#of course I always have this sword of damocles hanging over me of when the next huge wave of anxiety will hit me

[floral-hex]

It’s almost 6 in the morning. Can’t sleep. Admittedly lonely. So I’ll type a little text post to feel like I’m actually “doing” something.

Doubled my vilazadone. Started buspirone. I’ve been on a diuretic for my ears (it’s complicated) for about a week now, but whether it’s coincidental or not, my hearing has been pretty great since I started. But hearing comes and goes, so we’ll see if this holds in the coming weeks. My body is having trouble adjusting to all of these new meds, but I think it’s starting to rebalance itself. Chemicals, man…

Okay, I really don’t know what else to say here. Just bored on a Saturday night… well, now Sunday morning. Might go eat some captain crunch. I just started the buspirone and I think it’s maybe making me.. eeeeee 😬😬😬😬… you get it? Not anxious, just on edge. They said take before bed to get used to it, but maybe they meant “hey, take as you’re falling asleep, because if you’re awake when it kicks in, you will stay awake.” Or maybe it’s just normal loneliness and anxiety keeping me up. Who knows. This seems like a downer post, yeah? Sorry. It’ll be positive, ya. I’ll go make some cereal, watch some tv, you all can do whatever you’re doing this morning. There are some birds chirping outside, I’ll see if my cats are awake, it’ll be nice.

[vaguely-concerned]

another really interesting thing in our man bashir to me is that I think this is the point where garak finally mostly relinquishes his self-appointed role as bashir's teacher. he seems to have taken it upon himself early on, for inscrutable but probably partially horny, partially cultivating a promising (and lovely) contact reasons of his own, to imbue julian bashir with some spysmarts and basic bastard thinking literacy skills, in the hopes that he won't go get his bright beautiful excitable ass killed at the first opportunity. there's a lot of mentor/protege undertone there in the early years. (if you want to get into asit stuff, very much in the same vein as palandine and garak's relationship in the beginning.)

but in omb garak really only has one of his little lectures, and it's basically about The thing about being a spy (and a person) that has most shaped his life: That's something else you've yet to learn, Doctor. A real intelligence agent has no ego, no conscience, no remorse. Only a sense of professionalism. There is no joy, no magic, no real delight to this, no winning, no recognition, and most importantly no connection; the reward for work well done is only ever the work itself. You don’t kiss the girl, get the key — you simply get on with turning yourself into nothing as best you can. and julian, who had just been trying to momentarily imagine a world where secrets can be cool and glamorous and for good, meaningful reasons that empower him to help the world rather than shameful and isolating and alienating and like a damocles sword hanging over him and everything he cares about, shoots back with 'well, but what if not that, though? that's the whole point of this game! this is my story not yours, trust me to know it better than you do. (I have more things to teach you too, if you’d just listen. And once he gets shot a little bit, garak does listen.)'

(somewhere beneath all this is almost exactly the same debate they will have explicitly later on -- "Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all"/"If that's true, that's one lesson I never want to learn". Something something the freedom to imagine and play around with different worlds in your head, no matter how cringefail james bond LARP nonsense that world is as long as it brings you hope and joy and new perspectives, kill the part of you that cringes etc. Garak you're allowed to get out of the closet in your head now, Tain is gone, you can imagine different things than what has been and no one will turn it against you. Im… sad)

through most of this episode garak is observing, and when he's not simply bitching about everything from the sidelines (<3), he's tentatively trying to throw in comments to play along, to figure out how the flow goes like he's learning a different language, and he's BAD at it hahaha. he barged in there to put himself in a position to learn something about julian bashir's ~*hidden inner psyche*~, but UH-OH spiritual uno reverse card time he's having to face some shit about his own psyche and the immense barrenness it's been forced to operate under for so long.

The learning between them has of course always been two-way (that’s partially what the whole relationship is built on), but in giving up the more ‘formal’ role — mask — of teacher, garak is also opening up space for realer emotional intimacy, letting one layer of artificiality fall and allowing more realness to shine through. even so he doesn’t let go of control completely until he’s faced with irrefutable (horny) proof that julian’s sentiments and ideals are backed by real conviction — julian knows (possibly better than garak does) what is a game, and what is real, and where he draws the line between frivolous and deeply necessary is different from where garak would and by the end of the ep I think garak trusts julian more, enough to leave the story in julian’s hands without trying to steer or form him even indirectly/sneakily. And to top it all off, the way julian uses his last dramatic speech to signal that he did also listen to what garak told him… augh.  

the teacher role, along with the lies (ever his swiss army knife god bless), has helped garak keep a sort of fine-tuned control of the level of emotional intimacy possible between them, stay in control of what narratives are even on the table. and I think finally letting that fade more into the background transforms their relationship in ways that can pay off big time down the line, for all that it leaves things a bit strange and tentative in the meantime. by garak standards he’s being positively transparent in this episode. for the first time he talks about his time in the order without any coy prevarication, he states his hunger for knowing julian better right down to his ~*hidden inner psyche*~ almost pathetically openly (<3<3<3<3). And this is just my headcanon and definitely not what was meant at the time of airing, the unplanned nature of the augment reveal being what it is, but in context of the whole show as it became it feels a lot like garak offering some of his own authenticity to signal that julian could trust him with his. It feels like garak has figured out at least the rough outlines of what julian has uh got going on and tried to make this gambit, having… perhaps underestimated the extent of the defenses julian has internally/psychologically against Being Known, quite aside from the practical real world consequences of his secret getting out. Anyway. Lots in this episode. Many thoughts.

[jackles010378]

I can only speak the truth.......

( A mischievous Rowena puts a spell on Dean, which makes him reveal some hidden feelings he's had for a while)

After splashing his face with cold water, Dean stood in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection. His face was a mask of frustration and confusion. He couldn't believe what had happened to him. A simple spell from a mischievous witch had turned his world upside down.

It all started one fateful night when the Winchesters found themselves in a tiny, isolated town in the middle of nowhere. They had been on a routine hunt, or so they thought. Little did they know, this hunt would be unlike any other.

While investigating strange occurrences in the town, Dean stumbled upon an ancient book. Its pages were filled with cryptic symbols and incantations, tempting him to test his luck. Curiosity got the better of him, and he recited a spell without fully understanding its consequences.

Instantly, a surge of energy coursed through Dean's body, leaving him disoriented and vulnerable. Unbeknownst to him, the witch had cast a truth spell, one that would force him to reveal his deepest, darkest secrets.

Dean's heart pounded in his chest as he realized the gravity of the situation. He couldn't lie, deceive, or hide his true feelings any longer. The spell had stripped him of his defenses, leaving him exposed to the world.

The first person Dean thought about was Y/N. She was their longtime friend and occasional ally on their dangerous hunts. Deep down, Dean had always considered her more than just a friend. There was an undeniable connection between them, but he had never mustered the courage to confess his feelings.

Now, with the truth spell hanging over him like a Damocles sword, Dean knew he couldn't hide it any longer. He had to face his feelings head-on, no matter the consequences. But the fear of rejection and the potential fallout weighed heavily on his mind.

He sought solace and guidance in Sam, his younger brother. Sam was the yin to his yang, the voice of reason in their tumultuous lives. With a heavy heart, Dean revealed the truth to Sam, confessing his feelings for Y/N and the predicament he found himself in.

Sam listened intently, his brow furrowed in concern. He could see the internal struggle Dean was going through, torn between the desire to be honest and the fear of losing their friendship with Y/N. Sam, ever the compassionate soul, offered his support and encouragement.

Days turned into weeks, and Dean found himself increasingly drawn to Y/N. Every time he saw her, his heart skipped a beat, but he couldn't find the right moment or the courage to tell her the truth. The spell continued to plummet him into emotional turmoil, heightening his desire to break free from its clutches.

One evening, as they sat in the bunker's library, researching a case, Y/N looked up at Dean, eyes filled with concern. She sensed something was off, a storm brewing behind the facade he usually wore. Y/N had always been perceptive, attunded to the Winchesters in ways that even they couldn't comprehend.

"Dean, are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine worry.

Dean hesitated, debating whether to stick to the safe path or to take a leap of faith. Something in Y/N's gaze pushed him towards honesty. He took a deep breath and, for the first time, bared his soul to her.

"Y/N, I have to tell you something," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of trepidation and longing. "I... I've always cared about you more than just a friend. These feelings... They've been driving me crazy."

Y/N's eyes widened, surprise and curiosity flickering across her face. She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind.

In walked Rowena, the witch responsible for casting the truth spell. She smirked, clearly enjoying the drama that unfolded before her. Dean's heart sank as he realized that she had been watching their entire conversation.

"You Winchesters never cease to entertain," Rowena chuckled, her voice dripping with mischief. "But fear not, Dean. The spell has served its purpose. You are free, and so is your heart."

Dean's confusion grew as Rowena explained that the truth spell was never meant to harm him but to push him out of his comfort zone, to face his emotions head-on. She had hoped it would be the catalyst for change, for the Winchester brothers to embrace vulnerability and honesty.

As the spell dissipated, Dean felt a weight lifted off his chest. He and Y/N could finally explore the uncharted territory of their emotions without the interference of magic. They both realized that their connection went far beyond friendship, and the truth that Dean had revealed was finally reciprocated.

From that day forward, Dean and Y/N's bond deepened, their shared experiences and newfound honesty strengthening their relationship in ways they had never imagined. They faced demons, monsters, and the unknown together, knowing that they had each other's backs both as hunters and as lovers.

And as for Rowena, her mischievous grin never left her face. She had accomplished her goal of helping Dean confront his deepest secrets, proving that sometimes, even a witch's spell could be a catalyst for truth and love.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @tmb510 @nescavaneck

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (10/13)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: You read that right! I have a final chapter count! We are nearing the end, and I can't thank y'all enough! I hope you enjoy these concluding chapters (they'll be updating on Mondays and Thursdays) and don't yell at me too much. (Actually, go ahead. I kinda like it 😘)

Much love to my @kmomof4 and @ultraluckycatnd for being amazing cheerleaders and betas! Love you, ladies!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six  / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine

Part Ten

“What sort of game is he playing at now, do you think?” Killian murmured as he and Emma made their way to the showers.

“Who the hell knows,” Emma groused. “I’ve given up trying to understand him or even attempt to stay ahead of his demented games.”

“Aye.” Killian sighed and gestured Emma towards the working showerhead, allowing her to go first.

“Not that I’m not relieved that our fears seem to have been… premature,” she said, stepping into the spray and wetting her long tresses.

Killian swallowed past the bolt of lust that always manifested when he saw her like this and added, “It is hard to enjoy the current peace and quiet, knowing there is likely a sword of Damocles hanging over us, though.”

Emma swiped the cascades of water from her face and gave him the look she usually employed whenever his “nerd side” came out, complete with an eye roll and stifled grin.

They spent the next few minutes in silence while Emma lathered, conditioned, shaved, and rinsed. In an effort to keep his libido in check, Killian let his mind wander over the past two plus weeks since he and Emma entertained Pan’s guests.

They’d gone to sleep that night with the worry of what Pan might have in store for them next and Killian’s dreams had been nightmarish reflections of those fears. None of which had come to fruition these past weeks. In fact, Pan had demanded very little of them at all, leaving them to their own devices much of the time whilst lavishing them with unearned gifts.

It was downright unsettling.

Killian’s eyes drifted down to his Swan’s lower abdomen and his jaw tightened from the equally unsettling knowledge that their recent activities may have already begun to bear their natural consequences, yet there was no way for him to know for certain. He knew she had not yet had a period, but he did not know whether that was unusual after the removal of an IUD. Of course, Emma was completely unaware that she was no longer protected from an unwanted pregnancy, therefore a lack of period was of no concern for her. He wondered, should they be fortunate enough to dodge the bullet of conception, what her reaction would be if and when her period did occur. Would Pan expect him to continue the charade of not knowing?

The continued deceit and knowledge that every aspect of their lovemaking wasn't completely consensual caused Killian’s stomach to tighten and churn painfully with guilt. He hated keeping it from her, but what other choice did he have?

“Your turn,” Emma said, pulling him from his tormented thoughts. His eyes snapped up and met the concern expressing itself through her furrowed brow and curious expression. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, love,” he replied, waving off her scrutiny with a quipped bit of sass that wasn’t entirely untrue. “Just a bit vexed by our esteemed host.”

Emma hummed her understanding and agreement, rubbing her hand down his arm affectionately as they traded places.

Once back in their now very cramped room, given the number of ‘luxuries’ Pan had provided them in the wake of their exhibition, they went through their normal, post-shower routines before settling back on their bed.

“Do you think he’d let us visit the terrace again without having to complete a ‘Pan Says’?” Emma inquired softly, tucking her legs beneath her in an attempt to get comfortable. “Like he did with the shower?”

Killian pondered her question. He knew they had both been surprised at the lack of quid pro quo when they’d finally broken down and begged Pan for an opportunity to shower. After all, it had been over two weeks since they’d been given leave to go and have a proper wash-up, and there was only so much a rinsed and reused washcloth, a small sink, and a vanishing bar of soap could do at this point. Killian had braced himself for the expected, unpleasant demand of a Pan Says in response to his and Emma’s request, but when Pan had simply agreed and opened the cell door with a reminder to not stray off the blue line, they’d both found themselves unnerved. Begrudgingly grateful, but mostly unnerved.

“Might be best to not push our luck,” Killian replied.

Emma’s shoulder sagged in disappointment, but the action was followed with a relenting nod of concession that he was probably right. He hated to dishearten her, especially when he’d love nothing more than to go out and breathe fresh air whilst basking in some sunshine. However, until Pan showed his cards and revealed what this new round of the game would entail, he didn’t want them lured into a false sense of security or led into a trap of their own making.

“So,” Emma said, changing the subject. “What will it be? Reading? A movie? Board game? What do you wanna do today?”

Choosing an activity - from the myriad of options their host had provided them over the past fortnight - that might keep them occupied, they spent the rest of the day, and the subsequent days afterward, in relative peace.

Too bad that peace couldn’t last.

“Pan says, you two are going on a field trip.”

Killian balked and noted the way Pan’s unexpected announcement had caught Emma off guard as well.

“A field trip where?” Emma asked warily.

“To another part of the compound,” Pan replied. “There’s something I wish to show you, so…” The cell door screeched open and revealed two Lost Ones standing at the ready. “Pan says, follow the orange line until my Lost Ones indicate you’ve arrived at your destination.”

~/~

Emma was probably going to end up with a crick in her neck from the way she kept craning it to look over her shoulder. The distraction of attempting to ascertain whether these were their original Lost Ones - the ones who seemed to have a connection to her and Killian - had her stumbling over her feet a number of times on the way to their mysterious destination. It was no use, though. Pan had changed their outfits, including their masks. Where before an opening had remained at their mouths and eyes, this new mask covered their faces completely. Emma doubted she’d be able to tell for sure, so she returned her focus to the new areas of the compound the new line led them through.

The orange line had run parallel to the green line, the one that led to the garden terrace, but branched off at the stairwell that led to the upper level. Killian had been silent since they’d left the room and hadn’t glanced her way once since the lines had split off. She knew it was because he was taking in every detail he could and adding the new information to the map in his head. He did finally peer over at her when the Lost Ones ushered them into an elevator, his hand still wrapped firmly around her own as they squeezed in beside the Lost Ones.

“So…” Killian drawled, startling Emma with the way he broke the silence within the elevator. “Are you them? The Lost Ones responsible for us being in this nightmare?”

“Killian,” Emma hissed in admonishment.

His eyes cut down to hers and met her incredulous expression. Why would he ask such a thing now?

“It’s not as though it’s a secret,” he said, turning his attention back to their guards. “Nothing escapes Pan’s attention, so I’m certain he’s well aware of the information one of you gave Emma. So let’s stop pretending we don’t all know you two are the reason Emma and I are here in the first place.”

Neither of them responded, though Emma did notice the guilty shift in one of the Lost One’s stances. Given the raise of his brow, Killian did, too.

Before he could question them again, the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. The first Lost One exited as the second gestured for her and Killian to follow, dropping in behind them both as they continued down the orange lined hallway. They hadn’t gone far when the Lost One stopped and punched in a code into a numbered keypad mounted to the wall. The click of a lock releasing echoed through the hallway and the door swung open, revealing an entryway one might see in a swanky city apartment.

“Come in! Come in!” Pan’s voice crowed excitedly from the speakers in the room beyond. Squeezing her hand, Killian led them through the door and entryway, until they were standing in a naturally lit, warm and inviting living room, lavishly furnished and a sight more welcoming than the cell they’d been inhabiting for the past six weeks.

“What…? Where are we? Who… Who lives here?” Emma stammered, trying to take in not only the spacious living room but the other spaces connected to it as well.

“That will depend entirely on the two of you,” Pan supplied with a familiar note in his tone that alerted them both of an impending Pan Says on the tip of his tongue.

“Let me guess,” Killian snarked in reply before Pan could issue the edict. “Pan says this will be our new home if… we agree to whatever depraved, humiliating, new heights of degradation he has planned for us now?”

Again, Emma stared slack-jawed at Killian. What on earth had gotten into him today?

“Actually,” Pan began, his words carrying a hard edge that was difficult to miss despite the light tone he was attempting to keep. “It’s nothing new. In fact, my request is for you to do a Pan Says you’ve already completed for me once. Rather successfully, as a matter of fact.”

Ripples of dread cascaded down Emma’s spine as she exhaled on a panicked breath, “You want us to do it again. You want us to… entertain them again.”

Killian stiffened at her side, his posture becoming even more menacing than it had in the elevator. “Absolutely not. Separate us if you must, but I’ll not have Emma endure that again!”

“Separate you?” Pan parroted in mocked inquiry. “Why on earth would I separate you?”

“But…” Emma began, a myriad of emotions sweeping through her all at once. “Last time you said if we didn’t, you would--”

“Well, that was before you proved to be such a smashing success with my guests,” Pan told them. “You wouldn’t believe the praise I received for delighting them with such a feast for their debauched tastes… or the amount they’ve offered to pay for a repeat performance.”

“And if we say no?” Killian questioned.

“If you say no, then my guests won’t get a repeat performance… they’ll get an entirely new experience with the two of you.”

“What does that mean?”

Pan paused, allowing the tension and dread to build before explaining, “I’ve never been very good at sharing my toys with others, which is why my monthly exhibitions have always been just that. Exhibitions. Performances. Looky, but no touchy. However…” Another pregnant pause stretched through the room and Emma met Killian’s anxious eyes with panicked ones of her own, both of them now deducing what Pan was about to reveal. “If you will not allow my guests the voyeuristic experience they’ve already paid for, then perhaps I’ll give in to the obscene amount they’ve offered to allow them a more… hands-on role this month.”

“No,” Killian grit out from between his clenched teeth.

“Oh, yes,” Pan oiled in reply. “You can either allow my guests to watch you ravage each other for one night, then have the freedom and luxury of this apartment to dwell in afterward, or I can have you tied down and give my guests what they truly desire. The opportunity to ravage each of you for themselves - in some cases several at a time - for All. Three. Nights. The choice is yours.”

Emma wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled over, a mournful cry catching in the back of her throat as Killian roared next to her, picked up a vase from one of the end tables and chucked it at the wall, shattering it into oblivion.

“Now, now,” Pan tsked over the speakers. “I’ll give you some time to mull it over. We’ve another week before my guests arrive. Pan says to have a look around and talk it over. You can let me know what you decide before my Lost Ones take you back to your quarters.”

Feedback rang through the speakers, but it was nothing in comparison to the ringing in her ears. Reaching up, Emma placed her hands against her hot, flushed face, wet from tears yet also clammy to the touch.

“Swan,” Killian said, somewhere off to her right, his words a mixture of apology and commiseration. His hand ran a soothing caress down her spine, but it did not have the calming effect he intended. Instead, Emma felt her stomach lurch.

“Swan, I’m so--”

“I’m gonna be sick!” Darting through the living room, she just managed to make it to the sink in the kitchen beyond before emptying the contents of her stomach through a series of retches.

“Emma!” Killian cried out in concern, making his way to her in time to hold her hair back for her. She wished he wouldn’t. Wished he didn’t have to see her like this. Wished… so many things, actually.

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian continued to apologize. “I shouldn’t have let my anger get out of control like that. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make things worse. I--”

“It’s okay,” Emma said, clearing her throat and reaching for a paper towel to wipe her mouth with. “Could you find me a glass?” she asked him. “I need some water.”

“Of course!” He tore open cabinets until he found one with drinking glasses. Handing it over to her, she could feel his scrutiny as she filled it from the tap and took small sips.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a turn to apologize for her own lack of ability in keeping it together. “I don’t know why I responded like…” Her words trailed off as something occurred to her. Something that nearly made her heart stop as she instinctively began to reach down towards her abdomen then thought better of it at the last minute, hopefully before Killian noticed.

No. Surely it would be too soon for that if I were…

“You’ve no need to apologize, love,” Killian soothed, though his voice was tight and strained. Glancing up at him, she noted how he only held her gaze for a moment before cutting his eyes away. His Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscle at his jaw flickered. When Emma followed the path of his eyes, she saw the shards of the vase littering the floor.

“You don’t need to beat yourself up either,” she told him. “I don’t think either of us was expecting…”

Killian slammed his hand against the counter, causing her to jump. “That’s just it!” he hollered. “We never expect it! We’re always several steps behind when it comes to his schemes! I’m tired of never knowing what’s next! Of always being on the defensive, never letting our guard down! I thought… I thought we might have the upper hand for once! I thought this might have been our chance to thwart him, but now…”

“What do you mean? Thwart him how?”

Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to take a calming breath. “I thought he might threaten to separate us, like he did the last time. I thought… even though I’d hate being parted from you and having someone else… I thought it would at least mean we could keep one another safe from…”

“I know,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. “I was thinking the same thing.” His eyes snapped to hers and his lips parted in surprise. “As much as I don’t want for us to be separated, I couldn’t help but think how choosing to do so would mess with his plan.”

“Aye,” Killian said on a heavy breath. “Instead, he’s backed us into a corner once again. Leaving us no option but to comply.”

“At least we know what to expect this time,” she said, offering up that small consolation as she looked around the apartment. “And unlike the last one, this prison cell has windows,” gesturing towards a glass door at the back of the kitchen, she quipped, “and a balcony we can throw ourselves off of if it all gets to be too much.”

“Not funny,” Killian clipped even as a smile twitched at his lips. Releasing another heavy sigh, he took her hand. “I suppose we ought to take the full tour,” he groused, nodding towards the big screen tv in the corner of the living room with Pan’s most recent edict scrolling across, “before our jailers come to fetch us.”

~/~

Begrudgingly, Killian had to give it to Pan. The flat was magnificent. Several times he had to remind himself that a gilded cage was still a cage, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to share the space, and the sense of normalcy it might provide, with his Swan.

The kitchen was state-of-the-art and fully stocked with all their favorites. It opened to a balcony that stretched the full expanse of the flat, giving access to the bedroom, bathroom, and…an additional room.

The bedroom was outfitted with a king sized bed, lush linens, a reading nook, and a spacious closet already filled with garments more keeping to their life before their incarceration. Adjoining, there was a luxurious, spa-like bathroom with a shower large enough for both of them to bathe at the same time, as well as a two person soaking tub. The room next to the bedroom was a bit perplexing, however.

“What do you think this space is meant for?” Emma asked after they’d swung the door wide to reveal a cozy, not yet furnished bedroom.

Killian swallowed thickly and shrugged his shoulders, hoping Emma would not take notice of his sudden change in demeanor. He had a pretty good idea what potential use Pan may have had in mind for the small room only steps away from the main suite, but just as he had when his suspicions had run rampant in response to Emma becoming violently ill earlier, he tamped them down and put on his best poker face. Fortunately - or unfortunately - he was spared from having to bluff further.

“Well?” Pan’s voice echoed in from the living room. “What’s the verdict?”

Making their way back to where the obvious camera was, though Killian knew there had to be many more hidden throughout the space, he and Emma glanced at one another with an affirming look before Emma sighed and said, “When do we move in?”

Pan practically crowed in response to their answer. “How about now?”

Killian and Emma both balked. “Now?” Killian said, incredulously.

“Why not?” Pan replied. “Call it a token of my gratitude and a reminder of how generous I can be.”

Killian wasn’t certain how to respond and found himself murmuring an astounded thank you alongside his Swan.

“Just remember my benevolence this weekend when it comes time to entertain my guests,” Pan commented with a slight warning in his voice. “Oh! And I have a few notes to go over with you later this week in preparation.”

“Goody,” Killian grumbled under his breath, earning him an elbow in his ribs.

“Until then… enjoy your new home.”

Killian shuddered and huffed out an exhale. Turning towards Emma, he was met with a stern look and disapproving hands on her hips.

“What has gotten into you?” she demanded.

“What are you--”

“Don’t give me that,” she countered. “You’ve been off all day. Earlier in the shower, then confronting the Lost Ones in the elevator, sassing Pan, smashing vases… Killian,” her expression softened as she reached up to cup his cheek. His face nuzzled into her touch as it was prone to do. “What is going on with you? Talk to me.”

Killian opened his mouth, but the words kept getting stuck in the back of his throat. He didn’t want to lie to her, didn’t want to keep this secret from her, but the alternative…

“I’m scared,” he choked out in no more than a whisper. “Scared I can’t… protect you. Scared that there will come a time when we are truly faced with an impossible choice, or that I’ll have to betray you in some way in order to protect you. Scared that I might be forced to do something you could never forgive. Something I could never forgive myself for.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” she said in an attempt to assuage his fears.

“You don’t know--”

“Yes, I do.” Her tone left no room for argument, but she continued on just the same. “Do you know how I know?” Killian shook his head. “Because I have the same fears. Because I know all of the terrible things you have imagined us having to endure and I have already forgiven you for each and every one of them.” Pressing her forehead against his, she closed her eyes and wet her lips before flicking her gaze up to his once more. “There is nothing - NOTHING - you could ever do in response to Pan’s insanity that I would not forgive you for, just as I hope you would be willing and able to forgive me for--”

“Always,” he said, cutting her off. “There is nothing I would not forgive, love. Nothing.”

A smile ghosted over her lips and she pressed in closer to him. “Then what do you say we get the broken vase cleaned up then make ourselves something to eat, hmm?”

“I suppose I could eat,” he said, pulling back slightly so he could gaze down at her. “Any requests?”

Emma’s brows shot up her forehead and surprise colored her features. “Don’t tell me you can cook.”

“I’ll have you know I am quite deft in the kitchen, Swan.” Waggling his brows, he added, “Almost as much as I am in the bedroom.”

Emma giggled and pulled him in for a kiss, but not before she murmured a final, affirming, “Yep. Total. Forgiveness.”

Part Eleven

[katyakurae]

The deal, chapter 3 sneak peak:

"Oh, and Al, can I have an extra cup, please? Vaggie was taking a shower, she'll be down in a moment"

The coffee pot beeps in response to a well-timed request. Alastor nods.

"Of course, my dear."

First, however, he passes a portion of scrambled eggs and a fork to Charlie, who accepts it with a delighted smile. Alastor's own is softly drawn on his lips, sheltered by a quiet morning to forget the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Beside his trusty red mug, he takes another from the kitchen shelves and pours a coffee just the way he knows Vaggie likes it: spotted with a little milk and just a spoonful of sugar. He knows the preferences of the entire hotel, but, if he has them in front of him, as Charlie has before, he better ask and feign ignorance. Angel Dust and Husk are similar in that they always drink it without any milk, but Angel fills it with an insulting amount of sugar, while Husker is a purist who, at worst, only tops it with a splash of whiskey. Niffty doesn't like coffee, so he rather drinks milk stained with a drop of coffee. Cherri Bomb is variable in her morning rituals, and, since she gets up very late, she usually prepares herself a soluble coffee. He himself likes it, usually black or with a pinch of cinnamon and Lucifer....

Lucifer, like his daughter, drinks it with milk, but he prefers it with honey. He has never asked why, and, in view of their deal, today he is less interested than ever.

Lost in his thoughts Alastor doesn't notice the footsteps advancing into the kitchen. Believing it to be Vaggie, when a third person enters the room, he holds out the cup without even looking at them. A warm hand brushes his almost intentionally, the pads of someone else's fingers against his claws, and a sly voice snatches the smile off his face in one hit.

"Wow, thanks," Lucifer says, incredibly pleased with himself as he catches the stag demon's gaze, the expression halfway between confusion and horror. From his stool at the kitchen island, Charlie frowns. "I didn't expect you to make me coffee, but I'm not going to complain."

"It was for our dear Vaggie," Alastor tries to bite his tongue, but doesn't succeed, not in time. "If I had known you were going to drink it, I would have put arsenic in it."

[haljathefangirlcat]

Sharing headcanons with you makes me realize...despite Gunther being the oldest Nibelung sibling (and possibly co-king even in his father's lifetime, ala Rosengarten) he's also the least specialized. Hagen/Hogni is the intense and super-strong one, Gernot/Gutthorm is the brave one, Giselher is the young one, and Gudrun/Kriemhild is the sweet one, and Gullrond if she's there might be the smart one. And then of course he gets the most awesome brother-in-law/blood brother who goes around fighting his battles for him. In real history, there's also the fact that his father in fact established their kingdom on the Rhineland, so Gibich must have had some big expectations for his eldest son. While he's no slouch, and rocks some serious musical talents in Norse sources, there's always this subtle feeling of inadequacy to Gunther. He's always pushing himself too hard but it turns out it's never enough. He must have some crippling feelings of inferiority that he's keeping behind that kingly facade.

(And now I imagine Oddrun giving him a "stop trying to be your father, live for yourself for once" speech, that results in him very impulsively doing the sneaky sneak with her.)

... okay, that last bit about Oddrun is just the sweetest thing! And very tragic, too, but I guess that comes with the territory. XD But jokes (and angst) aside, it really does sound like a very genuine and important connection and I love it.

As for Gunnar/Gunther himself, well...

I have to confess that, once, a lot of my ideas used to lowkey fall into the uncahritable "Gunnar/Gunther is kinda useless/weak" interpretation. But thanks to papers like “Mit (un)lobelichen êren”: Authority, Gender, and the Cause of Siegfried’s Death in the Nibelungenlied by Casey Alexis McCreary (about specifically Siegfried, Gunther, and Brunhild in the Nibelungenlied), as well as some influence from dear @galarix and @ivylili, I ended up re-evaluating him a lot both in the continental and Norse sources.

In the latter, I now find it really striking how he did want to leap over the flames, he did want to risk everything to go about the whole thing the right way. But he couldn't, and after that things increasingly spiralled out of his control in all the worst ways... and yet, even in the end, even with some admittedly pretty bad choices in the middle, he was no coward and went out with literally as much dignity as Hagen in the Nibelungenlied, using almost the exact same trick as him to defy his enemies and captors to the end.

In the former, I now find him not a bad king for Burgundy at all, but actually rather clever and resourceful in some moments. The paper I mentioned above actually does a very good job at arguing that he is pretty good at politics, it just that both Siegfried and Brunhild show their royal authority through heroic feats, with impressive shows of brute strength and charisma, so at first glance it's hard to recognize his qualities when they're the ones taking all the spotlight.

But actually having your own, solid good qualities and value, even when other people know about them and acknowledge them, isn't always going to be enough to make you feel satisfied with yourself...

I do still think he has an emotional, hotheaded, and impulsive side that he only learns to control slowly through the years and still gives him trouble sometimes even later on, tho. And as I previously said, I also see him as someone who was forced to take on the responsability of both his kingdom and his family too suddenly, and at too young an age, and always felt the weight of it all hanging above his head like the proverbial Sword of Damocles after that. And, taken together, that would all boil down to a lingering sense of self-doubt, I believe...

When it comes to his place in his family... or rather, families, I tend to see him as the brother who tries to be a proper head of the family, to bring honor and glory to his bloodline while also taking care of his siblings, but sometimes that all becomes too much to bear, and then he feels guilty about it because, is it even okay for him to feel that way? (It's certainly human and understandable, imo, and I think other characters would tell him that, too, but he'd rather keep that all inside until he blows up about some other, unrelated issues due to all the tension that's been building up, lol.)

The harp thing in the Norse stories is fun because it kinda looks like it comes from nowhere to give him a little bit of an Orpheus moment (soothing beasts with music, anyone?) as well as adding that tiny little bit of hope in desperate times only to rip it away right after. But I do like it a lot. I headcanon an interest and a talent for music for both Gunnar and Gunther that, unfortunately, neither of them ever really had the time or the conviction to make into more of a thing. Lately, tho, the multishipper in me who OTPs Volker/Hagen but also loves Gunther/Hagen has actually been playing with the idea of Volker and Gunther becoming closer (either as friends/friendly metamours, or as two people who, perhaps without even really realizing it, are inching their way into forming a throuple with their mutual partner) through Volker encouraging Gunther to revisit his old interest and reconnecting with what made him feel so good about it. But, well, that's another story...

And now, a bit of bonus Wagner because god, those three messed-up Gibichungs: Ring!Gunther is, like, the personification of an inferiority complex. He's literally introduced worrying that all his warring and conquering may not be enough (will maybe never be enough?) to live up to his late father's name. Hagen's mere suggestion that he's been keeping mum about some possible new conquest that could bring him honor pretty much sends him into a panic. He flatters Hagen (the same brother who's illegitimate and only half-human state he'll later callously throw in his face when all's said and done) by saying he's the lucky one who got all of their mother's cunning, but is it all flattery (especially when Alberich pretty much confirms the similarities between Hagen and Grimhild, and he doesn't really need to lie about it after doing his best as far as we know to isolate Hagen from full human beings) or is there some genuine envy there? Brunhhilde literally just needs to tell him he's shaming his family by refusing to kill Siegfried to have him wrapped around her little finger...

(Not that Ring!Hagen and Gutrune aren't also walking talking inferiority complexes in their own respective ways. I am unwell about that family.)

[osunism]

Daughter of Disgrace

"Is there any place where Heaven's bastard daughters are welcome?"

Rating: Mature to Explicit [for future sexual content and graphic depictions of violence]. Pairing[s]: Satoru + Sundari || Nadja + Sukuna Warning[s]: Smut, graphic depictions of violence, major character death[s], as well as some toxic relationship elements. Spoilers for the manga, so if you only watched the anime, turn back. Sukuna is his own warning but there is cannibalism, abuse, body horror, and mild torture in this fic. Summary: In the aftermath of Satoru Gojo's sealing, Sundari must choose rebellion in order to free him. Lucky for them both, rebellion has always been her preferred modus operandi.

🪧 Be Advised: This is the sequel to BeastofNoNation. It's recommended that you read that fic first to get the context of this one.

𓃰 AO3 || OC Masterpost || Fic Masterpost 𓃰

𓃰 Chapter Six: Across Your Sky

November 23, 2018, Zenin Estate

     Nadja has been imprisoned before, and always her captives learn the hard truth about trying to keep something that metal nor stone can hold. It is why Sukuna, in his cruelty and his cunning, has devised a way to hold his divine lover hostage for the time being. The threat of killing Sundari and all her allies hangs over Nadja’s head, and she regrets their debate about the Sword of Damocles, for Sukuna has taken the lesson of that story and now uses it to hold her in check. If she makes an attempt on his life and fails, he will kill their daughter, but nor can she sit idle.

     And Sukuna doesn’t let her, anyway.

     It begins as it always does: he forces her to join him for a meal, they sit in tense silence while they eat. He’ll make a snide remark about her lack of conversation, attempt to get under her skin, and when none of these things work, he smiles and says, “Perhaps more time spent together will make you more kindly disposed toward me, Daughter of Heaven.”

     Daughter of Heaven. She used to smile wryly at the irony of him calling her that. Now that he knows the truth, it chills her blood every time he says it.

     “To think, Heaven itself fears my power enough to send one of its bastard daughters to kill me,” he sounds so amused. Nadja has no doubt he would spit in the face of the gods if given half the chance. In so many ways, he already has. It’s why she’s here, now.

     “So,” Sukuna says, finishing his meal. “Let me guess: you must have done something horrible and blasphemous that they stuffed your divine soul into a body that will never be able to generate or use magic or jujutsu. Is that why Heavenly Pacts exist, Nadja? Are they truly a punishment born from your original sin?”

     Nadja grinds her teeth, but her gaze burns brightly, her fury welling like brutal magma in her veins. Sukuna grins with a shark’s eagerness, scenting blood in the water.

     “Do you know the story of Prometheus, Sukuna?” Nadja speaks, her first words in days. Sukuna tilts his head, smirking. He nods. Of course he knows it. During the height of his power, Nadja spent hours in his library. He is well-read, and a scholar on many fronts despite his brutal reputation as a sorcerer. It is—was—one of the things she loved about him.

     “What? Did you bring humanity magic or fire or something?” He asks, chuckling drily. Nadja snorts.

     “No,” she says. “I taught humanity the value of its own agency, and for that I was punished. To atone, I was put into this body, and told only when I pierce the heart of the heartless will I be freed. That is the nature of my Pact. Others may vary, perhaps paying for the sin of an ancestor, or balancing the incomprehensible scales of the universe in some way. But for me: my sin was teaching humanity to say no to the gods.”

     Sukuna’s brow raises in surprise, four eyes wide. Whatever he was expecting Nadja’s grievous sin to be, it was not this.

     “A rebellion?” He asks. “Sedition against the divine? Oh, you were so very bold, little asura. Even I would not deign to cross the gods.”

     Nadja’s lip curls in disdain. “Yes, I was. And now I can only regain my divine status once I kill you.”

     Sukuna laughs. “You have had plenty of opportunity and yet here I am, alive.”

     Nadja stands up and starts laughing derisively—bitterly.

     “Yes, partially incarnated in a child’s body! The very definition of being alive!”

     Sukuna growls in annoyance, and Nadja watches the veins in his arms and hands become more pronounced. His cursed energy permeates everything on the Zenin Estate, scattering curses in the opposite direction out of fear. Nadja stares at him, daring him to unleash his wrath. She has more than enough for both of them, and she shifts her weight to the balls of her feet, subtle but enough that Sukuna’s pupils shrink as his gaze sharpens.

     It is the second time they clash, but it is different. Something desperate lingers in both of them, as if they are both loathe to be consigned to these roles. Sukuna doesn’t pull his punches, and even though the heart that beats in his chest isn’t his, it beats all the same, and he feels a specter of something sharp and gutting with each blow he lands.

     Nadja cuts apart his cursed energy attacks, her right eye burning in her skull, and it is then that Sukuna realizes that the energy emanating from that false eye feels familiar. It is divine in nature, but not only that, he realizes how Nadja is able to block and counter his cursed energy attacks.

     All at once, Sukuna shifts his tactics, and from the look of momentary confusion on Nadja’s face, he knows she doesn’t know what to expect. He already has a blueprint for the battle he is now orchestrating as they tear apart the dining room. He knows how to end this quickly.

     Nadja is bracing for another round of Cleave and Dismantle, but Sukuna opts to simply match her in martial arts alone. All he needs is a single opening, and finding one in Nadja’s impeccable guard is like trying to pass invisible thread through an ever-shifting needle.

     All he needs is one slip.

     He begins to bait her, leading her on a merry chase throughout the estate. They tear apart several rooms, and he lets out a cry of surprise when she opts to rely on her brute strength, flinging him impossibly over her shoulder and sending him crashing into the courtyard.

     Uraume tries to intervene, but Sukuna holds up a forestalling hand.

     Nadja steps out into the courtyard, seemingly unarmed, but Sukuna knows better.

     He begins to bait her again, but she’s smart, dancing just out of reach. If he wants to reach her, he needs to incapacitate her…or immobilize her. He bluffs her, and she frowns, but he can see the frustration beginning to show in her movements.

     She’s wondering what he’s up to.

     Sukuna finds his opening: a hesitation so brief that had he only two eyes, he would have missed it. But he threads the shifting needle of her impeccable guard, and a hand fastens around her throat.

     “Gotcha.” He snarls, bringing her close. Her eyes are wide, and with incredible speed and precision, Sukuna’s opposing hand snatches out the false eyes, marveling in Nadja’ss first, true screams of agony. Tendons, veins, and gristle tear out of the ruined socket, and Sukuna eats the divine tool with a laugh.

     He drops Nadja and she crumples at his feet, trembling hands feeling at her ruined socket. Sukuna looks down at her, his lips stained with her blood, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

     “Get up,” he orders. Nadja scrambles to her feet. Sukuna watches as she readies herself. “I didn’t wait all these millennia just to kill you so quickly. But I wonder…can you regenerate that piece of the Divine General you were using to see my technique? I bet you can’t.”

     Nadja’s face goes ashen. Good. She’s finally realized that he’s figuring out her tricks. Without that piece of Mahoraga to read cursed energy attacks, she won’t be able to see his slashes coming.

     Sukuna makes a quick gesture with his fingers, and Nadja draws her blades too late as a single slash opens her cheek to the bone. Blood spills down her face, staining her sleek jawline crimson. Yet she remains undaunted. Sukuna knows she will heal come sunrise, and that takes some of the fun out of beating her up for him.

     But only some.

     Sukuna’s lower hands come together to form a mudra; his upper hands spread in a mocking gesture of welcome. Nadja realizes what he’s about to do, and she moves.

     Sukuna’s upper hands move quickly, his second mouth snaps at her even as she nimbly weaves through his planted feet, slashing at the backs of his knees. Since she can no longer see cursed energy, she resorts to conventional methods of fighting him, and he curses her divine weapons for being able to cut through his domain amplification. He is forced to engage her, using his cursed technique to counter her blades.

     It’s different, because he knows he can kill her. At least for now.

     It’s different because even now…even now, Nadja doesn’t want to drive her blade into his black heart.

     What she wants to do is so much worse.

     But Sukuna has had centuries to ponder and strategize. He pins her down, and suddenly the mood shifts. Thunder rumbles overhead, the muted sunlight painting Nadja’s beautiful skin in shades of soft blue and gold. Sukuna looks down at her and remembers a time when they were exactly like this for far more agreeable reasons.

     “Do it,” Nadja says to him. “Have your vengeance, Ryōmen.”

     Sukuna says nothing, and Nadja no longer struggles against him. For a moment there is only their panting and the rumble of thunder.

     The rain begins to pour when he leans down and she comes up, their lips meeting. It’s all there in the space between their hungry mouths: the love, the hatred, the unwanted longing finally swept away as they both come to the realization that neither one of them can close this chapter with one another. His hands are already roving her body, eager to remove her armor, seeking the hot, pliant skin beneath. She is a mess of straps and sheathes, even as they are pelted with cold water. It washes away the blood of their wounds, and Sukuna heals them both.

     Without another word, he scoops her into his arms, rising to his feet. Nadja does not protest, nor is there an angry retort or attempt to harm him. He carries her inside the estate, passing the destruction their private war left in its wake. Furniture shattered to kindling, slash marks in the walls like a violent stigmata, shuriken and throwing knives embedded in the floor and walls. An abandoned razor in a pool of Sukuna’s own blood.

     None of that matters when Sukuna finds a bed to have her on, his mind set on defeating her in other ways.

     Nadja doesn’t see it that way.

     And from the look of eagerness in his eyes, nor does he.

November 23, 2018, Jujutsu Tech, Tokyo Campus

     Sundari opens her eyes and feels as if she’s got the world’s worst case of cottonmouth. She lets out a weak croak, her voice split like a reed, tiny and helpless. She tries to manifest the mouth on her belly, but summoning the cursed energy necessary to sustain her true form is difficult. She feels weakened, diminished, and as if she has slept beneath the earth for ages.

     “Oh good, you’re finally awake!” A voice pipes up from her bedside. Sundari shoots up in alarm, all four of her eyes darting around frantically, trying to assess her surroundings. She finds the source of the voice and sees Yuji grinning at her. It’s strange to look at him, now, without her father’s influence shadowing his features. He looks healthier. There’s a scar across his face which she remembers from his battle with Mahito. Sundari pities him, but from his smile it looks like she needs to save that pity for herself.

     “What…” Her voice croaks the word, her throat a scraped wound. “What day is it?”

     Yuji makes a face that tells Sundari he’s genuinely thinking on an answer for her question and she remembers that as quick as he is in battle, he lacks that quick thinking everywhere else. Sundari’s lower eyes search for a digital clock anywhere.

     “It’s Friday!” Yuji says and Sundari is surprised there’s no steam coming out of his ears from the effort of having to think. Then again, she can’t blame him.

     “How long was I out?” She asks, and her voice whispers in her dry throat. She searches, finds a small pitcher of water on the bedside table, along with a cup. She pours, drinks, and thanks the gods as her throat feels less like a wound and more like there might be some hope in this shit world.

     “About three days,” another voice answers and this time, Sundari nearly jumps out of her skin. Standing over Yuji, clad in all white to match his snowy hair, is Satoru. Sundari feels her mouth go dry for entirely different reasons. Satoru is here, and his eyes are unmasked, blazing like blue suns in his handsome face. His smile is wide, knowing, but most of all…he can still smile.

     “Oh,” Sundari says by way of response. “I see.”

     Yuji glances between his sensei and his friend. There’s the barest tinge of pink in Satoru’s cheeks, and Sundari’s face feels so hot she’s tempted to dump the pitcher of water over her head just to stop.

     “How are you feeling?” Yuji asks, breaking the spell momentarily as Sundari’s vision tears from Satoru to look at Yuji.

     “Like hammered shit, but I’ll live…were any of you hurt?” She looks worried, and she watches through her lower eyes as Satoru’s smile softens. She catches a rare glimpse of weariness.

     Yuji shakes his head. “No, we got out of range like you told us. But…those other sorcerers—”

     “Let’s discuss the nature of Sundari’s divine feat another time,” Satoru interrupts, seeing the mounting worry on Sundari’s face. Yuji blinks, but he pipes down.

     “I wouldn’t call it a divine feat, exactly,” Sundari mumbles. “More like banging on a door I’m not supposed to know exists and asking the occupants to meet me outside.”

     Satoru laughs loudly. Sundari smiles with grim humor. It was a divine feat, and the sad thing is Sundari still doesn’t understand how it works, or if she can even do it again. Something tells her that coin, once spent, will never again return to her hand.

     Guess I get one miracle per lifetime. She thinks, her gaze meeting Satoru’s again.

     She thinks it’s worth it. She lets herself have a pleased smile, one echoed by Satoru.

     “Hey, Yuji,” Satoru says, “can you give us a minute? Sundari and I have a lot of catching up to do and I’m sure she’s got questions.”

     Yuji doesn’t question it but shoots a questioning look at Sundari who waves. She’ll be fine. He gets up from his seat, and she doesn’t ask how long he’s been standing watch at her bedside, and instead watches him leave. She thanks the gods her father isn’t tormenting the boy anymore. But now they’ve got to rescue—

     “Fushiguro,” Sundari says, and her voice hardens. “My father took over his body. Satoru—”

     “I know,” Satoru says. “The kids filled me in on the situation when I got here. We can get him back, but that’s not the only problem with Sukuna.”

     Sundari frowns. “Then what—”

     “Shh,” Satoru puts a finger to his lips, smirking. Sundari’s frown deepens, garnet eyes glittering impatiently.

     “Satoru, now’s not the time for games,” she says. “My dad’s loose with no binding vow to trap him. And who knows what he’s doing to my mother.”

     She’s sure that Sukuna has figured out what she did to free Satoru. The repercussions haven’t hit them directly yet, and Sundari hopes they can kill Sukuna before the dominoes reach them.

     “Your mother’s an asura,” Satoru says and Sundari gasps. He grins. “I knew, but I could never say it because of the binding vow that her soul drew us all into. But when you freed me, you changed that. How?”

     Sundari hesitates, trying to remember what happened. She remembers immense power, the cursed energy of half a dozen sorcerers seeking her head. She remembers casting her domain, gathering their cursed energy and killing them all in the process, their brains rupturing in their skulls.

     Then, the endless light filling her as the cursed energy was purified, and something like a domain was born from it.

     “I…” She continues to tell Satoru everything. “I think I inverted my domain and…some kind of light filled me up, poured out of me, and I just remember making my request. Wasn’t sure if I was screaming or if it was all in my head. But whatever it was I was yelling at looked at me and answered. I had to offer up something powerful enough to tip the scales of Genshin’s binding vow.”

     Satoru is gazing at Sundari with open wonderment.

     “So, you offered your mother’s Pact on the altar…but what did you promise them?”

     Sundari smiled sadly. “I promised them that I would take Sukuna’s curse from this world.”

     Satoru sucks in a breath.

     Sundari holds his gaze.

     “Sundari,” he says quietly. “That means…”

     “I know what it means,” Sundari says. “But all traces of him must go so that he never has a way to come back. And if there’s a way to do it and spare Megumi or Yuji a gruesome fate, I will do that.”

     Satoru can’t believe what he’s hearing. Sundari has just made a binding vow with the gods themselves to free him. But he knows how this works. The gods to do not give something without taking away something in turn. Nadja’s Pact no longer bound their tongues, and Sundari is now charged with the task of ending her father’s life.

     And her own.

     Satoru has never thought much about the divine until this moment, where he learns how to hate how bitterly unfair this life is to them. If there is a mercy for them, one where Satoru does not lose yet another love of his life to the callous disregard of the jujutsu world. He has promised to protect her, even though he knows she hates the idea. He has promised her a future where she can exist as herself. He wants her to be free.

     He wants her to be free with him.

     Satoru decides in that moment, that he will fight the gods themselves to keep Sundari here with him.

     “Let’s not think about that, now,” Satoru says with a smile. “We’ve got time until I face your dad, and there’s a lot of preparation we’ve got to do. How soon can you be ready to get back in?”

     Sundari is quiet a moment, and then she laughs, her voice pitches just below the vented air.

     “Give me another day,” she says. “Freeing you took a lot out of me, but I don’t regret it for an instant.”

     I love you. Those are the words he hears.

     Satoru leans in, brushing his lips against her temple.

     “A day, then,” he agrees. “Rest up, goddess. We’ve got a world that needs you in it.”

     I love you.

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[thesherrinfordfacility]

i won't go so far as to say they annoy me, because everyone has their own opinions, but i just CANNOT agree with any takes saying that their entire relationship has been dysfunctional or built on solely on false premises or etc. anything else in that vein. i know we've been dissecting the issues a lot to explain the breakup, but i'm going to go out on a limb and say that as a whole there's way more love than problems and there's way more good than bad. and that doesn't erase the problems or the bad or make them any less in need of fixing, i'm just saying overall the love in their relationship and the good parts of it definitely win out. plus, PLEASE cut them a bit of slack for the constraints the Heaven&Hell rigmarole put on their relationship. and i don't mean in a trauma way, i mean in a physical threat, having to do everything secretly kinda way.

further asks and response under the cut:

hi anon!!!✨ okay won't lie, the first ask made my blood pressure rocket through the ceiling 😅 but you're good, thanks for coming back to clarify, i really appreciate it - bc tbh idk if i would have had the acuity to have answered this today otherwise!!!✨

i hear you - speaking more personally for a sec (i will actually address what you're saying in a mo!), i hope you don't mind, it is slightly exhausting when some read my ask responses or metas, and genuinely believe that im purposefully trying to find negativity in the story or the characters, especially crowley. im not at all; i truly just find the dozens of layers to them both (and the storyline - the ethics, philosophy, psychology!) really, really interesting, and i find it fun to examine. i don't take any joy in pointing out flaws or dysfunctions for the sake of it, but more that, for me, it makes the whole relationship so much more relatable, and compelling. here are two creatures that are literally as non-human as it can get, and they're making mistakes, or miscommunicating, or have 'issues' the same as a lot of us do? that's really comforting to me - to look at two characters that i treasure acutely, and be able to recognise the ways in which they're not perfect. their story, in that respect, suddenly doesn't feel inaccessible.

but braindump-that-you-didnt-ask-for over!!!✨

i agree that their relationship is ultimately rooted in love. i think that that love has taken in many incarnations over the course of their narrative, emerging from general attraction/fascination, to acquaintances, to uniquely-relatable-to-each-other-and-only-each-other colleagues, to friends, to best friends, to deeply-pining crushes, to being unrequited love interests, to being full-throttle in love with each other, to being each other's family and sanctuary... all of these at the same time, and some evolving and merging into others. i don't personally hold the belief that romantic love has been there since the beginning (but fully respect where people do see it that way!) but romantic love isn't the only love that aziraphale and crowley are built on.

there have been problems and misunderstandings amongst all of that, times where they possibly don't know each other as much as they like to think they do, where they've not been kind or gentle to each other, but that doesn't mean that none of it isn't all interwoven, in every fibre, with love (whatever form that takes). they may not be human, but they are navigating something uniquely human, and that isn't always going to be perfect.

add to that, just as you say, the literal threat that hangs over both of them where they're not allowed to acknowledge a single part of any of the above; to do so not only puts themselves at risk, but the other at risk moreso. that fear - that sword of damocles, as others way more poetically-minded than me have put it - is borne out of love, of concern, of respect, and friendship. it's not a question, again as you say (because i wholeheartedly agree with you!), of one loving the other more than the vice versa, and one always having to bend to the other until they break whilst the other doesn't get a look-in. the way i see it, sometimes you do have to bend to each other in relationships, friendships etc., but that's a mark of trust, respect, and love in and of itself; that you can feel that you can look to the other for support when you need it, feel comfortable in being vulnerable enough to do so, and be so deeply loved in return as to be the one to support when the other needs it themselves.

there are times in the narrative where one lets the other down, or hurts them, sure - but that doesn't mean that that's the nail in the coffin. it's not going to ruin them, or end them, or drive them apart irrevocably; it's causing/caused issues that they simply need to work to mend... and tbh, they're probably not even aware that some of those cracks are there! once again, i think it's fair to say that this happens in most relationships, and usually - usually - most problems such as the more human-like ones they're facing now (especially the ones borne out of wanting to protect one another!) are fixable with patience, communication, kindness, time, and continuous love!

i do think s3 is really going to upend this, though, and put it to that aforementioned breaking point; i think there is going to be stuff revealed which leaves each other completely bare for the other to see - no secrets, no smokescreen, no glamour - and prove to be the true test of that love. but let's face it (because it will happen); they will choose to love each other anyway. perhaps even because of what s3 will reveal. i don't think ive ever seen their love for each other as unconditional - like i said, i think such a 'condition'/test will be put to them both in s3 and turn their view of each other on its head - but their love for each other in, all its guise, is strong, deep, and profound enough that it will be what they choose every time✨

if you would like to come back off anon, that is entirely up to you and i'll leave that for you to decide - or message privately? - i don't mind!!! but again thank you for clarifying the tone, i find tone hard to read sometimes and i appreciate the follow-up asks!!!💕

[mikaharuka]

Word Search... In Triplicate

That's right. It seems I started some sort of monster domino effect here, ever since I did my 2x version. Because you see, not only did I do my 2x version and provide 10 words for people to choose from... y'all decided to be overachievers and do all 10 words anyways XD

So it's come back to me... in 3x form, thanks to the trifecta that is @alpaca-clouds, @udaberriwrites, and @mrsmungus. At this point, I'm just waiting for this to roll off the deep end, so here we go XD

-

Words for me (Alex): Sword, Blood, Shiver, Voice, Lock Words for me (Alhaira): Gold, Glass, Jump, Nervous, Call Words for me (Miranda): Wrist, Closet, Dinner, Bridge, Snow

Words for you - Pillow, Trust, Mirror, Fog, Bird, Coffee, Wedding, Return, Terrify, Hidden, Stone, Whisper, Suffocate, Prepare, Garden

-

So, I'm leaving 15 words (all pulled from the Prithvi draft, by the way), and you just choose 5 words from there that work, but I already know that someone will try to do all 15, so... that's on them! Have fun! XD

I'm tagging the three people I know love this game and overachieve on top of that - @alpaca-clouds, @tsunderewatermelon, and @mrsmungus - but also am tagging @udaberriwrites, @lena-hills, @axolotlsupremacyowo, @sliebman10, @0nelittlebirdtoldme, @thememoryofthatday and am leaving the usual open tag for anyone else who is interested. No pressure, of course :)

Everything is from Apricity or the Prithvi draft, as always.

-

Sword - [Midnight Freefall, Apricity Ch 14]

Mike considered the doctor for the first time without the Sword of Damocles hanging over him. Despite the blood red eyes, disheveled appearance, and other inhuman traits, he could finally catch a piece of the “peaceful doctor” the rest of Forks saw… and despite the mild, unstable aura still lingering around him, the man seemed sincere and contrite. He could see the person the Quileute Shifters had come to trust over the centuries.

-

Blood - [Azure Mystique, Apricity Ch 11]

Beau slowly opened his eyes and looked up only to meet blood-red eyes staring back at him, heavily dilated in arousal. The being’s lips were also stained red, glistening against the azure moonlight. He swiped his lips with pale fingers, licking away and gently savoring every drop before smoothly dropping to his knees and gliding over his form. Beau continued staring back in awe, caught in a surreal hypnosis, trembling as an even deeper longing coursed through him. A deeper desire for something. Something even more.

-

Shiver - [Prithvi, Mahabhuta Ch 1 - Draft]

A warmth spread from just above his heart, sending warm shivers through his body. Ah right, that was a thing, wasn’t it? That neat, multicolor, geometric pattern that had been around for a very long time. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time when his skin didn’t carry this beautiful Mandala, this lovely mark that he enjoyed sketching during the occasional free moment in between homework and housework… wait, no. No. No way. That couldn’t be right.

-

Voice - [Amber Maelstrom, Apricity Ch 7]

He spent the past two days recovering at home, yet every time he relaxed, amber eyes trailed hungrily over his skin, burning him in their wake. Every time he moved, cool fingers caressed his hair and traced patterns over his form, prickling his skin under their touch - and that was during the day. At night, a deep voice purred his name, hands splayed themselves possessively across his body, and a tongue intertwined with his own as deliberate fingers dipped dangerously lower. It was a dance that played out until he woke up dazed and feverish, only to be abruptly plunged back into reality. He was no stranger to risqué dreams or musings, but the last two days had been particularly intense, with his mind drifting off rather easily unless he kept an active leash on it. The last thing he needed was for someone to notice his new set of problems

-

Gold - [Cerise Blossom, Apricity Ch 6]

Beau wasn’t stupid - he was clearly attracted to the doctor. It was hardly his first time crushing on someone, but calling this a mere crush almost felt offensive. Those gold eyes had lured him in and kept him entranced while a chain fastened itself around his chest, leaving the man free to pull on said chain however he pleased. 

-

Glass - [Ivory Verglas, Apricity Ch 5]

The moment of zen burst and Beau’s consciousness returned to the scene. The mangled mess of a van was crushed into a pile of junk mere feet from him. Even without his glasses, Beau could see a wide dent deeply imprinted into the van’s door. All the while, shards of glass surrounded him and dark smoke rose above the blurry blue pile of metal. After a moment of near-absolute silence, all hell broke loose. Voices screamed and footsteps pounded around him as Beau felt a hand on his face.

-

Jump - [Prithvi, Mahabhuta Ch 1 - draft]

‘He is here. He has returned here.’ The jumps she made only confused him. Not only was he somehow unable to get a word out to ask about his location, but she didn’t even make sense in what she was saying… and were her eyes somehow even brighter than before? Besides, with all the gossip he heard around town, his curiosity was now piqued. Just how important was this event and this going on? Just who were these people? And what is- ‘He has returned for his Bride.’

-

Nervous - [Platinum Elysium, Apricity Ch 1]

Despite the mild discomfort Beau felt in accepting the gift, a warm feeling bloomed within him. It reminded him of the art notebook his grandmother gifted him on his eighth birthday, just before she passed away. Sure, he was still nervous about living with his dad and awkward stuff would happen, but after seeing his father’s efforts… maybe life in Forks might actually turn out well for him. With a new surge of energy, Beau got out of the car and opened the trunk only for Charlie to pull the bags from beneath his hands.

-

Call - [Midnight Freefall, Apricity Ch 14]

“How should I address you? Edward uses Mike, but Rosalie calls you Michael.” “Either is fine. Most people use Mike, but my parents and Rose call me Michael.” “Very well, Michael.” Figures the vampire would go for his full name. “My apologies. I did not answer your question.” Oh yeah, there was that. Mike nodded at the doctor to continue. “I did traverse the distance on foot.” “How long did it take you to get here? It takes at least four hours by car.” “I suspect you already know the answer.”

-

Wrist - [Jade Challenge, Apricity Ch 8]

“What is this?” “It’s called the Celtic Diamond.” “It certainly looks unique - most knots I’ve seen are standalone.” “This specific knot is a family design. All of us wear the Celtic Diamond somewhere.” Beau recalled Elle’s earrings, Mina’s wrist-band, and the doctor's pendant. “Yeah, I remember something like that. But what does this have to do with me?” “The Celtic Diamond is something we use as… protection of sorts.” “Protection?” Beau sat up, alert and curious. “From what?” “Just protection in general. To be honest, I’d feel much better if you kept this necklace on your person. Maybe even wear it, if you’re comfortable doing so.”

-

Closet - [Obsidian Current, Apricity Ch 10]

Julie led him to the living room, and said “So there’s this video and-” “You want to try something with my hair?” Beau finished. “What else?” Julie left to grab a new hair brush and hair elastics from the closet. “Well, aren’t you prepared?” Beau asked as he took off his glasses and undid his updo. “Of course I am! So anyways, while I was looking up new styles for myself, I came across this really cool Viking style that would totally suit you.” Julie brushed through his hair. “It’s this series of side braids pulled back into a loose ponytail that’s half-up, half-down, and… whoa! Your hair’s almost as long as mine!” She started on a looser braid at the top of his head. “What was I saying? Oh yeah, so this’ll look amazing… if I can pull it off.” “You say that like you haven’t done more complicated stuff,” he said wryly. “Maaaybe…” Julie conceded.

-

Dinner - [Sangria Totality, Apricity Ch 13]

With all this information and all these revelations swimming through his flooded mind, Mike found himself suddenly grateful that he was spending the night at Hoshizuki rather being than stuck at dinner then in a car for hours with his totally-in-the-dark classmates... excepting Angela. He really needed time to process everything and could already feel the exhaustion creeping up behind him. Unfortunately, it seemed like the night was only about to get started for him.

-

Bridge - [Sangria Totality, Apricity Ch 13]

Pink was the first thing he noticed - the pink blooms of the many cherry blossom trees lit by the moon from above and soft lanterns from beneath. The blossoms cast a warm pinkish aura against the rest of the cool blue-green forest and the garden spanning the clearing. The garden itself was an aesthetically pleasing space, with smaller trees, flowers, and stones surrounding a pond with a red bridge spanning across the surface. Small electric lanterns dotted the stone walkways, the bridge, the gazebos, and the rest of the clearing. It was something out of a timeless space.

-

Snow - [Platinum Elysium, Apricity Ch 1]

Evergreen trees towering over the fields; emerald moss climbing over wood fences; powder-white snow lightly dusting the flora; slender icicles hanging from signs and guardrails - it was an otherworldly winter wonderland. Thinking back to his summer visits, he realized that the mystical aura permeated the area year-round. Luscious green foliage, sprawling shamrock vines, vivid reds, oranges, and purples dotting the horizon, blooming brilliantly as they sought the sun’s rays. Images of the winter he saw and the summers he remembered blended together in his mind, sparking something significant deep within, leaving him with a buzzing sense of anticipation.

[hismercytomyjustice]

Omfg it took me 84 years to do it, but I’m finally caught up with work stuff again! \o/

Does this mean my work induced burnout is over? GOD I HOPE SO.

Shit has been hanging over me like the sword of Damocles for weeks now.

Doesn’t help many of my internal and external customers are needy af (*narrows eyes at one external customer in particular*), but hopefully now that we’re moving into June this means our whole team can actually breathe again.

I love the holiday season as much as the next person, but I do not love all the work at the end of the year getting shoved to the beginning of the new one. It makes February thru May/June a NIGHTMARE.

Nightmare as in most of my coworkers are having public mental breakdowns instead of our usual private ones! Yay!

Fffff maybe I’ll actually have the bandwidth and brainpower to start taking Korean classes again. I haven’t been able to since the end of last year. T_T I miss them and I know for a fact I’m getting rusty.

Of course I gotta see if I can balance Korean and piano lessons without my brain going into a nuclear meltdown…

I always want my personal bandwidth to be at 200% but in reality it’s probably 65% at best. Is it the ADHD? Is it the OCD? Or is it a secret third option?! Maybe now I’m not in mental survival mode, I can explore all that with my therapist in our upcoming sessions instead of spending them all trying to figure out how to actually function due to extreme work burnout! Yay!

Ngl I’m also kind of hoping if my doctor can figure out wtf is going on with my liver, it might magically give me more energy and solve a lot of other issues. Got the ultrasound yesterday for it and am waiting for the results now. I’m very curious to learn what’s going on, especially since this kind of thing can have to do with connective tissue disorders.

My mom was told when she got her bloodwork done for her RA that it looked like she might have a connective tissue disorder too, though I don’t think that was ever further explored. I’m hypermobile and have wondered about EDS, but have never gotten officially tested for it. Thankfully my hypermobility isn’t excruciating or anything. I just tend to hyperextension that I don’t notice until I move and realize I fucked up lol.

Of course it could also just be regular ol’ inflammation that can be fixed with diet changes and exercise. Just gotta wait and see.

It’s possible the liver thing could be contributing to my never-ending fatigue. It’s also possible my super fun OCD spirals add to it too. lol my old therapist told me my spirals were “exhausting to hear about.” She didn’t mean it in a bad way! Just that she could only imagine how they were to actually experience as a result.

It’s wild seeing an OCD specialist now. My old therapist was fantastic but she didn’t specialize in OCD. New therapist (new-ish) is just able to map this shit out for me and it’s wonderful. OCD often masquerades as intense anxiety and some anxiety management tips and tricks do help it, but damn if seeing a specialist isn’t like night and day. My old therapist taught me some defusion techniques, but now I’m doing a mix of exposure therapy but mostly Inference-Based CBT which are both tailored specifically to OCD and it’s been so helpful. My brain is definitely broken but it feels a hell of a lot less broken now and a lot less scary.

My therapist also let me know there’s specific therapy that addresses OCD and autism together, so that’s something we’re gonna explore too. I don’t have an official diagnosis for autism but my therapist is pretty confident about it. She doesn’t specialize in it but she’s been helping me navigate the possibility. ADHD, OCD, and autism have massive overlap which makes it really fucking hard to separate the three. OCD and autism are really frequently misdiagnosed for one another too because of it. I def have the ADHD and OCD tho, diagnoses courtesy of specialists in both fields.

God I have been so fucking blessed to have amazing doctors and therapists who actually listen to me and take my concerns seriously. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had ABSOLUTE DOGSHIT ones too, but those were years ago when I wasn’t as good at advocating for myself. I know there’s a healthy dose of privilege thrown in there too on my end, but god I feel so fucking lucky.

Maybe it’s too much caffeine or finally being caught up on work but I don’t feel completely fucking exhausted for the first time in like a month or two. I’m not gonna go start running laps or anything, but it’s so nice to feel like my brain isn’t mashed potatoes at the end of the day for once. Yaaaay!

[noteguk]

i was wondering how bad influence! jk and oc started interacting? like what made them start talking

[ ! ] this dabble is a prequel to “bad influence”

— words; 1.6k

~

Your professor was looking at you with expectation, the small piece of paper hanging between his fingers like the sword of Damocles over your head. You were staring at him in silence for a few seconds now, and the whole situation was starting to get awkward. 

“So,” he pressed on, dangling the paper in front of your eyes. On it, the name and phone number of one of your classmates. “What do you say?” 

When he asked you to stay after class, you expected it would be something related to tutoring. Your professor had mentioned it in passing a few times before, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when he told you he had found you someone who really needed your assistance. You were beaming with joy for precisely a minute and twenty one seconds until he revealed the name of your student. 

Jeon Jungkook. 

Before you had any chance to muster an excuse for why you couldn’t — under any circumstance — get close to someone like that, even less tutor him, your professor already had his card up his sleeve. “It’ll be good for your curriculum.” 

And you said yes in a heartbeat. 

~

Jungkook was predictable. You knew that he would be late (after all, his cringy bad boy persona would never allow him to follow one single rule in his life), you just didn’t know it would be almost two-hours-late. By the point that you saw that hurricane in human form walking into the library, you had already finished your homework for the entire week. 

He had the nerve to smirk at you, and you swore an oath to yourself that you wouldn’t present him with the irritation he was expecting. And you didn’t — with all the patience and kind-heartedness that your parents had pushed down your throat your entire life, you put on your best commercial smile and greeted him like he was just in time. 

“Well, now that you’re here, let’s start with the basics and go over some defense cells.” You tugged the heavy Immunology book towards you, quickly flipping the pages towards the chapter that you had chosen for that first session. Jungkook had already taken his typical slouched position on the chair next to you, looking like he was about to slide down to the carpeted floor. “I’d like to know how familiar you are with it, though. Can you start by telling me about the types of lymphocytes?” 

He chuckled, running one hand through his hair. “I have no idea what that shit is.”

You took a deep breath and ignored the irritation that was building up on your stomach. You didn’t know how someone could be so indifferent about everything. “Well... that’s why I’m here,” you managed to keep your voice cheerful. 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re here because you wanna get paid, princess. No need to play the Good Samaritan.”

You thought about telling him that you weren’t getting paid, but the idea wasn’t the best one. He’d probably mock you even more for wasting your Friday afternoon tutoring in the name of your curriculum. Not that he knew the importance of that, anyways. 

“This is some bullshit.” Jungkook rested his head on his crossed arms, lying over the table, pushing away your pens and notebooks as he did so. His black hair fell over his features as he grouchily mumbled out, “I don’t even know why I chose this class, it has nothing to do with my major.”

You were surprised that he was even majoring in something, instead of just frequenting the campus as an excuse to meet girls. “Well, I can't answer that for you, can I?” You asked, tapping on his book’s hardcover. That little antibody drawing was staring at you in a silent mockery, wondering if you’d be able to make him study — or even care about anything. “But I can help you with the rest. Now, come on. Types of lymphocytes.”

His eyebrows came down to form a confused frown. Jungkook would’ve probably given you the same reaction if you had just called his mother all the filthy names you could think of. “You’re really trying to teach me?” He asked. “Like, for real?” 

You sighed. The time you taught your little cousin how to read was less frustrating than that. “It’s kind of my job as a tutor, you know.”

Jungkook rose from his position and leaned back against the chair, his arms crossing before his chest. Beneath them, his strong pecs stressed against the fabric of his white shirt, but you refused to look. “You know that you can just pretend to teach me, I can pretend to learn, and you’re gonna get your credits anyways, right?” He asked as if you were the stupidest person he had ever met. “You don’t need to actually put in the effort, princess. Especially since I don’t give any fucks about immunology.” 

If he called you that stupid pet name one more time, you swore you were going to knock him out. “Well, I’m already here, I’d rather do things right.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes. “God, you’re so booooring,” he groaned. “Don't you have some charity work to do or something?” 

“I’m doing it right now.” You smiled. “I can see that you’re really trying to fail this class, don’t get me wrong. But I’m just trying to do my job—“

“Boooooring,” he sang, louder than the librarian would ever allow if she was close enough to hear him. Jungkook looked back at you, his eyes narrowed. You couldn’t really tell if he was disgusted or just annoyed. “Why do you even care? It’s just some stupid class, it doesn’t even matter. I’ll tell the professor you taught me everything and we can both go home.” 

“I can’t do that,” you said, firm. 

“Why not?” 

“First of all, because that’s wrong,” you told him. Just as you were about to say that, also, his unavoidable horrible grades would make clear that he hadn’t learned shit (which would make you look like a clown instead of a tutor), his laugh ruptured your sentence. 

“Oh, come on. You’re kidding me.” He smiled brightly — not a tender one, of course, but one full of perverse mockery. You had never met someone as condescending as Jungkook, and he was managing to push every single button inside you. “That’s wrong? What are you, six?” 

You frowned. “You’re the child here, just trying to find a easy way out instead of putting in the eff—“ 

“What are your dreams, princess?” He interrupted again, leaning his head to the side. You really, really, really hated him. “Wait, no, let me guess. A family, a suburban house, and a dog? A nine to five? Something like that? Having your husband cheat with the babysitter before you’re forty?”

Some part of you knew that he was just trying to make you so angry that you would give up on tutoring him. Jungkook didn’t know that you wouldn’t throw away your obligations so quickly, but he was able to make you mad enough to get an answer. “What are yours?” you spat, kindness long forgotten. “Remaining unemployed, talentless, mentally trapped in your twenties, and fucking desperate milfs for money until you die from an early overdose?” 

If your priest had heard you talk like that, he would most surely faint. 

Jungkook, however, didn’t seem so horrified. In fact, his disgusted smile quickly morphed into a diverted one, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Uh,” he mumbled. “Interesting.”

The shame from your previous outburst was starting to weigh down on you, but you managed to keep it undercover. “What?” 

“Didn’t know you had a mouth on you,” he said, clearly entertained. In a way, you were glad that he hadn’t taken your words to heart, because he could probably snap you in half if he was feeling like it. “You’re always so shy and shit. I thought you were going to cry.” 

“I’m not shy,” you spoke, defensive. You had gotten close to shedding a couple tears, but he didn’t need to know that. You hated confrontation. “I just don’t wanna talk to people like you unless I’m obligated to.” 

He raised his eyebrows — a silent threat. “People like me?”

There was a second of hesitation from your part that Jungkook didn’t miss. “Yes.” You couldn’t hold his piercing gaze. As much as Jungkook was annoying the shit out of you, you didn’t actually want to have a full-blown argument with him. Especially on university grounds. “People who can’t even tell me about lymphocytes. Now, are you done with your victimization session? Can we start, or do you wanna tell me more about how you’re burning college money and you are so superior because of it?” 

He chuckled and looked you up and down — actually looked at you. Weirdly enough, it felt like the first time that Jungkook was actually seeing you, and not the empty shell of a stereotype that he had built for you in his peanut-sized brain. “You’re really trying here, aren’t you?” He asked. 

You didn’t know if he was talking about the tutoring session anymore, but you decided not to bite. “Is that a sin now?” And, before he could say anything else, you added, “Page 124. Come on. Unlike you, I don’t have all day to sit around doing nothing.” 

He smirked. “You’re more fun than you look, princess.” 

And, for the first time, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t predictable — he actually opened the book on the page you told him to. 

~

One hour later, he was already dozing off, a small puddle of saliva accumulating on top of his chaotic notes. Still, you counted that as a victory. 

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

[wlw-peachylsbn]

i think i need some fresh air (feeling under pressure) (narcissa malfoy x reader)

A/N: okay, so my only notes for this fic was "narcissa reads you poems while you suck her tiddy? mommy kink yay". so that's what you're going to get! thanks to @daffodilmoons for inspiring me with their post here!

we have some mommy kink (yes, i am predictable go away), a bit of tit sucking, and fluff.

You sigh, tossing the covers off as you sit up, rubbing your eyes. The clock hanging on the wall reads 2:34 a.m. Great.

You turn to look at Narcissa, a smile instantly coming to your face. She’s sound asleep, of course, but she looks like some sort of angel, her blonde hair tumbling in waves, a peaceful expression on her face. You quietly take her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips, before stealing her robe and padding to the living room. You’ve never been more grateful that her manor is so large. You can just wander around with little chance of waking up.

Of course, you find your way to the library. Multiple bookshelves tower over you, and the soft carpet muffles your footsteps as you take your favourite seat. It’s a plushy, cherry red chair by the window that sticks out from the elegant, silver decor. Narcissa ordered it for you after a playful argument (darling, I love the comfort factor, but it doesn’t match!), and you fell in love at first sight. Or first seat.

A table rests at the side of your chair, adorned with your favourite books and trinkets, and a glass of cold water (on top of a coaster, of course). You take a book of poetry—love poems—and idly flip through the pages before tossing it back onto the table. Usually, you can lose yourself in poetry, but tonight, you just feel restless.

You grab a nearby blanket and wrap it around your shoulders as you stand up, looking out the window. It’s a bit of a chilly evening, but it’s quiet. There are no more of those damned peacocks, just some birds calling and the rustle of the wind. The moon is shining brightly, too.

You sigh, tightening your hold on the blanket that smells like Narcissa. You’ve been having trouble sleeping for the past few days, with nightmares waking you up or simple insomnia. It seems like tonight is the latter.

You sigh again. Life just sucks sometimes! No way around it. School has been an absolute bitch lately. With finals coming up, and multiple projects and essays due, your stress levels are extremely high. Every day makes you come closer to your deadlines. You don’t want your grades to slip, but you’ve spent every waking moment hunched over your desk, your quill scribbling. You haven’t even had time for dates with Narcissa, even.

You slump against the window. The sword of Damocles hangs over your head, and you’re keenly aware of every slipping inch. You know you shouldn’t overthink, but still, your mind falls down a negative rabbit hole with no rope to hold onto.

Dark whispers infiltrate your mind, and the demons in the shadows tip-toe forward, ready to grab you in their claws. You can’t even muster up any courage to fight back; you just allow them to control.

Until you feel a hand on your shoulder. You know who it is. Your love, Narcissa, of course. You would know her blind or deaf, by the warmth of her hand and the softness of her footsteps.

When you turn to face her, the monsters fade away. Her hair is like her halo, and the way she’s smiling at you can only be described as angelic. She’ll protect you; she always does.

“Cissa,” you breathe.

“Darling. What on Earth are you doing up so late?”

“I thought it was early?”

“Early or late, there’s no reason for you to be up at this hour.” She tsks, and although it’s meant to reprimand you, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. She’s worried about you; she cares about you.

“I know. I just couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Why ever not?”

“You looked too beautiful to disturb.”

“Oh, hush.” Narcissa rolls her eyes, but you still spot the pleased smile she tries to hide. “I don’t want you to hide from me. Your troubles are my troubles. I can help you, do you understand?”

You glance away, squinting at the door over her shoulder. “I know, I know….”

“Good. You’re not alone, not anymore.” She takes a seat in your favourite chair and tugs your waist, making you tumble into her lap.

A laugh escapes you as you shift to get more comfortable. “Cissa! What was that for?”

“Because I wanted you close,” she replies simply. “Now, what’s been keeping you up at night, darling? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. You’ve been eating less and less and working more and more.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ignore you.”

“I know you don’t. I never said you were. But I am rather worried.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I’m fine. Please don’t worry anymore.” The lie slips out without your consent, and judging by her raised eyebrow, Narcissa doesn’t believe you one bit.

“Don’t you remember what I just said?”

“Yes, we’re a team, my troubles are yours, blah blah.” You wiggle closer, moving her silk robe to the side so you can nuzzle into the soft skin revealed.

“ ‘Blah blah?’ And is that my robe?” She tsks again. “It seems you’ve developed a bit of an attitude, little one.”

“Me? I don’t have an attitude!” You ignore how her nickname makes you shiver, instead pressing a kiss to her neck again. “I don’t, Cissa.”

“Well, if you’re a good girl, then you’ll tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh loudly but rest against her chest, closing your eyes. You’re tired. You’re always so tired. But you push through your exhaustion and say, “I’m just really stressed because of school. I was having a good start to the semester, but now, I’m feeling pretty burnt out. I don’t want to disappoint …”

“Disappoint?” she prompts. “Finish your thought, sweetheart.”

“Disappoint my family. Disappoint me.” You swallow. “Disappoint you.”

“Oh, honey.” The kindness in her tone makes you grip her robe in your fists, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Sweetheart, it’s alright. Everything is going to be alright. Look at me. Look at me, please.”

You don’t want to, but she grabs your chin gently, tugging so you’re looking into each other’s eyes. You can’t imagine how you look, hair mussed up, dark eye bags, and a slowly escaping tear. But Narcissa looks at you tenderly as ever, reaching up to wipe your tear away. “You won’t disappoint me.”

“But—”

“Hush. You could never disappoint me. Never. Especially over a grade. I just want you to try your best. That’s all.”

“Everyone says that but—what if my best is not enough? I’ll be a failure, Mommy.” To your utter humiliation, the nickname you associate with comfort and safety slips out. You bury your head in the crook of her neck again, this time intending to never leave.

“Sometimes, the things we love and work hard for, don’t work out. That has nothing to do with our failures or triumphs, simply that the time wasn’t quite right.” Her hand comes up to rub your back in long, smooth strokes, thankfully not commenting on your Freudian slip. “Your grades have nothing to do with you as a person. They are a separate entity, completely. The only things that define us are the things we allow, understand?”

You nod shakily. “ ‘m still really worried.”

“I know, my love. I’m not expecting that fear to go away in five minutes. But if you allow me to stay by your side, I swear I will always be your support when you fall. Always.”

“Always,” you whisper. A seed of hope worms its way to your chest. With Narcissa by your side, how can you do anything but fight?

“But we can plan tomorrow, darling. Our goal for tonight is to get some sleep.”

You nod, already half-asleep on her chest. The exhaustion you’ve been pushing away slams into you like a ton of bricks, and you yawn. “M’kay.”

“Shall I read you some poems? I know you love them.”

“If you don’t mind, Mommy.”

“Of course I don’t, darling girl.” Her hair tickles your cheek as she leans forward to grab the book you were reading earlier. “Would you like to hear Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning?”

“Mhm.”

“ ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.’ ”

You know the next line by heart. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. It’s quite close to how you feel about Narcissa, but not entirely. There are no words for how you feel for her. Sometimes the truest feelings are the hardest to put into words because there simply are no words. But it’s close. And you think she knows.

Narcissa’s voice is so lovely. Husky from sleep and soft and melodic. She has a perfect reading voice. She’s perfect.

You shift, a little whine leaving your mouth. You’re on the verge of falling asleep, but you’re missing one key thing.

“Oh, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Tired?”

You nod, snuggling closer to her.

“That’s alright, dear heart. Just rest now.”

“Mommy,” you whine again. You don’t want to say it, so you grasp her robe and tug, exposing her breast. “Please?”

“Oh, I see now, darling. You just want Mommy’s help to fall asleep, don’t you, lovely?” Narcissa coos, pulling her robe more to the side. “I know, baby, I know. Come here.”

Finally. This is what you’ve been waiting for. You eagerly latch your mouth on her nipple, closing your eyes and sucking.

She laughs quietly, running her hand through your hair, playing with the ends. “Slow down, darling. Just relax now. Mommy’s got you.”

You nod, eyes half-lidded. The bud in your mouth hardens with every suck or lick, and it is arousing, to an extent, but it’s mostly just … comforting. There’s something you can focus all your attention on, something that’s anchoring you. You keep sucking, listening to Narcissa read, and finally allow yourself to fall asleep.

[aminiatureworld]

Damocles

Characters: Zhongli, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,211

Warnings: Hanahaki disease – depictions of a fictional illness with symptoms mimicking tuberculosis, mentions of coughing up blood, talking a lot about death

Premise: In which the reader thinks Zhongli doesn’t reciprocate their feelings, and fears the consequences.

Author’s Note: Ngl, I don’t think I’ve ever really heard about this trope before, except maybe in passing. So if it’s a little weird that’s why.

I ended up taking the story in a bit of a macabre direction. Hopefully not too melodramatic, but I kinda like how it turned out.

Zhongli

“Thank you for telling me, but I’m afraid I cannot return your feelings. I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”

 In truth you couldn’t decide whether or not you had expected your feelings to be returned. You and Zhongli had been friends for years now, and you had grown closer to him than you had to most of your previous friends and acquaintances. Indeed, you had grown closer to him than you had to many of the people you’d been in previous relationships in. You called upon him in some form almost every day, whether it be to discuss something of importance or simply bask in his presence. When there was something new you found about, whether it be a story in a book or a particularly funky looking shell, you almost immediately sought out Zhongli to share your find with.

For Zhongli’s part, he also liked to share experiences with you. At the very least you couldn’t say that your friendship was one sided. He often would be the one to walk up to you on the street, a new brand of tea written down on a piece of paper in his pocket, or a location where one could find particularly beautiful glaze lilies on his lips. He never seemed to mind when you peppered him with endless questions, or talked his ear off about your own day; something which you often asked if he found annoying. No, you were very sure that Zhongli wasn’t simply spending time with you out of pity.

In truth it was your friends who guessed the trajectory of your personal feelings before you did. Though you often found their poking and prodding intensely irritating, they had the common sense to keep the questions to a minimum – perhaps in hope their silence might guarantee that your affections would reveal themselves naturally one day. Now though you had to admit they had been right. You had fallen for Zhongli how long ago? It seemed so difficult to say when, so gradually had your feelings changed from viewing him as a confidante to viewing him as something more. Once you had finally come to terms with it you’d put off revealing your feelings as long as possible.

It wasn’t just the chance of rejection, something that would already cause emotions to run high. You had seen what sort of disease could ravage those who were unlucky in love. One of your own friends had suffered from such a disease, a fellow member of the Liyue Qixing had died from such a thing only a few months ago.

It was a terrible disease, everyone at least could agree about that. The origins of such an unfathomable sickness was much less understood. Most saw it as a curse from the gods, a punishment to the humans who would love a fellow mortal more than those who ruled above them, who gave their protection, their mercy, and their gifts to the people below. Others argued that it was simply a result of stress, for what heart could take the shock of a truly deep rejection. A rare parasite, a curse from malevolent demons, all these theories made little difference when it came to the actual disease. You were fairly sure anyways that people dying of it couldn’t care less why it happened, only that it was happening to them.

First came the coughing, easy enough to ignore in a land where the common cold truly lived up to its name. Then you couldn’t run as fast or as far as you had once, at least on the days were you weren’t fighting off crippling fatigue – the night sweats doing little to help you in your desperate need for rest. Then the fever set in, then the blood that stained the porcelain sink. By the time the first few petals would appear emaciation would already begin to claim your muscle mass and the precious body fat that kept you alive. Some people didn’t even get to the point of regurgitating fully formed flowers. Those people were usually considered lucky, for when one must deal with an incurable disease, well, surely it is better to go sooner rather than later.

You wouldn’t lie and say that wasn’t one of the reasons it took you so long to confess. After all, what you don’t know won’t kill you, right? You weren’t actually sure about that, but it sounded right in your mind, regardless of its actual veracity. However, as with most people in love, you’d found a growing recklessness inside you, paired with the sudden desperation for a happiness which you would certainly never obtain at this rate. So you’d made up your mind to tell him, deciding that perhaps the certainty would be better than the ever growing cloud of anxiety that surrounded your thoughts.

Now you’d been rejected. You had to admit that your first reaction was utter panic, the distinct feeling of having made a terrible sort of mistake. Oh sure, your feelings were undeniably hurt, but that was less important than the virtual death sentence you’d been handed. Why oh why had you decided to do this? The world seemed to swim in front of your for a moment, as simultaneously everything came into sharp focus and faded away into the recesses of your mind. What would you do now? There was nothing to do, you just had to wait for the inevitable, wait for the cold embrace of death to welcome you to its abode. You took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. Tears were forming in your eyes, but you knew that they weren’t from romantic distress. Ironically romance was the last thing in your mind right now.

“I, I see. Thank you for your honesty.”

It was all you could manage to make out. Turning around, head light from fear, you bolted down the streets of Liyue, desperate to be in your home, desperate to ignore the sword of Damocles that now hung dangerously low over your head.

 Zhongli watched you go, watched as you stumbled your way through the crowd that always packed the streets of Liyue in the daytime. He was fine, he was perfectly fine. He had seen it through, had done what he knew was right. There was no reason to regret. Surely the small stab of pain he felt was temporary, a pinprick compared to all that the ex-archon had suffered over the years.

Zhongli had suspected that a confession like this might’ve been on the horizon for quite some time now. Not that he was dreading it out of a personal inability to reciprocate. No, in his heart Zhongli already reciprocated your suspected feelings. He loved you, adored you even; within the stony heart that had atrophied over years of war, suffering, and personal duty, grew a love that Zhongli had not felt for a very long time. He cherished every moment with you, knowing that his long life would try to compress the memories that were so precious to them. Seeing you whenever he could, dragged out conversations as long as he possibly could, Zhongli was practically desperate for time with you. He was also intensely aware of how short that time would ultimately be.

How could Zhongli push the curse of loving an immortal being on you? For it truly was a curse, to both parties involved. His side was painful of course, the knowledge that your memory, you lifespan even, would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He would always be wondering whether or not the two of you would be experiencing a “last”. Last visit to the sea, last time to climb up the Huaguang Stone Forest to watch the sunset together. Last, last, last. Always the shadow of death would hang over you, so palpable in Zhongli’s mind that he might almost reach out and grasp the gossamer veil that would eventually steal you away. Yes, it would be a truly painful experience. Not nearly as painful however as your own experience.

Zhongli had long ago come to the conclusion that mortals had no true concept of the passage of time. You were young now, the world was your oyster. Zhongli’s immortal status would be nothing more than a passing thought, an anomaly and nothing more. Then your 40th birthday would pass, then you 50th, then you 60th, 70th, 80th. By the time you reached the end of your life the difference between you and Zhongli would stretch out like a chasm between the two of you, something to never be reconciled, for the old rarely forgave the young for their youth. Not to mention the other scenario, the one that Zhongli would never allow the freedom to truly cloud his thoughts. Your death of old age would be a tragedy, the alternative a catastrophe.

He knew all this, had seen it time and time again. Zhongli was hardly the first immortal being to fall in love with a mortal, would not be the last. Adepti, archons, all walks of immortal life were drawn to humanity, drawn to the freedom that came with mortality. Humans did things because they died; they had no forcible tie to nature, no innate duty other than to themselves. Humans could be wicked or kind or cruel or merciful as they wished. To those who were chained by their destiny, well, there was something very anomalous in such a choice. Perhaps it was no surprise then that an immortal being would inevitable find themselves interacting with those supposedly below them. Perhaps it was no surprise that this often led to love.

All that being true, Zhongli still refused to give into his needless selfishness. He loved you, yes. Knowing that was enough. He wouldn’t push such a burden on you, wouldn’t cause you resentment or pain. It would be better if you thought that your feelings weren’t reciprocated, it would be less painful.

Nor would you have to worry about the curse to which many less lucky fell. Zhongli still loved you, still cherished you deeply. You would never have to worry about that, for archons and adepti do not move on from love the way humans do. Zhongli’s love for you would long outlast your lifespan, one which, the archon prayed, would be very long indeed.

Yes, everything had been handled well enough. Perhaps you would never wish to speak with him again, perhaps you would grow to resent him even, how quickly love can turn into hate. It didn’t matter though. Zhongli had shielded you from long, drawn-out suffering, and that was all that mattered. He should’ve been satisfied, should have felt relief. Instead however he only felt a great sadness pressing down, a sadness combined with the pain that accompanied a love that must never truly be realized.

 It had been nine days since you’d been rejected by Zhongli. Crossing off another square on the calendar which you had dug out of your old stationary you sighed. The nine days succeeding the encounter had been utter hell. At first you were convinced that the worst thing that could happen was the symptoms of the wretched illness showing up quickly, so convinced you were that the next day you would wake up with blood on your pillow. Soon however, you’d come to a completely different conclusion. There was nothing worse than waiting.

Every day was spent in the agony of anticipation, every day waiting for the coughing to begin, for the night sweats to begin ravaging your sleep, for the breathe to be stolen from your lungs. Yet every day you woke up with none of these things, though your fatigue was real enough.

You should have been relieved, should have been glad for the opportunity to live even a few more days. Yet instead of relief you only felt deep, unrelenting dread. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything, so crippled were you by morbid anticipation.

Not that your thoughts were particularly worthwhile either. Perhaps it would be one thing if your ruminations had brought up something profound, something that you could write down in a book for your family or your friends. Though it still would be poor solace, well, at least it’d be something. But your thoughts had all turned to mush, replaced by a paranoia so strong it confined you to your bed most days.

You thought that the death sentence would in some way be freeing, that you might be able to recklessly throw yourself at all the things you had avoided out of fear for so long. Instead you found yourself depressed, waiting for an inevitable so terrifying you found yourself disconnecting from the people around you. What did it matter anyways? You’d be dead soon enough.

This gross neglect of your wellbeing was at least somewhat allayed by the routine that had been drilled into your body from so many years working for the Liyue Qixing. Though you didn’t go to work, something you were sure you were going to hear about eventually, you still dared to venture out to the market. At the very least you would eat your fill in good for before the end was nigh. No need to worry about your health after all. Besides, your definition of good food didn’t necessarily always align with completely unhealthy.

Walking through the familiar streets you stared at the people around you. How odd it was to see people so close you could touch them but so far they might as well have been in Inazuma. Was there anyone else here suffering like you were? Anyone who could understand the thoughts that now flooded your brain? You stared at the ground, trying not to think about it. You’d be confronted with these thoughts the minute you got home anyways. Might as well delay it a bit.

Turning to find the fishmonger you spied a familiar silhouette. Stopping in your tracks you stared unabashedly at Zhongli. The man seemed to be carrying himself much as ever, but the unapproachable atmosphere which he’d blanketed himself in seemed somewhat more prominent. Perhaps it was your imagination, he seemed to be talking to the butcher easily enough. Not that it was any of your business. Zhongli wasn’t any of your business anymore. It would be better if you could forget him, if you could erase this feeling in your heart that refused to go away. Even now Zhongli was beautiful. Even now you wished to run up to him, to hug him, to make pretend everything was right with the world. You couldn’t do that though. Just as you couldn’t forget him, you couldn’t love him. Not in the way you wanted. Turning away you trudged back home, good food utterly forgotten.

It was day eighteen since Zhongli had rejected you, and by now your emotions were running almost unbearably high. You’d sunk into an odd reverie of adrenaline, anxiety, and utter disbelief. What in the world was going on? This was a familiar illness to you, something that had almost claimed the life of your friend and had felled your coworker. You knew everything about symptoms, timeline, etc.; and what you knew was you were supposed to be falling ill ages ago. Eighteen days between the initial rejection and the beginning of symptoms? It was unheard of! You didn’t know what to think. Were the rumors about the gods true, had Zhongli imposed some divine protection on you for the sake of your friendship? Were you somehow a superhuman who had the white blood cell coding to defeat the bacteria that caused this disease? Why hadn’t your descent begun yet?

You lounged on the couch, having moved out of your bedroom on the thirteenth day, three days after the latest possible showing of symptoms. Though you still felt deeply afraid, you found that curiosity was a surprisingly good deterrent when it wanted to be. Your fears hadn’t disappeared, but mixed with them was a disbelief so great that you often found your thoughts drifting to questions of how rather than questions of when.

Of course your initial instinct had been to seek out Zhongli. Pride mixed with fear however had kept you firmly at home. Really what was the point in even seeking out the answer to your miraculous reprieve at this point? It wouldn’t really change the outcome. Instead you might as well enjoy this unexpected extension of your life. Besides, you didn’t want to tempt the fates a second time.

 Zhongli stood at the window of your first story apartment, a glaze lily in hand. He hadn’t meant to do this, but the urge refused to leave him.

He’d noticed you a few times at the market, face drawn, eyes empty. Zhongli wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but certainly this wasn’t it. He knew you weren’t suffering from illness, your pace was strong, if slightly erratic, your general aura not that of the sick that Zhongli was all too familiar with. Why then did you look so terrible? The doubts that had plagued Zhongli began to rise again, jeering at the mistake he had made. He was supposed to protect you, right? Why then did you look as if you had experienced a total health collapse?

At first Zhongli tried to ignore it. You had not come to him for help, it was not his place to try and insert himself back in your life once more. The more he thought of you however, the more he found himself uneasy. He had to have some form of communication, some way to enquire about your health. At least one last time. If you explicitly rejected all forms of contact, well then Zhongli would leave. He would never defy your wishes in such a way. Until then however, he felt like he needed to ask.

The idea of walking up to your apartment and asking you was utterly off the table. Who knew how that might end? No, he wanted a subtler way. Glaze lilies had always been a favorite of yours, sneaking out into the evening to see them bloom even more so. He would simply leave one on your windowsill. If you took it, then he would enquire about your health. If you left it, well Zhongli would have his answer.

His hand trembled slightly as he stared at the windowsill, causing the gold ribbon tied around the lily to tremble slightly. At first Zhongli wanted only to give you the flower. He realized soon however that you might be confused, wondering if someone had not simply dropped a flower on your windowsill, or had the wind blown it there? The ribbon would hopefully clear things up. Even if it looked a little silly.

Slowly placing the flower down onto the open window Zhongli sighed. Turning around he did not dare spare a glance backwards. He would have his answer soon enough after all. Until then, well, there was no point in looking back.

 You exited from the kitchen, having finally felt the energy to make yourself that good food you’d been promising yourself. Going to look at the sunset you let out a soft gasp.

On your windowsill was a single glaze lily, wrapped in gold.

[mimisempai]

I love it when you look at me and smile

Summary:

Bucky takes Sam Christmas shopping in a crowded mall. But what happens when Sam loses Bucky in the crowd...?

Day 16 : Shopping

Notes:

Sam is so in love…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35752180

1050 words - Rating G

Sam hadn't been too keen on the idea of Christmas shopping at first, but in the end, he was having more fun than he'd thought.

Maybe because it was the first Christmas he'd spent in a long time without a sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Maybe because he wasn't alone. Maybe because he could hold Bucky's hand whenever he wanted. Maybe because the look in Bucky's eyes when he turned to him made him forget everything else for a moment. Only with Bucky and his family did Sam feel like just Sam, no shield, no wings, just a man enjoying an afternoon of shopping with the one he loved.

And as he watched Bucky laugh at a mechanical Santa Claus who sang while showing off his butt, he thought to himself that he loved him so much it was overwhelming sometimes.

The only problem was that the store was crowded and Bucky often stopped to look at something. Often Sam would have to turn around and grab him by the sleeve to get him to move on.

After repeating this process several times, it happened as it should. When Sam turned around, Bucky was gone.

Holding back the flurry of curses that came to his lips, Sam sighed, picked up his cell phone and dialed Bucky's number. After a few rings, his lover's voice recited the message from his answering machine, "You've reached Bucky's voicemail..." Sam didn't let the message finish and put his phone back in his pocket.

He looked around again, searching the nearby aisles, which was a difficult task, given the density of the crowd. It was in vain. He couldn't find Bucky.

Sam muttered, "I should have put a leash on him..."

Slightly worried about Bucky's disappearance, he tried to forget the little voice that told him that with Bucky's past, or even the fact that Sam was Captain America, there was no telling... No! He refused to think the worst.

He looked at his cell phone, checking to see if he had any messages. Seeing that he had no notification, he decided to go for help.

He found the mall's help desk and addressed the receptionist, "Ahem, hello... I need help finding someone. He has brown hair, half long, and blue eyes. His name is Bucky."

The man gave him a commiserating smile. "Of course, sir. How old is your son?"

Sam chuckled, a little embarrassed, "Oh, he's not my son. He's my boyfriend."

He looked slightly surprised, then smiled amused, "I see. Would you like me to send an announcement to the mall?"

"Yes, that would be great."

He grabbed the microphone and was about to make his announcement when he stopped and asked, "What's his last name?"

"Oh, it's, uh..." Sam smiled slightly, before answering, "Wilson, Wilson-Barnes."

The young man gave him a knowing look. He just wished he could see Bucky's face when he would hear the announcement.

The minutes that passed increased Sam's impatience as he tapped his fingers on the reception counter. The young man was giving him sympathetic looks.

Suddenly he saw him coming from a distance, Bucky towering over many people by half a head. As always when he saw Bucky, his heart began to beat faster. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, "Ah there he is."

The young man followed Sam's gaze and had no trouble spotting the man who looked like the description he had given. He commented, "I wouldn't want to lose a specimen like that either."

Sam turned to him, and he winked, "Actually both of you are eye candy."

Sam coughed and went to join his lover, aware of the gaze of the young man following his movements.

Despite the happy smile that lit up Bucky's face as soon as he saw him, Sam forced himself to keep an annoyed expression as he approached Bucky and asked him sharply, "Where the hell have you been?"

His irritation melted away as Bucky pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

"I found a gift for Sarah," Bucky replied, "and when I went to show it to you, you were gone."

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and said in a slightly scolding tone, "What about your phone?"

Bucky, looking sheepish, pulled it out of his pocket and said in a very low voice, "The battery is dead."

Sam sighed in annoyance. Bucky gently kissed him again and took his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to annoy you."

"Let's get out of here," Sam said as he began to walk forward.

He glanced over at the young man at the front desk, who was watching them with an amused smile.

He simply said, "Thank you."

She replied with a wink, "No problem."

Just a few feet away, Bucky turned to him, looking falsely offended, "So I disappear and you replace me with the first person who comes along?" He motioned to the counter where the young man was leaning.

Sam gently smacked him on the head and said, "Idiot. It's not like you're replaceable." Then he dragged him behind him and didn't let go of his hand until they were out of the mall. Sam stopped and asked him, "What did you buy Sarah, anyway?"

"I found a beautiful painting of a lioness defending her cubs. I think it looks a lot like Sarah, the way she protects you and her children." He looked at Sam, suddenly concerned, "Do you think she'll like it?"

Sam smiled and squeezed Bucky's hand. "She'll love it." He kissed him gently and continued, "But you know you're part of it now?"

Bucky looked at him, and asked, incomprehension on his face, "I'm part of what?"

Sam smiled and replied, "Of the people Sarah is protecting."

Bucky blushed slightly and clearly didn't know what to say. They continued walking to the Pickup and Bucky, a mischievous look on his face, asked, "Bucky Wilson-Barnes hm?"

Sam didn't look away and simply said, " A problem with that?"

Bucky smiled happily, "Not at all, it actually sounds great."

"Well then Mr. Wilson-Barnes, get your butt in that pick-up pronto, so we can get out of this crazy place."

Sam climbed into the vehicle and Bucky was still laughing as the car left the mall's parking lot.

________

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd and english is not my native language. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless🥰

SamBucky Christmas series : here

[angelaiswriting]

Undercover | Bandit x fem!reader

[video by Yogendra Singh from Pexels]

✏️ Pairing: Bandit x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: In which Dominic realizes he's fallen too hard for a woman during an undercover mission and he doesn't think he's fit to work for Rainbow anymore.

🎁 A/N: I wrote this for @kind-wolf​‘s birthday but she gave me the okay to post it, so hopefully y’all will enjoy it too 💛

✏️ Warnings: slight angst, 18+ only? idk (the sex is generally only implied but there are some paragraphs in which it’s a little less implied), also a dash of fluff?

✏️ Word-count: 11,555

UNDERCOVER

There was something about early-morning runs that just calmed his nerves, even with music blasting in his ears. There was something in the way his trainers would rhythmically slap against the ground; something in the burning in his lungs, in the way the wind would blow against his face every now and then…

The British countryside expanded to infinity on his runs and it erased anything Hereford Base inevitably brought along—training sessions, mission calls, even more simulations, and then endless tests to pieces of equipment that he surely had not missed while on his last undercover mission.

He didn’t think much about it. About the mission. He always tried his best not to, although he did so unconsciously, probably more out of habit than anything else. It was never easy, to go back to a daily routine that didn’t feel yours anymore, to a routine you couldn’t recognize after having pretended to be someone else for the past six years. Some things just get to your head at some point, and going back to who you had once been feels like being reborn completely, and into someone you can’t recognize. You wake up one day, and you find yourself being forced to put on yet another mask, with the only exception that this is no mask. This is your face. Who you are. Or who you’re supposed to be, at least.

And although most likely unprofessional, this was how Dominic Brunsmeier still felt, six months after his mission had come to its end. He woke up every day and for the first, endless minutes he simply lied there, staring at a ceiling he had problems recognizing, with the reality that he was thousands of miles away from Germany hanging like Damocles’ sword above his head. His ears still subconsciously strained for the sound of two dogs’ nails ticking against the tiles of the floor to come to say good morning, and his left hand still stretched out to feel for someone who wasn’t there—who would never be there again.

That’s why running helped. It emptied his mind—and it also filled his lungs with the smell of wet grass and dirt. And although he still turned around to check behind his back every few minutes in search for furry snouts—one of the habits he had developed in the past life he had been forced to leave behind—, it was getting better, and the music in his ear pods seemed to be starting to do the trick.

Sometime later, when he got back to the Base, he was somewhat ready to be a Rainbow operator once again. At least for that day.

The truth was, he had somehow grown almost detached from anything and anyone Rainbow. He would do something, and then he’d mentally compare it to how he did it before. The way his morning coffee would taste; the way her laundry detergent would smell fresh and somehow cozy; how peaceful car trips would feel, almost as though he could lose himself into one of them for the rest of his life. Now his coffee was just Marius’s boring blend, and the detergent they used in the laundry at the base had no scent. And when he did end up tagging along on short weekend trips, there was no dog whining ecstatically in the back of the car and trying to lick his neck.

“How was your run?”

Monika was looking at him from above the file she was reading—a mission report, a test session report, he didn’t know and he also found himself not caring. That life still felt alien to him.

He shrugged. “Good.” He had somehow become a man of few words, and he had also started to realize that maybe undercover missions weren’t for him. Not anymore, at least. Maybe he had let this one get to him a bit too much, and everyone he had met had grown under his skin without him wanting so and he still did somehow feel like he had betrayed his family, sent them all to jail.

It was a stupid thought—he tried to remind himself of that every time that feeling came up, but maybe he just wasn’t cut for long undercover missions anymore. He didn’t remember when it had become difficult to tell right from wrong, but it had happened, and every time his mind stopped on that period of his life, he found himself growing homesick for a home he never had, not there.

“Just good?” 

Elias was there, too. Of fucking course, he would be there. He had been keeping an eye on him for a few weeks now, and Dominic was too much of an expert not to notice. It hadn’t been a surprise to see him enter the kitchen a minute or two after he had.

“Just good,” he nodded

There was some staring, then. Dominic stared at Elias because he wanted to be left alone, and Elias stared at Dominic because he wanted to understand what the problem was, so that he could help his friend. It was all useless, though, and they both knew it: one had closed off too securely to let on anything—or let anyone in, and the other was too stubborn to just stop caring about someone he loved.

That afternoon, though, he was running some errands in town with Marius when a dog stopped right in front of him to sniff his pants. It was a lovely animal, with fur of an almost bronze-red color and a tail that never once stopped wagging.

It brought him back in time, and for a moment he stood there, frozen and rooted to the spot. He could almost still feel the rain on his skin despite that exceptionally bright sunny day. But then, the Irish setter’s owner called Bonnie, let’s go! and Dominic was back to the present day, a bag with stuff he had bought at the hardware store just on the other side of the parking lot in one hand and a bunch of keys in the other.

“Everything alright with you?” Marius asked when Dominic reached him. He had been waiting for him, leaning against the door of the truck, and he hadn’t missed the way his friend had grown rigid. It didn’t matter how much pride Dom felt at the idea of being good at hiding feelings: there was always someone that saw right through his shit. And called him out on it.

“I used to have two dogs,” he blurted out with a smile on his face before he could stop himself. They were both loading bags into the trunk of the car and he hadn’t even felt the words slip through his lips that they were already out there in the open. But the memory had hit him with the same force of a freight train, and he had found himself basking in that warm feeling that had started to blossom inside him at the memory. After all, he loved those two pests like his own kids.

He looked up, the feeling of being caught red-handed quickly seeping in, and he found that Marius had a weird look in his eyes as he watched his every move.

“You had two dogs?” his friend quoted, one hand reaching up for the back door of the car. He closed it shut, and the frown didn’t leave his face for a second. “Back during your mission, you mean?”

“Forget about it. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said it in the first place.” It had always been custom for him to not open up about his undercovers—the person he was when he was on one wasn’t the person he was when he came back to his real life, and that’s how things had to be.

“To hell with your bullshit!”

The first five minutes in the car, however, were spent in silence.

Dominic was still cursing himself mentally for opening his damn mouth—or his memory vault, for what it mattered. It had been the first time he had mentioned anything about her since his return—his return home his friends had cheered him with six months ago, but that homely feeling still had to make an appearance. She had become taboo, and he had done so to protect her—and himself, in a way, for not having to bring her up had seemed to be the most sensible way to forget all about her, at least back then.

But now here he was, catching himself just in time before worsening his case.

“Where are those dogs now?” Marius used the excuse of a red streetlight to speak again and when Dominic looked at him from the corner of his eye, he found his friend already staring.

A shrug of his shoulders will do the trick, or that was what he hoped. Unsuccessfully.

“You’ve barely put full sentences together outside of missions since you came back from Germany. And now you mention two dogs. That you owned, apparently.”

“I didn’t own them, they weren’t mine,” he corrected.

“Whose were they, then?”

*

The first time Dominic sees her is on a chilly early-April morning. It’s pouring rain outside, and she’s walking two dogs with nothing to shield her from the rain but an old sweatshirt.

It’s half past five in the morning and his first thought is: What the fuck is this girl doing out here in the rain?

He almost slows down his truck when he drives past her. Probably he should be a good person and ask her if she needs a ride, but this side of town is new to him and he doesn’t want to risk anything that would have Fabian put him on his boss’ black book the month after having been fully accepted into the gang.

She’s in his rearview mirror before he has the chance to think his civilized deed through. He finds himself staring for two seconds at most—red sweatshirt, jean shorts that are a tad bit out of season now, and two happy dogs that walk on either side of her without the need for a leash. Then, he’s pulling over and stopping the truck right before the closed garage door of his new two-bedroom house. He still has to fix it—along with other things inside—but Christian has been keeping him busy with errands and whatnot, and he’s lacked the time.

He’s barely out of the vehicle when there’s barking—short, quick barks in succession coming from two different dogs, defying the sound of the rain and the otherwise silence of the early morning. When he turns around, the girl’s dogs are running across the empty street, their owner right behind them, and they’re aiming at him, tails wagging happily and tongues lolling out from open mouths.

They don’t jump up as he expected them to, but they still do take their few seconds of freedom to sniff him up. His shoes, his legs, a hand—and all the while he’s getting soaked through just as much as the girl running over with two leashes in a hand is.

“Hey, buddy,” he coos, almost involuntarily, as he presents the bigger dog with the open palm of his left hand.

It looks like a nice mutt, the fur a shade of brown streaked with white and black, and it excitedly licks his skin after a moment of indecision.

“I’m so sorry.” When he looks up, the young woman is panting, a hand on her side as the other comes up to wipe the rain from her eyes. “C’mon, Otto, come here.”

The white dog with a chocolate-colored stain on the left side of his face is quickly put on his leash, and he sits still by his owner’s feet as she pries Rex from his hand.

“I’m sorry they’ve bothered you,” she offers, and then groans when she can’t seem to attach the leash to the ring in the dog’s collar. “They’re usually well-behaved.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

Rex lunges forward one last time to get a good-bye caress on his head before he eventually chooses to behave and steps back.

“They didn’t do anything but smell me up a bit, it’s all cool.”

She smiles. He smiles. Rex barks happily and turns back to nudge Otto, and both their tails are wild whips against the soaked grass-less ground of his short driveway. Then, she’s gone.

He stares as she runs down the street, thunder finally rolling up high in the steely sky, and he smiles when he hears her laugh and call for the dogs when the rain starts pouring stronger. Then he turns, walks around the back of his truck and up to his door, and leaves the world outside.

*

That night Dominic sat at the desk in his room. His things had been relocated to a smaller one while he had been away on his mission and although he would have probably complained once, he found that this new accommodation somehow suited him better now. It felt much more secluded and since it was in the newly-built dorm area where his buddies didn’t reside, it felt much calmer. It didn’t give him much need to lie.

And it didn’t give his friends the chance to see that most of his stuff was still in cardboard boxes he had yet to unpack. The mere thought seemed to overwhelm him somehow and even that night, all he did was stare at them for endless minutes before eventually begrudgingly opening his laptop.

The brief and vague chat with Marius that afternoon had given him that sort of push he needed to finally pull out the hard disks and SD cards he had hidden away but that still contained all the files he had to organize. It was nothing major, of course—that kind of stuff had been transferred onto Rainbow servers the moment he had set foot onto British ground, one could say. But he still had private stuff, videos and photographs he had never thought he’d one day keep, back when he had first taken them, but then again, here he was.

Part of his brain did know that wasn’t the smart thing to do, but when he plugged in the black hard disk with that owl sticker she had slapped on it one night after tipsy sex, he found that his hand hesitated on the mouse.

He had chuckled—even now, he could still hear the sound in the otherwise quiet room. It had been at the beginning of that thing that had slowly—and then more and more quickly, like an avalanche effect of some sort—turned into a relationship. Why? he had simply asked, putting his lighter back on the nightstand when she gave it a disgusted look. And she had laughed, too, and he had stared at her sweaty skin glistening in the light of his bedside lamp, at the way her messy bangs stuck to her forehead, and he thought that fuck, what the fuck was he doing? Because I felt like it, she had answered with a shrug and he had laughed deep in his chest before pulling her back over his body.

Maybe he could keep what was in there. He did not have to look, but maybe he’d keep those files stored away in some folder-in-a-folder kind of thing, hidden away from his eyes and hopefully from his mind, until he’d forget all about them. Until he’d stop being a spineless dick, murmured a mean voice in the back of his head.

“Fuck it!” he groaned, finally opening the main folder and watching as his old laptop loaded everything.

There were some pictures he had never stored away in their respective folders, and he suddenly remembered now that it was because he loved them. Loved those two dogs piled up on each other as they slept in his armchair. And loved the way she’d scream song lyrics using an almost-empty beer bottle as a microphone.

Those were memories—and damn good memories at that! There was no reason to shy away from them. Just as a reminder, he reasoned—something to keep for a long time so that it could remind him to keep his head on his shoulders next time he’d be assigned on some other undercover mission. Something that could tell him not to fall for a chick he’d eventually have to leave behind forever. Something that could prove to him that yes, he could enjoy things while living a lie, but that no, there were things he could not bring back home.

Like Rex and Otto.

Or like Y/N.

*

He meets her again two weeks later, when Fabian drags him along to a club to have fun and maybe get some pussy. Dominic’s not exactly in the mood for pussy for once, still exhausted after having come back from a quick ‘business trip’ to Austria with two other guys, but he doesn’t want to be the buzzkill. He’s also not been in the city long enough, so he’d rather fly low and not risk making even the slightest doubt arise.

So he goes. He dresses up in an all-black combo of pants and shirt, and meets his friend outside one of the clubs Christian owns. The air is warm, and the night traffic buzzes behind his back as Fabian leads him all the way up to the entrance while recounting the weird-ass trip Alex had the first time he did acid. Domi laughs along in all the right points and for a split second, before Julian lets them in without a question, he finds himself thinking that it isn’t so hard after all, to pretend to be someone he’s not every time Fabian’s around. The dude is chill, five or so years younger than he but just as crazy, and there’s this tiny voice in Dominic’s head that seems to whisper to him that they could actually be great pals if the situation and the setting were different.

“What’s your poison?” his friend of sorts asks as he takes him through the place and then to a table—not right up under the stage, but a bit in the back.

“Just beer,” is his reply. He didn’t think he’d be seeing girls perform when he left his house, but now that he’s here and he gets a glimpse of a redhead beauty before she disappears offstage, he’s not exactly opposed.

Fabian’s face is contorted into a grimace of confusion before it opens up into a grin as things seem to clear up in his head. “Oh, yeah, as a warm-up, I see!”

He laughs, leaning back against the seat before he shakes his head. “One of us gotta stay sober enough to take you home when you’re shit-faced,” he bites back, subtly implying to that one time, three months after Dom had officially become a rookie, when Fabian had ridden himself into a tree on his bike. The others had made him look after and take care of the younger idiot, and he had had to swallow down his pride and cater to any and all silly needs he had been presented with and that had felt like a setback in his undercover path.

A girl hurries by then, a serving platter with drinks in hand as she flags down another waitress and mouths something over the music of the new performance, and Fabian is quick at grabbing a hold of her forearm. When she turns around, an expression on her face that makes it clear she would be more than ready to throw hands, it takes Dominic half a minute to recognize her in this new setting.

“Come back to us later, Baby,” Fabian says, his hand moving to swat at her ass before she grabs a hold of it and presses down hard enough to make him wince.

“Don’t make me kick your ass.”

Dominic turns around when she walks past him and watches as she serves drinks at a table. She’s all smiles as she replies back to something she’s being told, and steps back a little when one of the men tries to stretch a hand out and touch her.

“Is that how you act with women?” he asks when he turns back around.

His friend laughs over a text he’s sending—probably to one of the other guys they’re supposed to meet here tonight, or probably to someone else entirely—Dominic does wonder about it, just as he wonders about many things when it comes to the Club, but he voices none of his thoughts. He never does.

“It’s not what you think,” he shrugs, grinning at him before glancing at the brunette performing on stage. He stares for a long while, and Dominic has the time to study some more of the details in the snake tattoo that crawls up the side of his neck and disappears into his hair. “She’s a friend.”

“She’s still not excited about you slapping her butt, though,” the girl in question chimes in when she finally reaches their table again, her serving platter now held securely against her abdomen. “But Fabian’s— Hey!” she grins, stopping mid-sentence when she seems to recognize him from that rainy early morning of fifteen or so days ago. “You’re the new guy on the block.”

“You know each other?”

“Sorta. The boys ran up to him when we were on a walk a few days ago,” she nods, eyes trailing down to where Domi’s left the first two buttons of his shirt undone, tattoos on full display underneath, before moving back to meet his.

Fabian’s pout distracts the both of them, and when she sets her eyes on him, he’s quick at letting out a childish complaint. “You never smile at me like that.”

“Don’t be a douche.” And then, to Dominic: “I’ll pay you real money if you drag him out of here.”

“Geez, women!” Fabian scoffs. “Anyway. Nic, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Dominic.” He watches briefly as they shake hands before continuing. “She’s off-limits, unless she’ll somehow consider you worthy enough of her and her p— I’m just kidding, Angel!” he pleads, leaning away from her hand as she slaps at his shoulder. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

“You be a good boy and I might not spit in your drink.”

Dominic’s still thinking about her sometime later, after some of the guys have joined him and his company for tonight. They’re watching girls perform, but he’s unfocused. Even the beer in his hand has been forgotten for a while now, as his gaze finds itself being attracted back to the bar—or to wherever she is at the moment.

He stares, and even blatantly so, half listening to Fabian’s words echoing in his mind, and half ignoring them. She’s close to Christian, that’s what he knows: she used to be his sister’s best friend before the girl passed away a few years after finishing high school. And, as Fabian has half-heartedly complained more than once, she’s not that friendly with gang members—if you know what I mean, Nic. Not that he’s thinking about that with her! He barely even knows her. What he does know, however, is that there’s a file, back at Rainbow, that he has to fill with pieces of information he finds out here, and he’s starting to wonder what she could know.

And sometimes—every once in a while and almost covertly—she glances back and meets his eye, and when she finds him staring, she seems to stumble over her words for a heartbeat before the smile is back on her face and she turns her attention back to whatever patron she’s tending to.

He’s back the next Friday night, and the week after that, and on the third week, it starts becoming a habit. Fabian’s with him sometimes; sometimes it’s someone else, but more often—because he starts hanging out at the club on whatever free nights he has during the week—he goes on his own. He drinks, spends money on women, and goes as far as paying for personal dances—and maybe it becomes a bit too often, because one day Christian asks him—through Alex, because Christian’s too busy with a rival gang to do it in person—and mentions something about it.

But the more he sits in there, the closer he somehow seems to get to Y/N—and the closer she seems to get to him. It’s just smiles at first; even when he goes up to the bar to order drinks, she’s always too busy to focus on him only. But then they start exchanging a few words—and in the meantime they wave at each other from opposite sides of the road they live on, when they pass by—and then a few puns, until at some point, probably three, almost four months into his habitual trips to the club, she starts actively seeking him out. And if by any chance he’s absent on one of his regular nights, he finds her politely asking whether everything’s alright on the first night he’s back.

*

He missed that—missed his club nights and the dancers, even the waitresses. Y/N, of course, although he always did his best not to allow his brain to bring her up. But sometimes, out of the blue, the most random things would make one of the many memories he had stored away out of sight resurface and he found himself thinking about her. It would start subconsciously—with something someone said or did, or maybe it was something he saw in the window of a shop, or in one of the girls he’d find himself dancing with when his friends dragged him along. And then, when he caught himself red-handed, it was hard to stop. His brain would fixate on a memory and the more he willed himself to shift the focus of his attention onto something—anything—else, the harder it was to actually do it.

So, he turned his strategy around. He did that when he transferred all his secreted files onto his laptop—and then onto a new one yet again, when the old thing slowed down too much for him to be able to do work-related things on it. The reasoning was, if he kept those memories where he could easily reach them, then maybe they’d lose that hue of exceptionality and he’d get so used to them that it would finally be easier to coexist with them and all they had once meant.

And the next time Marius asked, tried to pull things out of him the same way he’d done with shards of glass after that one assignment in Bosnia, Dominic found himself loosening up. With him only, no one else for the time being, but it still felt liberating. Marius would listen, and he wouldn’t try to guilt-trip him the same way Domi had done to himself. He’d listen, and chime in every now and then, and then he’d stop asking when it was clear his friend wasn’t comfortable with continuing for now.

Y/N hadn’t come up yet. He told him about the dogs, and the guys—about Fabian most of all, and Markus, the two he had bonded with the most. He talked about the club—and he won’t lie, about the women there and the ones he had ended up in bed or against a wall with, as well. Not many, but enough to make Marius tease him for a while before he eventually relented.

But then one day, when most operators had been sent off on various missions, they decided to go on a trip. They took a Jeep car, loaded it with backpacks and food and tents, and took off for a week to spend camping far from the Base.

It had been quite a long couple of months—with training and simulations and tests, and even weeks spent abroad. And meetings in Harry’s office so that the Agency could see where Dominic’s loyalty lied, and how he was doing, how he was settling back into his old routine, now almost ten months after having come back from Germany. Which he… was, in a way. Settling back into his old routine, that is—everything was normal when he was working, at least.

But opening up to his Director wasn’t the same as opening up to his friend. And probably even Harry knew, or had at least come to that conclusion, for he had relented in his questions and had given him more free time, away from his Rainbow responsibilities.

“So, you were telling me about Fabian the other day.”

Marius’s voice shook him out of his thoughts, and Dominic found himself blinking a couple of times at the pale light of the sun that still had to fully rise. He felt almost as though he had dozed off, his tongue still heavy and laced with the slumber he had been forced to wake up from at two.

“What?” he mumbled, fumbling with his seat belt when he realized his friend had parked the car and it was now time to get out.

He had been sleeping poorly the past few days, with endless thoughts incessantly mulling around in his mind and keeping him awake. Stuff about Germany, but also stuff about Rainbow—missions and briefings and that upgrade he was helping Elias come up with for his shield. It all slowed him down, left him less reactive than he had been in a while, always dozing off when he was supposed to do something else. Even his morning runs had stopped being that nice a distraction.

The cup of coffee Marius pushed into his hands was hot, almost comforting in a way, and it sent a shiver throughout his whole body as they stood there, in the low, late-March temperatures. It was supposed to get warmer as the day progressed, or so the forecasts seemed to promise, and he surely found himself hoping for that to be the case.

“You were saying about how Fabian introduced you to this Angel dude,” Jäger insisted sometime later, when they had heaved their backpacks on their backs and locked the Jeep. They’d be back in a week—or that was the plan, but they both knew that if the weather would take a turn for the worst, they’d be back much sooner, neither of them willing to deal with storms and cold temperatures when they could feel warm somewhere else.

“Angel’s not a dude,” was Dominic’s chuckle.

The sun had finally risen and its light, although still pale, filtered in through the foliage of the forest, casting shapes on the ground and on their faces alike. The temperatures had gone up a bit, but Dom was still glad he had listened to Lera’s advice and had taken off with thermal clothes on.

“Angel is— was,” he quickly corrected himself, casting a quick glance at Marius, walking by his side, “my girlfriend… I guess.”

“You guess?” His friend frowned, not even taking his eyes off of the path they were currently trekking on. They still had quite a few kilometers to go before their next stop and he had absolutely no intention of spending them in silence, not now that Dominic seemed like he had slowly regained his ability to talk and let his tongue loose, although not in everyone’s company. But progress was progress, and he didn’t want to risk and ruin it.

Dominic shrugged. “I’m not sure Y/N and I ever officially defined the relationship.”

“Y/N… Angel, you mean?”

“Yeah, we called her that most of the time. Those dogs I told you about… they were hers.”

Marius nodded. Dominic had started to introduce him to bits and pieces of his undercover life—the clubs, the gang, the dogs, the speed races at night, the way Fabian would often crash on his couch when his partying got too wild and out-of-hand, or the way Markus, three years his junior, would often trail behind him like a lost puppy. It was never a chronological recollection of events, with some kind of thread that would link them together. Sometimes he’d ask questions, making sure to remain as vague as possible when it came to enquiring about someone’s life, and Domi would reply with what came to mind.

But now… Now he had slowly started to piece all those memories together, bit by bit, and he was seeing that it was not all black and white, the way some back at the Organization would make it out to be, but more like grayscale. The good and the bad would mix together in the same bowl, and it would make it hard for anybody to draw absolutes.

“Tell me something about her.”

*

Dominic’s sitting in Christian’s backyard for the first time in two years and a half. It’s something new, but at the same time it feels so familiar, in a weird and convoluted way, as he’s surrounded by people he knew nothing about just three years ago. He laughs at what his friends say, and even whistles with them when the girl Fabian has shown up with leaves in a hurry after printing the fingers of her left hand across his cheek.

“You truly can’t keep them for more than a week, can you?” Christian laughs, taking a sip from his beer as he and Marcel flip the meat on the barbeque.

Fabian groans. “Always pointing out the details, gee. Anyway!”

Some bickering ensues, and Dominic sits back against the seat of his plastic chair with the rim of his beer bottle grazing his lower lip, barely containing his laughter, but still trying his best because he’s usually the one taking Fabian’s sides—even if just out of pure sarcasm.  It all only settles when Franziska walks out of the house, a bowl of salad in each hand, saying something about leaving the poor child alone, what are you? Five? before Marcel pulls her into his side for a kiss.

They’re cute—it’s a weird and intrusive thought as Dominic watches, eyes glinting with a badly concealed smile, but it’s also the truth. Franziska and Marcel are like opposite sides of the same coin, but they somehow fit so well together… He’d tell Marius that, years after that day, and he’d recall the way she’d look up into her lover’s eyes with such emotion that, before Y/N came along, it would have made him feel the pangs of jealousy stab his stomach.

“Ugh, lovebirds.” Markus rolls his eyes, and when Dominic turns his head to look at him, he adds a snort and a wave of his hand.

“Kids.” Marcel shakes his head at Domi, almost as though he knows just how Markus and Fabian can get, and Dominic’s the one who’s spending the most time with them. “Always moaning about what they don’t have.”

But no one’s that serious. They all sort of envy what Marcel has, but they cherish it most of all, and although there’s often some playful mocking during gatherings, Marcel still knows they’d all jump in front of his woman without batting an eyelash if that meant keeping her safe.

There’s commotion coming from inside the house, then. The old dog that had been snoozing by Christian’s feet lifts her head, barking low in the back of her throat, still sleepy, before two dogs dash outside and she’s suddenly chasing them on her three paws, long fluffy tail wagging.

The guys cheer the new-comers and although the white one—it takes Dom a while to recognize Otto, Angel’s dog—jumps and huffs to play with Christian’s Stella, the loud and cheering voices send the other one in a frenzy. Rex runs back and forth, tail wagging as hard as a whip, tongue two meters out of his snout. And it’s such a hilarious sight that it sends Dominic laughing with his other friends as the dog almost trips Eva and that jar of cold lemonade over.

Then, when Dominic’s regained enough breath to stop the wheezing and wipe the tears from his eyes with a hand, he calls him over. “Hey, Rex! C’mere!”

He has no time to see the surprise flash across his friends’ faces, for it’s all downhill from there. Rex stops dead in his tracks, front paws down on the grass to his elbows and butt up in the air, his tail still wagging wildly—and really, he doesn’t know how he hasn’t sprained it yet, or how he hasn’t taken off like in some cartoon. His head turns here and there for half a second before his caramel eyes zero in on him. Before Dominic has the time to beg Stop!, the dog is on him: The impact sends his empty beer bottle flying backward as the chair tips back, a leg snaps, and he’s suddenly half-laying, half-sitting almost horizontally with an ecstatic Rex licking his face and his beard, barely able to keep still in his arms.

The other two dogs are quick to join them, and before Dominic can turn his head to the side and see the way Christian kisses Y/N’s cheek hello or hear the way she groans out a fuck! before she can intervene, two more wet snouts blind and sniff at him.

Sometime later, as Markus is complaining under his breath about the ladies’ ‘rabbit food’, Dominic turns towards Fabian and half-says, half-asks: “I thought she didn’t do members.”

“Huh?” Fabian looks up from where he’s stuffing his face with pork ribs and Franziska’s salad, moaning for a second about how much I love fucking onions, God. But he’s quick at looking where Domi’s quick tilt of the head is pointing.

Y/N and Christian are sitting next to each other, heads close as they discuss something before she feels them staring and sends them a quick smile.

“Oh, no. No.” Fabian coughs as he tries not to choke on his food when he picks up with what Dom’s implying—Jeez, no, shit, Angel and Christian? He laughs, still breathless, and chugs down the glass of lemonade Verena’s poured him. “Nah, she’s like a sister to him. Same for her. It was hard for a while after Mia’s death. The gang…” But he shrugs, cuts himself off and trails his gaze back down on his plate. “It was rough. And they’ve grown real close, but there’s nothing more than fraternal love between them.”

Dominic nods. “Oh, okay.”

He’s thinking nothing of her—or is he? They’ve been hanging out quite a bit these past few weeks. He’s been over at her house for a leaking sink just last Saturday afternoon, and she’s made him stay longer so that they could eat dinner together, watch the wrestling match on TV. He’s not… into her like that, he thinks—yet. Because, really, he wouldn’t mind being.

“Why?” There’s a suggestive smirk growing on his friend’s face. “You thinking of—”

But he’s cut off when Christian calls Dominic and steals his attention. No one discusses business during this kind of gatherings, but there’s a look on the man and his right hand, Marcel’s faces that just makes him think he’ll be hearing from them not long after going back home that night. He’s already made great progress on his undercover assignment, but this truly does start feeling like a step in the right direction.

When the party’s over, that night after dinner, he ends up sitting in Y/N’s car as she takes both of them home. Her dogs would be all up in his neck if it weren’t for the shield provided by the passenger’s seat, and she’s apologizing—although with a grin on her face and a tone that doesn’t make her apology come out that sincere—about their behavior.

“I just don’t understand why they like you so much,” she muses. “Rex most of all.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t even know I was that good with dogs before these two.”

Years later, he’d tell Marius Streicher how pretty she looked, with her make-up slightly smudged and the hair locks that had escaped her now messy bun. How accessible she felt—and not even in a bad way, but more like, he could reach a hand out and poke her cheek with his fingertips, or trail his index along her hairline, down the curve of her ear and touch her piercings, or even just lean back against his seat and just, look at her. How peaceful the interior of her car felt.

He’d tell Marius how Rainbow didn’t exist back then. How it was just him and the wrong waitress he had started falling for. And at the same time, how he still had this thought in the back of his mind, constantly nagging him—what if he ended up blowing up his mission in smoke?

“You’re staring,” she’s saying, smiling, eyes still on the road ahead.

“And you’re blushing.”

If there’s one thing he’s learned about her during his countless nights at the same stupid club, then it’s that she doesn’t blush. Not when his eyes are glued to her. He has stared at her much more lewdly than he’s doing now, most of all with a few drinks too many in his stomach and in his system.

She shrugs, and when she stops the car and Dominic turns back around, he notices they’ve arrived at her house. “You should come in,” she says instead, already getting out of the car and opening the back door to let the dogs out. “You don’t have to,” she adds quickly when he gets out, too. And he can’t see her face now that she’s unlocking her entrance door, but he knows she’s still blushing. “Only if you want.”

He wouldn’t tell Marius how her lips felt against his, nor how the drinks they had in her kitchen tasted when her tongue brushed against his. How she felt in his lap, one of her hands on the back of his head and the other up his shirt, against his tattooed chest. How she ground her hips down against him just right and tore a grunt from deep inside his belly and that vibrated against her lips, making her smile.

He’d tell none of that, but his friend would still understand.

*

What he did tell Marius, however, as they laid under the starry sky, was that, somehow, no one had felt like her again. Not his random hook-ups, the ones he was guilty of picking either because he needed a distraction or because they reminded him of Angel, and not even Katie, that kindergarten teacher Seamus had introduced to him and with whom he had hung out for a month or so. Nothing serious, and he hadn’t even exactly put effort into it, but a part of him still had tried. More for Seamus’—or even just Katie’s—sake than his own.

It was exactly Katie that Marius brought up with a yawn. And when he asked what had been wrong with her—or, well, maybe not wrong per se but more, I don’t know, brother… Amiss?—Dominic had found himself scoffing.

Katie’s not her—but he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t say how he had fallen for the way Y/N fought in the ring, how she grimaced or grinned, the way her braids would slap against a cheek or a shoulder when her movements would be too abrupt. He’d go to her after the fights, and sometimes still sweaty and bruised, she’d straight up fuck the living sanity out of him—a hand around his throat and the other on his chest to keep her balance as they went at it on either his or her couch.

“Katie was…” He thought it over, fighting with his words and his brain’s ability to pick the right one. “Too nice.”

Y/N hadn’t been just black or just white—she was a whole spectrum of grays, ranging from one end to the other of it. Soft and kind on any day; but then also fearless and strong when she needed to be, ready to raise hell and fight God when she had to.

Dominic would have never been able to picture Katie on a ring, taking blows and also giving them back, because that wasn’t who Katie was. And although there was absolutely nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with being who you are, it just… wasn’t the same. He never found himself with his wrists tied to the headboard of Katie’s bed, with a blindfold over his eyes, almost holding his breath to see—feel—where she’d touch him next. Or how. Or even with what.

And probably that was why he couldn’t take Angel out of his mind—because he knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t be able to have her again. That she was gone, lost in a chapter of his life that he had reached the end of, and that he had left in the past. And although he did often go back to reread it, that was exactly all he could do—read, but never change a word of it.

“You still have time to add something more, though.”

He had almost dozed off to sleep, the exhaustion and exertion of that day’s worth of hiking catching up with him and his tired limbs. And it was only when Marius uttered those words that he realized he had spoken that inner monologue out loud into the darkness of the night.

The stars were blinking down at him, almost winking at his powerlessness in that situation. He wasn’t scared that she might cut his balls off and feed them to the wolves; nor that she might pull her hair back into two braids and teach him a lesson or two.

What stopped him from working was the very last voicemail she had left him, when she had called his German number for the last time. He had seen her cry—cry with laughter at some stupid joke, or sob her lungs out that one time they watched Marley and Me together, the mere idea of one day losing her dogs tearing her up from the inside out. But the way she had breathed into the phone, trying to hold back the sobs, and the way her voice had broken on every other syllable—Please, Domi, pick up. I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know you’re not with the others—it still wrecked him.

He had listened to it so many times that not only did he know every word by heart, but he could hear her voice—the way it cracked, when she’d sob, when Otto would whine in the background. And what was worse, was that he could see her with his mind’s eye—sitting in the empty tub, or on one of the stools in the kitchen, or even behind the wheel of her car. So strong and resolute… crumbling apart because all he had had to offer was a lie.

Or maybe not all—he had been honest with her. Honest the first time he had told her he loved her, and honest the last time he had professed his love. That hadn’t been a lie. The way he’d hold her at night, when she’d sleep with her head on his chest, or the way he had always been ready to pounce on way-too-daring customers at the club, or when he told her she was the light of his life—none of that had been a lie.

But everything surrounding that? His loyalty to the gang? To the guys? To Christian? His made-up past before he settled down in the city? The real reason he’d sometimes love to go on solo trips and enjoy some peace, when he was in fact meeting up with people from his real life?

“I had my chance,” he decided to say instead, closing his eyes against the night sky. He’d been out stargazing with her, once, the first time they had fucked. It had been sweet and peaceful, until it had turned hotter and messier and sweatier. If he stared up at those stars one minute longer, he knew it, he’d be back on that field, with her trapped between him and the plaid blanket, clothes strewn haphazardly all around. And that was the last thing he needed. “And I wasted it.”

He didn’t say how he wasted it by coming back, but the implicature was still out there, heavy and acrid in the otherwise fresh air of the mountains.

But there had been no backing out of it. Rainbow would have come; something would have been done anyway. At some point in his staying, things had moved too forward before his heart had been able to pick a side, and there had been nothing else he could do. He had broken her heart, but he had also broken his own, and that had been inevitable. A fate he had had zero chances escaping. They had found each other too late, and he’d probably die regretting anything about that case.

There was absolutely no going back there, but he had also started to think that his future didn’t lay in Rainbow anymore, either. It had become too much—and also too little, all at the same time. Gang life surely wasn’t for him, but he was starting to realize that his last undercover mission had ended up messing up with him a bit too much, and although it didn’t exactly interfere with the way he acted in Rainbow, it did with the vision he had of it—and of himself as part of it.

“I think I need a break from this,” he muttered into the night, eyes closed both out of tiredness and that lingering sort of embarrassment he felt any time he addressed how inadequate he now felt. “It’s almost been a year and I still haven’t been able to stop long enough to think.”

He didn’t know if Marius had turned to glance at him in the semi-darkness, before they turned off their torches to sleep, but he knew he had heard.

*

“What Angel? You’re a little minx,” Dominic chuckles, still out of breath, his chest burning with exhaustion every time it rises and falls. His sweaty back sticks to the leather seats of the car, and he knows the sensation she must be feeling can’t be much different.

But he doesn’t turn to look at her. His gaze is glued to her lace panties, hanging from the gear shift in the front. If he didn’t feel too boneless to lean forward and take her phone from the passenger’s seat, he’d for sure take a picture.

“Who are you calling little?” Her laugh is breathless, and when she moves around like a contortionist to sit up straight, her lips brush against the side of his neck, making his skin break out in gooseflesh and the short hair on the nape of his head tug. “I’m still taller than you with my heels on.”

Laughter rumbles deep in his chest, and he lets her pull his head back when she tugs on his hair with a hand. “Details, pretty doll.”

She doesn’t remind him how she’s kicked his butt just a couple of weeks ago during training and part of him is happy because all they’ve been using that accident as is some sort of foreplay that always ends up with her straddling him, making him tremble with the unexpected touches his blindfold always seems to heighten.

When her finger traces the underside of his cock, however, that chuckle dies on his lips and he gasps almost inaudibly in the back of his throat. Suddenly, his suit pants pulled down to mid-thigh feel constricting and he knows that if she keeps it up, he’ll be hard again soon.

“Don’t.” He didn’t intend for it to come out that way, but his prayer is soft on her lips, when she turns his head to the side to stare into his eyes. “We’re running late for the party.”

She shrugs—and he thinks that fuck, if this car didn’t feel this cramped, he’d fuck her brains out, party or no party, not even when it comes to his boss. “You made me come twice,” she replies, matter-of-factly, not at all moved by his begging or by his breath hitching in the back of his throat when her fingers move down to his balls. “I think it’s just fair I pay back the favor, no?”

His chest and neck are still flushed when he walks into the villa Christian has rented out for his New Year’s party. The initial surprise of Y/N caving in for a member has quickly subsided, and no one whistles in their direction when they see them walk in hand in hand.

They greet their friends, exchange quick hugs, and before long, they’re all drinking and chatting.

“You were late,” Christian says. The expression on his face is serious, but the left corner of his mouth is slowly twitching up into a smirk he manages to hide when he tips his head back and downs his shot.

Dominic shrugs, gaze wandering back to where Angel is catching up with Franziska and Verena, one leg crossed over the other, left bare by the slit in her dress. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, trying not to think about how her panties are still hanging from the gear shift of the car. “We had a setback.” He hesitates on that last word, for he tries to come up with something that could at least sound unassuming, but by God, the crotch of his pants feels like it’s growing tighter and he just knows kissing her won’t be the only thing he’ll be doing when the clock strikes midnight.

Christian laughs. “If my car smells like sex—”

“We rolled the windows down. We’re not animals,” he replies with a snort.

“Just… get it cleaned before you give it back.”

Y/N glances back at them then, eyes twinkling and lips still kiss-swollen and bruised under the lipstick she reapplied before getting out of the car, he’s sure. But before she can call him to her or he can walk up to her a bit stiffly of his own accord, Christian speaks again.

“We still have some time before dinner. There’s a meeting in the other room. Marcel has news on that seemingly lost package.”

Dominic turns around, brows furrowed in confusion, before his brain manages to quickly piece everything back together and he follows the other man down a corridor and into another room. He’s almost forgotten about the new cargo coming in—it’s been a feat lately, to remember he’s not actually one of them but an undercover agent trying to blow a gang up. It’s harder and harder, and he knows the lines aren’t blurred—not yet, at least—but it’s become way too easy, to lose himself in his new friendships and in the unexpected love he’s found here.

But when reality strikes back, it’s hard to distract his mind again.

Anton’s there—and while he isn’t the boss, he’s high up enough to be one of Rainbow’s main concerns. The oldest in the group, he’s rarely there, he rarely shows up. He does work behind the scenes, but that’s where he’d rather stay—away from the kids’ stupidity, or that’s how he always jokes about it.

He’s tall and strong—a whole wardrobe of a man, but Dominic’s still been promoted to be his bodyguard and he can’t help but feel a pang of something deep in his brain, and there’s this unsolicited thought bubbling up that makes him feel all sorts of ways. Maybe someone’s had some suspicions about him, and this is all a test—or this is what he thinks before Anton moves the wrong way and he’s forced to explain that the reason for that agonized groan is the extent of the injuries he’s incurred into not too long ago.

But then they’re all back for dinner, and Dominic doesn’t have time to bask in that wave of relief washing over him when he figures out there’s nothing to fear. They eat and drink and play stupid semi-drunk games, until it’s half an hour to midnight and Y/N has dragged him into a bathroom and unbuckled his belt.

It’s quick and messy, and his fingertips dig hard into the flesh of her hips as they stare into each other’s eyes in the mirror.

“I was thinking,” she hums, wrapped tight around his arm as he walks back with her at five minutes to midnight—enough time to make her come once more, or maybe twice, but Alex has promised a great pyrotechnic show and neither of them wants to miss how he almost gets himself blown up like last year.

“My thoughts are still in that bathroom and you tell me you’re thinking?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her cheek before he gives her hand a squeeze, almost as though he’s telling her to just continue.

“You dork,” she laughs. “But yes, I was thinking. Why don’t you move in with me?” she asks. “You’re already there most of the time, and your house is always messy and your couch not comfortable enough for…” She shrugs, trying her best to hide her smirk. “Plus, I’d really love to have you there.”

He feigns thinking about it, but when she gasps in mock shock, he pulls her in for a kiss—and that is when their friends must see and whistle. “I’d never say no to that, Angel.”

Her smile is bright and in the moment, he doesn’t even realize he doesn’t have forever with her, although that’s what he’s come to crave for.

*

He didn’t know how he let Marius convince him to go back to Germany and see her. He really had no clue, just as he didn’t have a clue about many things—what he’d tell her, how she might react, what he’d do after. How he’d feel after—relieved? like he’s finally had some closure? and how would things be once back in Hereford?

There were a million and one thoughts in his mind as he sat there, on his hotel bed. Harry had offered to let the organization pay for it, but Dominic would have felt too bad if he had let him. This was personal, and there was no saying if his heart still lay within Rainbow schemes. He’d probably keep in touch; he’d probably always be available for anything, really, but the more time passed, the less he thought that was still the right place for him.

Düsseldorf was still buzzing with life despite the torrential rain when he walked out into the street. Y/N—he feared too many emotions and memories would resurface if he let himself think of her as Angel—had moved from the city three years after her lifetime friends had ended up in jail, sent behind bars by none other than her lover. They wouldn’t stay inside forever—he knew how these things worked, he didn’t live a delusion.

He had called her, the day before he had booked his flight. If there was one thing he owed her, it was at least that—let her know he’d be coming… if she wanted him to, that is. If she didn’t want to meet up, then so be it: he’d go on with his life the way he had done throughout the past year and try not to regret too much stuff he had been forced to do because of his job.

But when she had picked up the phone—he had called her old number with his old number—things had felt… well, not normal, of course—he had disappeared overnight without leaving a note or a text or a simple word that could let her know what the fuck had been going on during the past six years of his life—of their life. But she had picked up the phone and she hadn’t killed him through the device, and although she had remained silent for most of the call—and he had done the same, truly, not even knowing what he wanted to tell her, for the words just wouldn’t come—she had eventually agreed to meet up.

Not at her new house, although Harry had done some digging and knew where she lived—a nice apartment in a nice part of the city, but Dominic hadn’t wanted to know where, exactly, when his Director had offered to share the knowledge. She had picked a café, a nice and cozy place he had looked up on the internet, but still popular enough that the awkwardness of their date of sorts would be easily drowned out by the other patrons’ presence.

She was scrolling through her phone when he walked in and spotted her in the far left corner. It was secluded enough to guarantee them some privacy, but still not enough to cut them off from the rest of the world. He figured it was just perfect.

“Hey,” he greeted when he walked up to the table she had picked and he tried not to sigh when he noticed she had pulled her hair back into two braids.

She looked up at him—she didn’t glare the way he had expected her to, but she also didn’t smile. “Hey.”

He sat down, and they both stared at each other until a waiter came up and Y/N called for a coffee and an orange juice before glaring the guy away.

The awkwardness of it all quickly filled the space between them, and wrapped them up like a blanket, but it wasn’t just that. She was pissed, and angry, and probably murderous, but under all that he could still see the heartbreak in her eyes.

“Well, I’m here,” she said. “Say what you wanted to say. It’s the least I deserve, I think.”

Dominic opened his mouth to speak, but then the waiter came back and he closed it again as he watched their order being placed on the table. His cup of black coffee and her glass of juice seemed to put even more distance between them and he had to resist the impulse of passing a hand over his shaved head the way he did when he was nervous.

“I’m sorry,” was what he sighed, lowering his gaze first to the table and then back out of the window and the rain-washed street outside.

She leaned forward and took a sip from the straw before crossing her arms and sitting back against the cushioned back of the booth. “That’s it? You came all the way from wherever the fuck you’ve been hiding to just say I’m sorry? No explanation whatsoever?”

Another sigh, but before he could open his mouth to speak again, she cut him off.

“Was any of that real? Was there at least a crumb of truth? I opened up to you and you just—” Her voice trembled, but whether it was out of tears or pure anger, Dominic couldn’t tell.

“It was real.” He was quick at biting back, probably a bit too aggressively than he had any right to be. “It was real,” he repeated after a moment, voice much quieter and eyes boring into hers. “I did love you.”

“Love’s too big a word for the things you’ve done.”

“It was work,” he tried to reason. “I got sent here on an undercover mission—”

“I know that. I’ve been interrogated by the ones who didn’t go in. They suspected me. Because of you. Because I had been fucking the snitch for almost five years.”

He gaped at her for a moment before sighing in defeat. “I loved you,” but he didn’t say I still do, or You’re still on my mind day in and day out, and not even I still see your panties on the gear shift of Christian’s car. “That wasn’t fake, it wasn’t part of the mission. I told myself I wouldn’t fall for you, that it would mess things up, that it wasn’t fair to you. But I still did. Every I love you I said was real. Every single one of them.”

She was silent for a minute before she scoffed and shook her head. “You’re so full of shit, Dominic.”

It was different this time. She had told him that he was full of shit many a time, always laughing, always joking, but this time those words cut deep—deep enough to rob him of his breath for a moment.

“I trusted you,” she continued then, much quieter, voice barely audible above the sound of the music and of the other people chatting. “I thought you’d be my forever. How stupid I was…”

He looked down at his cup, his throat too knotted to even stomach the idea of drinking his coffee. “That makes two of us. I thought that I—”

“Don’t you even dare—”

“That I’d have more time,” he continued unrelenting, shaking his head with closed eyes for a second before opening them and staring at her again. “That I could buy more time. I kept on hoping I’d fuck up somehow, that things would go wrong and that I wouldn’t have to complete the mission. Or that I could have the time to make you hate me before it was all over.”

“Well, I do kinda hate you now.”

“Breaking your heart was never in my plans, though.” He almost moved his hand on the table to place it over hers, but a last-minute realization made him understand that that was most definitely the worst thing he could do at the moment. And not because she could snap his wrist easily, but because he had no right to. “I really did love you. I wanted to take you back with me. I tried to tell you.”

There was a spark of recognition in her eyes, then, and he knew what memory his words had brought back. The two of them relaxing in the bathtub, her back against his chest, her damp hair tickling his neck and cheek. Come away with me, he had told her, fingers trailing up and down her arms, making her shiver. Let’s go far away, where no one can find us.

“I didn’t want it to end,” he confessed. “Any of that.”

“You built everything on a lie, Dominic.” A scoff. “If that’s even your real name, that is.”

“It is.”

It seemed to take her off guard and erased the words she had been about to say.

“My name’s Dominic Brunsmeier, not Neumann. I work for an international unit of elite agents that fight terrorism. I was assigned on this mission because we were informed Anton was doing more than simply dealing drugs. I went undercover with a Hells Angels chapter in the past, so the GSG-9 called me back for this one,” he confessed, voice flat and almost professional. He would have never thought he’d one day be making such a speech out loud, but there he was, in a busy café, in front of the woman he still had the nerve to love but who didn’t love him back anymore. “And my love for you could’ve never been a lie.”

She nodded once and turned her head to the side and to the city outside. He was trying to gauge what she might be thinking, what might be going on inside her head. But she remained unreadable and distant. “They’d kill you if they knew you’re back,” she eventually said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, her chin still resting on the palm of her hand.

He shrugged. “I’ve been close to death too many times to be scared today. This past year…” He couldn’t tell her it had been rough; he didn’t think he had the right to when in her eyes he had gone back home. “I knew I had to see you, even if it was for the last time. I didn’t think you’d agree to meet up, but I’m glad you did.”

They were silent after that. They drank their beverages, and all without speaking a word. But then, when they paid and left, she let him accompany her home.

“I thought you’d break my bones,” he confessed with a chuckle as he stood outside her apartment complex and she picked the right key to open the building’s door.

“I thought I would, too.” She was pensive, lost in thought, and it took her a couple of minutes before she pushed the door open. “But the truth is, I probably could never.”

They stared at each other, and before he could have the time to chicken out, he said, “I know it’s too much to ask, but… We could still have time together.”

She looked at him for a moment longer before she stepped into the building and closed the door behind her back.

Later that night, as he sat on his hotel bed once again, on a phone call with Marius, he couldn’t stop thinking about the last words she told him.

Yes, we could.

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[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising

Chapters: 77/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary:  Buridag begins!

Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.

Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.

So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.

Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.

You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.

They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.

Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.

There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.

You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.

He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.

“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.

“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”

Warmth rushed to your face.

“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”

“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”

You took a deep breath.

“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”

The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.

“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”

“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”

“ Like with the Huldra.”

“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”

“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.

“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.

“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”

“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”

“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”

“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”

Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”

“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”

“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.

“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”

                                                                         ******

Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.

There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.

Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.

Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.

The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.

After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.

That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.

You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.

You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.

As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.

Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.

While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.

Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'

You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.

As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.

There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.

You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.

That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.

Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.

The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.

It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.

Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.

The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.

Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.