Thank you, Michael. I'll do whatever it takes to show you that I stand by my choice,” you mumbled, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“There is in fact something you can do right now, the rest we'll talk about tomorrow,” he smirked.

His hands took yours and placed them on his evident erection, hissing at the contact of your slim fingers you wrapped all too willingly around his hard cock. You giggled, one hand coming to glide over the flushed head, already leaking precum.

You were pulled out of your daydream and back into the present when your phone buzzed. Michael.

You smiled. Speak of the Devil.

“Hmm?” you mumbled, the phone pressed to your ear and you rolled onto your back, the sheets around your hips.

“Good morning Angel, happy Birthday,” Michael's deep voice traveled through the phone, making you sigh. You'd never tire of the deep timbre.

“G'morning. You're up early,” you remarked with a small chuckle.

“Actually, it's still dark here. I've been up all night, finalizing the contracts,” he responded. Michael had flown out to Chicago at the beginning of the week to orchestrate some takeover or other. Considering he was over 4 centuries old, he still handled almost all of his business endeavors, appearing only as an enigmatic faceless investor from what you had gathered.

“True, I'm sorry, still a little groggy. Will you make it for tonight?” you asked, rubbing some sleep out of your eye and stretching on the bed, phone between your ear and shoulder as you waited for his reply.

The past year had flown by quicker than you wanted and Michael had made you reconsider at every opportunity he got. You had remained steadfast through his repetitive questions of whether you were sure. He would gauge your reaction when a mother with a small child would pass by the two of you on the street. He insisted you spend time with your family and friends, telling you in no uncertain terms that would he turn you, you could not trust yourself around the people you cared about for a long time, perhaps never for as long as they were alive. Your increase in visits to your family out of state did raise eyebrows and your mother thought you were hiding a terrible secret like a terminal cancer diagnosis from them. When she confided her worries to you, you couldn’t help but laugh, not sure if the flipside of what was really going on was any better. You eventually convinced your family that nothing was wrong and that you were just missing them. And you did. Yet still, you had made up your mind about what you wanted.

“I'm not sure I will. I'm sorry, Angel. I will let you know as soon as I am done here and on the plane. Just have fun today. Your mother is in town after all. You two ladies enjoy yourself, you have my card, don't you?” Michael replied, a tiredness apparent in his voice despite the small smile you could hear. At his words, you looked over at the night table, the sleek black credit card laying on top the latest novel you were currently entertaining yourself with while Michael was away.

“Yeah, I do. I will and I hope those idiots get that deal over the table quickly. I've missed you,” you said, one hand coming to toy with the tie on your silk sleep shorts. He loved the fabric and you didn’t mind indulging in the luxury he offered so freely. Michael's chuckle rang through the speaker as he imagined just how much you had been missing him.

“I've missed you too. Listen, Angel, I've got to go, my team is holding on the other line. Enjoy your Birthday, I'll see you soon,” he said, something unspoken in his tone as he ended the phone call, leaving you with your hands down your shorts. You contemplated on whether you should finish what you started but decided against it when your phone started vibrating again. It was your Mother.

“Good morning, Darling! Happy Birthday! Oh, I'm so excited we get to spend the day together. It was so nice of Michael to fly me out to you first class. I'm in the cab right now, I'll be there in 40,” your mother's cheery voice bubbled out the speaker, making you smile. It was awfully nice of Michael to fly her out, when he had insisted on staying out of your family life for the most part of your relationship.

You guessed your primal urges after having heard Michael's voice first thing in the morning would have to wait.

“Hey mom, I didn't know you'd already landed. I'm just hopping in the shower now. See you in 40!” you swung your legs out of bed and got ready.

°°°

The day all but flew by, the two of you truly indulging yourself against your mother's insistence that Michael had already spent more than enough. As the day past, a heaviness settled in your stomach when the time grew close for her to head back to the airport. In the cab, you leaned your head against her shoulder, her hand coming to stroke over your cheek lovingly.

“Are you alright, honey? You seem different, is everything OK between you and Michael? Are you fighting?” she asked, concern crossing her features.

“No mom, we're not fighting. We're good. I don't know, it's just so nice that you came to spend the day with me,” you laughed, the gesture not quite reaching your eyes.

“Of course, it's my baby's Birthday and when Michael offered, I couldn't refuse. It been so nice to spend more time with you lately and I'm glad that he thinks it's important that my high-flying journalist daughter comes back home now and then and that he wants you to spend time with your family. He seems to be making you very happy and that's all that matters to me, Sweety,” your mother cooed. In the beginning, she had tried to pry information from you about the man that had swept you off your feet and was unsure of his intentions with you at first, fearing that you had managed to attract a sugar daddy of sorts. You tried not to go into the details, for how could you explain your vampiric lover to her? When your relationship progressed from months to years however, she felt that whatever this man was doing to you, you were thriving and happy. You satisfied her need to know more about him with the odd instagram picture of your vacations and day-to-day life.

“He makes me incredibly happy, mom. You have no idea,” you mumbled, leaning into her touch.

“I'm so proud of you, you know. All grown-up, a gorgeous man by your side, I can already see my cherubic little grandchildren running around the backyard,” your mother said, a gleeful expression on her face. At her words, you winched, your thoughts coming back to the situation at hand. You looked up at her, biting your lip. You couldn't tell her that kids were not on the list when it came to Michael or you for that matter.

“Don't start this again, please! Not on my birthday,” you groaned and rolled your eyes, a chuckle in the back of your throat, trying to ease the lump that had formed.

“Fine, fine. I guess I can't have it all, just yet. I'm patient, though,” she chided, waving a finger at your in mock seriousness.

“Yeah, yeah, mom. Look we're here already,” you replied with a smile, hiding your disappointment at the end of her visit, your eyes taking her in. Something told you that you should memorize her features, the face that you had looked up to all your life. Your mother sensed your sadness and took your hands, squeezing them.

“Oh, don't you start blubbering now. It's been such a nice day and I'm sure you can get a weekend off work and come down to spend the day with us, perhaps Michael can finally join?” she reasoned, her own eyes welling up with tears.

“Yeah, I'll see what I can do and I'm sure Michael will come along some time,”  you responded, pulling yourself together. Before the moment between the two of you would end in tears, you got out the car and around your mother's side to open the door. What had gotten into you?

You mother exited the cab and engulfed you in a hug only a mother could give. Your arms came around her back and you clung to her, taking in her perfume and basking in the familiarity of it for a moment before you detached yourself from her and took a deep breath, a shaky laugh escaping your lungs.

“I'll take you to the check-in. Michael hasn't texted yet when he'll be there and I have ti-,”

“Oh, no, no, no darling, please. You take the cab back to the city. Enjoy the evening, maybe draw a bath and read a book before Michael gets there. I can take care of myself,” she countered. Always looking out for others, you mused and you loved her for it. You had to admit, as much fun as it had been, you were dead on your feet, not used to walking across the whole of NYC, sight-seeing with your mother.

“Fine, but you text me when you get to the gate and when you land, ok?” you demanded, kissing her on the cheek.

“I will, I will. No go on and say thank you to Michael from me!” She ushered you back to the cab, throwing a kiss your way as she made her way into the terminal. As the cab pulled away from the curb, you watched as she entered, turning around to wave at you. You waved back forcing a smile, a stray tear slipping down your cheek. You hated goodbyes.

°°°

On the way back into town, you decided you would rather spend the night at Michael's place, who had not texted you yet and you began to suspect that he would not make it back to the city that night. At least you could sink into the sheets and fall asleep enveloped in his scent. He also had a rather elaborate bathroom with a freestanding clawfoot bathtub. Your mother's words rang in your ears: a bath might just be what you needed. You gave the cabdriver the directions to Michael's penthouse.

°°°

*Beep!*

The private elevator doors slid open as you swiped the keycard over the reader. You stepped inside and pressed the only button on the panel. 30 seconds later, the doors opened up into Michael's penthouse entry hallway.

Your phone buzzed.

I see you're making yourself comfortable.

I hope your day was good.

Sorry I couldn't text you any sooner, just heading to the airport now.

Will be there in 2 hours.

Of course his security system would alert him to you swiping your keycard, you smirked.

Always watching, are you?

Stalker.

You replied, giggling as you made your way into the apartment, taking off your jacket and shoes.

I never lose sight of my prey.

Your cheeks began to flush at his reply. The deal must've gone down well. You decided on what reply would rile him up the most as you walked into the bathroom, turning the lights on to the dimmest setting. Deciding the best course of action was to meet him head on, you quickly stripped out of your clothing, separating the matching black lace underwear set from the pile and draping it over the edge of the bathtub before snapping a picture and sending it to him.

Just you wait, Angel. You could practically hear his sultry promise through the text.

You began to fill the bathtub with warm water, adding a bath bomb from the cupboard. You didn't have many of your things at Michael's place but you insisted on having a supply of them stashed in one of the glossy cabinets, seeing as you only had a shower in your apartment and loved to soak in the tub after Michael had finally let you out from under him.

That warm tingle was starting to creep up between your thighs again. It had only been a week without Michael touching you and yet you were positively brimming with excitement at the prospect of him being here soon.

Boarding the jet now.

Don't. You. Move. Angel.

Oh, you didn't intend to move a muscle until he came through those doors.

Maybe I'll start without you ;)

You replied, snickering as you stepped into the tub and groaned at the blissful warmth of the water against your skin.

Angel...

Came his reply almost instantly.

You decided to grace his threat of things to come, and you were positive both of you would be doing a lot of that, with no response. Maybe you were a little mad under the surface that he had not made an exception and came back a day earlier. You knew full well that his team could handle a takeover on their own.

Maybe he has decided against turning you, maybe this is his way of backing off, hoping you get the message, you thought, squeezing your eyes shut at the intrusive thought. No, if he was no longer interested, he would have told you, he owed you that. Yet you couldn’t shake the sense that he had been growing distant these past couple of weeks. Suddenly, 2 hours seemed like an impossibly long time to kill. It was as if an invisible noose was placed around your neck, and him coming back on your birthday would be the day where he had had enough of you, that noose coming to strangle your vision of the future.

Suddenly the warm water was no longer relaxing, instead the steam rising from the surface threatened to choke you. Maybe you had it all wrong and he was right. How could you know what you really wanted? How could be sure? Anger and frustration bubbled up inside you at the impossibility of the situation. Nothing was easy when it came to the vampire. Well, perhaps the sex.

You had only had a mimosa for brunch with your mother, not trusting yourself to to get tipsy and blurt out an unfortunately worded reply to her multiple questions of how Michael was doing and what he was up to.

You looked at the time on your phone on the bathtub side table. You had just over 90 minutes to kill before Michael would be here. Maybe some liquid courage in the form of a glass of wine would help you maneuver the contradicting thoughts in your head.

You got out the bath, dried yourself off and threw on the bathrobe hanging on the wall next to the marble sink, before stalking into the enormous open plan kitchen, where Michael always kept a few bottles of wine for whatever occasion might present itself.

You fingers flitted over the bottles, unsure of what to pick, not that you really had an idea of what was good. Knowing Michael, all of these would be. With a shrug, you grabbed one of the bottle necks at random, stopping yourself before you drove the corkscrew into the bottle. Maybe you should check the price of this. You googled the label, instant regret on your face, your eyebrows shooting up into your hairline. $180. Well, fuck me sideways, you thought, biting your lip. A moment of completion had you regarding the bottle. Screw it. With a satisfying plop, you uncorked the bottle, pouring a generous amount into a wine glass you had grabbed from the cabinet. Not wanting to drink in silence and ruminate further, you took the bottle in one hand, glass in the other and made your way over to the large sofas. Setting down the bottle and glass on the mahogany couch table, you grabbed the remote and began flicking aimlessly through the channels. You settled on a recent remake of Frankenstein, with an actor who's name you couldn't recall. Not that it mattered. Anything to take your mind off running in circles.

Soon, you were engrossed in the movie more than you cared to admit, your glass suddenly empty as you lifted it to your lips. With a shrug, you poured another glass, melting into the push upholstery. You lost track of time and how many glasses you had poured, the bottle nearly empty when the elevator pinged, sleek brushed aluminum doors sliding open to reveal Michael, dressed in a black suit that clung to him in all the right places, the equally black shirt unbuttoned at the top to reveal a slither of his broad chest. You craned your neck over the tall backrest of the couch at the sound, only the top of your head and eyes visible. He met your gaze, a smirk forming in the corners of his mouth.

Tag List: @sexwon131 @leatherduncan @rocketgirl2410

[fangirlovestuff]

The Heart Wants What it Wants - Chris Evans x reader pt.2

a/n- Hey lovely people, welcome back to angstland, hope you enjoy your stay, likes and reblogs are welcome. Summary is once again an angsty pinterest post. Enjoy hehe <3

part 1

Summary: It’s hard to wait around for something you know might never happen; but it’s harder to give up when you know it’s everything you want.

Warnings: angst, age gap

The next morning you woke up alone, the light hitting your face from the window. Apparently, Chris had decided to save you the awkwardness of the morning after and left early, which you should be thankful for.

But you weren't; not really. You felt your heart clench as you registered that the night was over, that he's gone and not coming back. You both knew what happened could never happen again, you had agreed - just for tonight. Yet, you couldn't help but feel suffocated by the bittersweet memories of the previous night. It wasn't just the sex, which was admittedly better than anything you already experienced. More than the physical connection, you felt an actual emotional connection with Chris. You were mourning the loss of that connection, not the sex.

The intensity of the realization shook you from your reverie. You got up and took a shower. This was just for one night and you knew it. Don't get all mushy now, you told yourself as you went through your morning routine, determined to ignore the odd feeling of sadness in your chest.

And life went on, as it always does. You acted in more movies, made acquaintances in Hollywood as you continued to build your career. Scarlett and you were still very close, but she finally let go of the Chris thing.

You wished you could finally let go of the Chris thing.

You'd managed to avoid seeing him again, keeping your distance in events like you did before. You kept telling yourself that "out of sight out of mind," and that you'll get over it eventually. You dated around for a while, never long enough for the paparazzi to have an opportunity to catch you together. Then, you started aiming to get more serious in your relationships, hoping that would help, but it didn’t.

Every one of them, as charming or handsome as they were, wasn't who you wanted. You could never stop comparing them to him. You were trying so hard to find the right person, to move on from this stupid fling that happened years ago. But there was always a tiny, persistent voice in your head telling you that you'd already found the right person, you just let him go.

And you wanted, so badly, to be able to let him go and forget about him. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You watched every single one of his movies when they came out, sitting alone in the back row of a local theater so you won't get recognized. You read the gossip, the news. You felt so incredibly stupid. In every relationship you had, there were other reasons you broke up of course, but somehow you always came back to him in your mind. You tried to keep yourself safe, away from the flame, but you just couldn't, and the consequences were evident. You got burned.

You broke up with your most recent boyfriend a month ago. But that's not the reason you were drinking alone on the night before your 24th birthday. You were in one of those hole in the wall bars, sitting on a couch in a corner of the room so you won’t get recognized.

Apparently, that didn’t help, because a man was getting closer to your table, shaking you from your melancholy thoughts. You put on a fake smile, ready to great the fan, but then you realized – it was him.

His electric blue eyes met yours and you realized you had nowhere to run or hide. Why would he even want to see you? You were the one hung up on him for five years, and even you didn't want to see him right now. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the sight of him, his shirt tight over his biceps, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took the liberty of having a seat on front of you, and oh my fucking god he ages like fine wine and it's so unfair. You had seen pictures of him, obviously, but seeing him in person made you remember how captivating he is, how you wanted to be as close to him as you could. But right now, the closest you could afford was miles away, you reminded yourself.

"Hey," he started hesitantly.

"Hi Chris," you said, your voice coming out as a whisper.

"How've you been?" he asked, trying to start a conversation. You let out a sound between a chuckle and a scoff. "Seriously, what's it been, four, five years? There must be some interesting stories," he tried again.

"Look, I appreciate the effort, but I'm fine. I'll be even better if you left me alone."

He swallowed, his eyes darting down before coming back up to meet your determined gaze. You felt like if you caved now there would be no coming back at all, no healing for your heart.

"Okay," he said after a beat. "I'll leave. I just have one question. Please." You nodded your head for him to continue.

"Are you happy?"

Your intoxicated brain took a moment to register the question, and then your thoughts started racing. What kind of question was that? Why would he ask that?

Were you happy?

"No." The answer was out of your mouth before you managed to stop it, sitting heavily between you. "But is anyone really?" you said, trying to correct yourself. "Ya know, like happiness is supposed to be the constant pursuit of happiness or whatever," you chuckled lightly. "So, um, yeah. I answered your question." You looked at him expectantly.

"Me too."

Maybe it was the alcohol, but something inside you snapped. "Fuck off," you scoffed. "Sure, yeah, what could you possibly be unhappy about? Your career is thriving, your family's well as far as I've heard, and you've probably got a girlfriend or something. Your life must suck so bad." You mocked, your anger evident on your furrowed brows and fiery eyes. "You have everything you could possibly want."

"Oh, and you don't?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with emotion. Whether it was anger, concern, or something else entirely, you couldn't tell. You bore your eyes into the table in front of you, averting his gaze. You couldn't let him win, couldn't let him know you spent the last five years pining for him, the stupid, handsome little sh-

"And for the record," he made you lose your train of thought, "I don’t have everything I want. I can't. At least, the chance I could is close to zero. Believe me, I've done the math and thought it over for the last five years," the words left his mouth in a voice so low it was almost a growl. Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his fiery ones. It’s weird, how the color blue is usually considered cold. In that moment, nothing about him or you felt cold.

Your breath trembled, you suddenly felt warm and dizzy. His eyes made you realize what you were avoiding all along – what you could have with Chris. All this time, you convinced yourself he forgot about you. That he didn't want you, that he was out of your league and he knew it. You never allowed yourself to think what if- if he liked you back. If he wanted you too. You almost laughed out loud at the thought, but maybe it wasn't as unrealistic as you thought it was. You never allowed yourself to hope that there was really something there – a connection, a romance – even though you felt it from nearly the first minute you laid eyes on him. The narrative you'd created was that it was one sided, that not being with him was your pain only. But now you were overwhelmed with hope for something else, something more. Your mind filled with thoughts about it, or maybe they were there all along and you just paid them no attention. About the kind of life you could have together, how perfect it could be - Chris making you breakfast, going on walks together, you holding his hand whenever he felt nervous. The visions kept flooding your mind, even of mundane things like helping each other read lines and-

But there would be no lines to read. No movies to make. No fans to greet. If you had that with Chris, you'd both need to stop doing what you love. That reality seemed almost inevitable. The critics will slay away at the both of you. Public image is pretty much everything in this business, and dating would ruin yours, both of yours. And that would be unbearable for you and Chris. You couldn’t give up your dream for love, could you?

"Hey," Chris' low voice shook you from your reverie. "You here?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," you whispered, almost voicing the wish to move to a fairytale land where love always won.

His eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t push. "Look, I'm sorry for springing on you like this. But there wasn't really any other way, since you were adamantly avoiding me, which I get. I just," he sighed and moved to stroke his hand over his beard, "I just needed you to know. I'll go." He got up from the chair, turning his back to you on his way to leave the table.

"Chris, wait." The words were out of your mouth before you had the chance to stifle them back into your throat, or to think about what you wanted to say to him. He turned around but stayed standing, waiting patiently for your next words.

"I… I'm sorry too." Tears flooded your eyes, but you didn’t let them out. "I can't… I can't give up on my dream job. Which means I should have probably given up on you. On us." His eyes were shining, mirroring your own. "But I couldn't do that too. I wish I could, or you could, to spare us the pain. I just… please Chris, give up on me. Tell me what you need to hear and I'll say it, I promise I'll say it but please don’t make me be the person that causes you pain. I could never bear being that."

He stood still, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. After a beat, you couldn't stand the silence. "I hate you, is that what you wanna hear? I hate you, go away, I don't want you." Your heart nearly shattered to pieces at the words, the lies that you both knew were lies. Even you weren't that good of an actress. The tears were now flowing freely from your eyes, ruining your makeup but you didn't care. The only thing you could care about at the moment was Chris, and you cared about him so much it physically hurt.

Chris made his way over to you, sitting down beside you. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and kissing the back of your palm. You turned your head to him; tear tracks down your face. Your eyes met his aching ones and you let out a shaky breath. He was beautiful, and you couldn't help but get closer to him. Your heads pushed closer, and like puzzle pieces fitting together, your lips touched in a tender dance. Your hand went up to cup his face, his went to yours, caressing your cheek with his thumb as your lips pushed against his soft ones. The kiss wasn't starved like the last one you had; it was gentle, hesitant almost. You hated it, but you were saying goodbye.

You pulled away slightly, your foreheads staying touching. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you pulled your hand away from his cheek. He pulled away from you as well, his breath somewhat shaky as he put some distance between the two of you. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I know. Me too."

He got up and walked away. He didn't even look back. You knew it was because he didn't want to make it harder on the both of you, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

That night you went back home feeling numb. It wasn't even the alcohol. Leaving him behind left you feeling drained and empty. You felt helpless, like you were struggling to keep your head above the water but didn't have the strength.  

You changed into pajamas mechanically and climbed into your bed. As your head hit the soft pillow, you felt your heart smash to pieces in your chest. If you were feeling numb before, now in the safety of your bed you felt everything – love for him, anger at the world, grief over what could have been. Tears started flowing from your eyes once more, and you sobbed quietly, your whole body trembling. You didn't know what was worse – the numbness or this.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, and the next one, and the one after it. You got to be more stable as time went on, going back to business. But the ache inside your chest stayed, and you had a feeling it would never really go away. Once something is broken, even if you try to fix it, there will always be cracks.

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Taglist: @swatson06 @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @phoebe-21-99 @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​ @wanessalopesueiros

if you wanna join / be removed from the taglist, comment/reblog/message me! for now I tagged the people who liked my post anouncing this was dropping today. much love <3

[solitaria-fantasma]

Um for the Super Ghost AU I am just imagining that The Question managed to figure out basically everything about Gawain and the Mystery Skulls, but instead of it being his paranoia getting to him it's because he accidentally learned Gawain was a ghost, wanted to learn why he's a ghost and then he was going down the rabbit hole and by the time he climbed out of it he's just wondering what is Gawain's life, unlife, whatever and the life of his brother. Just, this came to me and refused to leave.

((*cracks knuckles*))

Question hadn't seen sunlight for nearly six days, and it had finally paid off.

He leaned over his hands on the edge of the desk, staring at the pin board before him. It was crisscrossed with color coded strands of yarn, and little push pins that held up photographs, newspaper and magazine clippings, and printed Internet screenshots. It wasn't the most complicated web he'd ever built, but it tied up neatly, and that was enough. Not every mystery had a a million twists to unwind.

The trail started in London, England, and stretched all the way across the Atlantic to a tiny town in Texas, USA, barely large enough to be a speck on a map. He had birth records, school enrollment records, science fair awards, promotions, Visa applications, mortgages, home appliance purchases, swing dance trophies, company picnic photos, a missing person's report, and an obituary, all leading to a giant question mark scribbled over a photo of a young blond man, with the word 'whereabouts?' written beneath it.

This photo connected to the next item in the chain with a quick arrow of blue, and another long, arching arrow connected a birth record from earlier in this leg to the same thing - a newspaper article from that small Texas town, talking about the mysterious case of a young boy with amnesia being found on the steps of a local restaurant. There was an article about the boy's adoption just a few months later, and then another article congratulating three local kids and their dog for solving a small time mystery.

The chain ran through several articles like this one, and the kids grew older as their mysteries evolved from misplaced mail and lost pets to package theft, poltergeist activity, and cryptid sightings. More and more, the articles talked about ghosts, creatures of urban legend, and even sightings of demons and occult activity. Around 2008, the newspaper articles became printed blog posts, and seemed to be written by the kids themselves.

Question laughed quietly to himself. Kids after his own paranoid heart, all three.

The articles came to an abrupt halt in 2014, with a missing persons report for the amnesiac boy (now an adult), and a series of articles about a groundbreaking prosthetic limb, developed by a genius young man who tested his prototype on himself after tragically loosing his own arm. There were a few more articles about the prosthetic, and a few photos to go along with them that showed the blond man from previous articles, and then there were a few clippings of local tabloids from a truck driver who swore he'd been carjacked by 'a flaming skeleton with great fashion sense'.

There was silence for a month or two, and then concurrent newspaper articles and blog posts about the miraculous return of one Lewis Pepper, thought to be dead from the same tragic caving accident that cost his best friend his arm. The blog posts about the supernatural returned, and the prosthesis research seemed to slow down. Coincidentally, a young man named 'Merlin Knight' with an eerily familiar face was hired at the local auto shop.

Question wondered if the entire town was playing dumb, or just stupid. The only real change was the clothing, and that long blond hair being braided.

This employment record connected all the way back to the obituary from the first leg of the chain, and proceeded on to connect with screenshots from a social media account of a robotic body, and the building of what would be, within a few month's time, the town's own local hero.

Question breathed out through his nose. A local hero who would go on to help save the world, and found the Justice League itself. Had that been part of the plan?

The web wrapped itself up quickly from there. Supernatural skills and abilities not possible by modern science, knowledge of other realms and creatures only known to mythology, and the tiny little clues he'd been hoarding and observing for a full year all pointed to the same conclusion. It wasn't as fantastical as it sounded, in all honesty, though Green Arrow had looked at him stranger than usual when he'd first said his conclusion out loud.

There were legitimate aliens, sorcerers, and demons in this reality - why not ghosts, too?

There was one final piece missing from the web, however, and he was out of clues to tie in. There was a near twenty year gap between the last known sighting of Gawain Kingsmen, and the appearance of 'Merlin Knight'. What had the man been doing for all that time? There had been no sightings of anyone even remotely matching the appearance of Gawain or 'Merlin' anywhere in that time, and without even the slightest whisper of a rumor on an Internet forum or library archive, there wasn't much more he could do to find out.

Question straightened up from the desk, and rolled his shoulders to try and stretch them out. There was no way around it.

He was going to have to get more...direct from here on out.

.......

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Gawain froze with a potato wedge half-raised to his shoulder at the question, and Bran - unwilling to wait for her snack - leaned her head down to snatch it up anyway. Gawain turned his yellow LED eyes over to Question, who had planted himself in the chair across the table without so much of a 'hello', and tilted his head.

"...I'm sorry," He apologized. "But I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I know you do." Question leaned one elbow on the table. Bran nudged Gawain's still-raised hand, hoping for more potatoes, and the hero absently picked up another wedge to feed to her. "I know most people believe the 'advanced AI' cover story, but I'm not most people. I know you're a ghost possessing an armored suit like that old anime." The potato wedge vanished, and Question wondered if the little ghost was actually eating it, or just storing it for later.

That was a mystery for another time, regardless.

Gawain had turned to face him fully, now, and his two other ghostly companions were now peeking out of hiding from behind his shoulders. They weren't hostile, but their stares were, nonetheless, intense, and Question smiled behind his mask. He knew he had their full attention, now.

"How did you find out?" Gawain asked, keeping his voice low.

"I saw you from the ground in that fight with Mr. Sorcerer Superior, Magnus Creed." Question replied. "You ran into that warding slip like a bird into a clean window. A robot wouldn't have been stopped by mere paper and superstition." Gawain tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Some superstitions hurt." He argued, just the slightest bit defensive. "...what was your question, again?"

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Question asked. "There's a two decade gap between your presumed death and your reappearance. You could stand to work on that secret identity, by the way." He advised. "Someone's going to notice your resemblance to a dead guy from twenty years ago, if you ever let down your hair." Gawain's LED eyes narrowed, and one of the spirits - Chopper, the one with the upright spines - hissed in response.

Vixen walked by with John Stewart at her side, and both Chopper and Gawain made a visible effort to drop any outward signs of irritation. Question remained where he was. People were used to seeing him tense and suspicious, by now. It wouldn't raise a single eyebrow.

"...I was lost." Gawain spoke up quietly once Vixen and John had passed out of earshot. "I woke up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, and I just couldn't get out. Not for a while."

"You were lost in a forest for twenty years?" Even Question sounded skeptical. "I've seen what you're capable of. You should have been able to handle a little thing like being lost."

"It was ten years," Gawain retorted sharply. Bran raided his plate for the remaining potato wedges. "And I wasn't just...born being able to do that stuff. I had to grow into it. I had to learn." A strange gust of air blew past the table, scattering someone's forgotten paper plate and napkin to the floor, before Gawain unclenched his fists, and visibly calmed down. Question still didn't move.

"Death...does things to you." Gawain lowered his voice again. "To your mind. You can't think straight for...a long time - and that's if you're lucky." He lowered his hands to the table, and Bran automatically wound herself around one arm with a pleased sound. "I found my way out of the forest after ten yes, and then I went...home. To Tempo."

"Your parents had moved away by then." Question knew. He knew how the story of the living family had played out, from there. "Your brother was living with your uncle, and your friends were off at college." Gawain's shoulders drooped, and the third spirit - Griflet, if he remembered right - patted at the side of his helmet sympathetically. Chopper was still glaring at him.

"They had." Gawain made no effort to hide the disappointment in his voice. "I guess I couldn't fault them for not wanting to stay in town after all they went through, but back then, I didn't know it had been ten years. It only felt like a few days, to me."

"That must have been difficult." Question said, and he meant it. Sympathy wasn't really his thing, but Gawain was being cooperative, so it was the least he could do. "And the other ten?"

"I was hiding." Gawain laughed humorlessly. "I somehow convinced myself that my family-...that my brother, and my uncle, would be afraid of me, if they saw me like that, and I just...never came forward." He shrugged. "I just sort of watched, and listened, and followed them for another ten years, and I thought that was pretty good, you know?

"I couldn't interact with them, sure, but at least I could still see them. It was...better than nothing." The hero fell silent, for a few moments, and then looked Question in the eye. Or...as close as he could get. The featureless mask tended to throw off people's frame of reference for facial features. "What are you going to do now?"

"Absolutely nothing." Question casually leaned back in his own chair. "I've already put the pieces together. This was just the last piece I needed to finish the story." He stood up, and pushed the chair in under the table. "This time, I just wanted to satisfy my own curiosity." Gawain seemed surprised, and remained sitting as Question walked out of the cafeteria.

He could feel four pairs of eyes burning into his back, but for once, being watched didn't bother him. Curiosity killed the cat, they said, but satisfaction brought it back, and Question was very much satisfied with this answer.

Now, he could focus on more important matters...like the long-ignored connection between Girl Scout cookie sales and the appearance of crop circles in Midwest America.

[randompasserbyer]

For the D.I.D meme, 1, 6, 16 and 17

sytfuygihnoi #1 is a big one so I’ll answer the other 3 in another ask lmao

1.  Introduce your headmates/alters. How many are there? What are they all like?

So, there’s 26 of us, give or take 2, so I’ll try to give brief descriptions of everyone in order of when they split. Thank you for asking uwu

Blue is our host. He's the one we all refer to as the owner of the body. His form in the headspace shifts depending on his kinshift, but he’s usually presenting as an Underswap Sans fictive. He uses he/him pronouns a lot but he’s genderfluid and often doesn’t consider himself a man and appreciates being called a woman despite using he/him pronouns. Gender is confusing tyfugihop

Sam is the main protector/gatekeeper of our system. She’s been around the longest, she was the first that Blue was aware of when he noticed the system, and we all kind of look up to her. She’s a “take no shit” type of person and we’re all very grateful for her. She looks like a ghost and I don’t know how else to describe her iohguyfutd

Quadi is our main trauma holder. She rarely fronts and I have zero clue how to describe what she looks like. Nobody ever interacts with her in the headspace because she’s always in her room. If she fronts,, just send her love and support.

Shnep is.. well, I don’t actually know her role, to tell you the truth oiugfyt She looks like Walmart-brand Flame Atronach from Skyrim. She only gets to front if Sam lets her front and it’s a controlled environment. Loves to play videogames tho. Murder Mystery is her favorite cause she gets to let loose.

Watcher is our persecutor. He’s only gotten front, like, twice in the last year but he causes plenty of harm in the headspace. He can shapeshift and the only way we can tell it’s him is that his eyes will stay black. He’s been around just as long as Sam, but you can never find him unless he wants you to. Our protectors are good at keeping everyone safe.

Zane is our sexual protector/trauma holder. He stays in his room as well but we’re free to come visit him at any time. I don’t,, really know?? how to describe him?? He’s another shapeshifter but I personally haven’t interacted with him since I formed so I can’t tell you much ftuhiojn

Viper is a giant skeleton lamia and while I personally quake in fear, he’s a genuine sweetheart and he loves talking to people. He knows broken English but he doesn’t let that stop him. He actually went dormant shortly after forming and nobody knew he even formed until he woke up a year and a half later and everyone went “Huh?????”

Nightshade is an Error Sans fictive. He’s another one of our protectors and he’s really good at his job. To be more specific, he’s an avenger, he helps us deal with our abusers. He’s gotten over his haphephobia for the most part since splitting, though it flares up around strangers and honestly I don’t blame him.

Template is a Template Sans fictive lmao. creative nickname I know XD He’s a middle and Nightshade is fiercely protective of him. He loves to play videogames and draw. Ask him about Spyro or Pokemon ;) He keeps going in and out of dormancy so,, idk when he’ll front again but he always seems to have a good time when he does.

404 is a Blueberror fictive. He’s fairly impulsive and.. yknow, I want to say he’s impulsive, but the guy has so many amnesia barriers about his entire being that I can’t say it for certain. He’s a cryptid. You’ll never see him in the headspace unless you see one of his soft triggers and he has so few of those lmao (Our partner says he’s like Ghostbur but hyper, so take that as you will)

Gold is a Birdtale Sans fictive. He doesn’t like to talk unless you’ve gained his complete trust, or he’s alone. He’s very much a “body language is a universal language and it’s the only language in the universe I know” kind of guy. He tells great puns tho. He’s pretty chill. Apparently he formed like.. years ago?? And Sam had just been blocking him from the main area of our headspace for a really long time??

Squid is our Ink Sans fictive (are you seeing a pattern here? Hyperfixation go brrrr). He’s chaos but he can be pretty down to earth if he wants to be. He’s stuck in a state of constantly missing his old life, though. He loves to draw and leave long supportive chaotic comments on other people’s art. If he can’t draw, he gets anxious.

WDG is our Handplates Gaster fictive. His lab takes up the entire basement of the headspace mansion and half of it is just an entrance to the Void, which only he and Shard can access. He’s very analytical and emotionally and physically distant, but he’s really good at making sure the body is taken care of. He likes to document everything he does and when so it’s pretty easy to see what he did when he fronted. Terrified of his curiosity though, that skeleton loves science way too much.

Shard and Sunshine are a subsystem Shattered!Dream fictive. Sunshine is really sweet but very paranoid and sensitive. Shard is actually both a persecutor and a protector. Kind of a.. “Nobody gets to hurt this system except me” kind of vibe, yknow? He’s been working hard to reform though because he hurt our partner once and felt really bad. He’s come a long way ^^

Viola is an Underswap Sans fictive, but she split from a fanfiction called By the Angel (it’s nsfw if you look it up, but it’s got a great plot lol). She’s actually transgender since her fic has her as he/him and we’re very supportive of her <3 She’s.. I don’t know how to describe her other than she’s got an old soul and a old-fashioned way of speaking. She loves to listen to kulning videos. Swedish culture really vibes with her.

Drake is a fictive from a really old Minecraft roleplay called The Haunted. He’s half Enderman and he can do magic. He’s kind of timid and his anxiety is always through the roof. He gets hella dysphoric when he fronts and often has headaches and we’re?? not sure?? if he’s a subsystem or not??? with Herobrine??????? He won’t tell anyone if he is or not, he just dodges the question.

*inhale* Pinky is a vampire Ink Sans fictive. He’s what would happen if you gave a vampiric opossum a bigger body lmao. He’s incredibly mischievous (and a tad selfish, if you ask me) and likes to cause pranks at the worst times. He adores our partner though.

TB is a Technoblade fictive/factive. Both?? It’s hard to tell with him. He looks like a twunk piglin and behaves like one too. He’s taken on the role of protector recently, though, and he monitors any new splits until we’re sure they’re not going to hurt the body or any relationships with other folks. He likes to talk about piglin culture a lot. (he kins Billiam and it’s entertaining to watch him call everyone peasants and poor when we too are in fact poor)

Phil is our Philza fictive. He’s the dad friend of the system, the caretaker. He takes a very neutral stance on things and will often refuse to step into a fight, but he will try to calm folks down. I can’t tell you how much of a comfort he is. He loves to talk about his past life and his little family, though he gets sad about it sometimes.

Ghost is our Ghostbur fictive. He loves pranks and he’s very sweet. He has so much blue, you would not believe. He’s such a softy and loves to make people smile. He either hangs around TB, Phil, or Theo and he doesn’t usually front alone. He does have Alivebur shifts but he essentially just gets really edgy and depressed in a sort of self destructive way, but he’s still soft. He just tells really wild jokes and he’s a lot more impulsive.

SNL/Space Heater (he doesn’t have a good nickname yet) is our Sapnap factive/fictive. He really enjoys front but he doesn’t really get much done when he fronts tfuygiuhoip He just reads fanfiction lmao. He loves Dadboyhalo and Dreamnap content. He’s a pretty chill guy, doesn’t get into a lot of fights. He just wants to have fun.

Theo is our protege!Tommy fictive. He actually split from the popular fic Rewind and he’s just been.. vibing? He gets along well with Sapnap most of the time but he’s had a lot of trouble warming up to TB, Phil, and Ghost. I think he enjoys front?? He fronts often enough. I don’t know how to describe him except that he’s very Tommy-like lmao

Fakier is our newest split. He’s an ARG Wilbur fictive. He doesn’t like to talk too much about himself but he loves to infodump about codes and cryptic stuff like that. He’s actually done a lot with taking care of the body and taking long walks outside and just, enjoying life. He did leave the windows open on a really cold day tho and our apartment hasn’t been warm since :\ He seems cool, I’m just annoyed that my fingers and toes are freezing off lmao /hyperbole

We’ve had a few integrate over the past two years so it’s hard to keep track of how many there are for sure, but that should be everyone. Sorry for the wall of text dytufibonk Hope you liked the answer tho ^^ I’ll answer the other 3 answers tomorrow in a post together and @ you so you don’t miss them uwu

[itgetsdarksometimes35]

The Maid

Warnings: Non con, dub con, sex pollen, kidnapping, daddy kink, one wears clothes, one doesn’t, spanking, hair pulling, 18+

Word Count: 4,248

Pairings: Dark!Thor x Reader

Prompts: Pirates and all the warnings. 

Summary: Reader sold herself as a maid on Loki Laufeyson’s ship so she could support her family back home. One night intruders come onto the ship.

~ indicates a time change

- indicates a POV change

A/N: This is a late submission to @sherrybaby14​ mini b-day challenge. Happy late, lovely, I hope you accept and love this late present. I am officially all caught up and I’ll be posting tomorrow. I sadly will not be posting for a bit, though, after that. Finals and life demands suck, but I’ll write when I can. Love you guys, thanks for understanding, and I hope you enjoy! :) 

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Being the only girl on a ship didn’t have many perks. Sure, nobody ever got into a drunken fight with you or expected you to fight in a battle or help in a raid, but you were the mother of about 50 disgusting men. They threw their clothes at you to wash, stained with blood, feces, and urine, and left messes. You cared for them when they were sick. They constantly grabbed at you like the last piece of meat at dinner and were never grateful. Your days consisted of waking up hours before the rest of the crew, making breakfast, which typically woke everyone up, cleaned until it was time to make lunch, went back to cleaning until dinner, and cleaning until you passed out from exhaustion. On days a raid would happen you’d have to work on a docked ship and later give medical care. On the days where you attacked at sea you were to hide in your quarters. Never was there a battle lost or fought on your ship, but you were ordered to stay safe regardless. 

Your leader, Captain Loki Laufeyson, was an evil crook. Sure, all pirates were, but he was extra cruel. He stole, lied, and killed people who trusted him. You were painfully awaiting the day where he would finally sell his own crew out to save his ass. 

You being the only girl was entirely his doing. He purchased you a few years back in your village. Your father had died of infection and your mother had become extremely sick herself and wouldn’t survive much longer and now could no longer work. You had 9 younger siblings who would die during the harsh winters if you weren’t able to find food soon. You could’ve gotten a job locally, but time wasn’t on your side, you needed money fast, and none of the menial work they gave women wouldn’t do. The good paying jobs all asked for hardworking, big men. The eldest boy in your family was 7. Without any other option, you went to town and auction yourself off to pirates who needed a woman, or more, for any reason. You had hoped you wouldn’t be wanted for that. They paid big money and you would give it to your family for food and medicine while the others got local jobs to continue to support themselves. You didn’t expect to see your family again, so you let your brothers know they were now the men of the house and let your sisters know they needed to step up. The goodbye was painful, the youngest clung to your skirts while the older ones held back tears and forced smiles, promising mom would be okay and that they’d find good jobs to help out. Your mother wasn’t aware of any of it while she lay in her bed, looking off. 

“Goodbye, ma.” You said kissing her sweaty forehead, caressing her hair back. 

Soon you were at the docs, on a podium, while strange, dirty, loud men shouted numbers. Some were drunk and stumbled over their words while others were pointed and well spoken. Among the ladder was a man who sat at the very front. He started at you with eyes as blue as the water he sails on, long hair as dark as his thoughts.

 “Five thousand pound silver.” The crowd hushed. They looked around for the maniac that would pay that much for one maid. Your eyes widnes at the mysterious man as a sinister smile graced his God-like features. You turned to the auctioneer who donned the same surprise as you. 

He shook out of the shock and yelled, “Going once, going twice...Sold!” A man in rags helped usher you off the podium while another lead a blonde girl on next as the number calls started again. Your legs moved on their own accord as your mind swam. Why had he paid so much for you? What was his plan? 

You were lead to the pirate and a banker who would handle the money. A few small brown bags sat on the table where the banker sat filing out papers. He grabbed them before turning to you. “Who do I make the remaining money out to?” You told him your family’s name and he scribbled on two pieces of paper. He stamped one before handing it to the man who’d just bought you. “Here you are, Captain Laufeyson, enjoy your new lady.” 

You continued looking forward as your body began to shake from fear. From the corner of your eye you saw him turn to you with the same smile he wore minutes before. “That I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You opened your eyes suddenly, looking around the darkness. Your body typically woke you up like clockwork to get the day started, but that’s not why you were currently up. You heard a noise. The wood of the floorboards above you creaked. Who could possibly be up? Every night the men filled their bellies up with food, wine, and beer and passed out; the smell of more food being their only source awakening. You swung your legs out of bed carefully and grabbed the unlit oil lamp on your dresser of items. You reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a lighter and fed the lamp the flame as it illuminated the small room. You slowly crept to the door, praying the wood wouldn’t betray you. 

You pulled the door open and looked out with the lamp lighting your view. Seeing nobody there you crept out more until you were at the stairs. You couldn’t see past them and your heart beat in your chest like a hammer. Maybe you should turn back. Go back to sleep, pretend you heard nothing. The thoughts ran in your head as you debated what to do next when you heard it. Heard them. Voices. You quickly blew out the candle and was thrown into darkness again. You crouched down and leaned on the bottom step, listening. 

“Find what you can and take it. I want this mission to be quick and easy, find the hammer, burn the ship down, and leave. If you find anyone awake, kill them. My brother will pay for what he stole from me.”

Fuck. Footsteps continued walking around upstairs and your mind raced. You were being invaded. But surely by the wrong ship, Loki had no brother. Or maybe he did, he never spoke to you. You didn’t know what he stole from people or who he stole from, you just knew he left behind countless enemies that were bound to come back one day. But they never did, until now. 

You had to think fast, the ship would be up in flames soon and if you’re found awake you’ll be killed. You couldn’t jump overboard, you’d definitely drown. Your only hope was the ship’s one lifeboat, the one Loki kept around for himself and a few men that’d he take with him to help row him to safety if the ship were to ever have an emergency. It was a long shot, the odds weren’t in your favor at all, but if you waited for the flames to wake everyone the lifeboat would be filled and gone. If you acted now, you’d be in the boat ready to sail off the minute the invaders burned the ship and retreated back to their own. 

Rowing couldn’t be that hard and you had to be close to land. You had just finished a raid hours ago, you just needed a map. Maybe a compass and some food to last you. You stood and slowly crept to your room to retrieve a small brown sack with a map and compass in it, you’d stolen it in your first year on the ship, saying you’d run away back to your family; you never found the guts. It was still dark so you felt around blindly until you felt it hidden in your drawer. Then you walked  fast, but carefully, back out and to the stairs where you listened for movement. Upstairs in the kitchen was a basket of fruit the men had gotten while on land. You’d have to be fast. The kitchen was all the way on the other side, and you had no idea what these men looked like or where they were. 

Slowly, while clutching the bag tighter, you made your way up the stairs. You looked around, using the moon as light, before deciding the coast was clear. You stepped onto the deck, the cold night made the wood feel like ice on your bare feet. You were used to the heat of the underdeck, never had you left your room in such immodest conditions, wearing just a thin nightgown and underwear. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment of being found like this as you carried on to the kitchen.

You got into the kitchen and felt for the fruit, using muscle memory to navigate around the room. You stepped very timidly in your search, you were all too aware of the fact that there were plenty of things that made loud noises in here. Then you felt the bowl and took a few fruits before putting it in your bag. You start walking out when a loud clang echoes throughout the kitchen and pain radiated through your foot. You kicked a pot.

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A noise rang in Thor’s ears and stopped his search short. He boarded his brother’s ship with 3 other men in search of the hammer his brother had stolen from him, the object that was worth more than gold that he had found on a journey. He looked up at his crew member, Heimdall, and the both nodded to each other. They both inched closer and closer to the source of the noise, drew their swords, then pushed the door open. The moonlight pushed in and illuminated the room. In the middle of it was a black pot on the floor. 

“It may have fallen by itself. Stranger has happened.” Heimdall commented. 

Thor grunted in an answer, but didn’t leave, moving deeper into the kitchen. He kept his sword at attention before him, ready to swing. As he continued looking, Heimdall stepped outside to keep watch as Stephen Strange walked up to him, yielding the object they were all there to retrieve. 

“I found the hammer,” he said holding it up to Heimdall, the light bouncing off it, “Cocky bastard had it unprotected in his trophy room.” Stephen announced looking into the kitchen and seeing someone crawling. His eyebrows raised as he looked closer into the dark room.

Thor turned the last corner before standing up completely, sighing in defeat. “I guess it did fall by itself.” 

Stephen smiled as the small body continued to crawl slowly backward toward the door, obviously oblivious to the two men that stood behind her. “Not quite, Captain,” the body stiffened at the close voice. “I think we found our culprit.”

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You hadn’t heard them, you were too focused on the man with long blonde hair to notice the two other men that stood behind you. The hair on your body stood to a point and your body was frozen in place. You stared ahead as you felt the heat of the man behind you. 

“What do you mean-” 

The blonde, their captain, stopped short when he saw you. His eyes matched that of your own captain’s but he was much bigger. You could see the muscles work to hold the heavy sword that the captain held onto, his beard was light across his stunned face. He was beautiful. And he was going to kill you. 

The blonde shook his head and looked above you to his men. “Heimdall, go find Holgun and you guys start the fire. We’ve gotten my hammer, now it’s time to finish what my brother started.” He turned to the one holding the hammer. “Hand me my hammer and go with them.” 

The brown haired man walked to the blonde holding out the hammer, never taking his glaring eyes off of you. “What about her?” 

The captain looked to you before responding, “I’ll deal with her.” 

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The next thing you knew, you were on a lifeboat and the ship you had called home for years now was up in flames. The only lifeboat on the ship was set on fire, so there was no way of escape now. The men you were with rowed away from the flames as screams and panic filled your ears. You still clung to the brown bag as you curled up into yourself on the boat floor. Every once in a while the captain, Thor as the men have called him several times, will look at you. 

Stephen looks back at you before looking at Thor, who was still looking at you. “You said to kill anyone who was awake. She was awake; why are we taking her back? She should be dead.” The other men glanced back as well before turning their attention back to rowing. 

“She’ll come in handy.” Thor smiled at you before turning to Stephen. “Don’t question your captain, Stephen.”

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It didn’t take long before you were back at Thor’s ship. It was like Loki’s only this one looked newer. It was definitely in better condition, he probably had more than one maid. The men got out of the boat and onto the ship, stretching as the morning glow of the sun coming up cascading onto the main deck. Few other crew members were up and moving things along to get the day started. They seemed less barbaric than the men you were used to babysitting, these men looked like they knew how to care for themselves. 

Thor helped you from the lifeboat and lingered even after you were steady on your feet. You looked up at him before looking at the bag in your hands. A gust of wind went by, making you shiver; it was then that you remembered how exposed you were. You wrapped your hands around your body, and Thor must’ve noticed this gesture because he hugged you to him. 

“You’re freezing. Here, follow me.” As Thor led you around more and more eyes looked to you. Hungry eyes took in your scandalous appearance, not once did you see another girl. Something told you these men hadn’t seen a girl in years, especially in this type of attire. 

You were led into a big room, at least double the size of what you were used to. Thor set down his hammer on a dresser before pulling socks and a jacket out. Both items entirely too big for you. 

“I’m sorry, it’s all I have,” Thor said scratching the back of his neck, sounding ashamed, “Not any women who would be able to share clothes with either.” He handed you the items and watched as you timidly pulled the clothes on. 

“T-thank you…” Your voice didn’t sound like yours. 

Thor nodded and looked at your bag. He seemed to just notice it as he took it from you, looking at the contents within. He looked at you before smiling. “You wanted to run?”

You nodded meeting his gaze. 

“Did my brother didn’t treat you right did he? Never did know how to care for a woman properly.”

Oh, he thought…

“No,” You said a little too loud, “I was only his maid. We never...I never…” You trailed off, before looking down at your hands. They were sweaty from holding the bag for so long. 

“But he wanted to. He tried didn’t he?” 

You stayed silent. Thor seemed to know his brother, you didn’t need to answer him. The night Loki took you back to the ship he had tried, but you cried and begged. You thought he wouldn’t let you go, what would you be able to do? You couldn’t run and even though Loki was no match for his brother, he could’ve overpowered you in an instant. And you were on a ship with at least 50 men who wouldn’t mind helping their captain, you shook at the thought. Loki had spared you, though. He just doubled his efforts to make your job as his maid harder, refusing to buy another maid. 

“My brother is anything but merciful, my lady. You held value in his heart, if you hadn’t he would’ve killed you after refusing him. I’m afraid we’re similar in that way.” The way he said that didn’t settle well with you. It felt like a threat. “I don’t blame him though,” Thor stepped closer and touched your cheek, “You are a gorgeous little thing. Something like that can’t just be let go so easily..”

You shrugged away from Thor and he retreated his hand. He smiled at you as you looked up again. “Right well, I’m afraid being on my ship and serving no purpose is prohibited.” His voice dripped venom as he stalked closer to you, backing you into a wall. 

“What d-do you want from me?”

“Mmm, I think you know.” Thor gripped the hem of your nightgown, slowly hiking it up. 

Your hand flew to his hand, trying to stop his efforts. “Captain, please, don’t. I can do anything else, just don’t…” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you looked up at Thor, pleading with him. 

He sighed before letting your gown go and stepping back a bit. “Fine.” He turned behind him. “Go into that cabinet. Inside is a cleaning powder, liquid powders mess up the wood on my ship. Use that and scrub the floor in here. Then move on to other rooms.” 

You looked stunned at his relent, waiting for the trick to be revealed. With Loki you had screamed and begged for hours, Thor just gave in. Then again, he did seem more level-headed than his brother.

You walked to the cabinet and found a small jar with powder inside. It was a strange place to keep cleaning supplies, but you weren’t one to judge. You were thankful you were able to keep your innocence. 

“I’m going to go and talk with my crew. I’ll take it you know what your doing?” You nodded again. “Good.” With that Thor was gone leaving you with the sweet smelling powder. It burned your throat but it wasn’t unbearable, you’d had worse done to you. You looked into the cabinet again and found a rag. You dumped some of the powder on the rag and started scrubbing the floor. As you did, more of it wafted to your face and into your lungs and nose. You coughed and looked to the floor. There was no difference. What the heck? You thought. Maybe you need water? 

You stepped into the room connected to the Captain’s room and found a pail of water. You grabbed it and pulled it to the main room where you were sitting. When you made to sit, your thigh brushed your core and you whimpered. It felt good. You had no idea why, but it left a hunger within you. You tried to ignore it, not wanting Thor to think you were useless by not doing the one job you've been doing for years now. You wet the rag before dumping more of the powder on the now damp rag. More powder went to your face and your hunger grew. You scrubbed the floor harder, trying to do anything to ignore it. You looked to the floor and again saw no difference. Maybe Thor would see one and you just didn’t, the floor looked pretty clean before doing this anyway. 

You moved on and the powder continued flying around you. Soon you were sweating, the heat in your core growing all around your body. The more you ignored it the bigger it grew. The powder was soon gone and you tried to stand to go let Thor know you needed more. As you did, your pussy screamed with need as it brushed your thigh again. You moaned out in frustration before wiping the sweat from you. You took painful steps outside the room to find Thor and found the deck even busier than before. As you stepped out more men looked to you, stopping what they were doing and licking their chops like an animal. What you would do to be devoured in that moment…No. This wasn’t you. Whatever was happening you’d figure out later. Right now you needed Thor. 

Almost on cue, Thor stepped in front of you, grabbing your arms and keeping you upright. Your legs felt as if they’d give out as him hands seemed to cool the fire in you for just a moment. “Finished?” Thor looked down at you with beautiful eyes. He was so good looking…

“Y-yeah. I need more, uhm, powder. I ran out. I’m sorry…” You mouth felt dry and you couldn’t seem to focus on your words. 

“No, I think you’ve had enough, my lady.”

“What? But you said-”

“I know but you don’t look like you can continue, not in your state at least…”

His eyes trailed down your body and back up. His eyes darkened as he watched your thighs rub together. You needed a release. 

“Water. I need water, I’m so hot. Why is it so hot?” 

Thor chuckled before reaching at a table beside him. He handed you the goblet that was filled with wine. You gulped it down, but it did nothing for the dying thirst you felt or the unbearable heat you felt. You started gasping as another wave of heat hit you, your core ached and you felt your panties getting wetter by the second. You gripped Thor’s jacket that was on you and fumbled to take it off. That still gave you no release, even the socks’ removal felt like nothing. All the while Thor looked at you with amusement. You narrowed your eyes at him.  “Thor, what did you do to me?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t help you.” He looked around the ship and saw his crew looking on in curiosity. He pulled you closer to him, his carnal and territorial instincts kicking in at the sight of men sizing up his meal. 

“Thor, please, help me.” 

“Don’t worry, baby, we’re getting to that.” 

Thor gripped the collar of your nightgown and pulled. The fabric tore all the way down, exposing your boobs to Thor and his crew. The cool breeze felt amazing on your fiery skin, but there was still a flame that didn’t extinguish all the way. You made to cover yourself but Thor held your wrists in his strong hand. With the other he ripped your panties from you, leaving you completely bare for everyone to see. You moaned as another wave crashed into your body. 

“I know, I know, I’m right here, baby.” Thor shushed you as he turned and bent your body over a table. Your drenched pussy was on full display for him. He rubbed his crotch to yours and you cried out. You needed him inside you. Now. 

“Thor, please..”

“Mmmm, please what?” He grinded harder into you.

“Please, fuck me.”

Thor fake gasped in surprise. “In front of all these people? Tsk, tsk, tsk, I expected more decency from you.”

“Thor, PLEASE!” You begged for him to touch you, do anything. 

He chuckled. “Alright, baby, if you say so.”

With that Thor shoved himself in. You felt a sharp pain as he broke the barrier of your innocence, and you cried out. 

“It’s okay, shhh, that’s right, take daddy’s big cock. He’ll make you feel better, don’t you worry.” Thor continued his hard pace, with each thrust your fire was slowly dying out. But another was forming within you, it had you backing up into Thor, trying to appease it. 

“Nuh uh,” Thor slapped your ass, “You asked me to fuck you, baby, so let me fuck you.” His hand danced along your hip down to where you both were connected. He rubbed tight circles on your clit that had you moaning out louder. Thor continued slapping your ass, loving the way you squeezed his cock when you did. His thrusts and fingers were working you closer and closer to bliss.

Finally your breath hitched and you were crumbling over the edge, eyes shutting in euphoria. Thor grunted above you as he drew his hand away from you clit and up to your hip, crushing into you even faster, chasing his release. He grabbed your hair and pulled you up to him so he could whisper in your ear. 

“Fuck, your sweet little cunt is gonna make me cum baby. Your squeezing me so tight, milking me for everything I’ve got. You want me to cum inside you?”

When you didn’t answer he spanked your ass again. 

“Answer me when I talk to you.” He growled. 

“Yes, I want you to cum in me!” 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy!”

“That a girl.”

A few more thrusts and Thor was cumming deep in your squelching cunt. Your pussy ached from the abuse and your thighs were sticky with both you and Thor’s release that was leaking out of you from around his member. As Thor pulled out, you realized in your daze he was still fully clothed with just his cock hanging out. He looked around at the men who were still watching in awe. 

“Enjoy the show boys?” He looked to you and smiled while stroking his hardening member. “How about round two?”

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@jtargaryen18​