#maybe i can like. hire someone to carry it up the stairs???

[desperatepleasures]

trying not to think about it but also i need to figure out what im gonna do with my hermit crabs and it's not like. urgent but at some point im gonna have to figure out how to change out their substrate and also there's a solid chance i'll have to rehome them someday :(

[chantylay]

Let's see if we can get Italy on board with banning Israel from Eurovision.

The EBU: https://www.ebu.ch/about/contact-us

RAI: https://www.rai.it/portale/Contatta-la-Rai-89059219-0e3a-453e-84a1-d73978f7d859.html

Angelina Mango is on instagram @angelinamango_ this one also came up as a tumblr blog (without the _) but I don't know for sure if that's her.

Angelina Mango will represent Italy in Eurovision with her song "La Noia".

This latin-pop inspired song is about first-world problems. It's a satirical look into the lives of the privileged, talking about how truly the people who have never experienced hardship actually suffer more than Jesus did (I'm not exaggerating, that is a direct reference made in the pre-chorus). The title roughly translates to "Boredom."

This makes the decision to reference Cumbia in the chorus kind of interesting. Cumbia is a style of music and dance that originated with African and indigenous slaves in Colombia. It was originally a courtship dance of the desperately poor and oppressed; a little bit of stolen joy. So referencing it both serves to highlight the hypocrisy of the character the singer is playing, and maybe feels a little bit awkward in that she has dubbed her song "a Cumbia of boredom" which is a bit of an oxymoron.

Sanremo stagings are generally pretty sparse. Singers are generally not encouraged to have props they can't carry down a flight of stairs (aside from musical instruments), and dancers seem to only be hired by acts that are there for a fun diversion, while acts that are seriously trying to win rarely use them. So, I wouldn't use her live performances as much of an indicator of what her Eurovision staging will look like. Personally, I kind of want to see her in some high glam outfit, draping herself over a fainting couch dramatically. Give that image of the fabulously wealthy person going "woe was me" in a way that people who don't speak Italian would be in on the joke. Additionally, as someone who actually likes dancers at Eurovision, I think it could really drive the point home if she is juxtaposed with Cumbia dancers. Have the commentators explain the origins of the dance in the postcard, and have that part of the lyrics and the cultural aspects behind it highlighted

[diana-bookfairchild]

@fluffbruary Day 24

Marinette’s groan was muffled by the pillow.

“Oh, Marinette,” Tikki said sympathetically. “You need to calm down. I’m sure you’ll get it done by Christmas!”

“No, I won’t, Tikki!” Marinette wailed. “It’s impossible! And my head – just – isn’t – working!” She banged her head on the wall with each word.

“Marinette!” Tikki said severely. “Be kinder to yourself! Art is difficult, and sometimes you just can’t get inspiration. It’s alright. You just need a break.”

“A break?” Marinette snorted. “Right, Tikki. I only have five more Christmas presents to finish, another commission from the website, three orders to deliver, a speech to prepare, and of course, I need to man the shop and keep an eye out for akumas at the same time!” At the list of all the things she had to do, despair filled her and she pressed her head into her hands.

“Okay,” Tikki decided. “You need to learn to organize.”

“What?”

“Marinette, Alya is your backup as class representative. Can’t you ask her to write you a speech and help you practice it tomorrow? It’s three days away. You have time.”

“I - yes, but she’s busy with her blog, and—”

“You’re busy too,” Tikki interrupted. “If not, ask her if you can work on it together tomorrow during lunch. Perhaps Nino and Adrien would help as well.”

Marinette hesitated. “I don’t know, Tikki. I don’t want to impose—”

“When Alya brings the twins or Nino’s brother over for babysitting suddenly, do you think she’s imposing?” Tikki asked severely.

“Of course not. She’s my friend and it’s not—” She broke off, realizing the hole she’d dug herself into.

“Marinette, you have to learn to delegate,” Tikki said softly. “You can’t carry the whole world yourself. You’re not Atlas.”

“I know – wait,” Marinette said, astonished. “Did you know Atlas?”

“That’s beside the point!” Tikki exclaimed defensively. “Text Alya and ask her.”

“You can’t say something like that and expect me to just drop it,” Marinette argued, even as she picked up her phone and typed out a text asking if Alya could at least write up a draft of the speech, backtracking several times and following through only because of Tikki’s stare.

Within moments a Sure thing, girl, I’ll write it, I have loads of ideas! lit up her screen.

Tikki preened with satisfaction.

“Oh, stop looking so smug,” Marinette said without any heat, relief at losing one of her responsibilities soaring through her. “Now to get back to the needle and thread,” she said without any enthusiasm.

She hated it, but there was no inspiration for a design. The thought of picking up the needle filled her with dread. She loved designing and she loved making clothes, but sometimes, like now, she felt she’d rather do anything but that.

Tikki looked disapproving. “Do you feel like you’ll make any progress?” When Marinette didn’t answer and instead resignedly began to try to thread the needle, she added: “Marinette, you already spent an hour and a half on this. Why don’t you try to get something else done while the inspiration is gone? Maybe some time outside will get you out of the rut. I’ve known plenty of artists for whom that has worked.”

Marinette looked up with interest, setting the needle aside. It did seem like a good idea. “Really? Like who?”

Tikki sniffed and dove into Marinette’s purse as she got ready to go down. “I’m not allowed to tell you, sorry.”

“That’s a pity,” Marinette said with genuine disappointment, thundering down the stairs. “Maman!”

“Marinette?” Her mother looked surprised to see her. “What is it?”

“I’m ready to go do the deliveries,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Her dad asked concernedly. “You said you would be busy with other projects all day. We were considering going ourselves, or hiring someone else.”

Marinette made a face, grabbing the packages and kissing her parents on the cheeks. “I’m having a bit of artist’s block.”

Dad looked sympathetic. “Creating art is always difficult.”

Her mother patted her cheek fondly. “Maybe a break will help.”

“That’s what Ti—thought! That’s what I thought! Bye!” She rushed out before she could give up any secrets. She strapped the packages to her scooter, and set off to Nadja Chamack’s place first.

“Oh no,” she groaned. She’d just delivered the second package, practically across the city, and had spent only fifteen minutes inside. In that time, a snowfall had begun. A warning rang out on all news screens, to stay off the roads. “Tikki, what am I going to do?”

“I’m not sure, Marinette,” her kwami replied. “You’ll have to stay put.”

“I haven’t even finished the deliveries,” she griped.

“No one can blame you for that during such a sudden storm,” a voice came from behind her, and she spun to see green eyes she knew very well.

“Chat Noir!” She exclaimed in happy surprise. “What are you doing out? Is there an akuma?”

“Nope,” Her partner sounded as cocky as ever, swaggering towards her. “I saw a princess out alone in distress, and thought I had to step in.”

“Oh, are you my knight in shining leather?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and saw him laugh.

“Something like that,” he agreed. “May I escort you back home then?” He asked, holding his hand out to her.

Marinette bit her lip. “I still have one delivery to make. . .” She fretted.

Chat Noir frowned. “Your parents won’t mind if you miss one in this weather.”

Marinette shrugged. “They won’t, but I will. I don’t like leaving a job undone.” Even now, her fingers twitched at the lack of control she had over the speech she was supposed to make in a few days.

Chat Noir was giving her an odd look. “Alright. I can help you make it, and then take you home.”

Marinette lit up. “You will? Thank you, kitty!” She kissed his cheek.

Chat Noir … blushed? Shifting from foot to foot. “Yeah, uh, no problem, Marinette.” He took her arm, made sure the scooter had been parked safely in the free parking space (which made Marinette’s heart skip a beat at how thoughtful he was), and then leaped into the air using his stick.

Marinette laughed from the sheer thrill and joy of it. “You know, I thought people would be more scared or sick when I took them like this,” he mused as they landed on the roof.

She didn’t know how to tell him it was only because she was used to the sensation of being hefted around with him or with her own yoyo.

“Well, I’m hardly ordinary,” she quipped in a distraction, but to her surprise, he glanced at her and his whole face softened.

“No,” he said quietly. “You certainly aren’t.”

Unsure what to make of that, Marinette stared at him. He blushed and turned away. “Your delivery’s near the Grand Paris Hotel, right?”

“The next building,” Marinette nodded.

“Great. It’s on the way to your house from here.” And sure enough, within twenty minutes Chat Noir had her on her balcony.

“Thanks, Chat Noir. There’s no way I would’ve gotten that done half as fast without you,” she said, leaning against the railing. The snow was still falling thick and fast. “I need to tell my parents I’m back and that I made the deliveries.”

“Yeah, of course. And don’t worry about your scooter,” he said. “I’ll get it tomorrow and bring it here.”

“You will?” Marinette blinked up at him in surprise. “Wow, I er. . . didn – I mean can’t – I mean don’t know what to say.” She stammered, feeling her heart pound.

Chat Noir grinned arrogantly. “You don’t need to say anything. Your feelines are written all over your face,” he purred.

Marinette snorted. “Whatever, kitty.” She turned to go down, but slipped over the sheet of ice and snow coating the balcony and braced herself to hit the ground when Chat Noir easily caught her.

“Easy there, Princess,” his chuckle vibrated through his chest, and Marinette squeaked. He was strong, she’d always known that of course, but there was something about being held in his arms, pressed up against him, that made him seem all the more solid. “Maybe I need to accompany you down there to make sure you don’t grievously injure yourself.”

“Maybe you should,” Marinette breathed before she actually thought it through. As soon as she heard what she said, she had a full blown panic.

Chat Noir looked as taken aback. “I should?” He echoed in bewilderment before composing himself. “Well of course I should. Glad you’ve seen sense Mademoiselle,” he took off an imaginary hat and waved her forward.

Marinette smiled as she felt her anxiety melt away. This was Chat Noir, her beloved partner. There was no one around whom she felt more comfortable.

“In the middle of a project?” He asked interestedly when he saw the state her room was in.

Marinette cleared her throat in embarrassment. “Something like that,” she said. “I’m trying to make Christmas presents for my friends, and some were easy, but some just won’t come out right.”

“Well,” Chat Noir said as they jumped down the door. “Maybe I can help you.”

“I’m sorry, kitty,” Marinette said mock solemnly. “But I don’t think you could.”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror in costume? Your fashion sense is terrible. All leather, leather, leather, and not even the tasteful kind,” she clicked her tongue, not mentioning that she found him very handsome.

Chat Noir gasped in fake horror, putting a hand to his chest. “You have mortally pawfended this cat, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“You have nine lives, don’t you?” Marinette said dryly. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

She heard him laugh delightedly as she opened the door of the kitchen and saw her parents worriedly whispering. “Did you just make a cat pun?!”

“No, of course not!” She denied defensively, as her parents cried out in relief and ran to hug her and wring Chat Noir’s hands in thanks.

The cat just smirked at her as her parents forced him to stay for dinner, winked and mouthed: “Course not, Princess.”

[invisibleraven]

Trope Bingo Prompts! 19 for Julie/Carrie

When the elevator doors opened and Julie saw Carrie was the only person inside it she seriously considered taking the stairs. But it had been a long day, she was on the tenth floor and her bag was already weighing her down. So she stepped inside.

"Ground floor?" Carrie asked curtly, and Julie nodded, noting Carrie was headed to the same place. Just great.

They hadn't started out hating each other, not really. They had both been office grunts doing a summer internship, hoping to get hired on for a more permanent position. Julie was probably overly friendly while Carrie was a bit too aloof. But they were both hard workers, and come the fall they were both kept on.

That's when the competition started, always trying to do better, be better than the other in order to keep their contract in place, to advance through the ranks, and to succeed where the other failed.

It never devolved into pranks or doing anything that would negatively impact the company, but nasty barbs flew, dirty looks were exchanged, and they were unable to work well together without some sort of cattiness rearing up.

So Julie didn't relish ten floors of awkward silence or more cutting remarks. All she wanted was to get home, kick off her sensible heels that had been chafing her feet since lunch, put on her comfy sweats, order Chinese and watch a terrible Hallmark movie.

But then, as they passed between the seventh and sixth floor, the elevator gave a great shudder, the lights flickered, and they stopped.

Julie groaned, her head falling bac. "Just great."

"It might start back up in a minute," Carrie said, but there was an edge to her voice. Julie could barely make her out in the darkened elevator, only the small emergency light illuminating them.

But they waited, waited, waited, and nothing happened. Julie finally set her bag down and pressed the intercom button. "hello?" she called. "We seem to be stuck."

No answer.

Julie pressed the button again, and then again even harder, but there seemed to be no response. She took out her phone, but of course there was no reception, nor internet available trapped as they were.

"Anything?" Carrie asked.

"Zilch."

"Okay... do you think we can like pry the doors open like they do in the movies?" Carrie asked, the tinge of panic in her voice becoming more and more evident.

Julie attempted it, but there was no real way to get a good grip, and the doors stubbornly refused to budge. "Yeah, John McClane I am not," she admitted.

That's when she looked at Carrie, she was practically curled into a ball on the floor, her breathing heavy, her eyes wide. "Hey, you okay?"

"Not really," Carrie spat out though her words lacked their usual bite. "I don't do well with small spaces."

"Oh," Julie said. The elevators in this office weren't exactly roomy, so for someone who didn't like enclosed spaces, she could see why they would be a less than ideal place to be trapped. "Well I can't help with that, but maybe we can talk, keep you distracted until the power comes back?"

"About what?"

"Whatever you want," Julie replied with a shrug. "The state of the world, the colour of the sky, gibbons..."

"Gibbons?" Carrie giggled.

"I dunno, you might like monkeys!"

"I like flamingos," Carrie admitted. "And axolotls. They're pink."

"Gotta keep up that aesthetic," Julie hummed. "I like platypuses. They're weird. And venomous."

Carrie laughed at that, and they spent the next few minutes discussing weird animals facts, then switching to useless trivia, and then little tidbits about themselves. For all their time together, they had never really gotten to know one another, and it turned out they had a lot in common.

Not just the similar career aspirations, but the fact that they loved music and even wrote their own stuff. That they both liked sweet and salty combos when it came to snacks. That they both adored Shakespeare but neither had been a fan of Salinger in school.

The fact that they had both lost their moms.

Carrie had never known hers, she had been some random groupie of her dad's, and left her with him when Carrie was less than a week old with a birth certificate and nothing else. Carrie didn't even know who she was other than the name Paige.

So Julie shared about her own mom, Rose. How she taught her to sing and play piano. Making mantecaditos together. Long afternoons drawing or just talking together. How her world fell apart when Rose died some short weeks after Julie's 15'th birthday to breast cancer.

"She sounds like a great mom," Carrie said quietly.

"She really was," Julie admitted, wiping the tear forming from the corner of her eye. "I'm sorry yours wasn't."

"Eh, it is what it is," Carrie said with a shrug. "My dad did his best, or more so hired the best. He's half the reason I'm so driven-to prove I can be somebody without his help or name."

Julie reached over and squeezed her hand. Carrie gave her a genuine smile in return. Then the elevator shuddered once more, the lights flashing on, and the elevator sank down until it opened to the ground floor.

"Sweet sweet freedom!" Julie exclaimed, gathering her things and pulling Carrie from the tiny box. Never letting go, even through every official checking on them, both being told to take the next day off to recover, as it was now verging on late.

Finally they were released, entering the fresh air of outside and Julie realized that Carrie hadn't let go of her. "Hey, I know were were just trapped for untold hours together, but do you wanna come over? Get some dumplings and watch some shitty TV?"

"God yes," Carrie moaned. "As long as I can borrow some sweats and you have wine."

"I have vodka coolers?" Julie offered.

"Even better."

So Julie's evening turned out a lot less lonely than she had anticipated, and the day when they both went back to work? They did so hand in hand.

And it turned out that Carrie had less issues with small spaces when Julie was pulling her into the janitors closet for a midday make out.

[driflew]

i got an ask on main about my witness, and looking over what i had of the sequel pieces... neither of them are done, but what i had written for both could probably stand on their own, so i'm just gonna post them here! first, here's the Tim piece

When the tape clicks off, it isn’t Jon that lingers in Tim’s head. It isn’t the fact that Jon apparently came back from the dead, just like Sasha. It isn’t that the three of them had all completely forgotten him despite the fact he’d been returned to them, even when looking him right in the eyes. It isn’t that Jon might very well be here, in the Institute, just a few flights up stairs up from where the three of them sit around Sasha’s desk. 

No, what echoes in Tim’s head long after the tape on the table stops spinning is his own voice, snapping “get out” over and over.

And sure, maybe he’d been right to panic seeing some stranger sitting at Sasha’s side. Maybe he’d been justified in going on the defensive, chasing the man out. Maybe it had been smart to assume the worst before it could happen. If it had been just about anyone else there, he’d probably have saved Sasha’s life—she’s certainly got the scars to prove it.

It hadn’t been anyone else, though. 

Tim wonders if he’d noticed the resignation in Jon’s voice when he’d had Jon in front of him. Had Jon looked as exhausted as he sounded on the tape? Tim doesn’t remember, but the defeat in Jon’s voice will—

But the defeat in Jon’s voice will stick with him. He remembers the defeat in Jon’s voice on the tape. He remembers Jon’s voice. 

[“The tapes,” Sasha had explained, back in February, when Melanie had come through and exposed the fake to her. She’d set down the tapes she’d dug out of the imposter’s desk, “are immune to the effects of the notThem. It’ll change our memories, and it’ll change digital pictures and videos, but anything analog stays the same. These are all we have left of the real Jon.”

Tim had already lost his brother to some skin-stealing imposter. He’d already watched some grinning thief rip the skin off Danny’s face. He wasn’t ready to listen to the tape, especially when Sasha told them what it was. 

“This one’s his meeting with the Distortion—with Michael. Jon’s whole statement’s here.”

“And this one?” Martin had asked. The look on Sasha’s face had told Tim everything he needed to know, even before she told him it was the tape Jon had carried when he’d found the table—he didn’t need to hear another person he cared for die. He wondered if Jon would understand.]

Jon’s voice is deep, far deeper than the fake’s had been, smooth and quiet and— 

And Tim is standing, up and out the door of Sasha’s office before he even realizes his feet are moving. Because if he can remember Jon’s voice—if he can remember Jon—if Jon is alive and just a few floors away, if Tim can actually do something to pull someone he cares about back from the Circus that took Danny and nearly took Sasha without him being able to do anything—

Tim hasn’t shown his face in Research in months, and he’s sure he looks somewhat unhinged, barreling in now. Most of the rest of the Institute thinks, perhaps rightfully, that the Archives staff is made up of unstable maniacs, and thus avoids anything or anyone Archives-related like the plague. Tim can’t say he blames them, but it does mean that there’s quite a few unfamiliar faces when he casts his gaze about the desks. Most of them are new hires, probably, but Tim’s looking for one very specific transfer. 

He doesn’t know what Jon looks like—any time he looks away from Jon he forgets. So he holds onto that. Tim looks over each stranger, then closes his eyes and sees what he can remember. 

The man standing by the door—Tim closes his eyes and recalls that the man’s hair is blond and he’s about Melanie’s height. No. There’s two men sitting by the window—eye’s closed, Tim knows one’s got a scar on his chin, the other’s giving Tim a weird look. Not either of them, either. There’s a guy at a desk in the middle of the room. Tim closes his eyes, and everything about him vanishes immediately. 

When Tim opens his eyes again, he sees a man with long, black hair, streaked with grey. He’s scrawny, covered in scars, and very resolutely looking down at his desk, though Tim doesn’t actually see any work on it.

Tim drags a chair over from the desk directly next to his sitting down. The man doesn’t really acknowledge Tim other than to glance at Tim over the rim of his glasses. 

He has no recollection of what Jon looks like. He’d asked Melanie, once, to tell him about the two Jons, but she’d ended up too flustered about how strange the whole thing had been to actually tell him anything. So Tim won’t know if the man in front of him is Jon unless he hears the man speak. 

Maybe-Jon is, however, completely content to pretend Tim isn’t there, and somewhere between being attacked by a worm woman and stopping the apocalypse, Tim seems to have forgotten how to socialize.

“So, uh,” Tim starts. The man raises his eyebrows a little, but doesn’t respond. “You’ve worked here for a while, right?” 

Something in the man’s expression crumples, and Tim winces with the realization that maybe new hire small-talk wasn’t his best choice. 

(But Jon isn’t brave.

He’s barely existed for months. He lost his friends and all legal proof of his life to a monster which stole his face and changed it. He looked his friends in the eyes and realized they didn’t know him at all, and there would be nothing he could do to convince them otherwise.)

“Yes,” is all he says, and it’s not enough for Tim to figure out if it’s Jon’s voice. Half an hour’s worth of recording isn’t a lot to go on, but it’s impossible if he can’t get Maybe-Jon talking. 

(He tried to help them anyway, even though there was absolutely nothing he could do for any of them, and got thrown right out by someone he once cared about but no longer has any faith in, someone who had been his first friend here, someone who doesn't know him at all, who already buried him but who can't even cherish his memory.)

“Have you always worked in research?” Tim asks. 

“No.” He doesn’t elaborate. 

(Then new people start forgetting him. Then Alina stops recognizing him even though they’ve sat next to each other every day for weeks, even though they only met after he came back.)

“Where did you used to work before? Library? Artifact Storage?” Tim asks, and he decides that actually, he doesn’t really care about subtlety at all, “Archives?”

That gets a reaction out of the other man immediately—he looks like he’s been slapped. 

(The Fears weren’t done with him, not when they could still feed on the terror he felt every time he looked in the mirror and wondered if his reflection would change again. He’s so very scared, all the time, of being forgotten again, and how could the Fears let him get away?

Avatarization is so often an accident, and when someone is so deeply marked, so totally without any idea what is happening to him, and so completely without a helping hand to keep him anchored… 

Jon never stood a chance.)

Tim would feel more guilty about that if his reaction weren’t incredibly convincing confirmation. After all, the Archives have only had seven employees in the last three years, and everyone who isn’t down there currently is either dead or Jon.

(And then Tim strikes up fucking small talk in the middle of the work day, like he used to with every stranger there? That is its own circle of hell, because Jon doesn’t want to brush him off, because when will someone come talk to Jon again? It’s achingly familiar but only to Jon, and Tim won’t even remember it when he walks away but Jon is probably going to think about this one conversation forever. Does Jon leave? Tim smiles at him and it’s friendly and this is unbearable and he wants to, but if he does, when will he get a chance like this again?)

Tim is almost sure he’s got the right man. He sits up a little straighter, trying to figure out how he should explain. He isn’t sure if he should be smiling or not, but it might be on his face anyway. The other man sees his expression and pales. 

(But Jon is not brave and he has never been brave and the best and only defense he has ever had to deal with strangers—because that's what he is, now, isn't he?—is to just put up a wall and get away, so he tries, and it sucks even more because this isn't even the first time Jon has done this to Tim but it's not like Tim knows, because Tim doesn’t, can’t know it’s him, and it's not like Tim is going to remember to try again, or care to, so this is all moot and pointless because it might as well be over immediately before it starts, and Jon needs to leave if he doesn’t want to be forgotten again, because he cannot handle being forgotten again, not by Tim or anyone else.)

“Look, I think I left my, uh—” he fumbles for an excuse, and coming up blank, he simply stands. He collects his bag up off his desk, and he looks anywhere but Tim. “I’ll— I’m busy. There’s— you know. I’ll see you around.” 

“Wait—” Tim tries, but he’s taking a full step away from the desk, and Tim doesn’t know what will happen if he walks away, but Tim refuses to forget again. Tim doesn’t have enough clear memory of what Jon’s true manner was like, or what his voice sounded like, even though they’d known each other for years. But Tim wants to remember, and though Tim wouldn’t recognize him anywhere, he thinks he recognizes this now—Tim wants to recognize this—and hopes that’s enough. 

“Jon!” 

And Jon—because that’s who it is, Tim is sure, even baselessly—freezes in the middle of his attempted escape, his head snapping back to Tim so quickly Tim thinks he’s going to break his neck. The look on his face is far too hesitant to be called hope, but it’s close, and Tim wonders the last time someone else called Jon by name.

“What?” Jon asks. 

“Jon,” Tim says, with a bit more conviction this time. Jon’s stance relaxes, just a fraction, and a knot in Tim’s chest loosens by the same measure. “I thought that was you.”

[animeomegas]

congratulations on reaching 1,000 followers !!! for the event maybe itachi + pregnancy <3

Anon: Hi congrats on 1000 followers 🥳 For the celebration event can you do pregnancy or NSFW for Itachi?

Itachi Uchiha + Pregnancy + Page of Wands (Hesitation between doing and not doing, clumsiness)

Itachi struggles a lot while pregnant. Physically that is.

He’s very weak. He can’t keep much food down, he’s exhausted all the time, his legs shake when he stands, and his arms shake when he tries to lift anything. Honestly, he finds the whole thing very jarring and embarrassing. He’s a shinobi, for goodness sake! He should be more than capable of walking to the kitchen to get water, but the truth is, on some days, he simply isn’t capable of doing that.

Luckily, his alpha is there and willing to help him as much as he needs.

But Itachi is a proud man who finds asking for help very difficult.

He will always try to do something by himself first, only asking for help after he’s already failed multiple times. He doesn’t want to be a burden on his mate, but he’s also embarrassed, especially when he needs help getting to the bathroom or bathing.

Because of this, Itachi has quite a few slips and falls (and a couple of accidents due to his pregnancy bladder and inability to get himself to the bathroom, but if you ever bring those up, he will literally never forgive you because he’s never felt so humiliated in his life) and he never fails in almost giving his alpha a heart attack with said slips and falls.

…

Itachi often wakes up in the night while pregnant, so he keeps some water, snacks and a book by his bedside for convenience, but one night, he runs out of water. And he’s very thirsty.

He licks his dry lips as he ponders his dilemma. His mobility isn’t the best. He’s in his seventh month of pregnancy and the mednins have warned him that he’s going to be bedbound before long. So, perhaps getting it himself isn’t a good idea.

But his alpha is sleeping so peacefully and he couldn’t possibly wake them. They were awake with him for the entire night yesterday when he was feeling ill despite his attempts to get them to leave him and go to sleep, so they must be exhausted…

Okay, it seems like he’s getting his own water then.

He gently pulls the covers away and slides out of bed with as much grace as possible, leaning heavily on the bedside table. He slips on his slippers and shuffles out of the room.

It’s a lot tricker than before he was pregnant, but it’s not so bad actually. Sure, he has to lean on the wall a tiny, little bit, but it’s really not a big deal.

Everything is going smoothly, and he should be back in bed in a few minutes, armed with a full glass of water and with his alpha none the wiser.

Except…

Stairs… He sort of forgot about those. He’ll just have to take it slowly (and dutifully ignore the fact that his legs are starting to shake.)

He keeps one arm around his baby bump, the other leaning on the banister, and he slowly descends.

And then his knees give out.

His heart leaps into his throat as his knees buckle. He automatically gasps, arms jumping to protect his tummy. He falls onto his knees before toppling forward, but luckily, he manages to turn onto his side, and as he’s near the bottom, he lands on his back on the floor.

“Ow,” Itachi whispers to himself, bringing a hand up to rub his head. He takes a moment to thank his shinobi training for giving the reflexes to allow him to fall in a safe way; his pup is fine, he can tell.

A few seconds later, Itachi can hear thunderous footsteps racing down the hallway and down the stairs to him. Ah, mission ‘don’t wake up his mate’ appears to have failed.

“Holy shit,” they swear, racing towards him, collapsing to their knees beside him, a terrified look on their face. “Are you okay? Is the pup okay? What happened? I’m getting a clan medic.”

His mate makes the hand signs for a clone and sends the clone to fetch one of the clan medics. Itachi doesn’t bother to stop them, and instead focusing on sitting up.

“Woah, careful, take it slow, omega,” they fuss, supporting him against them and helping him right himself. And despite being incredibly embarrassed, Itachi can’t help but lean into their embrace. He had spooked himself a little with that fall, and his instincts were soothed by their presence.

“I’m okay,” Itachi whispers, head down. “The pup’s okay too, I was just trying to get some water.”

He doesn’t have to look at them to know that they are disappointed in him, but he is saved from a lecture by the prompt arrival of a medic.

…

Both Itachi and his pup are given a clean bill of health and a warning to be careful by the mednin. And his humiliation continues when he has to be carried back upstairs by his alpha who also fetches him a big jug of water and a clean glass to prevent this happening again presumably.

Itachi naively believes that he has been lectured enough by the mednin, but obviously his alpha doesn’t agree.

“Itachi, please,” they beg, kneeling down on the floor by his side of the bed, his hands clasped in theirs. “Why are you still doing this? I’m here to help you, I want to help you, to carry as much of this huge burden as I can. Do you not feel comfortable with me?” Itachi can smell their scent shift. They’re obviously distraught and it’s all Itachi’s fault. “If you would feel more comfortable with your mother helping you, we can move back into the main family house for the next few months, or I could hire someone to look after you-“

“No,” Itachi blurts out. “That’s not…”

“Then why can’t you lean on me?”

Itachi’s exhausted and his mate smells so upset and his hormones make everything a million times worse, and he can’t stop the tears bubbling up to his waterline, sobs climbing up his throat to join them.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “It’s hard sometimes.”

His alpha hums in understanding and scoops him up into an embrace, rocking him back and forth to calm him, cooing sweet nothings and purring into his ear. Itachi is letting out these little distressed whines and he doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it.

“You’re so strong, sweetheart,” they coo to him. “You’re so brave and strong to take on this burden for us, for our pup, and I’m so proud of you.”

Itachi doesn’t feel strong or brave. But perhaps for this moment, surrounded by support and love, he can pretend that he does.

(Thank you both for the congratulations!! I hope you enjoyed!! 🥰)

[saphirered]

Heyo! Saw you wanted some individual character requests! I'm a sucker for Grog, and there isn't enough out there for him, so I was wondering if you could do a Grog x Sorceress!reader where the reader doesn't think grog would have a reason to like her since she isn't a melee fighter. Thank you so much!

P.s. Your writing is amazing, and I always love reading your works! ❤️

Thank you for the request! I'm glad you like my writing and hope you enjoy this one! Turned out a bit longer than I intended but that means more content. Anyway, Enjoy! 😘

Seated on the stone balustrade feet dangling over the edge looking over the city in front of you you twiddle your thumbs. You needed a moment away from everyone to sort your mind on your own. There’s a solitude in the dark clouds looming above and the first drops of rain signalling an oncoming storm and it’s never failed you before. Even while there’s no one around, you can confide in such storms knowing your words will be heard but carried away upon the wind and drowned out by the rain and thunder. A good storm won’t judge or hold a grudge. It will simply accept and listen. So here you’ll stay speaking your worries into the abyss and hope for some clarity or ease of mind and heart.

Back inside Grog sits on one side of the table, Scanlan at the other. They hold their respective tankards at the ready as the gnome counts down. By the end of the countdown they swing back their drinks finishing them as fast as they can being cheered on by the rest of Vox Machina and other witnesses to this drinking game. Grog’s determined to win this. While he’s pretty sure his tankard is actually a bucket with a handle, it’s more to scale compared to the gnome’s. Ale spills over the sides of Scanlan’s drink but Grog keeps it neat. No wasting ale after all.

With one last big chug Grog finishes the drink, slams it down on the table roaring in victory as the table shakes beneath his hit. Scanlan puts the remainder of his drink down on the table wiping his face disappointed. Grog looks around the crowd. Some are happy celebrating with him, others pass over money to the happy people for paying up on whatever amount they lost in their bets. How could they even consider Scanlan would win. He’s the best of the best after all and no one can out drink the all mighty Grog. He doesn’t spot you among the crowd and the victory doesn’t feel as sweet anymore. He really hoped you could have seen this one. Where had you gone?

Before Grog can get up and go find you he’s given a refill and the next challenger approaches. New bets are placed, Vex massages his shoulders giving him a pep talk and noting how he’s been making her a lot of money so better keep it up. He doesn’t want to disappoint his friends. One more game. Then he’ll go find you wherever you went.

The next game comes along, and another, and another but he’s done. No more games. When another challenger approaches and the game starts he doesn’t pick up the tankard and pushes away from the table. People ask him what the hell he’s doing but he ignores them. They’ve kept him long enough so he just up and walks before they can stop him. Grog leaves the room but Pike follows behind him worried for her buddy. He never refuses a good ale or a challenge, let alone the two combined.

“Grog? Grog, wait up!” Pike rushes after him leaving the banquet hall behind. Determined Grog still keeps walking but slows down his pace enough to let Pike catch up with him.

“Where are you going? There’s still plenty of ale to be drunk!” Pike reaches for the goliath’s hand to pull him to a stop. He does and turns to face Pike.

“I think I’ve had enough.” Grog says and Pike gasps. Never, never does Grog think he’s had enough to drink. Something must be wrong with him. Is he ill? Does he have a fever? Did someone poison her buddy’s drink? She might go on a war path if someone did and ruined his fun! But Grog seems okay. Physically that is. He’s fine.

“Do you know where she went?” Grog asks, maybe Pike can help him find you and maybe she can talk to you why you left. He doesn’t think you’d want to talk to him about that kind of stuff and while he’d consider himself a good listener, if something’s really up Pike always knows what to do. She can help.

“Who?”

“The pretty sorceress.” Grog states as a matter of fact and it is. Anyone who dares say otherwise clearly need some of those glass thingies Percy keeps on his nose and make him look smart.

“Oh, I don’t know Grog. She left to go get some fresh air.” Pike searches her mind to see where you might have gone. There’s a few places that come to mind but it’s all narrowed down to just the one when thunder rumbles through the sky. She knows exactly where you went and by the looks of it so does Grog.

Grog knows there’s only one place you really love to watch a storm unfold. You’ve told him before and you’ve even watched some storms together there. He shares a look with Pike and picks up his step going where he knows you’ll be, still dragging pike behind. When she doesn’t move fast enough he swings her up on his shoulders, running up the steps as far as they’ll take him, dodging a torch and pushing aside a guard here and there.

Then around the corner he sees you. Feet dangling over the edge, a single push away from what could possibly be a death drop, hand outstretched catching the rain with a sad smile on your face. You’re absolutely gorgeous. More alluring than anyone ever could. If he could paint, Grog would make sure this moment would be captured for eternity just so he would never forget. Maybe he can get some money from Vex to hire a painter? If Scanlan did it, why shouldn’t he?

You’re seated alone at the top of the tower. Lightning flashes through the clouds, sometimes branching down to strike the ground be it mountain or forest, you’re in a valley of safety surrounded by the storm. The drops of rain hit your outstretched arm extended beyond the cover of the overhanging. Cold as they are to the touch you watch them glide around your arm with movement until they too, continue their descend.

“…Sometimes I wish I would just have the courage but I don’t.” You speak into the skies. A burst of lightning strikes in the mountains, the sound echoing and even this high up you can feel the slight tremor of the ground. You know a storm is no sentient being but you read it like a reply no less and continue.

“I’m not a fighter. I don’t know how to wield a sword or an axe. I can barely lift one. We have such vastly different lives. Grog’s got no reason to like me in any way.” Thunder strikes again you smile briefly. You’ve come to terms you’ll always like Grog and your feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. The only reason you’re even spending time together in the first place is because you’re both involved with Vox Machina in one way or another. You’ve got hardly anything in common so if you hadn’t met through them Grog probably wouldn’t even have thought about you twice.

That may sound sad and you’re thankful for getting to know him but Grog has his own life and interests so why should he bother indulging you in yours. He’s already not a big fan of magic and you won’t bother attempting to teach him. It’s not like it’s any interesting stuff and he’d probably be bored out of his mind the entire time. Then again, the theoretics of magic might just not be your strong suit either. It’s more of a natural born gift.

Grog gets this weird feeling in his chest as if he’s been hit by something and it’s being twisted. Kind of like when he got shot by an arrow and Pike had to remove it. It’s not a good feeling. Checking for injury just to make sure he’s fine. It’s clear to him he feels this on the inside; his heart bleeds a little for you. You shouldn’t think that way. He likes you. He likes you a lot actually so you couldn’t be more wrong. Pike nudges him to set her down. He does as they remain around the corner, leaving you unaware of their presence.

“Go talk to her.” Pike whispers and Grog panics for a brief second. How is he even supposed to do this? What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t know how this psychology stuff works. That’s what Pike’s for. If people feel sad they often come to her, talk about their worries and problems and then they feel better. How’s he supposed to do that? He’s not Pike.

“She needs you, Grog. I know you like her and she needs you. Go talk to her.” Pike nudges him on into your direction. The goliath isn’t physically moved by her effort but he does move. If Pike says you need him, if you really need him then he’ll be there. Looking over his shoulder one last time to ask Pike for some advise she’s already half way down the stairs leaving you with him. Grog thinks hard for a moment but thinking isn’t his strong suit either so he’ll do what he always does; face the problem head on.

A throat clears behind you and you almost slip from the fright it gave you. A heavy step rushes forward and an arm wraps around your waist pulling you back before you can fall. You’d have spells to save you in case you did fall but you’d rather not and are grateful for your valiant saviour. The bare arm wrapped around your waist is covered in tattoos, markings and scars and engulfs the majority of your middle. It doesn’t take a fool to know this arm belongs to Grog Strongjaw himself.

Flustered you allow the goliath to pull you back onto solid ground and off the balustrade entirely before he lets go of you, making sure you’re right on your feet. How much of your conversation with the skies did he hear? Did he hear anything at all? Grog steps back and stares at his boots. He doesn’t only appear to be more embarrassed than you feel but also apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t fall again and please don’t be angry at me.” Grog closes his eyes tightly afraid you might be mad at him as he was the cause of you almost experiencing a death drop. You’re basically gods but if we’ve learned anything from Keyleth; that doesn’t save you from a splat.

You step forward grab one of his hands in yours drawing his attention. With your index finger you tilt his chin up just enough so he’s looking at you and not over you. These gestures are enough for Grog to open his eyes. When there’s no look of anger on your face the tension in his body falls away just slightly. There’s still some rigidness from nerves but he’s closer to usual Grog.

“Chin up, big guy. You saved me too. I’m not mad.” You smile and the smile is returned. The air is still somewhat awkward so you decided you best get this over with and clear it up.

“How much did you hear?” You ask. The blush rushing to Grog’s cheeks and frantic glancing around to make sure no one else is here to witness it tells you he heard enough.

With a deep sigh you step back to the balustrade sitting down upon it once more but now to face Grog instead of the sky, your hair blowing lightly in the breeze, the rain and occasional illuminated sky behind you leave him staring yet again forgetting your question. He’s just captivated but you calling his name snaps him out of it. Saved it. Still got it. As long as he doesn’t turn to ‘drunk Keyleth’ levels he’ll consider it a win.

“I-uhhhh…. Why don’t you think I like you?” Grog twiddles his thumbs rocking back and forth from his tiptoes to his heels in anticipation of your answer. He knows he heard you tell the sky but he wants to be sure because if he gave you any reason to believe he didn’t like you, he did do something wrong. He’ll pick you over any of those other fools down stairs. He might just even pick you over the best ale. He’d already picked you over the ale he’d been offered. If that isn’t testament to his fondness of you, then what is?

“Ah, so you did hear that. I just- I think-. Ugh, why is this so hard?” You try to express your reasons but words are difficult and feelings even more so to describe yet still you try. Grog waits patiently either way.

“Do you think we would have been friends were it not for our lives being tied together as they are now?” You ask the dreaded question. You don’t even know if you really want the answer afraid that it may break any semblance of hope you had somewhere in your mind. Grog’s brow furrows, deep in thought but mostly confusion.

“Of course we would be. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because I’m not like you. I’m not a fighter. I stay back with my spells and incantations while you run in axe swinging taking down anyone in your path. I read while you train. I sit around in my tower watching the skies while you go out and drink the town dry looking for a fight to enjoy. I could never do what you do and I do not dare to assume you’d have any interest in doing what I do.” The thoughts and feelings find words. A tension lifts from your chest like a breath you didn’t know you were holding just by speaking your mind to the goliath in question.

Grog knows damn well you’re not a fighter in the traditional sense. No steel or arrows for you but that does not mean you’re not a fighter in your own right. If he’s learned anything a fighter comes in many shapes and forms and you fit the description perfectly. You’ve shown determination and strength, courage against all odds and immense skill. You are a fighter.

“When I run into danger kicking ass who’s had my back every time?” Grog asks. There’s a harshness and authority in his voice indicating he’s leading somewhere and you better answer.

“We all have-“ Grog cuts you off.

“No. You have had my back every time.” He corrects. “Who comes watch me train, throwing spells to keep me on my toes? Who does it while reading her books completing not one but two tasks at the same time?”

“I do.” You admit.

“And who helps me kick ass in bar fights? Who cheers me on or joins me in any gamble or drinking game? Who is the best drinking buddy? You are. Now, who spends time with you watching storms whenever they occur up here in the tower or anywhere else?”

“You… do…” Grog’s right.

“I like to spend time with you because I like you. I don’t care you don’t swing an axe. That firestorm you do works just the same and looks way more badass. I’m not the smartest but I know two of the same are not always useful and can be too much. What are you going to do with two when you only need one. You need difference so they compitry- complitarity- colmpli-“ Grog struggles with that word. He’s heard Percy use it in a similar context but why is it such a difficult word to recall. He still tries and just hopes you’ll get what he’s trying to say.

“Complimentary?” You ask. You fear Grog might get himself a migraine if he tries any harder. You still don’t think that’s the correct use of the word but you get it. He’s trying to lift your spirits and it’s working.

“That one. Yes. Complimentary. I don’t just like you, I love you for who you are. You’re special and being different makes you special.” Grog admits he tries to fight the heat rising to his cheeks from admitting what he did but when he sees your smile grow, that’s enough to push his pride aside and let it be. Maybe he can do this thing Pike usually does after all? Maybe not unless it’s you. When he tells you he loves you he means it. When he has to say it to the likes of Vax he’d rather eat his own boots for lunch.

You gesture with your hand and beckon the goliath over to come closer. You rise to stand on the edge of the balustrade and wrap your arms around Grog’s neck holding him close. You feel his arms wrap around you in turn and pull you closer to where your feet barely touch the stone.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.” You pull back to look Grog in the eyes as he still holds onto you and take his cheeks between your hands giving him a quick kiss. Grog’s eyes light up and lifts you up higher offering you a kiss of his own. Sweet and short and filled with glee. He sets you back down on your feet but doesn’t let go of you yet.

“Do you want to go back downstairs? Last I checked there was a drinking game going on? Should we show them what we’re made off?” You grin and the proud look on Grog’s face tells you enough to know exactly what you’re talking about.

“Let me tell you the tale of my grand victories-“ Grog starts as he begins leading you back down the stairs, arm wrapped around your shoulders pulling you into his side as you walk.

[sweetkingdomstarlight-blog]

they were roommates

Warnings - non consensual sex, anal sex, somnophilia, forced drug use

Pairings - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words - over 2k

A/N - READ THE WARNINGS - I can’t stress this enough. Also if you are under 18 just shoo, bugger off. I wrote this from a prompt on @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ stalker writing challenge, the prompt was your roommate isn’t who you thought they were. I’m still super new to writing and this is new territory for me, as always a huge massive thankyou to my beautiful wife @buckyownsmylife​ she helped me a lot and continues to hype me up.

It’s been six weeks since your friend got a new job upstate and moved out,. You’ve had an advert out for a new roommate but so far everyone who’s applied has either been rude or hasn’t shown up. You’re running low on your savings and would probably accept Satan himself if he could pay his fair share. That’s when your latest applicant knocked on your door.

James was polite and charming, he offered to pay a month up front to secure the room and could move in as soon as possible. You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when he moved in later that week, it was a bit odd that he had no friends to help him but he didn’t seem to have a lot of stuff and had himself sorted while you worked in your home office.

The first night he offered to buy pizza and beers so you could get to know each other better, it turns out you two had a lot of things in common and he was easy to get along with. You must have had a few too many beers because your head felt fuzzy, deciding it was time to go to bed. You said goodnight to James and stood up but felt so dizzy you had to immediately sit back down. James was so sweet though, looking after you, he actually picked you up and put you to bed so you didn't have to walk the short distance to your room.

Waking up the next morning you realised you were wearing a t-shirt you didn’t recognise but you didn’t remember getting changed, your mouth felt strangely dry so you got up for a drink. That’s when the soreness hit you, in between your legs, rushing to the bathroom you were confused that you weren’t getting your period and nothing seemed to be different. You assumed you were getting sick and went for hot tea to soothe yourself.

Sitting at the kitchen counter drinking and nibbling on some dry toast, James walks in looking like he’s just been for a run. He grabs a bottle of water and walks over to you giggling “you can’t possibly be hungover you only had three drinks last night” you look up at him smirking and sarcastically respond, “yeah, well, maybe I’m just a lightweight”.

As you get up to clear away your mess he clears his throat making you turn. “Should we have a system for when we have people over in the future?” You look at him confused. “I’m sorry what do you mean? Do you want to bring someone over tonight?”

He chuckles at you, “Well no, not tonight but if you want your friend from last night to come back I can make sure you have some privacy,” he offers you, smirking at the confused look on your face.

“I’m sorry, I don't understand, I went to sleep last night. I didn’t have anyone over.” Taking a step closer, he leans on the counter separating you both. “Then who did I hear you with last night and who did I kick out this morning?” You stare at him open mouthed and scurry off to your room to check your phone for some clues, you feel your chest tighten when you see that you matched with someone last night and invited him over. How could you not remember? You were absolutely mortified, what is James going to think of you now?

Sitting in your home office talking to idiot customers on the phone all day, you try to take your mind off what happened last night. How can you have invited someone over, had sex and apparently stolen his t-shirt without even knowing? You vow there and then you aren’t drinking ever again. However, the end of the week rolls by and it's been the absolute worst, your boss is a dick, your customers are all idiots and to top it off your best friend hasn’t responded to your calls all week and you don’t know why.

You have a quick shower and decide to spend the night binge watching whatever you can find on Netflix when James sits next to you handing you a gin and tonic. “Thanks but I’m not drinking for a little while.” You go to put the drink down but he pushes it up to your mouth

“Don’t be silly, you’ve had a hard week. One drink won’t hurt” smiling at him you take a sip and he’s right, you instantly relax and get cosy on the sofa, ordering chinese and laughing at the show you both decide on. Waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth again, you find yourself laying on your bed but this time you have your own clothes on which is a relief. Standing up, you feel a bit weird round the back like you’ve been stretched out with one of your plugs but that’s not possible, they’re hidden in your box under the bed.

You drink a big glass of water and sit on the kitchen counter, a little uncomfortably, but quietly and relax. Something has been off the last week and you can’t put your finger on it, it's always weird when you get a new roommate and you’ve put it down to that but you just sense something isn’t quite right. You lean your head back on the wall behind you and get a surprise when James walks round the corner. “Hey doll, you feeling ok? You looked a bit sickly earlier and went to bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You nod at how sweet he was and drink some more water before hopping down. “I’m fine just going to sleep it off.” He takes your glass for you, offering to wash it and says goodnight, watching you walk away very closely and licking his lips as his eyes roam over your body.

It’s been a few weeks now since James moved in, he’s got to be the best roommate you’ve ever had. He pays his bills on time, keeps the place spotless and he’s such a good cook, always making food and drinks for you. It's lucky that he’s so kind because none of your friends seem to be in touch anymore, you message them and even try calling them but no one ever replies.

You sit watching your usual Friday night film with drinks and Chinese takeout, talking to James about both your weeks, tonight though he sits closer than usual and his face seems to light up when you talk to him. He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in real life, you’ve never looked at him that way before because not only is he your roommate but he’s so far out of your league it's laughable. You tell one of your stupid jokes and he laughs with his whole body, his arm goes around the back of the sofa and he pulls you in close, hugging into him, you relax biting your lip when he kisses the top of your head.

That was the beginning of it for you both. You had daily movie nights, he cooked for you every day, listened when you got upset that your friends seemed to have dropped you and even encouraged you to start running with him. Everything felt perfect, you still occasionally woke up sore with a dry mouth but James told you it was just your body getting used to all the exercise you were now doing. Both of you had really found each other, loners who just needed someone to listen.

You went down to collect your mail one day and stood talking to your elderly neighbour when she told you how familiar James looked, she couldn’t work out where she knew him from but she praised you on finding such a nice young man who apparently had carried her groceries up the stairs for her when the elevator was broken. Smiling at her you told her to have a good morning and went back to your apartment looking at the thick brown envelope addressed to you, you never really got anything in the post except the occasional leaflet. James had made you a coffee and you smiled at him taking the package in your room to open while you got ready to have a shower.

In the shower you decided tonight would be the night with James, you shaved yourself from head to toe and used your best lotions. Winking at him as you walked to your room, he had a weird look on his face and couldn’t seem to look at you. In your room the envelope had been moved, it looked like it was open too. Bending down to pick it up you hear James behind you but before you can turn around you feel a pain in your neck and everything goes dark.

You wake up with a blinding headache and go to move but your body feels too heavy. “Ssshh sweetheart, don’t move, I had to tie you up for your own safety.” You look at him confused, trying to pull on your wrists but you can’t move.

“James, what’s happening?” Sitting next to you he slips some ice chips in your mouth to ease your dry throat and takes a deep breath.

“You can blame your friend, we were so happy and she had to try and take you away from me.” A tear runs down your cheek, you’ve never heard him talk like this and it’s terrifying. “I told your little friends to leave you alone or I’d take care of them all but they just didn’t listen.” He throws the envelope down and slowly shows you the newspaper clippings and articles they had sent you, apparently he was on the run and considered dangerous, something to do with what happened with the helicarriers that crashed a few months ago.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he says with a smirk, wiping your tears away and tutting. “Don’t be scared of me, I’m doing this for you, for us!” Pulling on the restraints on your feet and arms again he shouts, “Enough!” You stop immediately, scared of what he‘ll do if you don’t. “You were so nice to me on the phone when I first got free, you helped me hire that car that brought me to New York. I hacked into your company's database and found you. Your roommate was easy to convince with a little bit of money and I hired all those people to come and see you so when I finally got my chance you’d want me as much as I’ve wanted you”

“Why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?” You managed to stutter out, trying not to sound too pathetic.

“You never leave the house, you stay home all day working then sit watching TV all night, I saw you through the webcam. You really should be more careful.” He smirks before running his fingers over your naked body. Feeling how smooth and soft your skin is he smiles. “Did you do all this for me? Sweetheart, I’ve already had all of you, you don’t have to do anything special for me. I love you just the way you are”.

The realisation hits you and you sob loudly. “Have you been touching me while I sleep?” He tilts his head to the side and looks at you with so much admiration.

“You’re so smart, I’ve been preparing you to be mine. I didn’t know how long it's been since you’ve been with a real man, not those silly little toys under your bed and I wanted our first time to be special. I even set up that fake dating account so you would think you had a guy over on that first night.” He strokes your cheek and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

“James I’m cold, can you untie me and we can talk properly, please.” He studies your face for a brief moment before leaning forward and chuckling in your ear.

“You can’t think I’m that stupid baby, oh and you can call me Bucky now. If you’re going to be mine forever we need to get better acquainted.” He drops his sweatpants and straddles your hips. “We’re going to have so much fun”.

[make-me-imagine]

Daffodils: New Beginnings

Valentines Special: Day Eight

Day One: Morning Glories  //  Day Two: Blue Salvias Day Three: Sunflowers  //  Day Four: Pink Camellias Day Five: Yellow Tulips   //  Day Six: Violets Day Seven: Lisianthus - Day Nine: Red Roses (link to post with all endings listed)

Plot: The reader keeps receiving flowers and sweet messages every day from an anonymous source leading up to Valentines Day. But who is sending them?

Choose your own character ending (coming on Valentines Day).

Gender!Neutral Reader x ???

Triggers: Brief mention of fighting        Words: 1,569

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February 13th

"You sure you’re alright?” Wanda asked as she watched your rub your shoulder. 

“I’m good, just a little sore.” you said reassuringly. 

You had been called out on a mission with Steve, Wanda, and Natasha to check out a possible hit on a SHIELD office. You managed to catch the assault team before they made it into the building, but a fight broke out. When you were fighting one of the men, he pulled you down a short flight of stairs, you banged your shoulder pretty bad, but it seemed to be alright now. 

You were riding back to the tower now, sitting in the back seat with Wanda.

“You should get your shoulder checked out when we get back, just in case.” Steve said, looking at your through the drivers mirror. 

“Is that an order Captain?” you asked with sarcasm as you leaned forward, talking to Steve over the seat. 

You could see him smirk at your question as he peaked back at you “If it has to be, then yes.” 

You smiled in amusement as you sat back in your seat “Yes sir” you said, saluting, making Wanda chuckle and Natasha and Steve smirk at your response. 

Doing just as he said, you had your shoulder scanned in the medical wing once you returned. But finding no real damage you went back to work. Entering into the large main room, you staggered back as a man carrying a large box passed by you when you came through the doors. Looking around you saw a bunch of people walking around. It took you a moment before you remembered that they were the people hired to set up the Valentines party.

This room was going to be the main room for the party, tables set up for the dinner and a stage in the front for the entertainment. Seeing through the large doors to your left, you figured that would be where the dancing would take place. 

Looking around, you could tell the color scheme was going to be gold and red, classy, but a bit gaudy in some areas. You saw Tony walk through nearby doors, explaining something to one of the decorators, turning, he spotted you. Leaving the decorator with a last instruction he walked over to you. 

“So, what do you think so far?” he asked as he stood next to you, motioning to the room. 

“No chocolate fountain?” you asked with sarcasm. 

You saw his eyes light up as he snapped his finger “A chocolate fountain!” Turning to one of the nearby people, he got their attention “Any chance of getting a chocolate fountain?” 

You rolled your eyes “Tony, that’s too much!”

“No no, it’s a good idea” he said to you before looking back to the other person who began writing something down “And get some skewers, fruit and marshmallows, it can be like a giant fondue station.” 

“That doesn’t sound very sanitary” you said with a frown.

He hesitated for a moment “No, it’ll be fine, we’ll put up a sign, no double dipping” You shook your head with a laugh as he turned fully towards you “So, how’d your little mission go?”

“Fine, we stopped the assault, arrested all of the members, Nat and Clint will be questioning them.” 

Tony opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as someone called him from across the room “Go ahead, I’ve got to get back to work anyway” you said as you parted ways. Leaving the room you felt anxious again thinking about the party and what would happen. Trying to shake away the anxiety, you got back to work. 

- - -

You managed to distract yourself by working the rest of the day, and now you were sitting at the kitchen bar in the public part of the tower. Public meaning it could be accessed by all of the Avengers. 

“Hey” Wanda greeted as she wandered in “What are you doing in here?” 

You smiled at her and lifted your hand in greeting “Just finished work, I’m waiting for the rest of the party planners and decorators to leave for the day, they are constantly using the elevators and stairs, filling them with people and stuff.” you chuckled. 

She sat down next to you “Yeah, I couldn’t even get to the elevator in the first place” she chuckled “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s good, no pain anymore.” you responded “So, are you looking forward to Tony’s party?” you asked her. 

She shrugged “Not particularly. I’m not one for crowded parties.”

“Me neither, but Tony will never get over it if I don’t show up, you too probably.”

“Oh yes I know, he told me so himself” you both chuckled. 

"Tony and his parties.” you commented just as the doors opened. Clint, Steve and Natasha walking in. 

“Ah, there you two are. “ Clint said as they made there way over to you. Clint and Steve sat at the bar with you and Wanda as Nat moved behind the bar. 

You sat and talked with the others for a while, about today’s planned attack, about who they were hired by, and then about Tony’s party. You started to feel the now familiar anxiety rise in your chest. Making yourself yawn, you feigned drowsiness before rising “Alright, I need to get some sleep.” you said, knowing that, though you were tired, you might not be able to sleep anyways. 

“Goodnight” Wanda, Nat and Steve said as you began to leave.

“Hey” Clint said.

Turning back to him you rose your brow. “Did you get any flowers from your secret admirer today?” he asked with a smirk.

“Ooh, yeah I almost forgot about that” she smirked as she looked at you. Wanda and Steve turned to look at your as well. 

“Uhh, no, but I haven’t been back to my room since lunch, soo”

“Soo, maybe there will be something now?” Nat said with a smile. 

Saying nothing you just smiled, cocked your head and then spun around, leaving in silence. Hearing chuckling from the others behind you as you left. You had actually successfully been distracted to the point where you forgot about the flowers. 

Luckily all of the decorators and planners had been long gone, so you could make your way to your room easily. As you stopped at your floor, you braced yourself for what would be on the other side, feeling a sense of familiar excitement. 

As the doors slid open, your eyes were already trained on your door. And placed at the bottom, was a tall bouquet of pale yellow daffodils tied together with white silky ribbon, a note dangling from the side. 

Quickly making your way to your door, you unlocked it before picking up the bouquet and going inside. This was the last bouquet you would get before learning who was behind all of this tomorrow. Your heart seemed to be hammering in your chest as you stared at the note.

You were almost afraid to read it. You hesitated before setting it down and going to the bathroom. Getting ready for bed, you grabbed the flowers and put them into a vase, a new one you bought at the store. Sitting on your bed, you fiddled with the note in your hand. Slowly opening it, you psyched yourself up a bit before you began to read the note. 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Daffodils

Daffodils mean “New Beginnings”. I chose these because tomorrow will be the start of a new beginning for the two of us. No matter what happens. I, of course have my own wishes of how tomorrow will go, and I am sure you do as well. Perhaps you have your own desires of who I am, and I hope that I do not disappoint you when you find out who I am.

I have so much more I want to write, but cannot seem to put it properly into words. I’m sure we are both nervous about tomorrow, but I do truly feel as though we are meant to be. And though I cannot see the future, I know tomorrow will be the start of something new, and I can only hope that it will be great. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Reading over the note a few times you lied back on your bed as you stared up at the ceiling. You had stopped trying to figure out who it could be. Knowing that they were careful enough not to let anything seem obvious. And if you had been talking to them one on one, or when everyone would be talking about the flowers, they were careful enough not to say anything that would make them seem suspicious. 

For a moment, you debated not going to the party at all. And chickening out instead. But you only entertained the thought for a moment before you felt guilt for even thinking it. They did not deserve that. No matter how afraid you might be about what might happen tomorrow, they didn’t deserve to be stood up, especially not after everything they have said and done. But then again, what if they stand you up? What if they change their mind, and you never find out who they are?

You closed your eyes, your thoughts running rapid through every possibility of what could happen tomorrow. Eventually, without really realizing it, you had drifted off to sleep.

xx xx xx xx xx

Sooo, tomorrow is the day!

I will be releasing every ending throughout Valentines Day (10 in total); starting around 5am MST. Let me know if you want to be tagged in any specific endings.

The endings will be: Bucky, Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor, Loki, Clint, Natasha, Vision and Wanda. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 1)

Summary: While at home one night, the reader, an actress, is almost kidnapped and at her friend’s suggestion she hires Jensen as her bodyguard. While the pair doesn’t get along, an incident at the reader’s new home leads her and Jensen to taking a drastic measure...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 3,900ish

Warnings: language, minor injury, attempted kidnapping, drugging

A/N: There will be no taglist for this series. Please check out the masterlist for posting dates/times. Enjoy!

_________

“Get the fuck off!” you said, kneeing the man that was halfway through dragging you down your stairs. You threw a punch and a kick, swinging more than a few times before the grip on you fell away and you booked it for the front door. You sprinted outside and down the driveway, dashing across the street and banging on your neighbor’s door. 

A light came on and you glanced over your shoulder, spotting the guy dressed in black and wearing a mask jog to the end of your driveway.

“Shit, shit,” you said, a strong arm grabbing you and yanking you inside before you could even turn back around. The door slammed shut after you and you took a deep breath, your neighbor standing there in his boxers, saying something to his wife in the background. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” said Jared. You straightened up and nodded, his eyes going wide. 

“Gen! Tell them she needs an ambulance too,” he said.

“I’m fine,” you said as he walked you to his kitchen and sat you down at the counter. Gen was in there, on the phone with the police it sounded like, as Jared went to a cupboard. He pulled out a red bag and then was walking back over with a wad of bandages, holding it up to your forehead. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you said, pressing your hand to your head, seeing the half secured zip tie stuck on your other wrist. There were sirens in the distance and you shut your eyes.

“Hey, no sleeping. You might have a concussion,” he said.

“I’m not sleeping,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” he said, the sirens getting louder before there were flashing lights in the window. Gen walked over to the front door, letting the police in. About four officers came inside, one of them immediately coming over to you.

“What’d he look like? How many?” he asked.

“Uh, all in black, with a mask. He was white I think from what I could tell. Maybe six foot, average build, strong. It was just the one as far as I know. Last I saw him he was at the end of the driveway before my neighbor let me in his house,” you said.

“You two, call it in for backup and start looking. Jones, get a full statement from these three. Start with the vic. Medics will want to look at that head,” he said. “Which house is yours?”

“Right across the street. Red front door,” you said. He left and the other cop in there pulled out a plastic bag from his back pocket.

“I need to cut that off for evidence,” he said, glancing at your wrist.

“Should we do anything?” asked Jared as the cop made a cut and bagged the plastic tie.

“I would keep pressure on that wound for the moment,” he said, writing on the bag and taking out a notepad and pen. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“I was asleep less than ten minutes ago in my bed and I woke up to someone touching my arm and I found that tie thing on me and the guy tried grabbing my other arm but I rolled away. I got caught up in the covers while I was running away so he caught up to me in the hall outside my bedroom and I just started hitting what I could and then he tried to pull me downstairs and I hit him some more and then he let go and I ran over here.”

“How’d you sustain the head injury?” he asked.

“Well he was hitting me too when I started fighting back,” you said. “I was half-awake.”

“Okay. Sir, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions now.”

Three Hours Later

“Hey,” said Jared, setting a cup of tea down at his breakfast table. He rubbed your back and you sighed. “Rough night huh?”

“At least I don’t have a concussion,” you said, touching your butterfly bandages on your head.

“Police said your alarm wasn’t on.”

“So this is my fault?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t say that. I am saying that you and Gen have a very popular show together and if she didn’t have me around, I’d want her to have a bodyguard, maybe even full time,” he said.

“I have had this conversation with my manager multiple times. I’m not getting a bodyguard. For events and conventions, fine, I’ll have one. At work? In my life? No way,” you said.

“Y/N, you know I used to be in the army. Then I was a cop. Then I was on a SWAT team before I retired to become a stay at home dad,” he said.

“Yes. You’re an adorable scary badass. What’s your point?” you asked.

“When I worked SWAT, I worked a a few kidnapping cases. The honest truth is sometimes we don’t find you until it’s too late or we never do. It’s not like a movie. It’s not like your guys show and someone swoops in. No one shows up out of the blue to save you. You save yourself or you don’t get saved. Rarely do we get you out of that situation.”

“Again, what’s your point?”

“My point is whoever that person was, when they come back because they will come back, Y/N, and when they do, they’re not going to be that sloppy. They may drug you. They may knock you out. They could do a number of things but your chances of getting way again would be extraordinary. I love ya and I’ll always protect you. But next time, I might not be able to stop something bad from happening. You alone over there...I wouldn’t know until it’s too late.”

You were quiet, playing with the tea bag in your drink as he drank from his own mug.

“I don’t want a stranger coming into my home,” you said.

“Y/N, Gen and I want you to stay here for as long as you-”

“I meant a bodyguard, Jare. I don’t want somebody I don’t know to start coming into my life and controlling it.”

“I have a friend from my army days who does that kind of work. He’s between jobs at the moment. I’ll vouch for him,” he said.

“You’re not gonna give me a choice on this, are you,” you said.

“Gen and I are moving. A bigger place,” he said. “We think it’s a good idea if you had a change of scenery too.”

“You think she’s in danger too?”

“We don’t know but she’s five months pregnant. We don’t want to risk anything,” he said. “It’s just a thought.”

“Can...can I stay over here a few days? While I figure out what I want to do?” you asked.

“Yeah, of course, Y/N.”

Two Weeks Later

“I like the new place,” said Jared as he helped you carry in the last box. 

“It’s uh, a bit big,” you said. “But the owner wanted to sell fast and I wanted out of the other one fast so it worked out.”

“Seems like a lot of space for one person,” said the man walking in through the open front door. He was in a pair of dark jeans and a blazer, a tee shirt underneath. You stepped behind Jared but he chuckled. “Really Jare? Didn’t mention I’d be stopping by?”

“Y/N, this is my friend Jensen. I told you about him. You said you were interested in meeting him,” said Jared.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” said Jensen, holding out a hand.

“Y/N please,” you said as you shook it.

“I prefer to keep things professional,” said Jensen. “It’s easier that way. So, this is the new place, hm? Which room will be mine?”

“There’s a guest suite over on the first floor you can use,” you said.

“Where’s the master?”

“Upstairs.”

“Preferably I’d like to be in a room closer to yours,” he said.

“Fine. Take the guest room upstairs,” you said. “This is just a test run remember.”

“My contract says this is a six month test run,” he said as he looked around. “I see you’re still moving in so perhaps we can go over some of our new procedures in the morning.”

“Sure,” you said. 

“I’ll move in my belongings then,” he said. “I don’t have much.”

“Mhm,” you said. He nodded and headed back outside, Jared catching the look you gave him.

“What?” he asked.

“He’s gonna be a joy to live with,” you muttered.

“He’s quiet until you get to know him. I wouldn’t have recommended him if I didn’t trust him. He’s saved my life before. I know he’ll have your back,” said Jared.

“Yeah,” you said, his phone going off. “Jared, go. I know you’re already late for the baby checkup.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I only have boxes left to unpack anyways. Go on. I’ll talk to you guys later,” you said. He gave you a wave on the way out, leaving you to stare at the pile of boxes sitting on your kitchen floor. You cracked your back and started to work, catching Jensen move in a few duffel bags of his own. He left and wandered around outside eventually, allowing you to try and get the essentials all stored away.

By the time it was seven, you were exhausted but your bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were all set up. You plopped down on the couch, closing your eyes. They blinked open when you felt a presence standing over you.

“I’ve done a review of the property. I’d like to have an upgraded security system installed tomorrow,” he said.

“Whatever. Just put it on the card my manager gave you,” you said.

“I’d also like to consider hiring an additional person to monitor the system at some point. They can be remotely based,” he said.

“Like I said, whatever,” you said, closing your eyes again.

“I assume I have access to use the kitchen as I desire,” he said.

“No smoking. No drugs. No random hookups you bring here and as long as you don’t bug me and stay away from my ice cream, we’ll be fine,” you said.

“I can agree to that. As long as you follow my rules, we’ll also be fine,” he said. You laughed and sat up, walking to the kitchen to find your phone. “Do you think that’s funny?”

“I think the fact you think you’re going to be making rules in my home that I paid for is very funny,” you said. You took the phone to check on the pizza and wings you ordered for yourself, Jensen walking over and stopping in front of you. “Can I help you?”

“You are paying me a very large sum of money to keep you safe. If you don’t listen to what I say then I can’t guarantee your safety,” he said.

“Let me get something clear. I’m doing this to appease my friends and manager. Do whatever you want around here but don’t start telling me how to live my life,” you said.

“I took this job as a favor,” he said, snatching your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the countertop behind him. You scowled and he walked forward, forcing you to back up until your back hit a wall.

“Dude, backoff.”

“Pretend I’m that man that tried to take you before. What do you do? Right here and now. What’s your plan?”

“I’m serious,” you said, trying to brush past him and getting a light shove into the wall for it. You glared at him but he held his ground, pushing you again when you moved.

“I’m serious. Tell me what your plan is. Better yet, show me,” he said. 

“I don’t care if you are Jared’s friend. I am this close to punching you. Move now.”

“I said show me.”

You narrowed your eyes and brought up your knee to hit him in the groin. He pushed it away before it connected though and you were off balance, Jensen grabbing you and yanking you away from the wall, putting you in a headlock and tugging your arms behind your back.

“Don’t go for the most obvious move in the world,” he said. “Now that didn’t go how you wanted it to. What’s the plan now?”

“Get off,” you growled, trying to stomp your foot down on his but he moved it back and kicked out your ankle, making you fall back against him. He picked you up and you started moving your legs, Jensen suddenly dropping you down onto the hardwood floor. You hit your knee and winced, a hand suddenly grabbing the back of your shirt. “Alright! I get the fucking point.”

“Do you?” he said, squatting down beside you. You tried pushing his hand away but it tightened and you tried throwing a punch, his grip almost too hard now and his free hand easily blocking the hit. “You have no plan. You’re too small and too weak to overpower someone. You can’t afford to have no plan. The thing is, when it’s real, you’ll be panicking and you’ll have no time at all to think of one.”

“Stop touching me unless you want me to call the cops on you,” you spat out. He moved his hand away and stood, staring back at you.

“You need to do what I tell you if you want to stay safe. I will teach you what to do if you’re in that situation for whatever reason. But the rules keep that situation from happening in the first place. Understand?” he said.

“Understand that you are fired as of now. Pack up your shit and get out of my house,” you said. You got to your feet and he raised an eyebrow. “I’m your boss and I can fire you whenever I want. Get out.”

“How on earth Jared is friends with a someone like you I will never understand,” he said. He headed upstairs and the doorbell rang. You forced a smile for the delivery guy and took your food back to the kitchen, digging in before Jensen was even tossing his first bag down the stairs. You rolled your eyes and were on your third slice by the time he was walking downstairs.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” you said. He shot you a dirty look, his head cocking as he set his bag down. “Oh now what?”

“You look really pale,” he said, walking over to you. “Your pupils are huge.”

“You know what else? You are so not as hot as you think you are,” you said, reaching for another piece of chicken before he smacked your hand. “You are this close to me calling...someone.”

Your head got dizzy for a second, Jensen grabbing your arms and setting you down on the ground.

“I feel funny,” you said, tipping over and resting against him. “Really, really funny.”

“You just got drugged,” he said, using his phone to dial a number. “No more takeout. Got it? Obviously this person knows you moved. I want to put someone at the house full time.”

“I’m gonna fall asleep now,” you said, shutting your eyes.

“No, nope, try to stay awake,” he said. You hummed and he grabbed your face. “Y/N. Try.”

“You’re really pretty for a grumpy grump,” you said.

“I thought I wasn’t hot. Just stay awake for me, Y/N,” he said.

Twenty minutes later you were in the ER with an IV in your arm and feeling a whole lot of crappy. Jensen said something to a doctor before he walked over to the stall you were in and stood by the bed.

“Hey. Police are at your house. Neighbor said they saw a silver pickup parked down the street. Seemed shady. It was gone by the time they got there,” he said.

“Course it was,” you mumbled.

“You more with it again?” he asked.

“Yeah. Feel really tired is all,” you said.

“Well I called your manager. He said he’d be here soon so I’m gonna head out,” he said.

“Huh?” you said, sitting up as he started to leave. “Wait.”

“Last I remember, you fired me. Nothing has changed,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist, the effort taking more energy than you were anticipating. He didn’t shrug you off, instead gently setting your hand back in your lap and pushing you to lay back down.

“You should rest. There’s a cop outside the room,” he said.

“Stop. Just...sit down,” you said. He sighed but sat on the edge of the bed, raising an eyebrow. “How could somebody already know where I moved? Hardly anyone knows.”

“You rent a moving truck?” he asked.

“Yeah. Movers did the furniture,” you said. He shrugged and you shut your eyes. “The movers?”

“No, probably not them. But that truck probably has GPS for mileage tracking and if this person has your credit card info, they could figure it out,” he said. “The food thing probably happened back at the restaurant you ordered from. Somebody slips in the backdoor, puts some stuff on your food and slips back out.”

“What’s your suggestion?”

“I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Let’s pretend earlier didn’t happen. Please,” you said. “I can’t...I can’t be alone right now and something feels really off about this whole thing.”

“This whole thing has felt off the second Jared told me about it. Tonight just further proved that point,” he said.

“You were in the army longer than he was, right?”

“He decided to retire, go be a cop. I stayed in. Worked on a few more specialized skills a bit longer before I left and got in this line of work,” he said.

“I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing then.”

“Yeah. I know what I’m doing. I can’t guarantee anything but I can give you some pretty damn good odds,” he said. He stared at you for a moment and looked you over. “You’re smarter than the stereotypical actress I pegged you for.”

“It had to have been someone on my team or that’s close to me in order to know that I was moving,” you said. “Or else the person never would have known to look today.”

“Someone that knows your go to takeout place too. You need to be extremely careful about who you trust right now,” he said.

“I trust Jared and Gen,” you said.

“I trust the guy with my life. I’d trust him with yours. Gen is fiesty when you piss her off but you’re her best friend. They didn’t do this.”

“Your expert opinion, what’s my next move?” you asked. He rubbed the back of his neck and made a face. “Jensen.”

“Ideally? You go off grid. I mean off grid, off grid. Middle of nowhere, no one knows where exactly. Cut yourself off and it’d give us more time to figure out who this person is and what exactly it is they want with you. If they’re as close as we think they are, they’ll find a way to sneak in again and next time, it might be my food that’s drugged. It’s a big risk to go back to the house.”

“I can’t go be alone though. What if they did find me somehow?” you asked.

“I said off grid. I didn’t say alone,” he said. “It’s an extreme approach, I’ll give you that. But it gives me more time to work on this and it’ll keep you safe.”

“Why not hire a bunch of guys to stay around me all the time?”

“Because you’re still in danger if you stay in LA and I don’t have the ability to check that many guys out. I got guys I know I can trust but they’re all over the country and the only other one here is Jared and Gen needs him. No offense but she’s got a kid with another on the way. More bodies means more priority,” he said.

“No, no. Please keep them safe too. If it’s a fan of the show, they could be in the same situation,” you said.

“I’m not going to try and tell you what to do because obviously, you weren’t a fan of me doing that before. But if you want to be able to sleep safely at night, we need to go, just you and me. Jared and Gen can know but that’s it and I mean that’s it. I can secure a safe place and everything we’ll need. But it’s going to be a drastic lifestyle change.”

“How drastic?”

“Like no internet and our electricity will run off a generator drastic.”

“If I stay here?”

“I give it a week tops before they try something again,” he said.

“We wrapped two weeks back and since Gen’s pregnant, we aren’t slated to start filming for another seven months. I’ll have to cancel some events but if I was ever going to go off grid, now’s the time to do it.”

“I will get it arranged. Do not speak a word of this to anyone,” he said.

“Jensen,” you said as he stood. “What was that back at the house? You acting all aggressive like that?”

“The last client I had, I was lenient, never taught them anything, let them push me around and dictate how I worked. They got put in a bad situation because of that. If you don’t take this seriously, then what’s the point of me being here.”

“Well wherever we go, I’m gonna need a few things. Women stuff,” you said.

“Make a list and tomorrow, pack a bag,” he said. “I want us on the road tomorrow night. I don’t care what you tell your team about why you’ll be MIA. Just tell them something so we don’t get a missing persons report on you.”

“Alright,” you said, Jensen nodding and starting to leave. “Wait. Where are you going?” 

“I need to start preparing. Like I said, there’s a police officer by the door.”

You stared at him and he took a deep breath.

“How about he stays in the room with you until we’re ready to go home and get what we need, okay?” he said.

“Okay,” you said.

“Hang tight. When you’re up for it, we’ll get out of here.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[fandoms-are-my-friends-1321]

Flirting, My Dear Watson

This was requested by @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama, and it is literally so freaking great!!! I can’t wait to see how this plays out while I’m writing it. As always gif and characters are not mine. Hope you enjoy this!

Description: Y/N is a profiler for Scotland Yard, and they captured Sherlock’s attention right away. Sherlock’s friends suggest that he should try and flirt with Y/N, but his attempts don’t go as planned

Warnings: mild cursing, mentions of blood/a crime scene, otherwise none

Sherlock knelt down beside the victim. He was examining any and every clue that he could find. The victim was placed gently on a park bench, and from far away it seemed as if they were still alive. However, the trail of dried blood that came from a gaping slash in the victim’s neck said otherwise. Sherlock knew in an instant what happened.

“Well,” Sherlock started as he stood up and straightened his coat, “it’s obvious what happened here. The-,”

“The victim was killed by someone close to him. Perhaps a lover or an ex. The way the victim was precisely placed to seem like they are still alive shows that the killer cared for the victim, but by the violent slashing seen in the neck wound, it would be more likely that our killer is a jealous ex who wanted to keep this person to themselves.”

Sherlock turned around, and a woman was standing a few feet away from the body. Their H/C hair flowed in the afternoon breeze, and they held a cup of coffee in their right hand. Sherlock had never seen this woman before, but he was automatically interested as to how she managed to figure out who the killer was.

“Your assumption is spot on. I don’t believe we have met before though,” Sherlock said as he tried to analyze the woman in front of him.

“Oh, my names Y/N. I’m a profiler. I was just hired recently at Scotland Yard, and this is my very first case. However, I must say it was fairly easy compared to some of the stuff I’ve studied.”

“I can tell you graduated from Oxford. Top of your class judging by the pin you have attached to your jacket. Why would you settle for a low job like this?”

“Because, I needed the job and they were hiring. Funny, I thought the famous Sherlock Holmes would have been able to figure that out.”

Sherlock simply stood with his mouth open. He never expected so much sass to come from a woman who appeared to be more of an introvert. Y/N quickly took some samples from the body, and left as fast as she appeared. She turned around and smiled at the consulting detective. “I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Holmes.”

The detective simply nodded as Y/N climbed into her vehicle. John walked up beside Sherlock and slapped a hand on his shoulder. “I never thought I would see the day when the Sherlock Holmes was left dumbfounded by someone else. You could have at least asked for her number.”

“Why would I do that,” Sherlock asked as his brows furrowed slightly.

“It’s obvious that you like Y/N. I felt the same way when I saw Mary for the first time. Perhaps you can try flirting with Y/N the next time you see her.”

“I will do nothing of the sort. I don’t feel anything towards her. I’m just glad that for once I’m not surrounded by idiots for a change.”

John simply shook his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

——————————————————————————

The next time Y/N and Sherlock met, it was at a second crime scene. Everyone knew at this point that Sherlock was head over heels for her, as much as Sherlock could be that is. Everyone agreed that it would be best to try and hook Y/N and Sherlock up.

“Ah, I see that you brought some coffee with you again today,” Lestrade commented. “Sherlock here likes coffee too. Maybe you two could go to the cafe downtown sometime.”

Sherlock glared at Lestrade. “I don’t like coffee. I only drink tea.”

Lestrade simply rolled his eyes, and Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at the two men. “Shall we examine the body Mr. Holmes?”

“Of course, Mrs. L/N.”

As they were examine the body, Sherlock stole glances at Y/N. He knew it was illogical and that this was simply his body’s way of reacting to an attractive female, but he just couldn’t help it. The determination in Y/N’s eyes said it all for him.

“This crime is an interesting one don’t you think,” Y/N said as they turned their head towards Sherlock.

“Yes it is, almost as interesting as you are,” Sherlock quickly replied.

“Did you just compare this beautiful young woman to a corpse?”

The profiler and the detective both turned around to see a man standing behind him. Y/N could tell that he looked quite stressed, and had to be higher up in society. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes at the man, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “Honestly, Sherlock, has all of this time alone ruined your flirting skills that badly?”

“No, they haven’t. Now if you would please leave us to our business, Mycroft, that would be lovely.” Sherlock smiled up at his brother, and Mycroft simply shook his head as he went back to talk with Lestrade.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle. “He’s quite the character.”

“To put it quite mildly, yes he is. I wish my brother wouldn’t interrupt my work though. I mean, our work of course,” Sherlock said as he stood up.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she just heard. Sherlock Holmes once again did something out of the ordinary when he was around here. Y/N knew the whole time what was going on with Sherlock, but they wanted to play things out a little bit longer. “Say, would it be alright if we go back to your place to study over the evidence? It’s cold out here, and I focus better when I’m warmer.” This of course was a total lie. Sherlock knew this as well, but he thought that it would be a good chance to finally get things right.

“Of course, my address is 221B Baker Street. John and my landlady Mrs. Hudson will be there, but I’m sure they won’t disturb us,” Sherlock replied as he handed Y/N a slip of paper that had the address scribbled on it. “Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway.”

——————————————————————————

Y/N entered the door of the flat, and Mrs. Hudson was ready to greet her. “Y/N! It’s so nice to finally meet you! It’s so rare that Sherlock brings home such a beautiful woman.”

“She’s simply a comrade, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock shouted from the top of the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson simply rolled her eyes. “He may be the smartest detective in London, but he’s not very smart when it comes to love.” Y/N laughed at the comment before walking up the stairs. Y/N found Sherlock sitting in the middle of the floor, a mannequin laying a few paces in front of him.

“So, do you always have mannequins lying around the house? Or is this something special for me,” Y/N said with a smirk.

“I figured we could do some experiments to figure more about the killer and his motives,” Sherlock commented as he got up from the floor. Once again, Sherlock already knew the killer’s motives, and so did Y/N, but this game was to much fun to stop so soon.

Mrs. Hudson entered carrying a tray with tea and biscuits resting on the silver surface. “I’m not sure that rehearsing a murder works as a proper first date. You should have taken her out to a nice restaurant or a little tea shop.”

Sherlock smiled at his landlady. “Why would I take her out for tea when we have you to bring us some?”

“For the last time, I’m your landlady. Not your maid!”

After Mrs. Hudson had left, Sherlock and Y/N began their work to replicate the crime scene. As they were going through the steps, Y/N’s hand brushed against Sherlock’s. Both of them tensed a little, but not before sending a gentle smile to each other to show that it was alright.

“Would you two just get a room already?”

John was standing in the doorway now, bags of groceries in his grasp. He had enough of seeing the two most intelligent people he knew beat around the bush. Sherlock glanced at his roommate. “Well, I have been flirting with her, John.”

“Well, I hate to say it, but your flirting is terrible. The best detective in London should be able to know when his methods aren’t working.”

It was Y/N’s turn to comment. “Oh no, they were working. Sure it was indeed terrible, but it was to amusing to tell him to stop.”

Sherlock smirked at the woman. “And I knew that you knew that I knew.”

“Of course you did,” Y/N replied. “So, how about we go down town for dinner tomorrow at six?”

“That sounds perfect.”

John let out a sigh of both relief and annoyance. “Bloody hell you two are something.”

John was right of course, Sherlock and Y/N were something. Some would think that a relationship like there’s wouldn’t work, or that Sherlock’s ego would get in the way, but it was both the flaws and skills that drew these two individuals together. And no matter how much their love grew, they would always remember their first meeting at a crime scene, and the horrendous flirting that followed.

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Looking Back

aubageddon91

I would love one of an really angsty Geralt x reader one with a very fluffy end ing to match. The reader as a healer traveling with Geralt and acts like a dick to her for most of the time, but doesn't faze her until she reaches a breaking point. That's all I can think of right now. Sorry.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: angst, lil bit of gore, fluff, language

“Fuck,” he growled as you smoothed a freshly made salve over his wound. The man could kill monsters, and slay entire fields of men, but the moment you were dressing his wounds he did nothing but whine and squirm.

“Hold still,” you muttered, pulling his arm back into your lap. With a thread and needle you did your best to stitch him up through the squirming. Sewing his arm back into place would have been difficult at any time, but with him writhing about, cursing you every time the needle pierced his skin it was taking longer than normal. “Geralt, I’ll be done in a moment, just hold still.”

“If you weren’t such a second-rate healer, you would have been done forever ago,” he growled, and you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t the first time he had insulted you while you were working. It was a surprise he had asked you to come along, even if it was begrudgingly. You had patched him up in a forest, prevented him from dying when he himself could not. It had been a year of his verbal abuse, and you were still a permanent accessory, riding behind him  from one hunt to another. Now you were in a rather sketchy inn, doing your best to make sure he didn’t bleed out, and he was swearing up a storm.

Not once had you ever considered leaving, not when it was the most fun you had had since you were born. You had seen more places, met more people, done more things than the rest of your family combined. You would let him scream at you forever if it meant you could stick around, at least that’s what you used to think.

Now you weren’t so sure.

With a quick yank you pulled the stitches together and he growled, shoving you away as he craned his neck to check the stitches that began at his shoulder and crept down his bicep. He grunted and left you alone while he washed at a basin of water. You watched, not saying as a word as he dripped water tainted with dirt and grime all over the floor. He wasn’t going to ask you to clean it up, he would just expect it.

He always just expected it.

With a sly smile, you decided you would see what would happen if you didn’t. Cleaning wasn’t your job after all, you were a healer, not a maid. He left the mess and when you didn’t follow behind him like an obedient little puppy, he allowed a bit of surprise to cross his face. You ignored it and flopped onto the bed, stretching you arms above your head.

“Are you coming?”

“Where?”

“Dinner.”

“I think I’ll pass, carrying you back up the stairs after you get shitfaced doesn’t sound that appetizing.” He glared at you, and you could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“That’s your job.”

“Are you going to pay me?” you snapped. Now he really was surprised.

“I let you come with me, and buy you food, is that not enough for you? You’re not even that great at your job. Your stitches are amateur, your salves take days to work, and I’m sure that I could heal faster without any of your badgering. You should be lucky you have a job at all.” The final straw.

“Then I guess it’s time for us to part ways.”

“What?” He had the audacity to sound surprised, and if your ears weren’t fooling you there was a little bit of hurt mixed in as well.

“You heard me, it’s been a good run Geralt, but I'm clearly not fulfilling your needs anymore. Tomorrow morning, I will go west, and you will go east.” He opened his mouth to argue, and truly you hoped he would, but he remained silent, slamming the door behind him.

 You went to bed that night with a heavy heart. It was hard to imagine that the next morning you would part ways, even if it was your own ultimatum that led you there. You were just so sick of being treated like a second-class citizen when all you wanted to do was help. You barely slept, sadness keeping you awake even after Geralt stumbled into the room, further gone than the town drunk. He collapsed on his bed, snoring instantly.

Now you really weren’t going to get any sleep.

The next morning, when the sun finally rose, you still hadn’t slept a wink, and the sadness had only grown. You quietly packed, ignoring Geralt’s eyes as they watched you. You packed as slowly as you could, not really wanted to leave, but you didn’t own enough to draw out the process much longer than someone normally would take packing. When all that you owned was shoved into your knapsack you glanced at him.

“Well, I guess this is it. Thank you for bringing me along,” you managed. You waited for him to say something, anything, but he only grunted before rolling over. Sadly, you closed the door and began your journey towards the west, just as you had proclaimed yesterday.

You had no idea where you were going. It was only dusty road for miles, and you had no intention of returning to your hometown. Everywhere needed a healer, but if you were really a subpar as Geralt had proclaimed, no one was going to want to hire you.

You walked for an hour, glancing over you shoulder every five minutes, your foolish mind hoping he would come galloping down the trail towards you. After another hour you gave up, but you soon found that you should have continued. The sound of hooves beating against dirt filled your ears and you found Roach and Geralt charging towards you.

Roach had not even completely stopped as Geralt leaped from the horse and pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he managed through gasps of air. His thumb brushed you cheek as he stared down at you. “I don’t want you to leave, maybe not ever. And I would have been here sooner except I couldn’t remember whether you had said you were going east or west,” he explained and you burst into tearful laughter. “You’re not second-rate anything, and I just want you back at my side. Two hours was far too long.”

“Geralt, I-.”

“No, please, don’t say no, who’s going to stop me from dying, and who am I going to hold in my arms when the nights get too cold? You can’t leave, you just can’t.”

“I was going to say, I’m coming with you,” you said with a laugh and he grinned, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around. It seemed that your time with the Witcher may never end, and you couldn’t bring yourself to even be the tiniest bit upset.

[lunaekalenda]

heyy congrats on 500! 👄💰🥲 or 💖 (i can’t choose but maybe a mix of both?) with eren plz:)

obv! thank you so much for participating and i hope you like it! <3

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enemies to lovers + mafia au + romantic tragicomedia feat. Eren Jaeger

introduced original characters, mentions of blood.

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Eren Jaeger. The actual and young head of the Jaeger family. He wasn’t an easy prey, his family was one of the most important ones in this city. He moves a huge amount of money every day, heir of all the things his parents made on the past.

Unlucky him they have hired you. 

You’re the secret weapon of the Müller family. The child they trained since little to seduce and play with other’s minds to know all of them. You only need to get closer to him and discover all the Jaeger secrets. With which families are they allied. How many money do they count. How many of them are now.

If they hired an Ackerman to kill the clan that contracted you.

The Ackermans are also a really well known clan, famous for being silent and skilled assassins. Specially two of them. Levi Ackerman. The man who built again the reputation of his family. Mikasa Ackerman. The girl who protects Eren Jaeger, because the Ackerman clan knows how many benefits they can get just from protecting the young man. Your instructions are easy, but you know the plan isn’t it. Entering the Jaeger mansion is really complicated: there are guards everywhere. Eren rarely goes out of the mansion, so it’s almost impossible to make it like a casual encounter, the typical encounter between two people that ends with a coffee. You have to enter like every single soul that had meet Eren before: trough money, contracts and secrets. It’s the only way to treat directly with him. Negotiations. Dirty treats.

"I have information about the Müllers."

That false information is the key to your reunion with Eren. You're dressed for the occasion, really well-dressed. The man in front of you talks to a brown-haired girl, and she leaves, going to tell the info to a person who you suppose it's Eren. He listens the orders once she comes back and you look around, analyzing. There are big paintings on the walls, most of them from really famous painters. The corridor you're waiting in is decorated with huge glass lamps that make all the little cristal drops shine in all directions. You don't know who those two are. The tallest one, who has an undercut, nods to the other.

"You can pass." he says. "But he will make you a control. Please, take out your jacket and all the things we can easily found and claim as suspicious, such as..."

"I know, I know. Knifes, guns or another harmful things. I’m empty.” You put your bag in the tallest’s hands. He revises it while the other touches your body superficially, trying to find any hint of a weapon. The little stylet you have on your boot its cold against your leg, and it could hurt you with any abrupt movement. The boy with the bag gives it back to you. The other releases you arms. 

“Take the stairs and wait on the corridor of the second plant. Someone will call you to talk with him.” You nod quietly and make your way to the stairs. Quickly, a blonde boy appears, opening the door from Eren’s office.

“Come in. Boss waits for you.”

You enter before the blonde man, who closes the door fast, almost getting your leg with it. The movement made the stylet cut a little wound on your leg. You walk cautiously, trying not to get the stylet too close to your skin. The fact that you’re wearing the stylet without case is simple: Is a punishment. You had orders to kill someone on your last mission and doubted, so now they want the stylet to cut you, trying to make you regret the failed assassination. But you’ve learned, and you have strict orders to kill Eren Jaeger if he knows too much. The light of the room surprises you, the curtains moving quietly because of the wind that enters from the open window behind the desk, where a tall figure is sitting.

Even when you’ve seen Eren Jaeger before, on pictures the Müllers shown you, you never thought he’ll be so imposing. His dark hair is tied on a messy bun on the back part of his head, and he’s wearing a white shirt he has unbuttoned until the middle. His green eyes look tired, a little shadow under them. He takes his gaze far from the documents and tilts his head a little to thank the blonde boy, that does the same and disappears. He invites you to sit, moving his eyes from your body to the chair in front of him. You sit, your bag on your knees. Eren seems young, maybe he’s on his early twenties. His sharp jaw tenses when he sees you eyes looking the documents with curiosity. You got to read the title of some of them: they are hiring contracts with Ackermans and some transactions about enterprises being bought by the Jaegers.

During your training, they taught you how to read upside down, really fast. That’s because once you arrive on someone’s office to get info, the papers will be facing them. A normal person would take their time to read, making obvious they’re trying to get something. You can read them fast.

“If you’re here to try to get some information.” His voice sounds bored, maybe too tired, as if he doesn’t enjoy the fact that his family is one of the most important ones. Maybe he doesn’t like this? “You’re going to go back with empty hands”

It’s not time to feel compassion. You’re hired. You have a work. 

“I’m here to give information to you, not to steal it from you.” You talk. You know how to modulate your voice, try to make him think you’re nervous for being there, as if you fear for your life just for opening your mouth. Eren raises an eyebrow, as if he was inviting you to talk. “The Müllers.” Now, it’s time to make a credible story to make Eren feel curiosity. To make him want to know more. He’ll protect anything that would help him to destroy the Müllers, so he’ll probably protect you once he believes you can get information for him. You can make him hire you. Eren leans back on his chair.

“I’m listening.”

“They lost their protection. A bad made pact or something like that.” you don’t want to be really specific, that would just uncover your lie. “The clan that worked for them left because of a better work offer.” This wasn’t a lie after all. The Müller did lost their protection, but they quickly found another one, keeping that pact in secret for everyone. Eren looks to his fingers on the table, his head resting on his free hand. He nods quietly.

“You know this pacts from inside, don’t you?” his question, made with the same deep and tired voice, caught you by surprise. He sighs. “You entered and looked directly to my desk. This could be an unfortunate coincidence, you entered and felt curiosity about the papers, that’s just an human feeling. A normal person that enters my office looks down at the papers and then leaves them be, they’re upside down for them. You read them, quite fast i could say.” He takes the papers. “How many of them were you able to read?” You stay silent. He smirks. “Also, isn’t your leg hurt?” he asks. It’s impossible he knows you’re carrying a weapon with you. “I saw you had trouble landing that foot correctly when you walked in.” 

“Just a bad landing,” You answer. He nods, slowly. He knows something.

“How much do you gain with this mission?” he asks. His green tired eyes are looking directly to you. 

“Wh-what mission?” you ask, trying to act innocent. A sarcastic laugh leaves his lips.

“Stop fucking acting.” he takes out some papers. “Y/N, do you recognize this paper?” he gives it to you. 

“My contract?” You think for yourself. There it is: your name, surname, a photo, quantity you gain with this and your signature. 

“I should say, if this is permitted, that you’re much prettier now that in that pic.” He says, calmly. His smirk hasn’t disappeared. “I’ll give you a counteroffer.” He says. “I’m tired of playing hide and seek with all those bastards.” He knows too much. He discovered your plans.

You’re fast when you take the stylet out of your boot, your blood dripping from the file, getting up and leaning on the table to stab him. You’re fast moving it to his neck, but he’s faster. His hand gets your wrist, stronger than you think, making you unable to move it, and he takes the stylet out of your immobilized hand. He looks at it, with your wrist caged on his hand. You can’t sit, he’s pulling you to stay in that position - legs half flexed, the elbow against the table, his green eyes really close to yours.- It’s uncomfortable. 

“You took a risk, didn’t you, hm?” he asks. His voice is now lower. He stopped your stab. The price you pay for a bad executed assassination is death. 

They are going to kill you.

If Eren doesn’t kill you first. Tears start to run from your eyes. You don’t wanna cry, and less in front of him, but the thought of the consequences once you get home again scare you so much. Eren hisses. 

“The cute assassin is crying?” he jokes, his free hand getting some tears from your face. He doesn’t let your wrist. “I’ve heard the Müller are a really moral-questionable family, aren’t they?” he says. He knows about the consequences. “Once more, I have a counteroffer for you.” he leaves your wrist. You sit again, the skin where he grabbed you starting to change from red to a painful purple. He looks at it. “Sorry, used too much strength.” He takes out an empty contract formulary. 

You try to calm yourself. Should you accept it? The betray is also punished with death. They’ll kill you in any way. The green-eyed boy in front of you is your only way to scape.

“Only if you protect me from them.” Eren smirks.

“Granted.”

He doesn’t want to know the Müller secrets, he doesn’t have interest in that. His older brother, Zeke Jaeger, was the one that searched problems. Eren just wants to stay quiet and make easy money without getting his hands covered with blood. He doesn’t want to get in trouble with other families. He doesn’t want to kill, he’s tired of that.  He sits and starts to make your contract. You look how his hands write fast your information. 

“Why?” you ask. All the shock of the previous events didn’t let you think straight. He raises an eyebrow.

“Why what? Speak properly, hm?”

“Why aren’t you going to kill me? I tried to kill you. That’s how this works. One life for another.” Eren keeps writing, unbothered. 

“That’s how it works in Müller’s rules.” he says. “I don’t like that dynamics. Send someone to kill another one.” he answers simply. You look at him. He isn’t a bad person. He isn’t the man everybody talked about. That’s a fake Eren, made by rumors. The boy in front of you is just someone making business. Maybe not in the cleanest way, but at least he doesn’t kill. “I don’t like to kill. And less if the other person is just following orders, scared about the consequences.” He looks at you. It seems you started to calm down. 

“How are you going to cover me?”

“Faking your death. You know I don’t like to go out of the mansion, I saw you walking around it from the window this last days.” You are really surprised. He’s smart, so smart. “I need someone to help with my investments. You don’t need to go out of the mansion.” 

He was strangely calm to be negotiating with the enemy. 

“I could take out another knife and kill you, you know?” you say. He smiles.

“If you announced it, then you’re not going to do it.” He keeps writing. You nod quietly. “I need you to sign here.” He offers you the fountain pen. You could harm him with that. Your hand takes the pen in stabbing position. He sees you from the corner of the eye.

“I wouldn’t do that.” he says, calmly. “Remember that is your life the one risking, not mine.” He’s right. You sigh and sign the contract. Eren smiles.

“You should read the contract before signing.” he says, his voice being like a joke melody. 

“Whatever you’ve put there is better than the punishment of the Müller.” you say, throwing the pen back to him. He catches it easily. 

“Fine, then. You won’t get a single coin in the first year working here.” He says. Wait, was that in the contract? “You tried to kill me. I’m kind, but not that much.”

“But-” He gets up and walks towards you. His green eyes are now close to yours, his breath almost mixing with yours. He smells good.

“But?” he asks. One of his strands of hair move with him, touching your face quietly. He’s really attractive, and so near... 

“How am I supposed to eat?” Eren thinks.

“There are a hundred ways to gain extra pays, you know? Helping on the kitchen, reading my letters or preparing my baths.” he says. “Maybe I could be extra kind and let you have a bath with me.” You can hear the joke in his voice.

“I would politely decline it.” You say. He smiles.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll end enjoying it.”

“They never taught you to not empathize with the enemy?”

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Casually, it seems like you didn’t learn it either.

“Eren.” you call him quietly. You’ve been here for months now, almost eight. In that time, Eren avoided three different trials of murder from you and you got slightly punished for two of them. You ended accepting your fate and helping him, learning that he can be a soft and warm-hearted boy once he stops acting as a mature mafia head. This world isn’t for him.

“What?” he says, a little laugh following his words. He didn’t knew what to make with you, a problematic captive enemy that attempted to murder him multiple times. And your angelical aspect and sweet voice confused him. He ended understanding you, understanding the pain and the fear you feel since little, since the Müller bought you and obligated to train as a spy. He listened to your story and you listened to his, how everyone wanted him to became a good leader, one that wouldn’t doubt to kill for his own benefice. That made you understand each other, fall in love with the most human part of the other one. 

“Move.” you try to push him a little, but he offers resistance. He tangles one leg around yours. Your head is resting on his pillow. How did you went from wanting to pierce his heart with a stylet to wanting to treasure it? His arm tangles on your waist and pulls you closer.

“No.” he answers. You laugh and let you head meet his neck curve. You sigh. “You know? A lot of people want me dead.”

“So I did.” you laugh, and he does too.

“So you did.” he says. You remain silent. “At least say sorry, y/n” 

“Sorry for trying to kill you, Eren.” you say. He lets out a little laugh.

“That was the fakest sorry i’ve heard in years.” you hit his shoulder softly before pulling the blanket higher on your body, covering you two. “What would you do if they kill me?”

“I couldn’t kill you, so no one is going to do it.” You say. He caresses your hair.

“They could. And I don’t want you to be here. They could kill you as well.” His voice shows concern. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Some months ago...” you start, but he interrupts you.

“Some months ago we were just two persons with different ideologies.” he says. You sigh.

“I don’t care. I will stay here even if they point you with three guns and two knifes. I’ll be here with you, I’ll stay here by your side in any way.”

“Y/N”... he says.

“If they kill you, they’ll kill a part of me.”

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Some Semblance of a Man

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31716874

Kaz

Kaz Brekker was always looking for a challenge, for the next rival to ruin, for the next near death experience. He’d learned quickly that sitting idle in The Barrel got you killed and he’d been running ever since. But with Pekka gone, Inej and her parents reunited, and the Council of Tides temporarily abated, Kaz was beginning to realize there was nothing else for him to do but wait.

Of course, there were the day to day activities, he still had The Crow Club to run, he still had slavers to gather information on. But after everything he and the Dregs had been through recently, those tasks seemed trivial. He didn’t want his crew to think that just because he’d come into a bit of money that he had gone soft, and he didn’t want rumor spreading throughout the Barrel that Kaz Brekker was getting bored. Without his crew around the Slat, Kaz had to find other ways to pass the time, and for the sake of maintaining appearances, Kaz would walk the streets at night, pretending to look at his watch, pretending to trail a random person, or spreading rumors. Sometimes he would walk to The Menagerie and think of what it would look like burned to the ground.

That’s where he’d been tonight, with a gentle mist of rain turning the cobblestone to mirrors, pools of colored lights spilling out across the street. There were few people out, the rain enough of a nuisance to make them think twice about spending their coin in gambling halls and pleasure houses. Despite the hour growing ever later, the Slat was teaming with life when Kaz returned, the air smelled like alcohol and sweat, the newer additions to the crew were trying to have a conversation, which had mostly devolved into shouting over the out of tune cacophony of voices singing drunkenly across the bar. Kaz bought a round for everyone, though he knew the chance of anyone here betraying him in favor of another gang was slim, keeping his crew happy with a bit of booze usually made his job a little easier. Besides, the longer the crowd was down here, the longer he had for some quiet of his own, in his room on the fourth floor, where the voices did not carry.

Kaz held his breath as he started his climb up the stairs, it was never easy, but Kaz valued the privacy and protection afforded by his room more than he worried about the pain. He bolted the door behind him, leaning his head against its frame and biting his lip as he massaged the twitching muscle of his thigh. He stretched, rubbed a knot from his neck, and reached for his hat.

He paused, the pattering of raindrops puncturing the peace. “Won’t Jesper and Wylan be missing their Wraith?” Kaz asked his empty room, his back to the window, hiding his smirk. He moved slowly, hanging his hat on the doorknob and turning around just in time to watch Inej swing gracefully from the rafters of his ceiling and drop down to his bed.

“No, they’re going over the books tonight, so they’ll be busy for a few hours at least,”

“Wylan’s books take hours to go over?” Kaz asked, leaning against the wall to take the weight off his bad leg.

“No,” Inej replied “But the boys tend to get distracted by...paperwork and usually have to start over,”

It took Kaz longer than he’d ever admit to understand her meaning, but once he had he merely quirked a single, bemused eyebrow at her. Something hungry and desperate twisted its way through Kaz’s stomach when Inej smiled wryly back at him, her eyes flitting to his collar. “What business?”

“I’ve been reading up on cannons.” Inej began, her face a picture of concentration. “Specht and I are going to be taking a few people we’ve been eyeing for our crew out on the water sometime in the next few weeks to practice. We aren’t going far, just far enough to where the cannon fodder won’t send other ships into a panic. We want to see if they can work well as a team before we commit to hiring them.”

“A wise decision,” Kaz agreed, ignoring the way his heart seized within his chest. It made him happy she would have her freedom, but the thought of losing her to the sea always left an ache.

“I wanted to extend an invitation to you,” the confidence Kaz had grown so used to seeing in Inej’s shoulders melted away, she pulled out a knife, turning it over in her hand. “to join us on that trip. I thought you might want to be there to ensure your...investment is taking form the way you’d hoped it would,”

“It wasn’t an in-” Kaz swallowed the rest of the sentence. It wasn’t an investment. He thought, don’t you know this was all for you? “How long will you be gone?”

“Not long, a day, maybe two.”

“When you have the dates secured, let me know, I’ll see if I can make the time,” He knew already he would make the time.

Inej nodded, a glint of something in her eye “And you? What business?”

“I have a job for you,” Kaz took this as an excuse to get closer to Inej, moving toward his desk and stretching out his leg. “I recently came into the possession of some ledgers,”

“You can use the word ‘stole’ Kaz, I’m not the stadwatch ,”

“They have the names of all the ships that have docked in the harbor, the captain, and their cargo,” Kaz continued, “I was looking through it for leads on slavers when I noticed something,” Inej untangled her limbs, and pushed herself upward, walking over to Kaz’s desk. Kaz had forgotten how comfortable it felt to have her by his side. “There’s a ship that keeps appearing, but it never stays for long. It docks at last light, and it departs first thing in the morning. I’ve looked at the dates of it’s arrival,” Kaz handed Inej the first of the ledgers, she took it from him without a word, scanning the pages in search of the same patterns he had found.

“The Sankta ?” Inej hissed and Kaz could hear the disgust on her tongue.

“I thought that might catch your eye,” he opened another ledger, pointing to the name of the ship and the dates it had docked in Ketterdam. “It comes in every six months or so, and when it does the population in the Barrel always seems to increase. The clubs start advertising more heavily, the pleasure houses start getting more traffic,”

“You think they’re smuggling people into the city?”

“I don’t know for certain what they’re trading, the ledger has different cargo listed every time. And the Captain...I’ve never heard of them before.” Inej placed the ledger in her hand back down on the desk, leaning in closer. Her braid fell down across her shoulder, barely an inch from Kaz’ face. Focus . “If the pattern holds they should be docking here in-”

“Three days?” Inej finished for him, reaching for the second ledger. Her fingers brushed against his gloves, her forearm against his jacket. Kaz lost all sense of time and place, despite the warmth of the room and the floor beneath his feet. One second he was in the Slat and the next he was cold and drowning. Inej was saying something, something like “tell him”, maybe? But he wasn’t quite sure, there was cotton in his ears, his heart was in his throat. There was water rising around his ankles.

“Kaz?” He heard her voice, far off, like a siren calling him to shore. He did not trust himself to speak, as it was he struggled to find breath “Kaz!”

He slammed back into himself, pressing one hand flat against his desk, wrapping the other around the head of his cane so tightly his knuckles went white beneath his gloves. Solid wood and solid metal, no flesh or water in sight, this was always how it went. The place beside him where Inej had been was empty, she had retreated, pressed herself up against the wall, her hands behind her back.

“I’m sorry, I-,” Kaz would have done anything to wipe away her guilt. “I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to-”

“I wasn’t prepared,” he said, unable to look her in the eye, to admit to the weakness they both knew that he carried.

“I know,”

“I didn’t expect-”

“I know,” Inej interrupted. “Does the Sankta change the Berth it docks on?”

“No,” Kaz would never have the words to express the gratitude he felt at her diversion. He turned slightly in his seat, pretending to study the documents in front of him. Pretending like every cell in his body wasn’t honed in on Inej. On the way she was looking at him, distracting him once again with talk of plots and schemes, intangible actions that would let him fly high above the harbor he was drowning in. “It uses the same Berth every time.”

“Do we know who that dock belongs to?”

“It’s paid for by the Council, it’s designated for public use,”

“I’ll see what information I can gather,” Inej said and Kaz nodded, trying to force the image of Jordie out of his head. “Goodnight, Kaz,” Inej whispered after a moment, and though he did not hear her footsteps, he felt her absence immediately.

Where the water had been, regret replaced it. He balled his hand into a fist and closed his eyes. “Wait!” he called out after her, turning around slowly to not seem overeager. Inej was frozen, partway out his window. He felt picked apart with the way her gaze fell upon him, her eyebrows knit together, her face desperate and searching. Whatever unease still lingered in the center of his stomach, whatever terror still wrapped around his ankles, it fell away at the sight of Inej, sitting here on his window sill, backlit by moonlight and held up by hope.

At some point the fear of what her touch would bring him was dampened by his need to hold her close. He was broken and crooked and the most unworthy man, but he needed Inej to know it wasn’t her fault. Wanted her to know that he was trying to push the pieces of himself back together, into someone, something she would not be ashamed to love.

When Kaz and Nina had broken into the morgue all those months ago, he had powered through his fear with thoughts of Inej; the warmth of her skin, the sound of her voice. But as every second in that room of corpses passed them by, Kaz had forced Inej from his mind, not wanting to taint his memories of her with the scent of death. Kaz had believed for so long that the foolish little boy he had been had died in the harbor, but as his eyes fell upon Inej now, he knew he had been wrong. He had carried Kaz Rietveld with him every day of his life, and had pulled that doe eyed little fool to the surface on the back of his brother’s bloated body with every touch since then.

He’d learned very quickly what it meant to be weak in The Barrel. The Barrel starved, and beat, and stole all the kindness and compassion and love out of those unlucky enough to build a life inside it. Weakness got you killed, so Kaz had buried his weaknesses so deep they had turned themselves into shadows. He had kept them there in the dark for so long they had grown claws and teeth, they had become so rabid, so feral that Kaz was finding it harder and harder to keep them locked away.

But maybe he didn’t have to anymore. Because now he had the Wraith, he had Inej, and Inej made him strong. Inej made him wish for things he had convinced himself he could never have. Perhaps if he tried it, if he tried it enough, to touch her, to put her hand in his, to let her rest her head against his shoulder, to...to kiss her, he could finally put the little boy in the harbor to rest. Yes, he would drown his fear beneath the tidal wave that was Inej, he would burn away the memories of corpses against his flesh with the warmth of her skin against his.

“I want to try again,” it pained him to admit to it, it thrilled him to have said it. Kaz failed to keep his heart beat steady when Inej planted her feet firmly back into his room, and closed the window.

“Try what again?” she asked, stalking forward until there was nothing more than breath between them. Kaz studied the head of his cane, his skin prickled with the thought of what she’d feel like in his hands.

“I-” He dared a glance at her, she was ethereal, she was calculating, she was Inej and the rest of Kaz’s wish was lost with his nerve.

“Kaz, tell me,” Inej leaned forward, Kaz leaned back. He clenched his jaw, locked himself away behind his mask. “Tell me what you want,” He could feel the way she looked at him, like she’d created her own gravity and he’d collapsed beneath it. But he couldn’t make himself form words, it had taken everything he’d had to say something the first time, to show her such weakness again would surely break him. When Inej spoke there was an edge to her voice that was sharper than her knives. “Say it, Kaz. For once in your life just...say what you’re thinking. There is no one else here but us. There’s no one else to see you, to hear you treat me like you actually care.”

Kaz hung his head in shame, it was a fair blow, but that didn’t stop him from shattering into a million pieces at the acknowledgement of all the times he’d failed her. “I want to take my armor off.” He forced himself to meet her eye. “I want to beat this, I will beat this. Will you help me?”

They’d done this little dance for months now, the day on the docks, when he’d shown Inej her ship, he’d managed to hold her hand for a whole five minutes without sinking below the waves. He’d tried a couple times since then, with various levels of success. Some days he’d managed to throw his arm around her, others just the thought of her face caused him to tug on his gloves.

“Of course I’ll help you, Kaz, you only had to ask,” Kaz committed that smile of hers to memory. “Are you ready?” Inej asked.

No. Kaz steadied himself and straightened his posture “Yes,”

They started slowly, Inej resting her palm on the back of his gloved hand, Kaz took a deep breath, he could do this, he was fine. Inej’s fingers curled around his hand, she pressed their palms together. Kaz pushed the water away. She laced their fingers together, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You okay?”

“Fine,”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes,”

Kaz wasn’t sure what kind of sound he made when Inej began to tug the gloves from his hands. She froze, looking up at him, reading him the way only she could. She dropped her hand, Kaz wanted to reach for it, but he let it fall away. “I’m sorry, did you want to do it?”

“No, it’s- no one else ever has,” Kaz cleared his throat, biting back a smile at the way Inej’s cheeks flushed. Tentatively, Inej continued, it took a lifetime to complete her task, it took a second. The metal of his cane was cold against his fingertips, for the first time in a long time it no longer felt comforting. He reached out with his other hand, and gently Inej took it, her palm against the top of his bare hand. It felt like fire, but Kaz preferred the burn to the icy harbor he had always known. His breath caught in his throat, Inej continued until their hands were pressed palm to palm.

“Breathe,” Inej whispered, Kaz exhaled and peace rushed in to fill his lungs. She interlaced their fingers, the water started in. Think of her . Kaz clenched his jaw. Think of that day at the docks . Kaz faltered when Inej wrapped her other hand around his wrist, the one that held his cane. He thought that she might pull their hands away, and though he was not a man of faith, he thanked every Saint he knew that she kept her hold on him.

She repeated the pattern, gripping his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder with all his layers on. He kept his breathing purposeful, controlled, his eyes trained on the wall for fear he would look at Inej and see a corpse standing in her place. She slid her hand from his shoulder to his chest, he hoped she could not feel his heartbeat. He nearly lost his footing when her arm went to his waist. He was impossibly warm, sweat had started beading at his temples, he gripped his cane a little tighter.

Inej released his hand and a weight Kaz hadn’t realized was upon him disintegrated in his chest. But it returned in a flash when Inej began to pull off his coat. “Saints,” he whispered. “Why won’t it stop ?” he hadn’t meant to say it, he hadn’t meant for it to send Inej shuffling backward, too far away for him to grasp.

“It takes time, Kaz,” Inej replied, tossing his coat on the bed, taking a tentative step forward, then another when Kaz responded in kind. She brushed her fingers against his shirt sleeve at the wrist, it was an apology and a question. “You can’t kill this kind of monster in a day,” she traced a line up to his elbow. “It took me months,” Inej said, so simply that it knocked his world out of alignment and he had to take a step backward to right himself. Inej reacted on instinct, clutched his shoulders to make sure he did not fall.

“I’m not strong enough,” Kaz blurted out, hoping that if he spoke, he could force the feeling of rotting flesh out of his mind. “I’m not as strong as you,”

“That’s not true,” Inej ran her fingers across his chest and down to his waist. “My weakness just wasn’t visible, yours is,” she unbuttoned his vest, Kaz hadn’t even noticed and the implication of that made his stomach do a somersault. “When someone touches you, you are present, aware.” She continued her pattern, hands going back to his wrist, making sure he could anticipate where her next move was going to be. “Me? I disappeared,” Kaz caught her eye, and threw his thought away. He refused to pity her, he knew she wouldn’t want that. “I looked calm and collected, but no one knew what it was doing to me, to shake their hand or have their arms around me,”

She smiled at him, unrestrained and brilliant, and he looked down to realize he had his hand upon her waist, her arms wrapped around his in kind. This felt like a victory, it felt like a curse. Against the roughness of her jacket, his hand began to tremble. She stepped away, he didn’t want her to, but it was exactly what he needed.

“Your tie,” Inej stated, and Kaz could have worshipped her right then, for understanding that if she had brought her hand up to his neck, he might not survive the evening. He undid his tie, though the tightness in his throat did not relent. He unbuttoned his shirt, hoping that the action would steady his hand. He was feeling light-headed but he wasn’t drowning...yet. He wiped the sweat from his brow, ran a hand through his hair, forced his anxiety out with a breath. He had never gotten this far with her before.

Inej repeated the rhythm: wrist, elbow, shoulders. Her hand was Jordie’s hand, her flesh was Jordie’s flesh. His chest, his waist. The waters started rising, coming in with the strength of a flood. Inej could sense the change in him immediately, “Tell me about the tattoo,” Inej said, he did not want her hand on him anymore, he needed it to stay so he could keep trying. He knew why she was asking, she knew he needed a distraction, and he chuckled darkly because she did not know that this particular question serveed an opposite purpose.

“Not tonight,” But someday .

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,”

Her hand has been in his for seconds, minutes, days, long enough that Kaz let himself hope that one day he could be rid of this. This ghost of his brother, the phantom of his skin, slipping underneath his hand, his chest, his face. Carefully, never breaking eye contact, Inej brought his hand up to her lips, Kaz focused on his breathing, on the moonlight spilling across Inej’s plait. Kaz tasted salt on his tongue, no not salt, iron. His vision went blurry, and he lost the shape of Inej as a result. This was unbearable, but he was desperate for more, it was easier this way. Feeling her lips against his skin, instead of her skin beneath his lips. She pressed another kiss to the creases of his palm, to his wrist. This felt nothing like a corpse, but the traces of her lips burned like ice, like water.

“I never asked you,” Kaz began, relaxing the tension in his jaw “Are you okay with this?”

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to be doing,” she whispered against his forearm, lips brushing the dark ink of his Dregs tattoo. He flexed the hand that held his cane, releasing some of the stiffness in his knuckles. She continued her familiar path across his body, through the smoke of Reaper’s Barge Kaz noticed she took care to avoid the R tattooed to his bicep when she kissed him there.

His whole body was alight, electrified, dying. He could smell death in his nose, he could feel the warmth of Inej’s body wash over him. He was tired, he was treading water, knowing any minute he could drown. He saw Jordie’s face, swollen, purple, eyes cloudy, No. He thought of Inej, of her laughter, her smile, of her voice whispering his name. Kaz Rietveld and Kaz Brekker were at war with one another, and right now, he wasn’t sure who would win. He should tell her to stop, but he didn’t want her to.

Inej took another step in, her hands balling into fists. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to be doing . She had just told him that, but he saw her now, saw how tightly she carried herself. He’d been so caught up in his own head, he hadn’t realized she’d been trying to shed her armor too. She leaned in, and Kaz was back in a hotel bathroom, she paused mere inches from his chest, sucked in one shaking breath, and ran her lips against his collar bone.

The current pulled him under; Kaz Rietveld had won again. Sudden, uncontrollable panic seized within his chest, snapping the leash to which he tied his weaknesses. They ran him over, all snarls and teeth and claws, turning him into something wild and furious. Before he could control himself, before he was even fully conscious of what was happening, he had flung his arms outward, pushing Inej away from him. “Stop,”

Inej, working to quiet her own demons had not been expecting this outburst from Kaz, she lost her footing, stumbling backward, and though she did not fall, Ghafa’s never fall , she did slam the back of her knee into the hard metal of Kaz’s bed frame. Inej cried out, more out of shock than out of pain. Desperation, horror, fury, regret pulled Kaz further under, the room was spinning, the moonlight hurt his eyes. Kaz caught himself on the edge of his desk, fumbling frantically for the waste basket he kept there, the cold metal of it in his hands bringing the briefest moment of comfort before he was vomiting up his dinner.

“Kaz?” Inej’s voice was sturdy, grounding, calm, but he could not turn to face her.

Inej

Kaz Brekker had gone by many names, and Inej had heard them all, whispered fearfully through the streets of Ketterdam by cowardly men. Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. Inej had spent so many nights on this city’s rooftops, seen only by the stars, listening in on the conversations that twisted up to her like crow feathers in the wind. She knew what people thought of him, he held a place amongst the most dangerous and feared of men. To some he was a bogeyman, to all he was a threat. And though she had seen him do terrible, violent things it still sent a sharp bolt of surprise crackling through her body whenever she heard the word “monster” following his name.

That monster stood before her now, leaning against his desk. Trusting her enough to turn away, to leave himself defenseless in her presence. Not trusting her enough to show his face. He was sweating, and in the light that spilled from the lamp upon his desk, Inej could see his hands twitching with the slightest tremor. She knew he was slipping, knew he was trying desperately to pull his armor on. But she was not here for Dirtyhands, and she had no time tonight for bastards. She thought about those names, the truths they carried with them. Could they really be titles for the man she was watching now? A boy who could not look her in the eye? No, the person that stood, half naked and shaking in this tiny little room, was neither of those things. This, she realized, this was simply

“Kaz,” she tried again.

“Leave,” and if she had known him any less she would have thought that he was serious.

“No,”

“Inej,” She was never sure how he could do that, how he could make her feel coveted and worshipped just by saying her name “ please ?” and his voice became a quiet, broken thing.

“No.” She said again, gentle as the breeze “I will not leave you, not like this,”

“I don’t want to see you,” it wasn’t a lie,

“You did great, Kaz, you’re making progress, ” and so was she, though she wasn’t sure Kaz realized it.

“Inej, get out,” he hissed, as if it hurt him to say the words.

“Why?”

He stiffened, and she bit back a smirk he hadn’t been expecting that . “I-” he hung his head.

She knew he didn’t have a reason, not one that he would admit to anyway “Is it because you don’t want me to see you like this? Because you’re worried you can’t give me what I want?” She tried to dampen the delight that bubbled in her chest, when she watched blotches of red blush paint the back of Kaz’s neck and spill down across his shoulder blades. “Is it because you feel ashamed?”

Kaz screamed with a rage she had seen up close only twice, a wild, guttural thing. When he got like this, destruction usually followed in his wake. As if on cue, Kaz slammed his hands down on the table, sweeping everything that rested there- every half drawn blueprint, ledger, and plan -onto the floor. His lantern tumbled with it as did a small wind up dog toy Kaz always kept sitting at his desk. The force of their impact caused both to shatter, sending pieces of glass and metal skidding across the hard wood floors. The paperwork took longer to fall, floating gently in the air around him like snow.

Kaz finally turned to face her, fury exploding behind his eyes. He wanted a fight, but Inej would never give him that satisfaction. When the dust settled, the anger that had possessed him had begun to burn low, confusion taking control of his posture and his brow when he finally saw Inej.

She had crossed her arms and tried her best to look bored. Based on his reaction it may have been working. “You can’t scare me away, Kaz,” It was the wrong thing to say, but it’s what he needed to hear.

The fire that flickered behind his eyes turned to ice, “I am the Bastard of the Barrel,” Kaz spit, stalking toward her, making sure to punctuate his words with the tapping of his cane against the wood. “I brought down Pekka Rollins, I conned Jan Van Eck, I broke into the Ice Court and made it out alive. Men run when they see me coming, parents tell their children I’ll steal them away in the night if they do not behave.” Kaz only stopped when her back was to a wall. He wanted her to feel cornered, he wanted her to feel trapped. On any other night, that may have worked, but she knew this was an act, and she had maneuvered herself so she was near the window, and he hadn’t seemed to notice.  “I scare who I damn well please,”

Inej could not hold back anymore, she hadn’t meant to do it, but she started to laugh. “That’s good,” Kaz blinked in surprise, his posture shifting, his grip loosening on his cane. She took a step forward, he took a step back. “I can see how that would work on most people. But I know you Kaz. Sure, you took down Pekka and Jan Van Eck...with help,” she took another step forward, reveling in Kaz’s retreat. “But you’ve also fainted in a carriage, nearly drowned in Djel’s river, and got embarrassed when Jesper’s Dad caught you two in a fist fight.” Kaz ducked his head to hide the redness rushing to his cheeks. She took another step forward, he ceded his territory. “You got good at palming cards and picking pockets not because you planned for a life of crime, but because you like magic tricks . You’ve lost a hat in every corner of Ketterdam,” Kaz lost his footing, his knees buckled beneath him, sending him tumbling onto his bed. With nowhere left for him to go, Inej smirked, and leaned in just far enough so he could hear her whisper. “And, when you wake up in the morning, your hair sticks up to one side. Jesper and I pretend not to notice, but we both think it’s adorable,”

Inej spun gracefully on her heel, gliding back towards the window, because she was not cruel and did not want Kaz to suffer...she didn’t want Kaz to suffer much . Kaz glowered at her, but seemed to otherwise have calmed. “You know,” Inej said when the silence grew too heavy. “I’ve been afraid of a lot of people since I came to Ketterdam,”

“Even Jesper?” Kaz asked eventually, she could tell from the cadence of his voice he was exhausted.

“Especially Jesper” Inej trusted Jesper with her life, he had brought so much chaos and joy into her world. But he was kind and charming in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Inej had had too many clients come to her, all smiles and compassion. Jesper scared her because she knew what kind and charming men could do. Kaz flinched and looked away.

“But not me?”

“No,” Inej wanted to touch his cheek, to smooth the worry that lined his forehead “Never you,”

Slowly, deliberately, Kaz stood. Inej’s breath caught in her throat when her eyes met his. He looked paler than usual, and maybe a little green, but his hands were still, his stance was steadier. He had locked his thoughts away, no emotion showing on his face, but there was a shine in his eyes Inej had seen before, when Kaz was trying to let go of hope. He quirked a single eyebrow at her, a challenge.

“I’ve been scared for you,” she admitted. “I’ve been scared to disappoint you, I’ve been scared of what it would do to me to lose you.” Inej stepped forward, already knowing what would happen, knowing that Kaz, having slipped away once already, would take a step back. But instead he stood rooted in place, his grip tightening ever so slightly on his cane.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve never looked at me the way everyone else does.” She considered the weight of the words on her tongue. “One day at The Menagare would have been enough to show me what kind of place Ketterdam truly was, and I spent a year inside it’s walls. I’ve collapsed beneath a million broken promises, but never yours. I’ve heard a million gentle lies, but never from you. I have felt a million….unwanted hands,” Inej wanted to shrink away into the shadows, but she refused to show her weakness, she refused to look away. Like magnets they were pulling toward each other until they were sharing the same air, until they were standing as each other’s equals in the center of the room. Inej held out her hand, not a demand, not a question, but a wish. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest when Kaz, without a moment’s hesitation, took her hand. He clenched his jaw, and drew a soft line across her palm with his thumb, it was a certainty, it was a promise. “But never yours,”

Kaz cleared his throat “I haven’t been scared of anyone since Jordie died,”

“Not even Jesper?” Inej teased, because she didn’t know what else to say.

Kaz bit back a smile “Never Jesper,”

“Not even me?” It was another joke, because she’d wanted to see more of that smile.

His face fell into something powerful and serious “I’ve always been scared of you, Inej,” she knew how much it must have taken for him to have admitted it. “From the moment you snuck up on me with bells on,”

“Really?” she could not hold the joy she felt at bay, it spread throughout her body, warming her all the way down to her toes.

Kaz nodded.

“But I was nothing then,”

“You have always been something.” Kaz corrected. “Back then you were Silence,”

“And now?” her eyes kept falling to his lips.

“You…” Kaz continued, leaning down, sending Inej’s heart into a frenzy she was worried she could never tame “should be going home,”

Inej scoffed, Kaz’s walls slipped down just long enough to let a small chuckle pass his lips. She would tuck that away in her memory, a look into the boy he could have been, a minute of vulnerability all for her. “That’s not fair! I told you mine!” If it had been Jesper standing in front of her, Inej would have backhanded his shoulder. But this was Kaz and he had done a lot tonight, she didn’t want to push her luck. Especially when she was enjoying this feeling of his hand in hers, she wasn’t looking to ruin it. “Come on Kaz,” she whispered, “why are you scared of me?”

He chewed his lip, and she could see the gears turning in his head, the debate he was conducting. Should he tell her the truth? Or keep his feelings a mystery and send her away. She was getting tired of being sent away. “Because I trust you.” Kaz said. “Because, you make me want to tell you everything. We deal in secrets, Inej, because we know that information can be more valuable than money. You’ve learned my patterns, you know my mind, you could unravel everything I have built with a single word to the right person,”

It was true, but it hurt. She pulled her hand from his, and regretted it. “You think that I would?”

“No,” he said it so fast, so sure that it knocked the air out of her lungs, it tore her voice from her throat. “And that is why you scare me. Because I know that thought has never crossed your mind.” He tugged gently at the bottom of her braid, twisting it around in his fingers. This was a system they had worked out months ago, for when Kaz wanted to be physical but the feeling of her skin was too much. “You are kinder and stronger than I will ever be and I am scared that-” he dropped her braid, placed both his hands atop his cane, and broke eye contact. “I am scared that you will finally see yourself for everything you are and know I am not worthy of your time or loyalty.”

“Kaz,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. Because she couldn’t say I love you . The tension in the room, the cord that pulled the two of them together, was severed by the tolling of a clock.

Kaz broke first, eyes skirting to the city stretched out below them. “Goodnight, Inej,” he whispered, his voice rougher than usual.

“Goodnight,” she managed, slipping out of his window and vanishing into the night. Kaz watched her go until he could not feel her presence any longer, then he turned, and started picking up his mess. When Kaz woke the next morning, his heart stuttered in his chest. Sitting in the middle of his desk was a brand new wind up dog toy and laying next to it, reflecting the early morning sun was a geranium made out of glass.

[prettyboyjackhughes]

-Little Crosby- |D. Cozens| [Part 1]

It’s finally here! @workhorsefromwhitehorse24​ and I have been working on this for a while now and I can honestly say that this is probably my favorite thing we’ve collaborated on! This was a little outside my comfort zone but I enjoyed writing it so much! Hope you enjoy! Let us know what you think!!

“Ava Grace I’m home!” Dad calls from downstairs. I sit up and grab my sweatshirt off of the floor. 

“Coming!” I say as I pull it over my head and run out into the hall. I attempt to make it down the stairs without dying but almost fail as I get to the bottom step. “Whoops! Sorry!” I yell as I knock one of the pictures off the wall. He stands in the kitchen doorway and watches me, amused, as I fix the picture then turn to face him, a grin on my face. He had been gone for 2 weeks on a 5 game road trip, resulting in the Penguins going 4-1. Dad scored a pair of goals in the first two games. But sadly, it wasn’t enough of a push to get them to the playoffs. 

“Hi Daddy!” I say, running to hug him. He lifts me off the ground and kisses the top of my head. Dad and I have always been super close. It’s been just him and I for years. Ever since I was born, it’s just been Dad and I. Grandma and Grandpa were always in the picture too, along with Aunt Taylor. The 4 of them have been my entire world and my family for the past 17 years. My mom has never been in the picture since she and Dad had me when they were super young, before Dad was in the NHL. Dad had moved from Nova Scotia by himself when he was 15, down to Faribault, Minnesota. Mom and Dad met within his first week of school. Dad tells me I look just like her but from what I can tell, the older I get, the more I look like Dad. But basically one thing turned to another, Dad had his first taste of freedom, being away from his parents and all, and 9 months later, I was born. As soon as Grandma and Grandpa found out, they moved Taylor and everything else down to be with my dad and help out with me. But one Saturday, Mom dropped me off with Dad and told him she had decided she wanted more than raising a baby and my dad so she left me with Dad and left. I’ve never heard from her, except for one birthday card when I turned 6. Grandma and Grandpa raised me alongside Taylor until Dad’s first season in the NHL. That’s when he moved me to Pittsburgh with him. I mean, before he was in the NHL, he made sure that he was a part of my life and made sure I knew that I was his little girl. But it hasn’t really been that big of a deal that Mom hasn’t been in the picture since I’ve had Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, and Aunt Taylor, plus all of Dad’s teammates through the years. It’s been a ride, having a dad like I do. I mean, he’s pretty much the face of the NHL and one of the greatest players to ever play hockey, being Sidney Crosby and all. Everywhere we go, he gets recognized so it was always hard for him to come to my things as I was growing up. But he always made sure that someone was there for me, whether it was one of my grandparents or Aunt Taylor. But even through all of that, my dad is my best friend. I’ve never needed anyone else. 

“I missed you so much!” He says, setting me down and looking at me. I smile and nod.

“I missed you too! Nice set of goals by the way. Sorry about the playoffs...” I say, smiling as he walks into the kitchen. He shrugs as I follow him into the kitchen and sit down at the table, watching him wander around the kitchen, making one of his shakes he always drinks.

“It was a long two weeks for sure, but I’m glad I have you to come home too.” I nod and smile.

“Oh Sweetheart, before I forget, we’re going up to Toronto next weekend for the Leafs’ first playoff game, for your birthday. We’ll spend two weeks up in Toronto.” The Penguins missed out on the playoffs, ending their season early. But my Leafs made it to the first round of the playoffs. He smiles as my face lights up. The Toronto Maple Leafs are my favorite team. As disappointed as Dad was in me when he found out, he still supports it, just happy that I like hockey. My favorite player is Mitch Marner, which is a player Dad approves of. He raised me on the ice, around his team and made sure I loved hockey as much as he does. I played for 6 years but I decided I liked watching hockey better than playing. 

“Really? We are?” I say, giddy. 

“Yep, I think Tanger and Geno are going to come with us. I invited Taylor too, figured we could make a whole vacation of the trip. We can go out to dinner, shopping, all the fun, girly stuff you love. Oh and there’s a surprise flying out to see you too.” Kris Letang and Evgeni Malkin are Dad’s alternate captains and my honorary uncles. Up until about 4 years ago, I had 3 honorary uncles. Marc-André Fleury, the Penguins' goalie and now the Vegas Golden Knights’ goalie was the third. He and Dad are still close which means he still claims the third honorary uncle spot. When he got married in 2012, I was the flower girl. I’ve actually been in all 3 of my “uncle’s” weddings. They’ve been a huge part of my life since I was little, even when Dad was trying to keep me out of the spotlight.  I smile, pushing my hair out of my face. I think the thing that everyone always finds so interesting about Dad and I, is that he did such a good job keeping me out of the spotlight up until I was old enough to understand what was going on. But as soon as I started going to events with him, everyone knew I was his daughter. I mean, I look and act like a female version of Dad so it makes perfect sense that I’m his daughter.

“Ava girl, do you want to see if one of your friends wants to come with us? Might be a little boring to spend your birthday weekend with a bunch of old people.” Dad says, finally sitting down with his gross shake. I nod and laugh, thinking of who I could invite. I go to Shady Side Academy in downtown Pittsburgh, which is a big, fancy private school. There’s a little over 1,100 kids that go to my school, but only about 70 of them are in my grade. 

“Oh, I’ll invite Carter. Let me text her and see if she can go.” Carter James has been my best friend since 2nd grade. She’s my total opposite and somehow, it works. 

“Okay Honey. I’m going to go lay down for a little bit. Our flight left pretty early this morning so I’m pretty tired. Go ahead and order something for dinner. Anything but pizza please.” I pout a little, my bottom lip jutting out. He smiles and drops a kiss on the top of my head as he walks out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I walk out to the living room and flop on the couch, getting on my phone to watch Tik Tok for a while. Suddenly, the door to the house flies open and my Aunt Taylor waltzes in.

“Hello my absolute favorite niece in the entire world!” She calls, dumping her purse and everything in her hands onto the bench by the door. Grandma decorated the entire house. Dad was going to hire a decorator but Grandma insisted and somehow, Dad ended up liking what she did with the place. 

“I’m your only niece so I hope I’m your favorite. But hey Aunt Tay. What’s up?” I asked, sitting up.

“Nothing much. Just came home to drive my big brother crazy and talk about your birthday trip with you. How excited are you? Hey wait, isn’t it your 18th birthday?” I smile and nod again. Aunt Tay is a little scatterbrained and once forgot how old I was turning and bought me a 13th birthday card. I was turning 11. But of course, she always means well and loves me a ton. 

“Carter is coming with us. Do you know what the surprise is? Dad just told me there is one but didn’t say anything else.” Taylor grins as she nods.

“I’m not telling you but just know this, you’re gonna be really really excited.” She says, sitting down on the couch by my feet. 

“So how’s things at school? Still thinking about going to UPenn?” She asks, tapping her thumb against my knee. I sigh.

“Ugh I don’t know anymore. I fell in love with UPenn when I visited there with Grandma last fall but I don’t know if I want to be that far away from everyone. I mean, it’s only 4 hours but going from how things are now to that? That’s a lot to process.” She nods, watching me. 

“Well Honey, you know your dad would make sure you had a car on campus and everything. So you can always come back home and visit. But I mean, it’s been you and your dad since you were a baby. Maybe it’s time to go out on your own a little?” I cringe a little at the thought.

“I don’t wanna leave!” I say, falling into Taylor’s lap and drawing out the end of the word. She laughs and smooths my hair down. 

“We’ll figure something out. You’ve still got time, Ava Grace.” She says and somehow, those words make all the anxiety I have about college and everything else coming up in my future fade to a dull roar instead of the screams it has been for the past couple weeks. I’ve always been able to talk to Dad about anything which is why he and I have such a good relationship now. But the one thing I haven’t been able to talk to him about is college. Dad went straight from high school into the NHL. He always claims to understand but I’m pretty sure it just confuses him sometimes. 

“Okay you two, it’s very hard to sleep when all I can hear is laughing and carrying on.” Dad says, coming back downstairs. 

“Yeah yeah, keep it down, Patrick.” Taylor says, looking up at Dad. Dad hates being called by his middle name which is why Taylor calls him that. He rolls his eyes and bats her hand away as she reaches up to poke him. When the two of them are together, Grandma always says they act like they did when they were little. 

“Have you girls figured out everything for us leaving on Thursday? Ava, is Carter going with us?” I grab my phone off the arm of the couch and turn it on, quickly reading the notifications on the screen.

“Yeah she’s going. And she’s gonna be here in 3, 2, 1!” I count down as the door bursts open again. Carter and my Aunt Taylor are two peas in a pod. They’re practically the same person which is why I love them both so much.

 “Hello Crosby family!” She shouts, sliding across the floor and landing on top of me.

“Oh this is going to be a long two weeks.” Dad says, laughing and rubbing his forehead. 

“So we’re going to Toronto for your 18th birthday? And to see the love of your life? Hell yeah this is going to be a great trip.” Carter says, looking up at me. 

“Okay, Carter James, slow down please.” I say, patting her head. 

“Wait, isn’t the legal drinking age in Canada, 18?” Carter asks, sitting up and looking at Dad.

“Oh my God Sidney Patrick. You’re taking your daughter to Canada to drink for her 18th birthday?” Taylor says, looking over at Dad with a smirk on her face. 

“Taylor Jane, you’d better cut it out or you’re not going anymore.” He says, shaking his finger at her. Carter and I laugh and Taylor rolls her eyes.

“She’s responsible enough to handle this. You two are the ones I have to worry about.” Dad says, pointing at Carter and Aunt Taylor. 

“Tanger and Geno are going too? Oh this is going to be a blast!” Taylor says, rubbing her hands together and grinning evilly. Dad’s head drops into his hands and the 3 of us burst out laughing. Carter and I spend the rest of the evening planning our trip out while Dad and Aunt Taylor watch the St. Cloud game. The week leading up to our trip to Toronto flies by, but my excitement for the game only builds. It’s not the first time I’ve been to a Leafs game, nor is it the first time I’ve gotten to watch my favorite player play. But it’s happening on my 18th birthday and that makes it even more exciting. 

Thursday morning, two days before my birthday, Carter wakes me up by bouncing on my bed. 

“We’re leaving today!” She sings, bouncing more. I roll over and groan. 

“Carter James, it’s too early!” I say, shoving her. She laughs at me and I sit up.

“Come on, we’re going to dinner with the love of your life tonight!” She says. I jump out of bed and look at her, eyes wide. I’m 100% a Mitch Marner fan girl. Carter thinks it’s hilarious but she’s the exact same way for Patrick Kane. We ran into him at the Stanley Cup Finals one year and she was speechless. 

“What are you talking about? Dinner with who?” I ask. Dad walks in and is now standing in my doorway.

“I called in a few favors and we’re going to dinner with Mitch Marner and Morgan Rielly tonight. How does that sound?” He says, as my mouth drops open.

“Oh my God thank you thank you Daddy!” I say, running over to hug him. He smiles and Carter laughs. 

“She’s gonna faint as soon as she sees him. Total freak out.” Carter says, crossing her arms and laughing. 

“I am not! I’ll be perfectly fine. It’s just another hockey player. Not like I’m in love with him or anything.” I say, pointing at her. She rolls her eyes and we both laugh.

“Where my favorite birthday girl?” I hear a deep voice call from downstairs.

“Geno, it’s too early for you to be this loud. Shut up.” I hear Taylor say.

“I take it G and Tanger just got here?” Dad calls and Taylor groans in response. 

“Alright girls get ready and we’ll leave in a little over an hour. Go down and say hi to everyone first though.” I nod and follow Dad downstairs, Carter tagging along behind me. 

“Hi Uncle Geno, Uncle Kris!” I say, running to hug both of them as they stand up from where they were sitting on the couch. Taylor is taking up the other end of the couch, facedown in a pillow. “Are you excited for your birthday trip?” Kris asks, patting my back as he hugs me.

“I’m so excited. Do you know what my surprise is? Dad still won’t tell me.” Geno laughs, still too loud for Taylor apparently because a pillow goes flying across the room and just misses his head.

“Tay, go drink some coffee please, you’re being a brat right now.” Dad says, patting her head.

“I know surprise. You like a lot.” Geno says, crossing his arms and looking down at me. I raise an eyebrow. I’ve been the victim of one of Dad’s surprises before and let’s just say he doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to surprises. 

“Is it bad that I’ve been your best friend for 12 years and I still can’t understand what he’s saying?” Carter asks, leaning over to me. I laugh and Geno looks between the two of us.

“Who you? You Ava’s best friend?” Carter rolls her eyes and nudges Geno, who laughs again and hugs her. “Alright, Little Crosby, let’s get this show on the road.” Kris says, pointing towards the stairs. I smile and rush upstairs to get dressed and grab my bags. I pick out a pair of black leggings and a peach colored Adidas sweatshirt. I change into the clothes and put my pajamas in the dirty clothes. I put on mascara quickly, finishing everything off with some lip gloss. I grab my Birkenstocks and slip them on. 

“Okay, I’m ready!” I call as I drag my bag down the stairs behind me. I again attempt not to die on my way down the stairs. But yet again, I fail.

 “Oh God, Little Crosby.” Kris says, somehow managing to catch me as I trip down the last 3 steps. 

“Your daughter is a human wrecking ball. You know that, right Sid?” Dad laughs and nods.

“I haven’t killed myself yet. So far, we’re safe.” Everyone laughs and I smile. All these people filling this house are my entire family. They’ve raised me and I wouldn’t be who I am without all of them. 

“Okay, let’s get going! Our flight leaves in 45 minutes!” Dad calls, attempting to herd us all towards the door. Taylor has finally had her coffee and returned to the world of the living. 

“Toronto here we come!” She calls as we all get out the door and into the two cars we’re taking. Dad locks the door behind us and turns to look at me.

“You excited, Ava Grace?” I nod and he hugs me to his side.“I hope this lives up to your idea of the perfect 18th birthday.” I laugh and nod again as we head to his car. 

The drive to the airport and the flight to Toronto are pretty boring but Kris and Taylor keep everyone entertained the whole trip. Carter finally crashed after the Red Bulls she had while we were waiting for our flight to get called in the airport, leaving me to my own thoughts pretty much the entire flight. When we land in Toronto, everyone is pretty excited for the next two weeks. 

“Little Crosby surprise time!” Geno calls from the back of our group.

“Geno, we’re still in an airport. Keep it down a little please?” Carter says, patting his arm. Dad scoffs and looks between me and Carter.

“He’s right though, your surprise is right through those doors.” Dad says, pointing towards the exit of the airport. I see Taylor pull her phone out of her pocket and start recording me. I hand my bag to Kris and look over at Geno who motions me towards the door. I walk towards the doors, which slide open. I glanced around then back at Dad and Taylor who followed me out.   

“Little Crosby!” I hear a very familiar voice yell over the buzz of the airport.

“Oh my God! Uncle Flower!” I shout, rushing towards my uncle Marc and hugging him.

“Surprise!” Dad calls, smiling as I hug Marc.

 “So you were my surprise?” I say, stepping back and looking at him.

“Yep, I was the big wonderful surprise. Hope you weren’t too disappointed.” He says, smiling as his arm rests around my shoulders.

“I figured you’d want all of your uncles here for your big 18th birthday. So we worked it out and got him here for you.” I smile, quickly hugging Dad before returning to hug Marc again. 

“Alright well, it’s time to get heading to the hotel. We’re going to dinner at 6:30 tonight. Geno, Flower and Kris are taking Tay to something that I know nothing about. And you’re okay with Carter going with us?” I nod as Marc leads us and the rest of our group to the waiting van. 

“I’m taking a nap when we get to the hotel. You woke me up too early this morning.” I say, nudging Carter as she slides into the van next to me. 

“Sounds like a plan. The Red Bull ran out.” She says, laying her head on my shoulder. The two of us manage to fall asleep on the 20 minute drive to the hotel. Geno shakes us both awake when we get to the hotel. We sleepily wander into the hotel and wait in the lobby while Dad and Tay get everything figured out. The adults herd us all over to the elevator and into it, somehow managing to get us all to the conjoined rooms we have for the next two weeks. As soon as we make it into the rooms, Carter and I collapse onto the bed we’ll be sharing and fall asleep. 

About 2 and a half hours later, Dad comes in and wakes us up.

“Girls, we have about an hour before we have to leave for dinner. Go ahead and start getting ready.” He calls as he closes the door behind him. I sit up and stretch, the excitement building in my chest all over again.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna curl my hair and wear that frilly, layered red skirt with the white sweater and my little brown boots. What about you, Carter?” I ask, looking back at her who is still laying in bed. 

“So I have to dress nice right? I think the army green pants romper thing with my jean jacket, Vans and straight hair. Sound good?” She asks, finally sitting up. I nod and get started curling my hair. She gets started on doing her makeup while I work on my hair. Somehow, we both end up being done with plenty of time left to spare. So we do what typical teenagers do and spend the extra 15 minutes we have, on our phones. Dad comes in and the two of us follow him down to the elevator and out to the car. It’s some super nice, fancy car; just like the one that lives in our garage except on home game days. Dad lets Carter play music which automatically, I can tell, he regrets as Cotton Eye Joe plays for the third time. Carter is having the time of her life and I can’t help but laugh along with her. When we get to the restaurant, it’s one Dad and I came to, back when we came to Toronto for some charity event a few years ago.

“Alright, how excited are you?” Dad asks, as he parks the car and we climb out. I squeal a little and Carter laughs. Dad smiles, draping his arm around my shoulders as I link arms with Carter. The 3 of us waltz into the restaurant and walk up to the hostess.

“Hello, Mr. Crosby. Your two guests are already seated.” I squeeze Carter’s arm and we squeal a little together. As we follow the hostess to our table, back in the back, we pass a table with two teenage boys. One looks Carter up and down, obviously checking her out, while the other locks eyes with me. I smile, forcing myself to look away as we disappear into the back, private room Dad reserved for us. 

“Holy crap, did you see those guys?” Carter whisper-yells into my ear. I nod, trying to focus on the fact that Mitch Marner is standing a few feet away from me, a grin on his face, instead of the guy I just saw.

“Hey Sid. This must be Ava and Carter. Nice to meet you girls.” Mitch says, reaching his hand out. I shake it, the smile on my face impossibly large. Morgan Rielly stands next to him and shakes our hands as well. As we all sit down, I happen to glance around the room and see that both of the boys are looking into the room. As much as I want to pay attention to what Mitch, Mo and Dad are talking about, I can’t. I’m too distracted by the boy I saw. Carter, apparently can’t either. 

“Ava, they were literally so hot. Can I please go get their numbers?” She asks, nudging me when she catches me staring again.

 “No! Dad will kill me if he catches me talking to a boy!” I whisper-yell, glancing up at Dad and Mitch. 

“Ava Grace, that could be your freaking soulmate and you’ll never know because you won’t let me go get their numbers!” I roll my eyes and glance over my shoulder at the boys’ table. Sadly, they’re gone and I sigh, looking over at Carter.

“They’re gone anyway. Not like we’re ever gonna see them again anyways.” I say, glumly, resting my chin on my hand. She shakes her head. “There went your soulmate.” I sigh, knowing she won’t let me live this down. Dad clears his throat, pulling Carter and I back to the conversation happening at the table.

“So Ava, I hear you’re a pretty big fan of mine.” Mitch says, leaning on his elbows against the table. I smile, taking in all of his features.

“Yeah, you’ve been my favorite since you came into the league. Dad’s always a little disappointed when I don’t tell people he’s my favorite player.” Mitch and Mo laugh. The rest of the evening, conversation flows easily and Carter and I both have a blast. As I glance at my Apple watch and see the time, Carter nudges me again. 

“Your dad is looking at you funny.” She says, nodding her head towards Dad. I look up, my eyes meeting my dad’s gaze.

“It’s getting late, are you girls ready to head back to the hotel? Your aunt and uncles should be getting back soon too.” Carter and I nod and I turn to look at Mitch.

“I’ll be wearing your jersey on Saturday night. Don’t disappoint me. Also it’s my birthday so a goal or two would be nice.” Mitch and Mo laugh as Dad smiles down at me. 

“I will try my hardest. Glad we could spend the evening with you lovely ladies. See you on Saturday after the game? There’ll be passes for your whole group at the ticket desk.” My face lights up and I know Carter’s does too.“Okay great! See you then! Good luck!” I say, standing and hugging Mitch. Mo shakes Dad’s hand and then the two of them head out. 

“You two seemed very distracted all during dinner. Was everything okay?” Dad asks as the 3 of us head back out to the car after he pays.“Yeah everything was fine. Dinner was super good and fun. Carter just saw some cute boy and wouldn’t shut up about him.” Dad laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Hey, in my defense, your daughter was looking too so it wasn’t just me.” Carter says, crossing her arms. Dad’s head whips around as we climb in the car.

“A boy? What?” I groan internally and elbow Carter. I’ve never been that into boys. I mean, I’ve thought plenty of boys were cute and had quite a few guy friends but I’ve never had the time or the effort that comes with having a relationship. So it’s never been a topic of conversation for Dad and I. 

“Nothing, it was nothing. Don’t worry about it, Dad.” I say, trying to avoid the topic. 

“It’s interesting though. I was just talking to your uncle Kris about how you’ve never had a boyfriend or anything like that. Which is fine with me because I know what boys are like.” Dad says as we drive back to the hotel. Carter is dying sitting next to me, her hand pressed against her mouth to avoid laughing out loud.

“I-I know...I’ve just never had the time or wanted one.” I say, burying my head in my hands. 

“Well you don’t need one. You have all the guys you need in your life. Me, your Uncle Geno, Uncle Kris, Uncle Marc, and Grandpa.” Carter finally bursts out laughing and Dad looks in the rearview mirror at me. 

“I’m serious, Ava Grace. Why do you need a boyfriend?” Dad has never really been the overprotective dad. He’s protective for sure but he kind of lets me do my own thing most of the time. He knows if I need to, I’ll come to him or one of the other main adults in my life. But he lets me make my own decisions and figure life out by myself. This whole ‘no boyfriend’ thing that he’s doing right now is new. 

“I guess I don’t. You’re right.” I say, putting an end to the conversation by turning and looking out the window. Thankfully, Dad doesn’t push any farther. The 3 of us ride in silence, the radio off, the rest of the way back to the hotel. Once we get into the hotel and up to our rooms, I tell Dad goodnight, give him a hug and a kiss then follow Carter into our room. Carter distracts me from the disaster of a conversation that was with Dad and forces me to watch some cheesy rom-com with her. I fall asleep midway through and sleep in late the next day. Taylor takes Carter and I out shopping all day on Friday while my dad and the uncles do who knows what. The topic of boys is avoided all day, All night at dinner on Friday, we catch up with everyone. I fill Marc in on what Dad’s latest old person moment was, even though he’s only 33. Everything seems so perfect and happy but I keep replaying the conversation with Dad over and over again in my head. 

Saturday morning, my birthday morning, Carter wakes me up with cake in bed. It’s a tradition we started when we were 12. Every year on our birthday, the other girl brings the birthday girl cake in bed. It’s one of my favorite birthday traditions. 

“Happy birthday Little Crosby! You are adult now!” Geno calls, leading the rest of my family into my room. Dad brings up the end of the line and walks over to the bed. He hugs me, pressing a kiss to my forehead.“Happy birthday my sweet girl.” He says, smoothing my hair down and getting all teary-eyed. 

“I can’t believe the young lady you’ve grown into. You are beautiful, strong, independent and so responsible. I...I didn’t think things would end up this way, especially with your mom not being in the picture. But I look around you and I see all these people who helped raise you and I know, you’ve turned out more than okay. I love you Ava Grace and will always love you. Happy birthday.” Dad says. I take another bite of the cake Carter brought me and smile up at him.

“I love you so much, Daddy. Thank you for everything. Thank you everyone for everything you’ve done for me. I love all of you.” They all share a sappy smile and I keep eating my cake. The rest of the day, we hang out at the hotel, lounging around before the game tonight at 7. Marc and Geno see how many pieces of pizza they can eat while Dad keeps score. Taylor paints Carter’s nails and I pick at mine. Kris sneaks out to buy me ice cream and comes back with at least 10 different kinds, all of them my favorite in one way or another. 

Carter and I start getting ready around 4:30 so we’re ready to leave by 5. I straighten my hair and do just light makeup. I dig my Mitch Marner jersey out of my bag and put it on with some black leggings. Carter wears the jersey of the only Leaf she likes, Frederik Andersen. She opted for black ripped jeans instead of leggings. Everyone else is just dressed casual. Marc did wear a Leafs hat just to please me. The drive to the arena, Carter gets to play music again. She plays our ‘Hockey Game Hype Up’ playlist, something we made a few years ago. Even though I’m the music person, she’s much better at putting playlists together. I’m only really good at finding one or two songs I love and just playing them over and over again. As the songs ‘Auston Matthews’ by Svdvm and ‘Toronto Maple Leafs Anthem’ by JDME play back to back, we pull into the arena parking lot. No matter how many times I’ve been to Scotiabank Arena, it never ceases to amaze me. I think I’ve been here a grand total of like 15 times in the last 10 years, solidifying it as my favorite arena. 

“Come on Ava, let’s go watch your boy play.” Carter says, linking her arm through mine. She leads me and the rest of our group into the arena. Everyone else heads to the box but I decide to stay down in the main area and wander around a bit, making sure I get the full experience again. All around me, Leafs fans are hurrying to one place or another. I take everything, wanting to remember this for the rest of my life. As I’m walking down a small set of stairs, I collide with a pretty solid body. And of course, with my human wrecking ball abilities, I manage to take both of us down, all the way to the ground. “Shit! I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I ask, sitting up and looking at the boy I collided with. He sits up, looks at me, down at the ground, then back up at me. His eyes are huge.

“I-Oh my God. Yeah-Yeah I’m okay! Are you?” He asks, jumping to his feet and reaching his hand out to help me up. I take his hand and he pulls me to my feet. “Yeah I’m all good. Sorry for taking you out. I’m known for being clumsy. Like the jersey by the way.” I say, pointing to where the number 16 is stitched into the arm of his jersey. The same number sprawled across my back.

“Hey, I like yours too. Marner your favorite player?” I nod, pushing my hair back out of my face.

“Yeah, I grew up a Penguins fan because of my dad but the Leafs are my favorite team.” He smiles and nods. He looks so familiar but I can’t place where I know him from. Talking to him comes so naturally and it seems like the world just goes on around us while we stand there and talk. Before I know it, they’re starting the lineup announcements.

“Oh shoot, I gotta get going. Enjoy the game!” I call over my shoulder as I run back towards the box we’re all sitting in. Of course, I trip up the steps and almost fall. As I glance over my shoulder, I see the boy with a smirk on his face. I blush and mentally kick myself for first off accidentally tackling a cute boy then tripping and almost falling in front of him. As I rush back into the box, Dad eyes me with a raised eyebrow. I huff and flop into my seat next to Marc and Carter. Carter glances at me out of the corner of her eye and smirks.

“Why are you all red and bothered about?” I bite my lip and Marc looks over at me.“I accidentally tackled a cute boy…” I say, burying my head in my hands. Carter and Marc laugh and Marc pats my back.

“There there, Little Crosby. I did much worse to your aunt Véronique.” I laugh and lean my head on his shoulder. Geno and Kris are behind us, teasing Taylor as Dad watches what’s going on down on the ice. His hand is resting on my shoulder, absentmindedly squeezing and releasing in a protective way. As I sit there, watching the game, all I can think about is the boy. But as I do, I think about the conversation Dad and I had last night in the car. Did he really mean what he said? Would he really get upset if I did ever decide to have a boyfriend?

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You are at the wrong place at the wrong time.  

Word count: 1,7k

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London. 

Warnings:  This story will contain themes such as kidnapping, murders, violence and smut. Also a lot of swearing. Also mentions of injuries. Also alcohol, smoking and mentions of drugs.  this is a +18 story

A/N: This is a relationship that I wouldn't recommend in real life. Also, the Firm was the name of the Kray twins gang. I was just too lazy to come up with a name of my own.  

THIS IS PART I

1961 – London

Tom curses the cold weather as he pulls his coat tighter around him with numb fingers. He curses the chilly London night and the long walk from Charing Cross station too. And, while he’s at it, he curses his split lip and broken rib as well. Fuck it, he curses the entire world and everybody in it tonight.        

He especially curses fucking Harrison.        

Harrison who didn’t show up for duty tonight - in failing to do so not only risking the wrath of their leader, a certain Mr. Fabien Towner, but also risking putting Tom in danger by forcing him to handle the situation all on his own. Fucking dick. Tom guesses his old friend had gotten caught up with whichever girl had taken his fancy for the day; forgetting all he should know of duty, and forcing Tom to single handedly go in to collect from the mug who owed the Firm ten grand.        

It had not gone down easily, and Tom had taken his fair share of hits to the head. He now had a swollen cheek, a split lip, a broken rib and a big envelope of cash safely hidden underneath his coat. 

He inhales the icy cold air and upon exhaling he watches as it rises to the sky like thick pearly smoke.       

Little snowflakes start to slowly drift down from the sky, lighting up the dark night; painting the pavement white.

Further up the road he sees two young women stepping out of a building. They’re giggling, clearly intoxicated, and clutching on to one another for support, making their way down the stairs and into the waiting cab. He sees them both clearly in the light from the street’s only functioning lamp; as they’re standing just under it. The girl nearest to him is wearing fine silk and furs in powdery pink and white, her hair done up professionally and roughed cheeks and painted lips. Even from this distance he recognises her.        

It’s you.    

Even through the dark, snowy London night he sees it clear as day. Even though he hasn’t seen you since you were both teenagers; when he abruptly had to leave school, he recognises you immediately, and suddenly he feels like he is a sixteen-year-old child again; wishing for a miracle, as if he’s stretching out his hand beyond its reach. Sure, your face and hair is all made up and you’re no longer wearing a school uniform. But it’s you alright. There’s still a sweetness about you, in your silk and your fur and with your sugar-pink lips. You still feel impossibly out of reach. A thin layer of snow covers the cobbled street, like powdered sugar, and you’re leaving a trace of foot prints in it.       

A vision strikes him, of his hand, slowly pulling the pink slip of a dress up your thigh as you clutch onto his shoulders. He wants to find out what’s softer to his touch; the silk or your skin. He watches as you and your friend make it into the cab, and then he watches as it drives off into the night.        

And he remembers.        

Remember how at fifteen, just days before he first met Fabien; in a time before he knew anything about how to fight with his fists or fire a gun or about the Firm.       

He’d been chased by his school yard tormentor, Jamie Easom, and his fellow bullies. Trying to get away and to safety he had rushed into the girls’ bathroom without second thought. You had stood there, in front of the mirror; fixing your hair (and maybe it’s reconstruction after the fact, but he swears you wore a halo of light upon your head). He had stared at you with big eyes, like a deer in headlines, looking at the girl he’d been mesmerized with for years. You’d immediately caught on and in a gentle voice told him to hide in one of the bathroom stalls. Then you had walked out of the bathroom. Through the door he’d heard you speaking to Jamie. Heard Jamie asking if you’d seen him and heard your lie as you told the meanest kid in school no, he’s not here. Then he’d heard Jamie asking you out for the millionth time and, to his satisfaction, he heard you turning him down - yet again.        

A few days after that Tom had met Fabien for the first time, a chance meeting that could have ended very differently. Luckily, the leader of London's most notorious gang had been impressed with him, and well, that was the beginning of the end of his school days. Fabian had given him a very different kind of education. He had trained him in an underground gym with a boxer, who taught Tom all he there was to know about fighting back.       

Fabien himself had taken Tom to the Hungry Lion, the home of the Firm, and taught Tom how to drink Irish whiskey without wincing as it burned down his throat and how to smoke cigarettes, deep drags, without coughing; how to dress like a man. And most importantly, he taught Tom how to negotiate, how to think five steps ahead of everybody else.     

Fabien had sat him down and taught him not only the rules of chess, but how to win every game. No matter the opponent.    

Not long after he had joined the Firm a particularly gruesome fight in the school yard between himself and Jamie had taken place. Jamie had ended up in the hospital and Tom, well, he had been thrown out of school.    

Since that day he was a full-time employee in the Firm.        

He’d met Haz in an underground boxing ring. He’d been one hell of an opponent in a dirty fight that ended in victory for Tom, (though Haz always claims that the victory had more to do with the fact that Tom had made him burst out in laughter at one point and then, when Haz was off guard, tackled him to the ground). Fabien had been impressed with the blonde. Now Tom and Harrison were as good as brothers.

Eventually Tom’s actual brothers had joined them as well and they were now what Fabian referred to as “the younger generation” of the Firm.      

As chance would have it just two years after Tom had been kicked out of school a certain Jamie Easom had joined the Firm as well. Cocky and arrogant as ever he’d been recruited by Fabien’s right hand, Eoghan Shelley, who’d seen Jamie in a pub brawl and been impressed by the young man’s knack for senseless violence.       

As Fabien had told Tom in confidence during one whiskey fueled meeting; Jamie was someone who you hired to fight, but whom you didn’t trust to think. Jamie was part of the muscle of the machine; not the brain behind it.        

Jamie knew the instructions – harm, threaten, kill.

He never knew the reasons behind them - (money, pride, knowledge).       

Jamie never stopped to question motive. He got an order and he followed it through. He didn’t question why Fabien would want a business to, quite literally, burn down to the ground, or why a man needed to be taken out. He never questioned, either out loud or to himself, why Fabien would want that. Nor did he consider the victims point of view; their motives or reasons.       

He got an order and he followed it through. He was a dog on a tight leash. So, the instructions were clear and simply. (bark, attack, kill).       

Tom, on the other hand Fabien trusted to think on his own. Trusted that Tom had the brain to know what was necessary to do in any given situation. He also knew that Tom had the guts to carry it out, no matter the instruction.    

There were those, certain malicious tongues, speaking in hushed voices behind closed doors; who thought that old Fabien Towner put too much trust in the youngster. Had gone a bit soft on him. That there were those, older and more experienced, that deserved Fabien’s trust.       

The fact was that Tom wore the word protégée like second skin. It clung to him like a varsity jacket does to a young star scorer. Like it belonged to him, as if he was born for it.  

The new hope.      

And the fact was that Fabien cast a mighty big shadow and no one, especially not those with wagging tongues, dared stepping out of it. For Fabien kept all his little soldiers in check and that very much included the new hope.      

Finally he arrives at his destination and he steps into the Hungry Lion. Inside the pub it’s warm and loud, barking laughter coming from the men drinking pints big as their heads, and singing can be heard coming  from a group of people huddled up in the corner booth. The scent of smoke and beer fills the air. It’s warm and dirty and home. It makes a sharp contrast to the chilly, quiet London night outside.        

He walks over to his regular booth, orders Sam to get him a whiskey and sits down opposite of Harry. Sam hurries off to the bar and Harry takes one long look at Tom’s wounded face.      

“Getting slow in your old age, huh?”      

“Fuck off” is all Tom can be bothered to answer, too exhausted and done with this day. “’s Fabien here yet?”       

Harry shakes his head and looks away from his brother's bruised face. “Not yet” he says in the end and puts out his cigarette. Then, “where’s Hazza?”   

Tom sighs and fishes up his own package of Lucky Strike cigarettes. Placing one between his lips he lights up and inhales deeply. Leaning back in his seat he exhales in a sigh before responding. “Fuck who knows” he says, just as Sam comes back with his drink. He hands it to Tom, who greedily takes a sip of the amber liquid before sitting down next beside his twin.       

“What you mean?” Harry questions, brows furrowed. “Wasn’t he with you collecting?”      

“Nope” Tom answers, trying to keep his anger under wraps. “Didn’t show up. Reckon he’s cock deep in some bird some-“ but before he can finish Haz stumbles into the pub. His left white sleeve is sticky wet with blood and he’s clutching onto his shoulder. His face is pale and sweaty, and he looks around the room, clearly searching for someone; but before he can find the right man he stumbles and falls to the ground; where he stays. Passed out.       

For a few devastatingly long moments silence fills the old pub as they all look at Harrison’s left shoulder.       

It has a bullet wound.

***

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