#quickly before they have time to properly react and likely harm her in return.

[meatriarchived]

wakes up to down some headache meds but thinking very normally and tenderly about cc / nosy / adjacent aus where maria gets to lose her shit

how unlike dannys approach to violent outbursts being explosive from the get go, hers is quiet and patient and ticking time bomb. how to make up for what she lacks physically (even with some teaching by johnny/leland in cc/nosy/etc) she makes up for in being deceptively innocent and sweet, enticing and flirty. where she waits until perfect window, perfect isolation before hitting something major first - something to stun them, make them unable to respond as well, so that theyre sluggish and disoriented enough for her to get to play around a lil.

like dannys blind rage, maria intends to do what damage necessary in order to keep them writhing on the ground as quickly as possible.

also simply thinking about how in certain scenarios if she gets the chance to she will bare teeth to exposed throat.

[dapper-shipping-forever]

The first and second times Vash made Gill cry

enjoy this lmao

💜💜💜

Vash's blood splashed onto her face, warm on her horror chilled skin. Stupid, how fucking stupid, she hadn't seen the gunmen approaching. They'd drawn their guns directly in front of Vash and her and she hadn't reacted fast enough; before the first bullet could hit her, Vash had reacted much more quickly than she had. He'd stepped right in front of her and take that bullet directly into his shoulder like that. Then as all of them fired on them, he'd grabbed her and scrambled to find cover where they now were. He'd dived onto her, arms stretched above her, to shield her from any shrapnel. His jaw set.

She sucked in a gasping breath. She'd been traveling with him for just a short while, but she hadn't seen him get hurt this way. She'd always suspected he covered any injuries he got, smiling and deflecting any time she tried to check on him after running from another person trying to harm them.

Around Vash's frame, she saw the gunmen run back into view, framed by the alley way they lay in. They raised their guns, and Gill snapped to her senses to react faster than them.

She aimed above Vash's shoulder. She pulled the trigger rapidly, firing a sequence of a few quick rounds at the gunmen. She never aimed to maim anyone, but she did strategically graze opponents.

Her bullets drew blood and ripped clothing, causing the gunmen to scramble back. She kept firing, some attempted to return her fire as they retreated, but she was a better shot, hitting them as their bullets sent dust from stone walls spraying. When their shots took a brief pause, she scrambled to sit further upright. Grabbing Vash, she hauled him to his feet with her and ran with her arm around his waist. The shots resumed, but they'd already managed to round the next corner. 

Vash coughed, and she stopped by a large dumpster. Gingerly as she possibly could while in a rush, she guided him to sit to the side of the dumpster. There, he was completely out of sight from where the gunmen would be. He clutched at his shoulder, hand clamped tightly on the new hole within it now 

He was obviously trying to conceal its pain there. He smiled shakily right at her. His blood darkened his pale fingers.

"It's alright." He assures her.

She simply reloads both guns, shells clinking to the sand and fresh bullets glinting in the light beams shining onto them. She can hear the pursuers approaching around the corner, cautious now that she's fired on all of them; their boots crunch on the ground. She's shifted into her training now, determination setting in seeing Vash hurt. The red of his blood burns an imprint within her eyes. "Wait here." She cocks both her guns.

"Hold on, Gill !" Vash jerks forward after her, but he winces at his arm. He keeps his voice low enough to not alert the men in the alley way, but his tone is hurried.

She shoots a grappling chain into the roof top above them, yanking herself to the platform. She'd better hurry unless Vash gets the bright idea to help her.

Sprinting across the roof top, she comes to ledge above the attacking men. They've yet to notice she's there, and she's about to ensure they won't until she's gotten a few shots on them.

She jumps, midair shooting a chain at a man in a dirty brown leather duster, wrapping him within its vice before he can look. He drops on his face, and she forces a grunt out from him when she lands on his back. This man was behind his five companions, and there's a second as they start to notice, bodies shifting just slightly to look. She won't give some of them that opportunity.

She raises her guns, fires both in the same shot. Two binding chains swirl around two men, dropping them.

Now the other three have noticed. The first immediately aims his own gun directly at her, eyes blazing above the barrel. He fires, but he's being hasty, not taking the time to aim properly and ensuring his bullet misses her, whizzing somewhere beside her head. That's all the opportunity she needs to hit the switch on a gun, shifting its barrel from binding chains to bullets. That gun she aims at his, cracking the cheap gun in a single shot, while her other gun sends a chain to subdue his body. He drops like his companions did.

The fifth tries to run. Dropping him with a chain around his body is much easier then.

The sixth guy has realized he has reason to be afraid. Him she rushes, leaping into a sprint off the back of his companion towards him. He does take aim, but a high kick spins the gun out of his hand and onto the dirt several feet away. He shouts, clutching his wrist, and she aims her punch into his gut, winding him. Her second kick hits him right in the chest, sending him sprawling not unlike his gun. He gapes at her as she lowers her bright pink gun to his level. The next binding chain grapples him same as his companions.

She holsters the guns, reattached chains to herself as she starts walking around them. "No offense, guys, but this is what I do for work. Your technique was awful; totally wasted that ambush if you wanted to get us like that. Maybe try not picking fights with pros next time."

The guy she'd chained at the same time as his companion groaned, lifting his neck from the sand. "You're just gonna leave us like this?" He asks.

"Someone's gonna find you sometime." She finishes reclasping her chain.

Rounding the corner and reaching the dumpster, she finds Vash, of course, half standing, presumably heading towards the fighting. But she also notices his bloody fingers and the red coated bullet he holds. He couldn't have gotten that out without unnecessary pain that quickly, and all by himself. They stare at each other for a couple quiet seconds like that.

Her fingers twitch, and her throat feels dry. She can't believe he tore that bullet out of himself like that and was about to rush out of his safe hiding spot to assist her. She can't believe he took that shot for her. Actually, she can.

"Ah, hey. That was a quick fight?" His statement edges into a question, and he chuckles awkwardly, raising his prosthetic to scratch behind his head but wincing and stopping short from his injury. He switches to using his other arm, like he wanted to cover that show of pain to her.

She's seen him several times now jump directly into the path of danger to save other people. This in fact isn't the first time he's swooped in to save her before she could get hurt, letting himself get scrapped in some way. Cuts and bruises, bullets and fists, he'd put himself in any kind of harm's way just to stop someone else from feeling the harm.

But what about him? Who's been watching out to stop him from feeling pain like that in turn? Because it's certainly not him.

"Why'd you do that, Vash?" Her voice is quiet, and there's a barely noticeable wobble.

"Eh? What do you mean?" He looks at her cluelessly.

She bites her lip. "You know. Why'd you take that shot instead of me?"

"Well, because," He drawls. "Because you would've been hit if I hadn't. I couldn't just stand there and let you be hurt."

The way he says it is like it's obvious, simple. Like there was no other choice for him.

"And? I've been shot before." She says. Her head is lowered, her hair draped around her face. "What about you? Now you're hurt, Vash; look at your shoulder."

He kinda flounders, not sure how to react. Honestly, he's just never seen her sound this way, she's always been super cheerful around him, it's a little jarring. "I'm alright ! It's not like it matters much if I get hurt, y'know." Again, he attempts to defuse this tension around the alley with a little chuckle. Gill's fists just curl tighter until she feels her nails digging into l her palms.

"Do you think that little of yourself?" She says.

Vash freezes in place, eyes wide and stunned. "Um, huh?" Is all he thinks to get out.

He looks at her face as she lifts it again, and he sees the large tears forming at the corners of her eyes. He watches them roll along her cheeks and fall from her chin. He sucks in a breath sharply.

"Do you think that nobody cares if you get hurt?" Her shoulders jump as she sucks in a breath. "Do you think that you stopped me from being hurt as well?"

She crouches in front of him, tears continuing to fall from her face. Her hands wipe away at them fast as they fall but she can't erase them all. She's not entirely sure where they came from, but the understanding of how little Vash views his own well being unleashed the waterfall, she couldn't help it. Vash reaches his arm towards her, but it stays floating in the air halfway there, unsure if he should touch her right now or leave her be.

"Hey, it's alright." He says gently. 

She sniffles. "You're not some pariah, Vash; there's no reason for you to stand alone and feel like you have to take on everybody else's problems on your own. Letting yourself get hurt, not caring about yourself, you can't just keep doing that. I can't, I can't just watch you do that. You're worth more than that, much more, Vash." 

Vash swallows, words beyond him now. He's never received this reaction before. It hasn't been something he's thought much about, throwing himself in the way of danger aimed for somebody else, he simply just does it. He never thought anybody would care that he did. He never thought the act of trying to stop someone from being harmed would be what harms them after all. 

"I'm sorry." He says; it's all he thinks to say.

She wipes at her tears, breathing in and gaining more composure. "No, you shouldn't apologize. I'm sorry; I shouldn't be crying right now. We need to get your shoulder better cleaned; tearing that bullet out couldn't have helped. Come on, let me help you." She half stands, reaching for his uninjured arm to help him stand with her.

She begins walking with him back to their hotel, both of them pretty quiet for a bit. They're both careful, keeping an eye out for any more companions of those earlier guys.

When they've reached their hotel and gotten in front of Vash's door, he silently unlocks it and lets both of them in. He slumps onto the side of the bed while she rummages around inside his bag for some bandages and alcohol. Her search proving successful, she comes back to stand in front of him. 

"Um, let me." He says. "I can do it myself. You can just go back to your room." 

She pauses, looking at him with her hands full. "Vash, please; what was I just saying? Isolating yourself isn't helping yourself; and it's not helping me, if that's what you're trying for."

"No, it's not exactly, I mean, you see, I just, it's better for you to just let me handle this." He stumbles. He seems anxious, she sees some subdued fidgeting from his hands and body as moving them too much hurts his wounded arm. 

"Vash, look at me." She says. She tucks the alcohol under her arm to cup his cheek with her hand, tilting his face to get him to settle and look at her finally. "Do you trust me?"

He let's out a shaking breath. "Yes, I do." He says after a pause.

"Then please, please let me help you; let me do what little I can for you, please, Vash." She keeps his eyes on her. Something unsaid hangs in the air around both of them, for a few seconds freezing their hotel room in time and space.

Vash seems to debate with himself in the silence. Finally, she sees in his eyes the second he decides to relent. He sighs, looking aside. "Alright, um," He takes a minute to gather his next words. "Help me, please." He says quietly.

She pulls back, setting her supplies on the bedside table. "Take off your shirt." Saying that almost brings a wave of embarrassment, but she's professional enough right now to focus on this task he's decided he trusts her to do.

Vash does have a blush, but he slowly removes his coat, Gill helping get it off his injured shoulder and the same arm. She folds his jacket for him while he fiddles with the bottom of his concealing shirt. "Sorry, um, just to warn you, you're probably not gonna like what you see underneath."

She's sure she is. Not the point. "Vash, whatever it is that's worrying you, I promise you it's all alright. Normally I wouldn't push you, but we need to wrap your shoulder, and I can't do that unless I can get to it. I won't mock you or anything like that, no matter what you look like under there." She steps close to him, standing right above him. "You're alright, I promise, darling."

Vash continues to look nervous, but some tension erodes away at her words. He silently keeps moving, carefully removing his top.

Gill might've imagined what Vash looks like underneath his shirt a few times. He's always covered somehow, his long jacket, concealing dark sleeves, ankle length pants, as far as wearing a glove and turtleneck to cover more; heck, he's got wide, reflective sunglasses to cover more too. He's super physically active, and she's seen him display pretty impressive strength many times by now, she expects he has some good muscles under all those layers to back that strength and stamina. He lifts his shirt higher, and she quickly sees her theory is correct, his abdomen being m revealed. But she hadn't expected the scars.

Vash's body is littered with them. Each inch his shirt is raised reveals more. By the time he sets his shirt aside with a grunt, she can see his entire torso and arm is covered with marred flesh and metal to keep him held together where the injuries were great. 

Anybody who's experienced a lot of this desert planet has their own stories written in scars on their body. Gill has her own decent amount decorating her, though she can't decipher all of their tales. But Vash, his scars are something else for sure. How did he get that many? Who made him suffer as he obviously has? Part of her wants to gasp but she withholds it to not make him more insecure than she can tell that he already is.

He laughs, a joyless breath. "Told ya. This mess is enough to turn anybody away, especially the ladies."

He starts to get more nervous the longer she's quiet. He figured she'd be disgusted. It figures; someone as pretty as her seeing someone as brutalized as him. The story his scars tell is of years of sorrow. Any reasonable person would turn away. 

He flinches when her hand lightly sits on his upper arm. He's just sitting, head bowed, waiting for the shock and horror she must feel to be vocalized. Something wet falls onto the hand he has sitting in his lap. He blinks, looking at it, and then more drops of something fall near it too. He raises his head and sees Gill staring at his scars, tears again dripping off her face.

He jerks forward, hissing at his injury. "Gill? Hey !" He touches her face delicately. "What's the matter?"

She waves a hand in little motions. "Nothing, I just, sorry. I had no idea that you, well, that you had scars like these."

He drops his hand. "That gross, huh?"

"No ! No, not that." She quickly says. "They're not disgusting, not a single bit. It's just something I can't help thinking." She gingerly, a feather touch, runs her fingers along his scars. "Seeing the ways someone I care as much as I do about has been hurt, I wish I could take it all away and give you the gentleness that you've always deserved to receive." She tells him.

Vash is stunned, and words fail him for a minute. He wonders how she can say such things, things he could never dream to hear. He wonders if he deserves them. He wonders if he let her in, could she take that pain and replace it with something kinder with her gentle voice. Quietly, his response is to raise his hand to her face, and then he uses his finger to brush away her tears. "There's no need to cry for me."

"I know." She smiles a watery but sure smile for him. "But sometimes tears are how you care for your soul. If your tears are reserved for everybody else, then my tears are reserved for you." She breathes, and stops crying. She grabs her supplies again. "Let's get your injury clean."

Vash is glad she decided to change topics. However, her words won't leave him, never would.

She gets a bowl with water and a cloth, using it to clean his shoulder. The water is pink before she's done. It continues to leak some blood as she cleans it, though it's only a trickle. She grabs the alcohol, and gives Vash a sympathetic glance.

"It's alright, I can handle the little sting." He chuckles.

She let's out a little breath, a tiny laugh, and applies some of the bottle to another cloth. She presses it to his wound, and Vash holds in another whimper to not make her concerned. When she's happy with that, she starts wrapping his wound, keeping it tight but making sure it allows him some movement.

She pulls back, but stays close. Her hand is settled on his shoulder near his wound, not putting weight on it, simply settling nearby. She seems to be mulling around something behind her gaze on his shoulder. After a few beats, she leans in without a single word, and kisses his shoulder lightly above his wound. Vash sucks a breath in, a blush rising on his face again. "A kiss to make it better." She says, her breath whispering on his shoulder as she removes her lips from him.

She stands straight in front of him. His legs have parted enough to let her stand between them, and neither comment on how close they currently are to each other. His hand feels guided on it's own, and it places itself on her waist in a barely there touch. He just looks at her, eyes connecting with her's behind his sunglasses. "Thank you." For your help. For being here. For everything.

"Always, darling. Someone's gotta keep you running." She says.

He laughs softly along with her. "And, uh, I'm sorry. I am, for worrying you. Are you, uh," He pauses. "Mad at me? For taking the hit?"

She tilts her head. "Have you been worrying about that this since then? No, baby, I'm not. I never was mad at you. I just care about you, and, and I think I kind of blame myself for letting you get hurt for me. But no, never mad, you'd have to try pretty hard to actually make me angry at you." She playfully grabs his chin and shakes it before releasing it again.

He laughs, and this time it's sounding more actually real. "I'd rather not do that; you'd be scary."

"Yeah, I'm vicious." She fake scowls, but there's a smile within it. They both laugh. "Also, Vash," she says. "You're not disgusting."

"Ah, that's different." He quickly says.

She continues. "Listen to me. Listen now, darling. No matter how many scars are on your body, no matter how many limbs are cut from you, no matter if your entire body is marred somehow, you are not disgusting. You are a beautiful, kind, amazing man. Your scars are proof of the people you have saved. And I," she hums. "I appreciate you saving me from that shot and I think it's good that you save others, I think you should never stop trying to help people; I also would rather not encourage you too much to continue having no regard for yourself as you do. Because you matter. You matter more for who you are than for what of yourself you can give to others. You have people who care about seeing you hurt, people like me; I care a lot when I see you hurt. It's like being hurt myself; like I received a wound to match your own. But I think you shouldn't be ashamed of the scars you've gathered. Do you think other's scars are disgusting?"

"No, of course not." He answers. Following and answering that simple question is easier as he digests her words. 

"Of course not. Do you think these are disgusting?" Her hand lifts and gathers the draping sleeve of her jacket, and for the first time lifts it for Vash to see. Her arm too, like his, is covered in scars. Some are messy and haphazard, obviously from various fights, likely bounties she's won. Others, oddly, are precise, done obviously with great intent carved into her body, long scars running the length of her arm vertically and wrapping in patterns like a riddle Vash can't figure out for now.

He gazes at them. His brows pinch, lips latching thin. "Where did you get these?" He asks.

She shrugs nonchalantly. "Some I can answer for, fights. Some, well," she chooses her words slowly. "There's a lot about myself that I have no idea about, and some of these are just another thing I can't give an answer to. But that's not why I'm showing you. A lot of people have scars, and if you can look at these and not feel disgust, then it shouldn't be assumed that everybody would look at you with disgust. If anything, I just think you're more handsome than before." She grins at him.

Vash feels something strange in his gut. Some kind of light fluttering there. He coughs. "Um, thank you, I, I'm not sure, you're too nice." He stutters. He swallows, taking a second to calm himself. "Thank you. Meeting you is always going to be something I'm extremely glad for. Thank you, for asking to come along with me, and then for not taking no for an answer." He grabs her hand, and he kisses her knuckles softly in a gentle kiss. When he releases it, she tugs her sleeve back into place, concealing her scars from sight but not from his thoughts. He won't forget the things she's showed him, or the things that she's told him. In that room, the bond between them grows stronger.

Their eye contact stays steady, words that need not be spoken crossing within their eyes. His thumb upon her hip rubs soft caresses. She smooths his hair back, and together they stay there for a long, long while.

[pokegalla]

*inhales*

I feel bad for Leorio on this one ngl-

An ask from @theneurodivergentdummy

Hope you enjoy!

Love in Different Shapes

“Where is (Y/n), Gon, and Killua? We were supposed to meet them here,” Kurapika said looking at the time.

Leorio also looked impatient. Not because of the mission they had to do or because they were late (though it does irk him a bit), but because he wanted more time with (Y/n). She was just too sweet….he plans on asking her out! No backing down! His flirting game is now on!

“Lee! Pika! We’re heeeeeere~” (Y/n) said as she walked over to them, “Sorry! We saw this awesome candy shop and we just HAD to stop and check it out!” Gon had a huge lollipop while Killua was munching on those ChocoRobo-kun chocolate balls.

“(Y/n)! Stop spoiling them,” Kurapika shouted.

(Y/n) stuck her tongue out and shrugged, “My bad Mamapika….no harm done in giving the boys a little special something. I got something for everyone else too! Even a med kit! Just in case y’know?” Kurapika tried to say something but sighed. He really can’t argue with that.

Leorio pushed him aside, “ANYWAYS. Let’s discuss more pressing matters,” He took her hands and pressed them to his chest, “(Y/n)! I would love to spend more time with you! Would you like to go out with me?!”

(Y/n) stared at him, “Well….let’s have fun on the mission, k? I’d love to hang out with my friends as well!”

The ‘friends’ hit him in the face like an arrow. That’s all he’s seen as? Friends?! The answer was so simple….so nonchalant. He won’t back down! He won’t let this setback get him downhearted!

“I will confess my love for you (Y/n)-Chan and I will be your lover,” Leorio said proudly.

“Dude….she left already,” Killua said pointing back to her retreating form.

“Wait for me (Y/n)-Chaaaaaaan,” Leorio said running after her. Everyone sweat dropped as they watched but they laugh it off and run to catch up.

Everyone was exhausted after the mission, laying around the hotel room like logs. (Y/n) was bandaging up Gon’s knee after he scrapped it.

“It’s ok Gon. You’re tough and can handle anything,” (Y/n) said to cheer him up.

“Like a boulder,” Gon said proudly. (Y/n) giggled at Gon’s enthusiasm. She loved how quickly he can recover. She finished properly wrapping his knee up.

“There! All better! Good jo-oop” She was interrupted by Gon’s hug.

“Thanks Onee-san,” He said happily.

(Y/n) smiled sweetly before returning the hug, “No problem kiddo!”

She happily watched as he went to Killua to play. She wasn’t done yet, she had to check on Kurapika and Leorio before resting. She shook her head, already expecting some trouble ahead. Sure enough once she peeked in their room, they were butting heads and you could practically see static forming from their clashing glares.

“Can you just turn off the lights?! I’m tired and I can’t sleep with all the lights on,” Kurapika shouted.

“It’s only 8:00pm!!! And I need light to read to read my book! Not my fault you’re tired Grandma,” Leorio retorted.

(Y/n) giggled sensing their nen rising as they were about to fight. She quickly used her nen ability when they were about to fight and used it on some pillows. She swung the pillows around and threw it. It ZOOMED across the room and before Kurapika or Leorio could react on time, it smacked them both across the face, sending them flying on their bums. It successfully stopping their abilities before they used it on each other.

“You boys are such dummies. No more fighting, k~?” She simply said with a laugh.

Killua and Gon also saw what happened, “Pillow fight?!”

Kurapika panicked, “W-What?! No-!”

“Pillow fiiiiiiiiight,” (Y/n) shouted as well.

It was pure chaos of pillows and feathers as they had a pillow free-for-all. Eventually everyone just slowly got too tired, Killua and Gon just passing out mid-way while Kurapika was asleep after being buried in pillows. Leorio was blushing and had a nosebleed as (Y/n) fell asleep on him. Though….he was still upset he failed to ask her out. He sighed and caressed her sleeping face.

“Man I suck at these sort of things….you’re just so cute and caring for others, I get all excited just to see you smiling at me that I’m at lost for words,” He sighed before laying back, “I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

He jumped out his skin. He looked down to see (Y/n) rubbing her eyes but looking up at him, “Y-Y-Y-You heard me?!”

“Yeah? Leorio….you know I love you too right? I always did….,” She said. Leorio sat up, his heart thumping and smiling widely.

“Really?! You really do?!” He asked excitedly.

(Y/n) giggled, still holding Leorio tightly, “Of course I do Lee….you guys are like family to me!” You could practically hear glass shattering as his hopes came crashing down. “Mmmm I’m still tired….nighty night Lee. Sleep well ok? And we’ll hang out more tomorrow, k~?” She fell asleep right away.

Gon, Killua, and Kurapika stared at Leorio. He glared at them, “THE HELL YOU LOOKING AT-?!”

They look away quickly while Gon just patted his back, “It’s ok Leorio. At least she loves you back!” Leorio understood that Gon was just trying to cheer him up so he just sighs and enjoys the moment.

[slasherhaven]

Hi! Can I request slashers reactions to their s/o who love to kiss them? Doesn't matter what kind, soft kisses, pecks, full on makeout they always want to kiss them some way

The Slashers with a S/O who loves to kiss them:

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas loves your innocent kisses. Whenever you press a quick kiss to his lips, cheek, or forehead, Thomas just melts. It just feels so domestic and they just wipe away his insecurities. Here you are, giving him the most loving smiles and random sweet kisses. Not because he sought you out, not to get anything, just because you wanted too and enjoyed showing him love. He just adores your touches and kisses, and how willingly they come from you. He's so starved of gentle and affectionate touch.

Now that he gets to kiss you, he can't get enough. Kisses were a little difficult to navigate before he was comfortable enough to remove his mask around you. So, you had settled for sweet pecks to his mask or exposed temple. But then the mask came off and you kissed him properly for the first time with no obstruction between you both. Now that he had kissed you properly, had felt your soft lips against his, how could he ever go without them?

Michael Myers 

They catch him off guard nearly every time. Michael is normally able to predict most things, seeing most things coming, he's observant like that. These surprise him though. You'll just waltz over and steal kisses, pecking the cheek of his mask as if it was nothing. He isn't used to somebody behaving in such a way and that makes it more difficult for him to predict.

Sometimes just lets them slide. As he does with most things, he normally just treats them with a sense of neutrality, like they're nothing. He just shrugs it off and doesn't react more than a tilt of the head or a hard stare.

Other times grabs you and pulls you back. He might let them slide sometimes, letting you get on with whatever else you were doing. Other times he's making you gasp as he grabs your arm and tugs you back towards him. If you're going to start something, you better finish it.

Jason Voorhees

You would always kiss his mask. Just because Jason is constantly wearing his mask doesn't mean he's going to be spared from your kisses. You would constantly press kisses to the cheeks and forehead of his mask. Greeting him that way, bidding him goodnight or goodbye, randomly leaning up to give him a kiss just for the sake of it.

Once he becomes comfortable to remove his mask, he never tires of your kisses. Actually getting to feel your soft kisses against his skin is so much better than receiving them on his mask. And when you kiss his lips for the first time, he can barely believe it. He adores you and wants to spend a lifetime receiving your sweet little kisses.

Brahms Heelshire

Can’t get enough of your kisses! If you're offering up so many kisses so often, he's not going to reject you! He is needy for affection and attention, and he absolutely cherishes it when you give it to him. It doesn't matter how often you give him kisses, he will always come seeking out more.

He is always pulling you in for more. Sometimes he lets you get away with a quick peck, but not most of the time. Sometimes he'll just pull you back to give you another short kiss or playfully demand another peck before releasing you. Other times, he will have the mask off and pull you back into to give you a proper kiss.

Bo Sinclair 

Complains and rolls his eyes at the soft kisses. Every time you lean up to affectionately kiss his cheek, giving him a smile before getting on with whatever you were doing, Bo rolls his eyes.

Secretly gets a little concerned if you stop. Despite pretending to be above your sweet little kisses, Bo gets used to them. So, if you were to stop giving them to him, he would become concerned that something was wrong. Also, a part of him kinda likes the domestic feeling of it, it makes him smirk to himself.

Can always get behind a make out session though. Nearly never reacts a make out session, and never acts irritated by them. He just plasters a smirk over his face, pulling you onto his lap as he takes over the kiss.

Vincent Sinclair

Your kisses often made him blush. Ever since you started getting friendly, you would give a small kiss to the cheeks and forehead of his mask. And every time he would be thankful for the mask, hiding his blush from you. But he would never pull away from you, always letting you do it. Even when you started dating, you're random cute little kisses would still make him blush or get a little flustered.

They bring him comfort. Every time you lean up to give him a kiss, he feels his body relax. You can comfort him and reassure him with the smallest gestures. When you kiss him goodbye and hello, even if it's only been a few minutes since you last saw him, when you press a kiss to his forehead until seconds before he opens his eye in the morning. He just loves your affection, and loves kissing you in general.

Lester Sinclair 

Loves any of your kisses, they always make him smile. Whenever you kiss his cheek, he can't help but grin from ear to ear. He loves when you pepper his face with kisses, smiling and chuckling as you giggle along with him. He's always happy to accept your kisses, they always cheer him up and put him in a good mood.

You both make his brother's sick. The two of you can be so sappy together. You aren't going to stop giving Lester little kisses every now and again, even if his brothers are around, and he's never going to stop you. Every time you give Lester a peck to the cheek or the lips before parting ways, Bo rolls his eyes. Vincent doesn't mind it so much, he thinks it's sweet and is happy for his little brother.

Bubba Sawyer

Absolutely lives for your kisses. Whenever you would give him those sweet little kisses to his mask, even before you were dating, Bubba wasn't shy about how much he enjoyed them and would encourage them. Even though he sees the mask as an extension of himself, he likes to take it off so that he can feel your kisses against his actual skin. Wants them all the time, no matter where you are.

You earn a lot of eye rolls from other family members. You're just so affectionate and Bubba is so giddy about it, it makes Drayton sick. He had tried snapping at you both, scolding you for it, but it didn't change anything so he eventually gave up, just rolling his eyes whenever you were showing Bubba any affection. Nubbins and ChopTop don't mind so much, they like to tease you both for it but don't really mean any harm. But sometimes he becomes even too cute for them and they start rolling their eyes.

Billy Lenz 

Make out sessions are his favourite pass time. It doesn't have to be more than making out. Just being on the couch, tangled up in each other, sharing heated, messy kisses, it's the best way to spend his time. He could do it all day, every day. And whenever you give him a lingering peck, he's trying to pull you in and hold you still for more. Pouting when you giggle and pull away.

But he also loves your smaller, more innocent kisses. Just the little gestures of affection make him smile, they make him feel loved and seen. He will pout if you ever stop giving him these kisses. If you see him and don't give him a kiss, he will come and get one from you. You've spoiled him, you can't stop now!

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Acts pretty neutral to them most of the time. Asa doesn't normally react to them much, accepting the affection but not commenting or reacting to it. He doesn't try to make you feel like it bothers him, he's just not going to respond to them with a grin or anything. Sometimes he will let out a small hum of approval that makes you smile.

He does appreciate it, though. He prefers to have the affection than to not have it, at least from you anyway. Plus, it's a useful way to tell what sort of mood you're in. If the kisses are more often than usual, you are likely in a good mood. If you're being more reserved with your kisses, he knows something is wrong.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

He thinks it's sweet. Jesse just thinks you're sweet. You're always leaning up to try to press a kiss to his cheeks, grabbing him by his shirt and trying to pull him down for a quick kiss. He's a tall man and you struggled sometimes. But he always leans down to allow you to do so, often returning them. Often catching you for a deeper kiss, enjoying leaving you breathless, and finding the smile on your face afterwards cute.

He certainly isn't going to stop you. He would never stop you from kissing him. Whether it's a simple kiss to his cheek or a heated make out session, Jesse welcomes it all. Why would he stop you from showing him affection? What would either of you get from that?

Otis Driftwood

Will roll his eyes but he's just being difficult. Otis likes to act above this sort of things, like he doesn't care for silly acts of affection like your little kisses, but he really doesn't mind at all. In fact, he likes it and you know it no matter how much he acts like it's annoying. He's never once stopped you from kissing his cheek or anything, so you know he welcomes it, he just likes to be difficult with people. Baby knows it as well and teases him about it.

Will pull you back with a smirk. Eventually, Otis decides that you've been teasing him enough. When you lean in to quickly kiss his cheek, a sweet smile on your lips, he grabs you and tugs you into his chest, smirking down at you. You know what that look means and heat rising to your cheeks before he meets you with a bruising kiss.

Baby Firefly

Lots of playful kisses. Baby loves your kisses, accepting each one, and giving you plenty in return. You're normally sweeter about it, smiling as you give her a innocent peck. But Baby usually prefers to surprise you with them and give you more intense kisses.

Teases you about it a little. She doesn't tease you in a mean way and she doesn't pretend like it's annoying or anything. She just likes to tease you about how affectionate you are and how much you must just love her. She's just playing around.

Yautja (Predator)

What a strange little gesture of affection...do it again. Obviously, kisses aren't very common among Yautjas. However, he quickly becomes a huge fan when you start giving them to him. He loves your cute little kisses and just thinks his little human is adorable.

He can't live without them now. When you came into his life, kisses were new, but now he can't imagine a life without them. Now he can barely go a day without a cute little kiss from his cute little mate!

[courtlyharlequin]

Gotta say I love your writing!! It’s just absolutely wonderful and I can’t wait to see more of it ^-^ May I request some head cannons of the dorm leaders reacting to their S/O fainting suddenly from overworking themselves?

Rest Easy

A/N: Hello~ thank you for requesting. I’m glad you like my writing! This honestly means a lot to me. I’m sorry this took so long to write, but thank you for your patience. I hope it’s up to par ^^

Riddle Rosehearts:

He was completely caught off guard. You were walking next to him one moment and now you were on the ground. He drops whatever he’s holding and rushes to your side. He calls your name out several times in a firm yet worried tone. Riddle also makes sure to check your breathing as well. A relieved sigh escapes his lips

The redhead slings your arm around his shoulder and drags you to the infirmary. He struggles a bit to say the least. He was lugging an unconscious person to the other side of the school, but he digresses as your health and safety is a priority at the moment

Riddle lets the staff tend to you and waits by your side. He holds your hand, playing with your fingertips and finding himself staring out the window. His eyebrows are furrowed. He’s your boyfriend, your significant other, yet he was so caught up in his studies and duties as a prefect that he didn’t see the signs

By the time you wake up, he’s fallen asleep at your bedside. You card your fingers through his hair and his lashes flutter

“You worried me.”

You two talk for a bit about your health. It mainly consisted of Riddle lovingly scolding you for not taking better for yourself

Leona Kingscholar:

He sensed something off about you that day. Your eye bags were dark and deep. He shrugged it off because you told him you stayed up a tad too late to catch up on homework

When hanging around in his room afterschool, you fainted. You were sitting at his desk and he was seated at the edge of his bed. You were babbling about your history classes, but Leona could tell you were trying to hold on to your consciousness

Eventually, you fainted. He clicks his tongue before lunging towards you, wrapping his arm around your waist, catching you before you fell onto the floor

He lays you on his bed before going to find a glass of water for you

Leona comes back with the glass, but also a bowl of water and a wet towel too. He places the towel onto your head. Now, all he can do is wait. You’re breathing. You’re fine– just overworked, but it’s only a matter of time before you wake

When you gain consciousness, he just lets you talk. He hugs you if you need him to, running a hand through your hair. There’s the occasional forehead kiss as well. He’s quiet for the most part, but he’ll admit you worried him

After you promise to take better care of yourself, he climbs onto the bed and drapes the blanket over the both of you, telling you to get some more sleep. He won’t let you go until you’re well rested

Azul Ashengrotto:

Like Riddle, Azul panics, rushing to your side and calling out your name. He firmly shakes your shoulder. With no response, he scopes you up in his arms and carries you to the Octavinelle dormitory

There, he tends to you. He lays you on your back and raises your legs to help blood flow to your head. He takes off your shoes and loosens your tie– anything to make your recovery more comfortable

He’s honestly very worried but he knows that if he panics, he might be doing more harm than good

You regain your consciousness quickly, but he’s not letting you walk away from him without proper rest. Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing. You’re overworked and you just fainted!

He listens to your troubles and offers you some advice as someone who’s always busy too. He offers to help you with your work if it’ll lighten the load in exchange that you’ll rest properly

Can’t have you faint on him again, now can we?

Kalim Al-Asim:

He invited you over to Scarabia to let loose after exams. He knows you’ve been working hard as of late so he wanted you to relax with a small banquet, filling food and feel-good vibes. Kalim nearly drops his drink after hearing a loud thud. He turns around to see your lifeless figure on the floor

His eyes widened as he rushed to your side. Students crowd around you both; he can hear their distant whispers. His heartbeat rings throughout his ears, muffling their voices.  He sighs when he sees your chest rise and fall

Kalim isn’t quite sure exactly what to do. His thoughts are all over the place, but he knows that he should get you out of her quickly. He could save the questions for later.

He slings your arm around his shoulder. He crosses paths with Jamil on his way to the bedroom. He gives him a silent nod. The vice prefect quickened his pace and tends to the common room

The prefect ushers you onto his bed and turns on the fan. He isn’t familiar with fainting, but he is familiar with tending to someone who’s unconscious. Jamil has been poisoned a handful of times on his behalf and he’s seen the maids tend to him. While you don’t need an antidote, you need to be laid on your back and have anything tight loosened. He places your feet on a tower of pillows, redirecting your blood flow to your head

When you wake, he embraces you wholeheartedly. Kalim refrains from bombarding you with questions as to why you fainted albeit he is thankful that you told him out of your own volition. He’ll definitely offer to do something lighthearted together to ease your mind. How about a game of mancala?

Vil Schoenheit:

He was already scolding you for overworking yourself. You can’t hide those eye bags from him. He’s been doing his best to keep you in check– making sure you eat three meals a day and sleep on time. However, you have to meet him halfway

Vil’s breath hitches as he sees your figure fall towards the ground. Luckily, he catches you by the wrist, pulling you close to him before gently laying you on your back.

He tries to compose himself, but that nearly gave him a heart attack. Sure, he knew about your workload, but he didn’t expect you to faint

He brushes his feelings aside to tend to you. Your health is most important to him as of now. He’s not unfamiliar with fainting. Fortunately, Vil has never fainted himself, but he’s had his share of fainting incidents. His colleagues often fainted due to overworking as well

Honestly… what was he going to do with you? He shakes his head as he checks for your pulse and breathing. He doesn’t hesitate to search up ways to help someone when fainting. He wants to take care of you thoroughly and to the best of his abilities. He may have witnessed others tend to an individual who has fainted, but he’s no expert

Be prepared for an earful when you wake up. Vil has a lot to say to you. You should be taking care of yourself. Know your limits. You can’t put forth your best efforts if you’re dead tired. He plans a self care day for you both

No if’s, and’s, or but’s. You’re going to rest. Vil understands the need to overexert yourself, going the extra mile for your work, your passions, but there’s a limit. Success comes from resting as much as it comes from hard work. Cut yourself some slack, Fairest

Idia Shroud:

It’s a miracle Idia didn’t faint himself. He’s scared out of his mind. Are you alright? A thousand thoughts race through his mind. What happened? You were fine a moment ago! Please don’t tell him you just died on the spot. Or worse– possessed by a ghost?!

Worst case scenarios flood his mind. Some of them are completely irrational, but he doesn’t consider that. Anything is possible

He mutters your name under his breath repeatedly as he shakes your shoulder. Each time, his voice grows louder and louder

Idia runs to get some help. He returns with Ortho who scans your lifeless figure, confirming that you are indeed alive, just overworked and exhausted. He urges his brother to carry you back to Ignihyde to let you rest properly. The floor isn’t comfortable for humans

Reluctantly, he drags you back to his room. He stays by your side. He holds your hand while playing a game. The poor prefect nearly drops his phone when you squeeze his hand, letting him know you’re awake

Idia starts rambling. He was worried sick! His stammering comes to a halt when you kiss him on the cheek as thanks

In turn, he buries his head into the crook of your neck. He’s red to the tips of his ears now. He honestly didn’t do much. He wishes he could have done more to lighten your workload to be honest

Nevertheless, Idia puts on a brave face for you and crawls into the bed with you

Malleus Draconia:

Color him surprised. You were standing and then you weren’t. He turned around once he heard a loud thud only to find you on the floor. At first, he thought you had tripped over your own feet. You were a klutzy beastie after all. It wouldn't be the first time this happened. He found it endearing

Malleus chuckled as he crouched down to offer you a hand. He blinked twice when you didn’t take his hand. You didn’t even say a word. He pokes your cheek and cocks his head

“(y/n)?”

Still no response. Now he’s worried. What happened to you? You were still breathing, but you weren’t awake. Have you fallen asleep? But in broad daylight… He brushes your hair aside to examine your face. You did have dark circles, but he doesn’t believe that would be the cause of this. You would have yawned more frequently

Well, no matter. It would be best to get you to bed. Leaving you in the hallway wasn’t  a viable option. You would certainly be more comfortable on a mattress

He sighs as he scoops you up in his arms and teleports to his bedroom

There, he lays you on his bed, tucking you in snugly. Malleus places a gentle kiss on your forehead

He waits by your side. If you show signs of distress in your slumber, then he might enchant your dreams with a little bit of magic to make you sleep more comfortably

When you wake, Malleus will lend you an ear to listen to your troubles. If you insist on going back to your work, then he’ll sit you back down and prop open a book and begins reading. You find yourself slowly falling asleep

[griffintail]

I know you write about parental stuff for a lot of characters in the Dream SMP, but I was wondering if you could write something for Quackity?

I’ve seen some writers write about Philza finding a winged child with their wings clipped, and since everyone seems to headcanon Quackity as a duck hybrid with wings that were clipped by Shlatt during his presidency, I thought it would be interesting to see how Big Q would react to finding someone did something similar to a child.

Plus I just like the thought of him as Papa Duck, and calling his kid “Duckling”. It’s just really adorable, okay? I’m in a fluffy mood, and there’s ducks/ ducklings in my yard all the time, so needless to say I’ve grown to really like ducks over the years.

Ducklings are so cute!

However, this went a bit more angsty than planned...I still hope you enjoy it! There is fluffy parts in there!

Duckling

Pairings: Parental! Quackity x F! Child! Reader

Warnings: Blood, Harm done to a child, Implied Past Abuse, Wounds, Angstish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        It was any other day in New L’Manberg.

        Quackity woke up, tended to his wounds to make sure they healed properly, changed into a clean outfit, then walked out of his home with his usual smile. He was able to have usual banter with his friends, laughing a true laugh making him feel relief each time as he didn’t have to hold anything back. Going to have his daily meeting with Tubbo and the rest of the cabinet was when his day changed drastically.

        He was walking to the building when he saw a small sagging figure. Straightening up, he carefully went over.

        “Hello?”

        The figure looked up and he froze seeing the pain-filled face of a little girl. She stared for a moment before starting to fall.

        “Help…be free…”

        Her eyes closed as she fell to the ground and Quackity quickly rushed forward and caught her. As he did, he winced at the wet feeling as he held her back.

        “Oh please.” He muttered before carefully moving her in his arms.

        His blood boiled as he went pale.

        The back of their shirt was soaked completely in blood and he could easily tell that she was still bleeding.

        “Shit.” He scooped her up completely.

        He ran as fast as he could to the meeting building, bursting through, scaring everyone inside.

        “Quackity, you’re la—” Fundy started.

        “What the hell is that?!” Ranboo jumped up seeing the blood-soaked shirt that was starting to coat Quackity’s hands.

        “She’s losing blood fast,” Quackity said, putting the girl on the table. “I need help.”

        Fundy rushed to grab potions as Tubbo took off his jacket, Ranboo shuffling next to Quackity as he took the little girl’s shirt off.

        “Is that—” Ranboo gripped onto the front of his shirt as the other two eyes went wide looking at Quackity.

        “She’s losing blood!” Quackity snapped at all of them and everyone worked past their shock to help him.

        On the little girl’s back were two large wounds, very similar to the ones on Quackity’s back. He couldn’t think about it though, she was losing blood and he couldn’t let his anger control him at this moment.

        Everyone worked quick and by the end, the potion had slowed down the bleeding enough for Ranboo to close up the wounds and cease the bleeding. Finally, they could all breathe as they stared at the little girl, who they had wrapped in Fundy’s jacket.

        “Someone did that to her.” Tubbo finally said, the weight crushing the room.

        “…Doesn’t matter anymore,” Quackity spoke up. “She lives in L’Manberg now and won’t see whoever did it again. She’s free.”

        “She’s a kid Quackity, someone’s going to have to take care of her.” Fundy reminded him. “And what if she has parents—?”

        Fundy couldn’t get out another word before Quackity shouted. “If she does, where the hell were they when the monster did this?! If she does have parents, they just lost their rights as parents.”

        He felt the wounds on his back ached as he remembered the day, he lost his wings, his jaw clenching before he took a deep breath.

        “I’ll take her. I know how to take care of her wounds and I’ll be able to help her.” Quackity finally told them.

        “Are you sure?” Tubbo asked carefully.

        “Positive.” He nodded with confidence.

        He didn’t know what he was doing really when he came home and laid the little girl down on his bed for now. It was all a mystery really but he did believe that no one besides him could take care of her right. They had something horrible that connected them but he was hoping to help her through the pain better than he had dealt with it.

        From there, he worked on making his home a bit tidier, really trying to keep his mind busy from the anger he felt to whoever did this to her. If he ever found out who did this, there’d be no mercy. As he was putting away a few potions’ bottles, he heard a small squeak and he went back to his room. The little girl was sitting up, face screwed up in pain.

        “Hey, kid,” Quackity said quietly and she looked at him startled. “It’s ok, I’m the guy you ran into remember?”

        She thought for a moment before nodding as he nodded as well grabbing a regeneration and health potion.

        “A few friends and I healed and stitched you, you’ll need to take it easy for a long while so you don’t irritate your wounds or open them again. You mind if I put a bit of these on them to help them heal?”

        “What are they?” She muttered.

        “This is a regeneration potion; it will help your wounds close a bit easier so it won’t take months for them to close. This is a healing potion; it will help with the pain and keep you from getting sick because of your wounds.”

        She stared at the shining liquids before slowly nodding again. “Ok.”

        He came up behind her and lifting the jacket, reminding himself to return it to Fundy, before carefully first pouring the regeneration on the wounds. She winced and whimpered in pain.

        “Yeah, I know kid. It’s going to hurt for a while.” He mumbled as he finished on the other one as quickly as he could but making sure it got done before using the health potion. “This should help a bit.”

        “How do you know?” She asked curiously as she winced again.

        He paused before putting the jacket down. “It’s a long story. Now you’re probably starving. Let’s get some food.”

        It was a lot to process in a short amount of time, but, process Quackity did.

        To start, Quackity made a spare room he had into her room. He set her up a bed to start and said, whatever else she wanted in there, he’d figure out. After establishing a space for her, he got to know her a bit better past the wounds on her back. Her name was (Y/N) and she was nine years old and she ran away from home. She liked books but she also liked to run around outside.

        Knowing that Quackity asked to borrow more simple books from Ghostbur and would let her run around close by as he’d do his daily days. He tried to make her happy and she often was, the small shell she had breaking when around him. Slowly, but surely, she loved to follow him around and enjoyed talking with him, to which people would joke calling her his little duckling.

        He supposed that was where the nickname came from as he had started to call her that after a few short weeks of her living with him.

        It was a bit awkward for him to transition into taking care of two people instead of one for a while but he eventually got the hang of that too. With that, he also transitioned his days differently. In the early morning, he’d take care of his wounds before helping her with hers a couple of hours later.

        The two had a bit of an unspoken rule. He never asked what happened to her wings if she didn’t ask how he knew how to take care of her wounds.

        It changed though when he was doing the daily potion ritual. She had accidentally slept on her back and irritated her wounds a bit so it took a bit longer than usual. With him spending so much carefully taking care of the wounds, she wanted to talk about them.

        “My dad took my wings away.” She muttered and Quackity froze in his work. “They were a lot like mommy’s…he took them away so I stopped looking like mommy…”

        He was trying to keep his breathing under control as his thoughts went wild. He was hoping that maybe, as horrible as it was, that she was alone and some cruel person out in the world had done it. Yet, it was her father and it infuriated him so much, that he wanted to hunt this bastard down. However, …

        (Y/N) sniffled and he pulled her shirt down before sitting next to her, putting his arm around her.

        “Hey, little duckling, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s not your dad if he did something like this to you. I’m sorry he took them away from you, I know wings are very special.”

        “They were fluffy.” She murmured as tears started to streak down her face.

        “I bet they were. If I could get them back for you, I would. Instead, though, we’ll live like this and smile on the ground because even without any wings, we’re still pretty special.” He told her, rubbing her arm.

        He promised he’d destroy the man that use to be in her life, but today…

        She hugged him and he squeezed her back.

        Today was all about her.

        Weeks passed and Quackity was smiling as (Y/N) ran ahead, bouncing as she looked back at him.

        “Come on papa duck! I want to see the new books!”

        “I’m coming, you’re just too fast duckling.” He put a hand on his chest dramatically.

        She giggled as she turned around, going to where Ghostbur was waiting outside the entrance to the sewer. The ghost eagerly showed the little girl the new books he had “found” and Quackity merely stood to the side, pleased with the excitement (Y/N) had coursing through her. Ghostbur lent her one of the books and Quackity nodded to him.

        “Thanks, Ghostbur.” Quackity waved as he walked off with the little girl.

        He never thought he’d be doing something like this in his life, but he didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace.

        Ghostbur smiled as he watched them walk off. They were always so adorable together, even with the black transparent wings on both of them. As they walked away, one of the wings was wrapped around (Y/N) as her tiny fluffy ones flapped in excitement. Very lovely.

[n0tamused]

Hello! Hope you're doing well! So I saw that your requests were open so, may I request something about Kakashi's gf being pregnant but being afraid of telling him? (because he lost so many loved ones, she doesn't want to pressure him into being a father idk if that makes sense) Like she's pregnant but it's not visible yet but she as some symptoms already? Kakashi didn't really noticed until someone mentioned it?

It can be a one shot or a drabble, i'm leaving that to you. But I would like it to be fluff if you don't mind 👉🏼👈🏼

It's really specific i guess and I hope ypu don't mind! If it's bothering you in any way feel free to skip it 😊

Have a nice day/night and take care!

Warnings: pregnancy, throwing up, a hint of angst

Words: 2.406

Kakashi Hatake x Reader

The cashier held the packed groceries for Y/N to take. A polite smile ever-present on her face. "Have a wonderful day!"

She managed to smile back and take the bag into her arms. It wasn't the need for groceries that got Y/n to the store, but another item that got her mind running a few nights ago.

The realization hit her then. She didn't even have to take the test to know it was true. A gut wrenching feeling broke throughout her as she was just passing through an alley, a shortcut to Kakashi and her's shared home. Frozen in place, eyes glued to the floor, she felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. Vision getting cloudy and blurry.

She knew Kakashi wouldn't react in a way that would harm her, not in any way, shape or form. But it was hard to deny the fact that it was anxiety inducing, this wasn't something to be taken lightly. Neither of them were planning on kids any time soon. Not to mention the sad history of the Copy-Nin. Even in the beginning of their relationship it took time for him to finally warm up, to really be comfortable with the new intimacy. With receiving such love and care, to finally be safe to be vulnerable. To feel protected and loved and to form an attachment.

The walk home from there felt slow and the wait for the test to show the results was even worse. Nausea raked and coiled in her gut as she sat beside the toilet, having thrown up some time ago. How much time has even passed?

The woman looked forlornly up at the sink where the stick laid. The tiles were cold under her, yet she found herself glued to them, letting the coldness of them seep into her flesh and bones. But eventually she had to get up.

Fear now started to rampage in her system, mind spiraling as her nimble fingers took hold of the test. An unfamiliar haze was brought over her eyes, it made it hard to see but she soon realized that she was staring at two prominent red lines on the small window of the test. Shock. The fear suddenly gone and was replaced with a hollow feeling deep within her which felt even worse. Tears began to sting her eyes again and they came pouring out like a waterfall, in large beads and onto the sink. Cold hands gripped the edge of it for some stability as the woman hunched over it, the test abandoned as the other hand came to knuckle and wipe away the ongoing stream of tears. Silently she let herself cry it out, she couldn't bottle it up any longer. Kakashi wouldn't be home until the sun was already set, and now the sun was still high in the sky.

The woman couldn't look herself in the mirror after that. Hiding the test in her room she decided that it was best to tell her beloved the sooner the better. Hiding it from him would only prolong her fear and anxiety, and she didn't want to imagine the reaction he would have after hearing the news and how much she just waited to tell him. Not to mention it would be quite a task to hide something like this from someone like Kakashi. The evening was spent with a poor attempt to make some food, something to fill the gaping hole in her gut, something to make her feel warmth again. Filled with the vast expanse of helplessness she barely made anything in the end.

When Kakashi arrived home he was met with coldness. Something he became familiar with when Y/n wasn't in the best of moods. He padded through the hall quietly, listening for any sounds that may come, but all he heard was the sound of shuffling. Pushing the door open it unexpectedly creaked, a long cry of the old worn door caused the woman on the bed to startle. Body twisting around like an eel to meet his confused stare.

"Hey, it's just me, love.. What's the matter..?"

He felt worried immediately, he was used to sadness and gloomy moods but he wasn't used to her being so frightened. Not around him. Not on the battlefield and definitely not in the comforts of their shared house.

"Oh I didn't hear you, that's all.."

Came her reply, yet she found yourself moving into him, arms embracing around his middle in a desperate need of comfort. Kakashi didn't hesitate to return the hug, nuzzling his cheek into the side of her head for a moment. Mind running laps in an attempt to figure out what got his belovee like this, but it all came back blank.

"Kakashi I have to talk to you."

The sentence made him stiff, but he nodded and let her lead him to sit on the bed, one arm loosely wrapped around her tense shoulders.

All words that came to her died immediately on her tongue, and swallowing hard her gaze fell to the ground. Eyes threatening to spill tears again but she pushed them back.

"I…"

Y/n tried, but it all felt like bile in her mouth. Not having rest properly,the stress of missions and now this too. It was all catching up to her now. From her peripheral vision she could see the brows of the silver headed ninja furrow in confusion and worry.

"Did something happen? You're looking sickly, are you feeling ill?"

"No."

Her response came a bit too quickly, head shaking before she took a deep breath, exhaling before she looked at him. His eyes searched hers as if he could find the answer that way. Y/n felt horrible. He had gone through enough and all the attempts of telling him about it came to a halt. She couldn't do this to him, not now, he had to rest. She could tell him some time during the week, she told yourself.

"I just… it was a long day, I barely got any rest last night too. I missed you Kakashi.."

His expression suddenly lightened but it did not lose its worry and confusion. She had slept alone the last few nights before work prevented him from coming home at all, so he understood. Yet he couldn't help but feel something was amiss. A small voice at the back of his head whispering something incoherent.

"I missed you too."

He replied and pulled her into another embrace. Sighing out his worry he focused solely on caressing her, hoping that would ease the stress and worries of that day. And it seemed to work. For the rest of the night they both rested in each other's arms, leading a small talk about random things, it eased both of them and even made them forget about worries and fears. In the morning, when Kakashi was getting dressed and Y/n, watching him with sleep heavy eyelids, he came to crouch before her and kiss her on the forehead. Telling her something about how he'll leave Pakkun with her that day. Smiling when he saw you blink at him, trying to grasp at his words. In the end she only nodded and attempted to wipe away the sleep from her eyes as he left.

And as promised, Pakkun remained at her side. He would occasionally chip in to say something, and even the nin asked if she were alright, saying how something felt off now. Y/N only nodded, everything was fine.

Y/N missed going on missions but ever since she started feeling so ill, she was given several days off, not that she had any choice but to accept as even Kakashi was fussing that she couldn't fight in such a condition.

In the middle of the day the nausea returned. Y/N have just eaten freshly prepared lunch and it all came back up soon after. Toppled over the toilet seat she took in a mouthful of air when she finally felt her gut settle down. Pakkun sat at the door to the bathroom, worried look plastered on his canine face.

"Hey, you should really go and visit a medic. This has been going on for a while, it can't be any good."

She heard him say through buzzing ears, a static feeling coursing through her as an after effects of having thrown up. Pushing herself away she stood on shaky legs, feeling a tad bit better but awfully tired. Only a nod came in response to his words before she padded into the living room to sit down only to end up passing away on the couch. Head feeling heavier and heavier until she felt the plush material of the couch press against the side of her face. Hands curled around a pillow she placed over her stomach, some semblance of comfort and warmth coming from it.

Meanwhile Pakkun slowly waltzed into the bedroom, hoping to find a blanket he could drag back to Y/N. Taking the corner of the folded blanket in his maw he moved back, paws pushing into the slippery surface of the polished wood. Groaning he forcefully pulled, the blanket now flying out from under the rest of the folded sheets, making Pakkun fly back and hit the work desk. If it weren't for the clank of something falling from the top drawer, the ninken would've ignored it. But the item that fell at his paws even made him stop in his tracks. His ears pinned back in surprise. It fit like a puzzle piece, the girl's weird illness finally made sense. He figured Kakashi didn't know, otherwise he would've said something along the lines of that his partner was pregnant.

Nonetheless, Pakkun figured out why that was the case too, he knew Y/N well enough, but seeing how things were going he decided to tell Kakashi on his own. To spare her some of the stress of it all. Before he took his leave he did manage to drape the soft blanket over the woman's figure, having had to jump on the couch and do quite some pulling to get it over her all while staying silent.

Pakkun found Kakashi just when he was heading home, in one of the paths between two houses that he called a shortcut. Abruptly halting the ninken panted, his gaze narrowing at Kakashi's figure.

"Hey boss. I have something to tell you."

Pakkun started, perched up on one of the roof ledges where he stared down at Kakashi who didn't quite expect him to see him there. Exposed eye widened at the sight of him, the worst coming to his mind.

"What are you- is Y/N alright?"

The silver head blurted out before he could think of anything else, hands falling out of his pockets. Kakashi already felt a small tightness in his chest, anxiety creeping up on him.

"Y/N is just fine, but why I'm here does concern her."

Pakkun responded as he made his way down from the roof, hopping from ledge to window and window and to the ground. Now standing in front of Kakashi he huffed and looked up at him.

"You really should look into bigger homes, you're gonna get a small addition soon."

At that Kakashi looked at him, guffawed. Silence followed soon after Pakkun spoke, Kakashi at loss of words as he still tried to make out the riddle the sentence represented. "What..are you saying?"

Kakashi looked at Pakkun quizzically, even as the puzzle pieces slowly fell in his head as well, he was still slow to fully process the information.

"Y/n is with a child, Kakashi."

---------

When you woke the next time the sun had already been setting, only the small arch of the sun was visible on the horizon. The sky painted in warm and vibrant colors of orange and red. Your head swam with the unconscious, still not grasping the sensation of being awake yet. Eyes blinking lazily at the bedroom window. Wait…

Finally breathing in you felt the blanket tucked around you. Yet Kakashi was not there with you. A small sense of panic grasped you as you sat up, looking around. Sleep hazed mind sent you into a frantic state and almost instantly you found yourself searching for the pregnancy stick where you hid it. It wasn't there. It was not there. Pushing books and papers aside you still couldn't find it. It was not there.

"Y/n."

Kakashi's voice rang out and you turned around. He wasn't wearing his uniform, nor his mask. A simple gray shirt clung to his figure along with some black sweatpants. He held the door open with his hand, a small hint of worry was present on his face. His lips pressed together in a thin line before he approached you and pulled you into himself. You now knew that he knew. A shaky breath escaped you as you still waited for him to speak up first but that never came. He just held you there, caressing up and down your back.

"Kakashi… "

You started but your voice soon trailed off.

"I know. Pakkun told me today." He stated simply, nose brushing against your hair and inhaling your scent.

"Oh… I was planning on telling you myself.. I just didn't...I didn't know how to tell you last night.. I'm sorry."

You felt him nod against you, humming in response. And to your surprise, you felt him smile.

"It's alright. I'm not angry… It is a bit surprising but I could never be angry at you, not for this.. Please do not feel afraid anymore, it's alright."

Kakashi reassured, pulling away just enough to move his hands to cup the sides of your face. Looking into your eyes he saw the anxiety you held melt away, his own anxiety disappearing as well. He felt nothing but pure love for you. He wouldn't like anyone else to start a family with but you.

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone and then he leaned in and pressed his lips to your temple, holding you like that for a moment before he pulled away. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, a smile you soon mirrored when you saw it. Leaning down slowly he pulled you into a kiss, you meeting him half way and smiling into the kiss.

[kaidas-daydreams]

Hello, dear. Saw your req box is open. How are you, btw? And can you write me headcanons for the captains? When their s/o was shielding or protect them or something? Make it slight angst with fluff. Remember that you can always put this req aside. Don't push yourself too hard. Thank you and I love you, bye! -🍰

kaida's note: i didn't kaiser just because i still feel like i rarely know anything about him and i kinda feel weird doing him because he's already married as well. sorry this took forever! also sorry this was a bit more angst then fluff enjoy 💭

synopsis: how the captains react to their s/o being harmed after protecting them

genre: angst to fluff-ish

black clover captains x gn! reader

warning: none

saving you

yami felt his heart drop the moment he saw you jump in front of him to protect him from the hard hitting attack that was coming his way, “idiot!”

a wave of guilt washed over him as the dust cleared up and he saw you laying on the floor almost lifeless, he knew how you were he hates that he let himself be so careless with you

“i swear if you die, i’ll kill you! do you hear me! how could you be so stupid! i wasn’t worth it...you mean more to me than my own life! i love you and i can’t live without you, you are everything to me and we’re going to get out of this i promise”

he cradled you in his strong arms as he laid a kiss on your forehead before retreating

william’s whole body ran cold the second he saw you in front of him taking the damage that was suppose to be for him

he wasted no time running to you once he was able to locate your body through the clearing smoke, he voice immediately began to crack when speaking

“my love why would you do that?! of all the reckless things, you do this and for me? don’t you dare leave me! we’re suppose forever, always and forever! i love you please stay with me”

he held you tightly as he laid a kiss on your lips, he caressed your face wiping away the tears that trickled down your cheeks, he used his healing magic to help you while giving you a reassuring smile that everything would be okay

nozel was angry, angry at you and angry at himself for allowing this to happen. how could he allow such a reckless situation occur right in front of him?

the first thing he thought of is that he couldn't let you die, he couldn't lose someone else he loved

"why the hell would you do that! are you-forget it, you're going to be alright i'll make sure of it, next time please just let me be there to protect the one i love"

he carried you on his back to get you to safety once he did you cleaned off any smudges and cuts you may have gotten before a healing mage came to your aid

fuegoleon was a mix of angry and upset, how did he allow for a hidden attack? most importanly had did he let you get in the middle of the crossfire?

at the moment he didn't care for the enemies around him, he ran to your slow breathing body effortlessly picking you up and reaching a safer location

"you've always been so reckless but to do that was beyond stupid, you mean everything to me and seeing you hurt like this because of me is killing me, i'll lecture you about this later"

a healing mage was quick to come to your aid, once he knew you'd be alright he ordered you to stay put as he went to finish off the remaining enemies but he did give you a small kiss before leaving

dorothy can't help but watch you fall to the ground, she gets this boiling amount of rage through her body but not at you but towards the enemy but it's hard to tell with her still smiling face

she quickly runs over to you and placing you in her dreamworld to help and keep you safe until a healing mage can reach her for help

"sweetie, that was completely careless of you but don't worry everything will be okay i'll make sure of it, the enemy won't be getting out of this alive...i love you and hang in there"

she caressed your face and gave you a peck on the nose, the healing mage arrived to care for you while dorothy left to reck havoc on the person who hurt you

charlotte was in complete loss of words, to see the person she loved harmed in front of her and because of her made her feel a mixture of sadness and anger, sadness because someone she loved had gotten hurt and anger that she wasn’t able to defend herself and it caused this situation

she quickly used her vines to place you somewhere safe and got you help immediately, she wanted revenge for you but she didn’t want to leave your side but knew she had to

“i need you to be strong for me, you’re going to be okay...just...never do that again do you hear me! i never want to see you hurt i mean so much to me and this is killing me at the moment, i won’t let you die and we’re going to get out of here safe”

she kissed your cheek before leaving you were all she had in mind and wanted to get to back to you as soon as possible and just hold you in her arms

rill couldn’t believe what he saw, he completely froze and couldn’t move he just stared at your motionless body. he couldn’t come to terms that you actually protected him from being hit, fragil came to your aid and brought you back to rill

he cradled you into his arms and he was mentally beating himself up for what happened to you, if only he was a stronger captain this wouldn’t have happened to you

“my masterpiece, you didn’t have to i-i’m so sorry i’m not strong enough to be able to even protect myself, you’ll be okay just focus on my voice dear, remember i love you, you’re the strongest mage i know and you’ll get through this i promise”

he was too upset and couldn’t focus properly but in order to prove that he was worth being by your side he returned to the battlefield and took out most of the enemies defenses

jack becomes instantly shocked and freezes, he couldn’t help but shout how much of an idiot you are, he was so full of anger he couldn’t think straight

that anger was shown when, he sliced through everything in  his way to get to you he easily picked you up and brought you to safety away from the battlefield

“i knew you were an idiot but you just confirmed it by doing something so reckless, there was no need for what you did! i...i love you idiot, you better survive you here me! i can’t...live without you”

he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and kissed your forehead before help came to your aid, jack quickly took out the enemy in record time just to be able to comeback to you

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Five

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 5 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: mentions of male masturbation and boners (lol); strong language; references to suicide, murder, and drug smuggling; abusive parental relationship; mentions of child death in a second flashback; dry humping (smut); 18+ only please!

Word Count: 16,500+

A/N: damn that chapter warning list was a trip to write down lmao

~

Westview, 2023, 1:32 pm

     An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the parked vehicle, daring either of you to take the first step. No one commented on the glares boring into your soul as you drove through the town or how heavily the three of you got patted down by the authorities right outside the state line. You figured it was completely justified - still a little insulting to a bunch of Avengers who literally saved the world three weeks ago. 

With a loud gulp, Bucky was the first to kick open his door and get out of the car. You glanced at Steve from the driver’s seat, biting your lip with a slight quiver as you went over the speech you practiced earlier today. Simple enough, and not too damning. 

Steve’s leg bounced rapidly a few more times before he too kicked open his door, leaving you in silence. You pulled the car keys from the ignition and took in a deep breath. Your legs were numb, the anxiety washing over you in uneven cycles. It was now or never. 

“Wanda, it’s us…”

Her grief seemed to emit from every crack in the sidewalk, every weak beg escaping the townspeople’s throats, every sound from the inanimate objects her powers had continued to turn from gray to red… to green… back to gray. She was crouched on the property, weeds brushing against her black pants and leaving their mark, mascara smudged with each new wet streak. 

Bucky unzipped his jacket, eyes wandering over the deserted plot of land as Wanda tried to control her sobs. She had already caused enough damage, both physical and psychological, the possibility of more government involvement looming over your heads. He carefully walked toward her and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders, all be damned as he held her and began to tear up himself.

“Wanda, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll get through this,” Steve sighed, still keeping a respectable distance from her in case she were to run. But you knew her better - she was all out of fight. One fight after another and yet she still lost her love. 

“I did something really bad,” she sobbed, eyes locked on the spot where Vision had just disappeared. Again.

“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Steve declared, shocked by the unexpected scoff from Bucky. 

“Save it, Steve. She may not have known in the beginning but she does now. She still did it.”

No one dared correct Bucky or argue with that logic because if anyone knew about causing harm with absolutely no intention, it was obviously him. Taking responsibility - that was the best course of action. 

Once you heard of a radioactive disturbance in a small town just outside the state, the team almost retired completely. So soon after defeating Thanos, so soon after Tony’s death, so soon after Natasha’s death - the team left it up to the proper authorities this time around. 

But the second you watched the broadcast of Wanda’s fantasies, the sitcom her powers were conjuring, her giving birth to her children… all you could do was wait until she opened the barrier. 

“I still did it,” Wanda said, her upper body beginning to rock back and forth as her fingertips brightened with red tendrils of magical grief. 

You shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. You had done so much crying these past few years and you were oh, so tired. You couldn’t possibly take another beating. 

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Bucky spoke, gently turning Wanda’s face and placing both his hands on her cheeks, mindful of the metal appendage he had forgotten to cover with his glove. “You already did it. It can’t be undone. But you can come with us and grieve properly.”

Wanda reached up and placed her hands over his, tears spilling from her eyes faster now. 

“Let us help you grieve.”

This wasn’t an unexpected goodbye. Wanda knew that. She had just voluntarily given up her husband and children - anyone would crumble from that sort of devastation. But now she had been given a proper goodbye, a somewhat proper closure, and the chance to accept it. “Okay.”

You and Steve remained frozen in place even after Bucky helped Wanda stand. Almost as quickly as you thought it, your feet had a mind of their own. You stood next to Steve, taking in the weed infested, rectangular plot of land - the remnants of Wanda’s fantasy still fresh and creating a tiny, refreshing tingle in the middle of your chest. You looked over at Steve and smiled sadly when you saw him inspecting the area as well. 

“They would have had a beautiful life together.”

Steve’s breath hitched as you finished your declaration, looking over at you and nodding slightly. 

“If I had the chance, I would have wanted a nice house with some decent air conditioning. Some weird, front yard garden where I could plant random flowers. A dog that dug them up and acted like it didn’t do it.”

You giggled, thumbnail between your incisors to try and disguise the wider grin forming. Steve kept speaking. 

“Maybe a kid or two. Never actually checked if I could even have kids after the serum.”

You dropped your hand from your face, your attention completely on him now. 

Steve sighed and kicked a rock over to the other side of the property. “I would have wanted a giant, king-sized bed. With ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels. And every once in a while we would accidentally use the other one’s toothbrush, a secret we would take to the grave.”

Steve wasn’t even looking over at you as he said this. It was like a one-sided confession, rhetorical, not needing an immediate response or expression in return. And you couldn’t believe he was just saying this in front of you - you of all people - the same person who rolled their eyes whenever Steve struggled to comprehend a modern topic or argued with him when he was in one of his moods. He had been distant the last few weeks after returning the stones, only ever noticing you when other people were around to carry a conversation. 

The tingles in your chest were starting to disappear as the plot of land gave its last few magical rumbles. 

“Steve?”

Steve bowed his head, hands in his pockets and breath steady. “Yes, they would have been very happy together.”

You stared at the back of his head as he slowly walked back to the car.  

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The amount of times you reminded yourself to wake up early as you were drifting off to sleep last night was perhaps more than the number of sheep you had ever counted in your life. A quick reminder here and there as your mind got clogged with pointless information, the number eight behind your eyelids all throughout the night. 

And you did it. In the early hours of the morning, knowing Steve would wake naturally in about twenty minutes, you tip-toed out of bed to use the bathroom. Acting completely normal in case he did in fact hear you before your grand plan - an easy escape route if he decided to repeat his horrible morning ritual on you. But he was such an old man, getting older, losing that serum’s boost. This Steve, Steve who refused to call any movie made after 1945 ‘old’ because he literally didn’t get the chance to see them premiere - yeah, this Steve, was passed out like he had been hit by a truck. 

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, you quietly opened the bathroom door and peeked through. He still lay there on his back, wrapped tightly in his blanket, breathing steadily, and face completely unprotected. 

Could you die? Probably. Would this payback be absolutely satisfying? Hell yeah. 

You grabbed the biggest of your pillows and fisted the corner tightly, twisting it a couple times for a better grip. You signed the cross quickly before lifting the pillow above your head and bringing it down to Steve’s face. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, “WHAT?”

His eyes flew around the room rapidly until they landed on you, angry and challenging.

“Payback!” you yelled, lifting the pillow high again for a second hit. But he reacted quicker, grabbing a pillow himself and swinging it toward you. It slammed you in the torso and practically sent you flying. You landed at the edge of your bed, mouth open in shock and racks of laughter bubbling deep within your chest. You stood quickly and hit him repeatedly, trying your best to also block his counterattack. 

He reached for your hip and pulled you in his bed, rolling the two of you over so he was straddling your hips. He brought the pillow down several more times before accepting your plea of surrender. 

You threw the pillow back to your bed and pouted, “Not a fair fight!”

Steve scoffed, “You caught me off guard! You had all the advantages!”

You shuffled beneath him and froze, hips stuck in a lifted position as you were too embarrassed to move them back down. “Jesus, Steve! How do you even sleep on your stomach with that thing?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he inspected your face and body, looking down at the two of you before he noticed the way he was pressing into your inner thigh. He scrambled off you, a blush spreading from his cheeks and all the way down his chest. He cupped himself and turned away, quickly shuffling for his suitcase and pulling whatever clothes his flustered hands grabbed. He was also repeatedly apologizing. 

“Steve, it’s okay. It just… startled me, is all.”

Steve cleared his throat a couple times before pacing around the room in search of his toiletries. 

You just sat back on your elbows, watching him scurry like a chicken with its head cut off. It was rather amusing. 

“I’m gonna - gonna, take a shower. Uh, I’m sorry again.”

You smirked at the super soldier, “Steve, I’m not mad. It isn’t like I’m new to that kind of thing.”

Steve blushed harder, “But I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You shrugged your shoulders and dipped lower into his sheets, grabbing and lifting them higher. You snuggled deeper, “Still.”

Steve could feel the speed at which the world rotated and he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing deeply until he had all his inhibitions back. 

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing - reacting the way he did or you seeing him react the way he did. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in awkward situations, some borderline lewd. There were plenty of missions that involved heavy flirting with the targets, undercover work in depraved settings, missions where nasty magic was involved and concocted a multitude of inappropriate visions. Hell, everyone had already seen each other naked. It was completely normal, a trustworthy environment, and sometimes necessary. 

As much as he wanted to give into the feeling and award himself some proper alone time, he refused to act upon it. He would regret it later once the stress pushed down harder than usual, but it just wasn’t appropriate in his right mind to masturbate with you in the other room. 

Why did he have to be such a good and honorable man?

He busied himself with washing his hair and scrubbing away any evidence of sleep from his face. Steve liked sleeping on his stomach, face smooshed in the pillows and arms extended to his sides. It allowed for more comfortable movement, more ways to stretch his hips, just overall comfort for his massive shoulders. Less pressure on the lungs, too. And unlike the enthusiastic yet almost mean accusation that he couldn’t possibly enjoy that position because of his… well, his dick, Steve would choose that position over sleeping on his back any day. But that morning, his body had decided to betray him in more ways than one. One, he was open to attack because he was on his back. And two, whatever dream he was having caused his morning wood to seem larger this morning.

He had washed up quickly, more time spent out of the shower where he fixed his hair and combed his beard. He thought about shaving it for the rehearsal dinner or wedding, but it gave him a more rugged look - like he was all tough and no funny business. As ridiculous as it sounded, the beard allowed him to lean into the criminal act easier, build a fake personality that already had your father eating out of his hand. 

Opening the bathroom door and having to face the music, Steve was almost certain you would continue to tease him. But you were already munching on the breakfast you had ordered, shoveling hash browns in your mouth as you swiped the mouse through pages and pages of intel. You didn’t even look up as he crossed the room to grab a pair of pants he had forgotten to pick up during his quick escape. That settled his nerves almost instantly and he was dressed and settled next to you soon after.

You worked in silent cooperation for a long while, handing each other files and passing phone calls like you had during every other mission before. Except now it was more comfortable, pleasant, and kind - the soft sounds from the television in the corner, the humming of the desktop, the soft hums of recognition whenever you two showed each other something. You didn’t even bother with what happened in the morning, if it really was anything at all, because you honestly found it normal. You were more focused on the conversation you had last night. 

Steve had offered to kill your father if you seriously couldn’t. Just thinking about his offer caused your stomach to turn. Because yes, you wanted him dead. You wanted to snap his neck in ten different places and feed him to scavengers. You wanted to steal his business from under him and tear it apart, bit by bit, and keep him alive long enough to see you do it. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you revealed that you double-crossed him. And as the day inched closer, the overwhelming feeling of shame pushed down on your shoulders and swallowed your mind. Once your father was dead, you and Steve would never find true peace. His men would always follow you, probably take you down at the local coffee shop you and Peter frequented. 

The thought of dying in front of Peter caused a lump to form in your throat. No, you wouldn’t do that to your friends. You couldn’t do this to Steve. 

But you had to. Because even though your life will never be yours after this mission, you had to save the countless others your father was sure to touch and ruin. 

But was your life ever truly yours?

Steve’s voice pulled you from your clouded mind. 

“Huh?” 

“I asked if you wanted the last piece of fruit.” 

You looked at Steve then at the small piece of watermelon in the bowl, then back at Steve. He had a pen in between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked, and slightly puffy eyes due to the beer heavy sleep he had last night. You looked away as quickly as you could and stared back at the fruit, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

Ridiculous, you thought. Just looking at Steve had flustered you, squeezing your stomach in pleasurable pulses you hadn’t felt since high school. “No, no. You can have it,” you said, hoping your voice wouldn’t crack. 

Ridiculous. 

Steve watched you with a funny smile but he took your word and scooped up the last piece for himself. 

No, you thought again, this man will not give me freaking butterflies. 

It wasn’t like it was odd. Steve had you flustered countless times before, but it was never quite as tingly as it was now. You suddenly wanted to facetime Wanda and rant about these weird feelings; you wanted to curl in on yourself and squeal; you wanted to -

    “He’s what?”

You sat on your knees and leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on your folded arms as you watched Steve pace around the common room. He was tugging at his dress shirt repeatedly, desperately trying to attach cufflinks without additional help. Sam sat right beside you, in the same position, snickering each time Steve cursed under his breath. 

“He’s nervous,” Bucky smirked, arm holding out Steve’s tie for the past five minutes. Steve had paced beside him various times already, completely oblivious. 

Steve groaned and readjusted his collar, snapping his head toward the three of you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating buckets, man,” Sam pointed out, one of his hands discreetly opening up his camera and switching to video. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” 

Bucky threw his head back and cackled, choosing to grab Steve and steady him to finally put that damn tie around his neck. “Same old, Steve. Can’t accept that a dame would ever possibly like you back.”

“Hey, Steve don’t worry about it,” you started, shooting Steve a sympathetic look. Steve glanced back at you, expression swiftly changing due to your kind tone. “... when I was in high school,-”

Steve released a loud grunt, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Bucky’s hands. 

Sam rolled over and clutched his stomach as he laughed, pulling you into him. The two of you shook from your laughs together. 

“Guys,” Bucky warned, reaching for Steve in a ‘grabby’ motion. “Give him a break.”

Steve reluctantly stood beside Bucky again, head tilted upward as he tried wrapping the tie back around his neck. 

None of you heard the entrance of Thor and his brother, too busy with bullying, laughter, or moderating. 

“Did we miss all the fun?”

You shot up from the ground, kicking Sam away as you rushed across the floor and stumbled over the rug. “Thor!”

You rushed into his arms and he gripped you tightly, swinging you around and loud laughter matching yours. 

“Now, why wasn’t I greeted in a similar manner?” Loki questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You pulled your face from Thor’s shoulder, “Oh, you want this too?”

You jumped back onto the floor and were about to jump into Loki’s arms, but he held his own out, stopping you. “It’s too late. It’s not the same.”

“Piss baby,” you quipped, rushing behind Thor for protection when Loki’s mouth dropped in surprise. 

“Can everyone stop what they’re doing real quick and tell Steve his date is going to go well tonight?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky’s favor, but he just raised his eyebrows, challenging you to disobey the order. 

“The Captain has a date? Are they okay?”

Loki and you shared a comical gasp. 

Steve gaped, “Now, what in the world does that mean, Thor?”

Thor raised his hands in defense, “I’m just asking if she truly knows what she’s getting herself into! Don’t try and tell me she has no idea who you are.”

Steve was back to groaning nonstop. Bucky threw his hands up in the air, “I ask one thing of you guys. One thing.”

You stomped over to Steve and ripped the half-tied tie from his neck and smoothed down his collar. You patted down his shoulders and the front of his shirt, and gripped his shoulders to straighten his back. 

“Now,” you smiled up at him. The breath caught in your throat for a second, the blue of his eyes shining under the ceiling lights and the pink of his cheeks spreading slowly. You let out a tiny sigh, heart fluttering faintly from the small grin he was giving you. He looked so innocent, a renaissance subject created from light oils, signs of true aging showing in his forehead. “Whatever date you got planned, she’s gonna love it.”

Steve relished in the feeling of your palms pressed against his chest for a few moments before he nodded at your declaration. He stepped back and smoothed down his shirt. “Wish me luck?”

A chorus of ‘good luck’s sounded as Steve found his keys and shared a goodnight hug with Sam and Bucky. They both jokingly reminded him to use protection. 

You watched Steve leave, a newfound bounce in his step as he walked away. Your words had been so simple, so cliche, and yet he had dropped any visible nerves as he walked out the door. You weren’t the best motivational speaker, that was for sure, but the proof of at least an ounce of motivation was there. Maybe your words held a hidden meaning. Maybe.

You thought about him picking up this random woman, wine and dining her, kissing her cheek as he said his goodbyes at the end of the night. It was somewhat adorable to think about, but also weird.

Before you could dive more into the strange feeling, Thor’s voice sounded. 

“Should we order pizza or chinese?”

It’s like that snapped you from your trance, because next thing you knew you were back to your playful self, sprinting across the room and into Loki’s arms. 

     You cherished the slight, pleasant churn of your stomach as you watched him happily munch on the fruit. 

Okay, it was normal to have a tiny crush on your mission partner. God knows how many times you wanted to jump Thor’s bones whenever you were undercover together. A crush was normal, completely natural and expected. 

Except you had never gotten so much sane joy from a simple question of whether you wanted the last piece of fruit. 

You blinked a few times and shook off any trace of overthinking devils, grabbing at random files to occupy your mind for a while. After about fifteen more minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke.

“So, we think Ramirez is gonna get straight up murdered?”

Steve snorted, filing through a pile of papers Torres had delivered this morning. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“But it’s just a theory at this point. We can’t just go in guns blazing without enough proof.”

“And if there is proof? Do we protect him? The original mission was to arrest all four men.”

You groaned, “I don’t know. He’s never done me wrong.”

“Personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

Steve squinted at you with a playful smile. “You’d rather just arrest the bad ones, huh?”

“Obviously what Ramirez is doing is illegal and it’s horrific to think of what might be happening behind the scenes on his side, but either he’s serious or he’s been putting on this good guy act for his whole life.”

“Leaning towards the first option?”

Shrugging, you leaned toward your computer screen and scrolled through the massive list of emails. “It’s what my gut tells me, but ehh.”

There was one random email from Maribel, but random only meant coded. Reading it over a couple times, humming to yourself in concentration, you finally cracked the code she was trying to send. 

“Maribel says Ramirez acquired some land in Mexico… lots of it.”

Steve looked up from the files, “Any significance?”

“It’s probably for growing the products.”

Steve quickly typed key words that would alert him of any new transactions in the past few months.  “Who’s on the title?”

“Just him. And his oldest daughter. My father must know, right?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh as he thought about what this could mean. “Ramirez acquiring more land means more of Ramirez’s product. A three-way partnership would be split unevenly if he utilizes the land.”

“Make sure Bucky alerts us of any business my father might have with realtors authorized to work in that area.”

It functioned like this for another hour, the two of you sharing bits of information every ten minutes or so. 

“Torres sent us an update on White.”

You rubbed at your strained eyes, “What does he say?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, “That he’s been in the country for much longer than his passport says.”

You stood from your seat and rushed to look at the same screen Steve was reading from. “He traveling under a fake name?”

“Customs says he returned to Germany,” Steve stated, highlighting a paragraph on the screen for you to easily read. “Four weeks ago.”

It was your turn to snort out a laugh, “Oh, he’s so setting up an alibi.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “Looks like it.”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, voice raising an octave. “Look at us! Piecing together the puzzle!”

“We still got a few more pieces to attach before you go getting all cocky.”

You chuckled and decided to take a break. You speed walked over to your bed and plopped down, the mountain of pillows already relieving your tense muscles. “Hey, has my sister’s plane landed yet?”

Steve glanced at you quickly before pulling up Bucky’s morning emails. “Uh, landed about an hour ago.”

“She at the estate?”

He shrugged, “Torres hasn’t sent an update. Just her profile, hold up.”

You waved him off, a nonverbal way of telling him you seriously couldn’t care less. “I haven’t spoken to her since I joined you guys. You don’t gotta give me her origin story.”

“That long?” Steve questioned. 

You placed a pillow beneath your head, body horizontal and facing Steve. “We were never that close. I’ve got tons of half-siblings. Most of them were adults when I was born, anyway.”

With just a few words exchanged, Steve realized he had just stepped through your metaphorical door of reminiscing. So he stood to lay in his own bed, the simple action of giving you attention enough to keep you talking, he hoped. “Were you alone a lot? Growing up, I mean.”

You watched as Steve also placed a pillow beneath his head, “There were always kids around. Kids of the maids, cousins, neighbors.”

“A full house, sounds like.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, a small smile forming as you thought about old friends. “I remember this one time, we all ran into Ramirez when we were trying to get to one of the playrooms. But he grabbed me quickly and told me to not go in there.”

“Was it a threat?”

You grinned at his protective tone, “No, it was a warning. There were some really bad men in the other room. It was me and a few other girls. He told us to run back to my room and lock the door until he came to get us.”

Steve couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ramirez joined the drug game. Sure, the function and presence of cartels had changed drastically over the last forty years, but it didn’t explain why he remained involved. In the eighties, the drug game was highly televised and spoken about, but the cartel violence was not as strong. Nowadays, and not even you could give a proper explanation, the violence was astronomical and basically advertised as something to expect when visiting certain countries. This was the mob game now, freaking Al Capone or the goddamn Godfather, absolutely meant to frighten whoever dare join or leave. For Ramirez to still be one of the big players even with that many internal changes, to be a good person in the middle of such hell, didn’t make any sense. 

“He protected you.”

You clutched the pillow closer to your chest, the memory a good one even if it was weird. “Oh, yeah. Those guys he was warning us about were no angels.”

Steve gave an awkward smile, “I feel like I know more about your childhood than you know mine.”

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me about little, asthmatic Steve Rogers.”

He raised his index finger at you, “Hey, I was more than just my asthma.”

“Oh, excuse me. I totally forgot about your scoliosis.” 

The pillow under his head was now flying across the small distance to your face. You shrieked and sent it back. 

“Stop bullying!” Steve laughed.

You shielded your face in case he decided to continue the pillow war. “What? I’ve got my health problems, too! I just don’t have the serum to help me out.”

But he didn’t throw it again. He repositioned himself on his back and placed both hands beneath his head, gracing the ceiling with a grin. “I remember this one time, Bucky and I were around eleven-years old, and I had this really bad asthma attack. Bucky just freaked out. I was choking and he was just holding me, screaming for help -”

You blinked, “This is really depressing, what are you-”

“-and! Bucky threw himself into a full-blown panic attack. So we were both choking on air, but I was starting to laugh at him freaking out, which only made him choke harder. We ended up throwing up.”

You were silent at the end of his short story, mouth open in a wide smile. “I don’t know what else to say other than that was one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rolled over, a literal twinkle in his eye. “See? Don’t interrupt me before I get to the good parts.”

This simple moment catapulted the realization that Steve hasn’t spoken to you this much in two years, to the front of your mind. In these past four days, you had spoken like you had never stopped, like it was never awkward, like you two seriously didn’t need another person in the room to simply converse about what you wanted for breakfast. Yet here you were, more words exchanged in the past four days than you ever thought possible. 

After the fallout, you didn’t say one full sentence to him for seven months. Seven months. He hadn’t attempted a conversation with you either, but you actively avoided him like he was infected. Hell, he even moved out of the compound and into his own apartment to get away from you for most of the day. After your forced reconciliation, the awkward apologies, you still didn’t force any open conversation. But it was easier, lighter, and most conversations involved mission information. 

Talking this much now was so easy, so simple, like you didn’t need to force the comfort - there was already full comfort, a sense of community with this man. 

He was so different from when he insulted you while you were packing, annoyed by the fact that you pried too much. And now you were prying into his childhood and him yours without a lick of annoyance on either side. 

“We both had eventful childhoods, didn’t we?”

“What, with both of us in the middle of a war?” Steve asked, a genuine look on his face.

“Guess our wars never really left us, huh?”

There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting Torres again today. Steve muttered ‘room service, maybe’ under his breath as you went to open it. You were startled to find Scott standing outside, two massive suitcases in his hand. 

“Oh my god, I forgot you were arriving today!”

Scott scoffed, “Am I not as important as your other friends?”

You laughed and helped him inside, “Stop! You’re one of my favorite bugs!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll leave right now if you two decide to pile on me instead of each other.” Scott placed one of the suitcases near the door but the other at the edge of your bed. 

“We’ll be nice,” Steve promised, standing to greet Scott with a hug. 

“You better. Catch me up, please?” 

The suitcase contained your outfits for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Whoever was in charge of costumes definitely went all out, hoping their work would make the big fight the most fashionable. Steve was given a perfectly tailored suit, navy blue and velvet. It was lined with vibranium, inside pockets covered with it. That would certainly be handy if you were forced to walk through metal detectors - vibranium couldn’t be detected. His suit for the rehearsal dinner was a lot simpler, the custom black and white aesthetic, but still protected with vibranium. 

Your clothes were certainly not styled to match Steve’s, giving you a sense of individuality. It was perfect really - it would allow you to leave Steve’s side, if necessary, when the mission called for you to split up. Your rehearsal dinner outfit was two parts: a black, velvet long-sleeved shirt, slight turtleneck, and gold cuffs. It was joined by a long gold skirt, high-waisted, the front shorter than the back and sides more curled than ruffled. You would have to wear tights underneath, but it was beautiful. Vibranium was also stitched in for added protection. Your dress for the actual wedding, however, was a total knockout. Red, spaghetti strap, tight on top but loose once it reached your hips, a long slit on the left side. They were even kind enough to give you a pair of heels to match. 

Yeah, Steve was Captain America and his appearance will shock the guests, but your attire will definitely be the second topic in gossip. 

Scott was filing through the same papers you and Steve had reviewed earlier, a bowl of potato chips at his side. And it was peaceful - you and Steve even had the chance to nap. 

“So, you’re gonna see Jackeline at the rehearsal dinner?”

You wiped the remnants of your nap from your face and groaned as you stretched, “She’ll probably be busy tomorrow when we go for breakfast, so yeah.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes practically attached to the computer screen. “And… she’s the one getting married?”

His tone started to worry Steve, “Yes, Scott. You good?”

Scott piled a handful of potato chips in his mouth, finger clicking the mouse every few seconds. His eyes were now wide, blinks forgotten. “Jackeline Vega. Jackeline.”

Steve ignored him now, “Hey, why isn’t your last name Vega?”

As much as you wanted to share about how and why you changed your last name, Scott’s demeanor interested you more. “Changed it when I became an American citizen - Scott, what’s up?”

He let out a tiny squeak, swallowing his snack quickly. “And she’s your father’s favorite?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mmm.”

Scott released a huge huff of air, shoulders falling as he raised his voice and turned the monitor to face you. “Think he knows anything about this?”

The photograph was blurry because it was enhanced, but you could still make out the face of a sister you hadn’t seen in years. Older, still with teenage features obviously, and tossed on what looked like a church alter-

Steve's eyes widened, “Is she…?”

Scott finished his sentence for him, “Fucking a priest?”

You covered your mouth in shock, “Oh my god, she’s fucking a priest!”

Bent on the literal church altar, skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy and face in full view. And the damned priest, in between her legs and under the eyes of god. 

“That’s why I asked!”

Steve clutched at his chest, head thrown back as he howled, “I think you were wrong about your sister.”

Now your eyes were glued to the screen, “Oh, I was fuck all from correct!”

Scott cleared his throat, “Is the priest… her fiance?”

Steve came down from his laugh attack, “I highly doubt that, Scott.”

“This is actually really damning evidence.”

You grinned at Scott, “For what? Painting her out to look like the most sinful whore? I might just congratulate her.”

Steve stared at you, judging almost. “For fucking a priest?”

“For proving me wrong. She’s not so innocent after all,” you responded, cheeks strained from how wide you were smiling. 

“Clearly. This is… actually badass,” Scott admitted, turning the monitor back to him.

You teased, singing your next words. “Don’t let the Lord and Savior hear that.”

Steve glared, “Y/N.”

You leaned away from him, “What? Anyway, that’s gotta be one the worst sins to commit, right?”

Steve’s expression contorted from annoyance to disbelief. “We’ve literally killed people.”

“Pfft, but we’re not fucking priests. Right?”

Scott answered, nodding quicker than he needed to. “Right.”

“You’re literally asking that?”

You pressed your lips into a fine line and tilted your head at Steve. “Steve?”

He glared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not fucking any priests.”

Your response was immediate, “Alright! I gotta hand it to her, though. Who took the photo?”

Scott went back to fishing through the emails. “Some sleazy magazine that never got around to actually printing these out.”

“Someone paid them off. Or killed them.”

“I wonder who,” you replied sarcastically. 

Steve continued, “You honestly think he would support her doing that?”

You shrugged and scurried back over to your unmade bed. “Not my problem.”

Scott interjected, “Okay, okay. How’s tomorrow gonna work?”

Steve answered first, “Well, we’re driving out around eight.”

You hummed in agreement, reaching over to unplug your phone from the charger. “Scott, you’ll just ride on one of our backs as we walk through the estate.”

“I kind of want to ride Y/N’s back this time.”

You snorted, “Now that doesn’t sound sexual at all.”

He hid his face in his hands, “You know, I heard it once I said it.”

“Course you did.”

Steve jumped back into the conversation, Scott’s embarrassment seeming to grow under the weird tension. “Then you’ll hop off and plant the bugs wherever you feel like they’re needed.”

“Easy peasy!” you cheered. 

“Bucky and Sam gonna meet us Friday night?”

Steve nodded, “That’s what they said.” He looked over at you, scrolling through your phone and already smiling at something you found funny. He cleared his throat to get your attention. “You know they can be out here in under an hour if we seriously need them.”

You glanced over at Steve, his sincerity greatly appreciated. “I know. But all my faith is in Scott here.”

Scott moaned quietly, “Oh… no, let’s not put all the faith in me because I can’t handle that responsibility.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, “You saying I can’t trust you?”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all-!”

Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the man, a sheen of nervous sweat starting to form on his forehead. “Scott.” 

Scott lowered his hands from his chest, “O-oh. She’s messing with me, huh?”

You chuckled and laid back down. “You’re so easy.”

The easygoing atmosphere for the next few hours almost had you believing you were on vacation, away from the bad guys and space aliens for just a moment. Almost like you weren’t in the middle of a drug war, a mob business, the literal daughter of a king. Scott had that effect, his personality such a sweet refresher and such a contrast to every soul in the compound. 

Thor and Peter were also sweethearts and fun was always expected when they were around, but Scott had this different vibe. Maybe it was because he was relatively new, or that he had a child, or that he hadn’t suffered the same five years as everyone else did. Like he wasn’t yet tainted.  

“You guys mind if I run a job inside a job?”

Your head snapped up at Scott’s crazy question, “You stealing something?”

To run a job inside a job was risky. There was no exact plan to keep both missions balanced, to somehow rank the other more important. You prayed it wasn’t something insane. 

Scott chuckled under his breath, already grabbing his jacket and suitcase by the door. “No, I’m not stealing something. Hank needs me to speak to some guy he’s doing negotiations with about a space for a new lab headquarters.”

Steve tilted his head, “In Northern California?”

“Nah, the dude is vacationing out here for the time being. The lab will be in San Francisco again.”

You squinted at him, still cautious. “Where you meeting him?”

“Some nice Italian restaurant an hour out.”

Steve spoke before you did, similar thoughts running through his mind. “You check with Torres? We don’t know who might randomly show up there.”

Scott tried his best to reassure you, “Yeah, he said they’re following every car that leaves the premises and travels more than thirty minutes away. None of Ernesto’s men have been spotted further up north.”

You sighed. You didn’t want another member of your team to venture out in this area, let alone this goddamn state, without your eyes on them. You were protective, the proximity of your outside world with the one you had spent ten years building too suffocating of a reality. 

Still, you told Scott goodbye with a steady voice. “Then enjoy your dinner, Scott.”

His voice picked up again, that childish and upbeat feeling wrapping you around his finger. “You guys wanna come with? I’m sure you’re sick of icky hotel food.”

Steve waved him off, “It’s actually not that bad-”

“Breadsticks. Garlic pasta. More breadsticks.”

You laughed, “That sounds nice, Scott but we can stay here-”

“Three-cheese pastas.”

“Scott, you can try all you want but-”

“Unlimited breadsticks.”

You shared a look at Steve, puckering your lips at the suggestion. 

“.... We’ll sit far away from your table, okay?”

Scott opened the hotel door and started sprinting down the hallway. “I knew I could persuade you with that! C’mon!”

     California at night was a death trap. Potholes on every stretch of asphalt, construction halted for who knows how long, random opossums lingering in the shadows just waiting to get hit by tires. It was prettier during the day - less of a ‘lead me into this forest, yes, kill me’ vibe. 

You chilled in the backseat while Scott drove you guys to the restaurant. You had texted Bucky where you were planning to go, the message activating the group text chain. 

Peter: it’s Wednesday! Who died?

Wanda: she’s literally texting us

Peter: Y/N, you won???

Bucky: fuck do I owe the fucking spider money?

Peter: pay up dude

Y/N: tf Bucky? You bet against me?

      “You sure you two are good?”

The restaurant looked quiet considering it was a Wednesday night, but it was still crowded. There was a short line extending out the door and a… bouncer. You sucked in a breath and smacked Scott in the chest once you were out of the car. 

“Thought you said this was a restaurant?”

Scott rubbed his chest, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “Restaurant slash bar!”

“We eating with the Italian mob now? I can only handle one mob at a time, Scott.”

You nodded rapidly, pointing at Steve. “I agree with him!”

“Not every place has bad guys!”

You groaned and reluctantly stood at the back of line, pulling Steve’s hat lower on his forehead. It wasn’t like people couldn’t take one long, hard look at him and not know who he was, anyway. 

“Can you guys just… enjoy a night out?”

“While on a mission?”

“While living your long lives. God, Y/N, you getting old already?”

Your mouth dropped, “I’m twenty-six and I’m not complaining about a nice dinner, Scott.” You pointed at the bouncer. “I’m worried about the fact that our ID’s are gonna be checked.”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yeah, that.”

“Next.”

You shot Steve a worried look but handed the bouncer your driver’s license. He just looked at the date of birth and moved you along. “Next.”

Scott handed him his, doing his best to smile proudly while the bouncer scanned him up and down. “Next.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Scott joked, standing next to you in the far corner of the entrance. 

You rolled your eyes, “Wait.”

The bouncer took one look at Steve’s ID and gasped. Steve looked anywhere but the bouncer’s eyes, his bottom lip suffering the abuse of his incisors. 

“Cap-Captain?”

Steve gave a sheepish grin, lowering his cap further. “Uh, yeah.”

“Enjoying your day?”

You pinched your nose. 

“Would like it a lot more if you could lead us to a table with as much privacy as you can offer.”

You had to hand it to Steve for taking advantage of situations like this. 

The bouncer agreed immediately, speaking with the manager and promising discretion. The manager said it was no problem, that it was the least he could do for you guys after you brought his son back to him after those rough five years. 

The restaurant offered a somewhat real Italian setting, awarding their guests with as much real scenery and architecture it could. You could only compare it to the Venetian in Vegas as you had never actually been to Italy, but the live band and garlic smell was enough to transport you. 

The lights were low, older couples enjoying the food and wine, and there was a small bar near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t really a place for some shady business, but years of experience let you know that wasn’t always the case. It was second nature to eye women reaching into their purses, only to pull out a pack of gum. Second nature to wince at the sound of a loud laugh cutting through the quiet atmosphere. 

As promised, you were led to a more private area of the restaurant, closer to the bar than to the band. 

“Go run the job, Scott. We’ll just be enjoying our unlimited breadsticks,” you said, letting out a heavy and relaxed sigh as you settled into the private booth. 

“That hat isn't really hiding those broad shoulders, Cap,” Scott laughed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve slid into the same booth, ignoring the completely empty seat across from you. “Thanks, Scott. I’m aware.”

You tried to hide your blush as you squeezed deeper in your seat. Scott noticed though, side eyeing Steve who was none the wiser. “You know, I told him that he should have used those facial changing things SHIELD used to have.”

Steve grabbed the offered utensils and started unwrapping them from their napkins. 

“What are we if not superheroes who think a baseball cap and glasses hide our identities?” you teased, shooting Scott a quick wink. 

Steve answered almost triumphantly, “Uh, Superman?”

You giggled and grabbed the napkin he had unwrapped for you. “I’d argue Thor is more like Superman, but okay.”

“How am I not more like Superman? What-”

“Uh, guys? I see the dude so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy your meal,” Scott interrupted, running off to a booth located toward the middle of the restaurant. 

You sat for a few awkward moments before you squinted and looked at Steve, who was sitting to your left and way too close. “Are we annoying?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” you spoke with your hands, “you and I bicker a lot because we love to annoy each other but you think it gets on other people’s nerves?”

Steve chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with yours. “Do you really care if it does?”

That blush of yours was starting to feel warmer. “No, just wondering if you felt that way.”

He shrugged, “I quite like our relationship.”

“Oh,” you smiled, looking down at your lap.  “I quite liked it more a few years back but you know.” 

He immediately tensed, body leaning away from you as if you were burning him. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry, that was low.”

He sighed deeply, “No, I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

You took a risk and reached for his hand, squeezing gently. The kind gesture seemed to calm him, and he looked back at you. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

He accepted that, and handed you the menu. 

The hotel food was grand, it did its job of filling you up and providing the necessary nutrients, but there was just something about the carbs in pasta and bread. It ignited the food critic inside you, because now you were cursing the hotel chef and dreading having to order breakfast in the morning. No, dinner. You were having breakfast with your father tomorrow. 

Scott was busy conducting his own business, bluetooth turned off but still glancing over his shoulder once in a while to check on you guys. Each time he did, he felt butterflies flutter in his breadstick-filled stomach. It was the first time he had seen the two of you so carefree, let alone with each other, and it was the most refreshing thing in the world. 

Steve was in the middle of telling another childhood story, his main plate already finished and practically licked clean. But the unlimited breadsticks were coming out by the pound, a new stick in each of your hands every five minutes. 

“I swear, she loved Bucky more than me!”

You covered your mouth and chewed, careful to not let anything through because of your giggle fit. “Steve! Your mother did not!”

Steve wiped at his under eye, clutching his chest as he continued explaining. “Bucky was always around and my mom would just linger every second she wasn’t working!”

“Bet she loved him.”

“See?”

“No, I mean she must have loved him like her own! Bucky was your best friend, your only friend. She probably thought of him like an angel sent from God!” you clarified. 

Steve smiled wider at your cheesy explanation. They were happy memories, joyful ones that he would often think about while writing or drawing. 

He continued with a soft confession. “I really wish I could see her again.”

You leaned your temple on your palm, “From everything you’ve shared with me, she sounds lovely.”

“She would have loved you.” The blush was back, and so was Steve’s, almost like those words were supposed to be kept in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “God, she was so destroyed when Bucky first got his orders.”

“Was Bucky scared?”

“Scared? Absolutely fucking terrified. We talked about running away and changing our names so he didn’t have to go.”

The draft was such a horrible practice. The fact that men still had to enlist and hope no ‘necessary’ war was upon them. It was quite reassuring to know most of those men wouldn’t have to see battle today, they were given a choice, and there were agencies that managed people who could, like the Avengers. 

“Steve…”

Steve just hummed softly, “Life in the forties, am I right?

Your voice also got quieter. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, swallowing the last of his bread. “We tried. Got all the way to the edge of town before Bucky’s dad wrung us both back to kick our asses.”

Almost out of instinct, you gripped his hand again. You rubbed soothing circles into his knuckles, knuckles that hadn’t seen hand-to-hand combat in so long. There wasn’t much danger in the world nowadays, just small missions here and there. It wasn’t like the team was itching for another alien invasion. But these periods of well needed rest were odd, periods where bruises completely healed up and little pockets of weight were gained. Steve’s knuckles were soft, only having seen the ends of paintbrushes for a long while. 

 “...Where’s your mother?”

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you had to repeat the question in your own head a couple times. 

“It’s not a happy story.”

There wasn’t much of a story anyway. 

“But is it a story you need to get off your chest?”

Steve didn’t want to push too hard. The long pause in your relationship definitely didn’t soften this blow, and it only added to the strings of resistance. If you decided not to tell Steve about this, Steve would have to accept it. If anything, this was one of the toughest questions to ask someone when all you’ve been doing is ignoring them for two years. 

“Not really much to get rid of.”

He nodded, only a slight hint of disappointment laced within his words. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Natasha was the only one with any knowledge of your mom. There was never an actual moment in which you freely spoke of her - inserting her likeness, her person, back into some alternate and fucked-up reality - you kept her legacy dead. It was obvious she hadn’t enjoyed this part of her life, no doubt it absolutely killed her to leave you trapped in it, so keeping her dead, even in conversation, was a favor. 

But one drunken night and you were showing Natasha the one photo you had of her, stuffed deep in your wallet and crinkled beyond repair. Her black hair to her shoulders, lip liner a darker shade than her lipstick, hands intertwined behind her back as she arched forward in a playful tilt, shooting the camera a smile that was stuck around the word she was saying as the candid was taken. There was no recorded voice but you had a record of her movement, frozen in time.     

Steve’s sincerity grasped you by the literal roots of your hair, because next thing you knew you were spilling the first thought you had. 

“She was twenty-three. Working as a real estate agent, very beautiful, and she was engaged. To an American.”

Steve chuckled around his champagne glass, “Was that bad?”

You grinned at that, like he was already fully and deeply invested in your story. “Not necessarily. But everyone knew she was taken.”

“And your father?”

“He wanted to buy some houses. Saw her, wanted her, tried persuading her into going on a date. Nothing really worked, she didn’t accept his money or gifts.”

Steve fumbled over his next words. “Did she eventually?”

“No, but her brother did. My father didn’t know it was her brother, so he thought she was accepting them. Got mad when she still refused his advances.”

He was digesting this little by little. Steve had heard horror stories of girls he grew up with, forced to marry at a young age when they were caught in a passionate moment with a man, or when they ended up pregnant. Bucky and his mother had always instructed him to treat women with respect, to never intentionally or accidentally ruin their reputation, to protect and use his voice to stand up for them. And although women weren’t getting frisky with him when he was all but ninety pounds at the ripe age of twenty, that didn’t stop Steve from exchanging a few words and punches with men who had no right.  “How did they end up together?”

You shrugged, reaching over for another breadstick. “No one knows. He invited her to a party one day and she didn’t come back for a whole week. Next thing her family knows she’s engaged to my father and no longer with the love of her life.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, her family had no choice but to accept that. Her poor fiance, though.” 

“Where is he now?”

Steve had this weird hope that the fiance may still be alive somewhere, waiting for your mother to find him. But that was just the hopeless romantic emerging. 

You sighed deeply, “My father told my mother he killed him. My mother believed him.”

“So, he’s still alive? He didn’t hurt him?”

“Apparently he’s still kicking, yeah. But my mom became severely depressed from that lie.”

The restaurant felt colder and the air became thinner. Steve didn’t want his next thought to be true. “She didn’t...?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, she found out he was alive.” Even if you weren’t witness to it, you could still imagine your mother charting the areas she would have to run and swim through to get away. Wasn’t like it was a heartfelt thought, but the mere fact that she had that much determination to risk her life for love, it was somewhat therapeutic to think about. Like it was genuinely satisfying to imagine her defying your father. Still, your face drooped as you gave Steve the sad conclusion. “She didn’t even make it across the border before he had her killed for betraying him.”

His face fell in time with yours, “Fuck.”

“She left me with Maribel’s mother. But my father found me and told me she had an accident. Didn’t find out the truth until I was thirteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You shoved his shoulder with yours, a light chuckle cutting through the sad moment. “Not like you had a hand in this, Steve. It’s just my life.”

You were used to Steve’s generosity, his ability to make any person feel a part of his family - you had been on the receiving end of his sincerity for the past week now. But as you held his gaze, his body seemingly towering over yours, your chest flushed with such warmness, a tranquil promise of safety. He leaned forward, breath hitting your cheeks, hand still gripping yours. 

“Not anymore. We’ll end this, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll end this.”

You took a risk and rested your forehead on his, his continuous promise still causing your stomach to twist pleasurably. “How’d we get so sad all of a sudden?” You pushed away and threw your arms in the air. “We need more breadsticks!”

Steve laughed loudly, the private booth still providing somewhat of a thin curtain to the other diners. “No, we need mints!”

Rolling your eyes, you blew your breath at Steve teasingly. “Weak.”

Steve groaned, “You and Scott are not getting into the car without chewing on a mint.”

“You got a thing against bad breath?”

“Take the mint.”

“I’m gonna fight you if you force the mint on me.”

He was reaching into his jacket and pulling the small case out. He winked at you. “I’ll win.”

He popped open the cap and held it out to you. He didn’t tip it though, as if he was waiting for you to extend your palm. Everything was silent for a minute, eyes challenging one another. 

He could easily lean in. He could easily just tilt his head a little to his left and capture your lips with his. Every damn molecule in his body was telling him to do it, every bubble from that champagne somehow giving him some extra courage. 

Your breath hitched slightly, and he leaned away. I’m such a coward, he thought.

You reacted swiftly, disguising the awkwardness. “You’re right, give me the mint. You should swallow like three.”

Steve snickered, “You ruined the moment.”

But you didn’t ruin the moment. And he just blamed you for it. Like he had already established - he was a coward. 

You grabbed the mints he offered and popped them into your mouth. “What moment? I didn’t see any moment.”

Okay, he could just lean in right now and hope the mint freshness in your mouth would mask the garlic in his. Yeah, he could just lean in and do what he’s been thinking of doing for the last day and a half-

“Hey, you guys finished? Getting dessert?”

Steve almost shot from his seat, “Jesus fucking christ, Scott!”

Scott slid into the seat across from you. “You scare easily. Let’s get dessert!” 

You were too flustered. Fine, okay. You’ll play along. If the gods want to reward you with this fun Steve, the Steve you were closest to years ago, then so be it. You’ll bite. And if he wants to resort back to his bitchy self, his hermit behavior, then you’ll fight him then. 

Scott ordered so much dessert. 

So much. 

The little moment you had with Steve was still fresh, you could sense he was thinking about it too, but you opted to simply enjoy the night out. You were here with two friends, protection was just a phone call away, and you were safe. 

Perhaps Scott had the same effect on Steve that he had on you. Absolutely demolished his ‘Captain’ self and released the guy who simply wanted to enjoy a mini road trip with his friends. 

     You were barely fifteen minutes into your ride home when Scott lowered the windows and turned the radio up high. 

“Woohoo!”

You screamed over the loud roar of the wind, “Scott, it’s fucking freezing!”

Scott yelled back, “We just had three desserts each! Your blood should be running warm!”

You blinked away the dryness, “Dude!”

Steve, surprisingly, agreed with Scott. “Enjoy it!”

Your mouth dropped open and you followed Steve’s movements as he turned the radio higher. 

The music blared and you were about to protest again, the air literally nipping at your sensitive cheeks, but the song that started was a non-skip. 

You would indulge in this childishness once. 

Once. 

You reached around the passenger seat and gripped Steve’s shoulders, shaking him in place. “Ah, California radio giving us the classics!”

Scott leaned over and turned it up higher. 

You swayed in your seat and sang along with Scott. “Bidi bidi bom bom!”

Scott pointed at you and recited the lyrics, “Bidi, bidi!”

Both of you sang, “Bom!”

Even with his eyes on the road, Scott was nailing some good dance moves in his seat. You both sang each lyric with your heart and soul, laughs escaping during the guitar breaks. 

Steve just enjoyed the show. He didn’t know the song, the melody a foreign one for him, but it must have been popular for both you and Scott to know it. He watched you sway in your seat, hands dancing and voice matching the volume of the radio. Just the other night, you had mentioned how you never sang anymore.

But here you were, singing through the most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen. 

He missed the sound of it. He missed hearing you sing in your room, no doubt you were dancing too since he usually heard your feet shuffling against your carpet. He missed the innocence you would casually portray, an invitation for anyone to befriend you. He missed teasing you lightly, and he regretted the roughness of his voice years later. He missed just walking into the common area and finding you there, cooking for yourself and anyone who wanted a plate - that plate usually for him. He missed you. 

You were right here, voice hitting those octaves Steve didn’t think he would ever hear again. You were right here, and he missed you. 

      Scott was staying in a separate room. The dessert and alcohol had run right through him, and he bid you goodnight after he threatened to plop down in your bed if you invited him in. 

The sound of Scott’s retreating footsteps seemed to suck all the air from the vents at once, whispering its song lovingly in your ear. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be left alone because now here you were, standing outside your hotel door with the super soldier you had gone to Hell and back with. 

You inwardly cringed, the tightness in your chest sending your childish ass back to sophomore year of college. A first date, the lost promise of another - a proper teenage reaction to a crush. But this man in front of you wouldn’t let you delete his number from your phone; he wouldn’t avoid eye contact in the dining hall; he wouldn’t sit at the back of the lecture hall just to keep a necessary distance. 

Granted, Elijah - poor, frightened Elijah - had seen you literally kidnap someone off the street under your father’s orders. This being before you went straight and moral, before you had met Fury, before SHIELD training. You were to blame for that sprouting relationship going south pretty quickly. So you avoided him, too - praying Ernesto or Seda could never track him. 

But Steve, beautiful Steve who reloaded your guns when you couldn’t, who jumped in front of stray bullets for you and those he loved, Steve who very quietly asked you for various salsa recipes when he was in the mood to cook. Here he was, eyes also watching Scott walk away, no doubt experiencing the same tight coil within his chest. He hadn’t run, he had worked and fought with and against you, and he wasn’t running away. 

No, Steve Rogers never ran. 

The low beep from the hotel lock snapped you from your thoughts. You sensed his hesitance because when your history was truly reviewed with the most unbiased of minds, there was absolutely no reason to overthink. Hell, when you ran through the halls of Thor’s Asgardian palace with Rocket tailing you, the first joke out your mouth was how Steve would probably instruct you to respect a place like that and speed walk. Your first thought when starting the pilot episode of a new show is to wait for Bucky… and Steve, who would pop the kernels over the stove and add real salt and butter. 

His first thought as he helped load people onto the planes in Sokovia was that your whiny ass better be on one of them. Or when Steve regrouped in the support circle, his first thought before he continued the discussion was that he really hoped you would walk through those doors and join - until one day you did. 

Whether the two of you recognized the severity of your unspoken feelings, they were there. Silent and at a gradual increase. Never rushed, not entirely obvious because of the temporary roadblocks of unnecessary separation. 

Steve was here in front of you, like he always was, and he was wearing the smallest nervous smile you had ever seen.  

And you were here in front of him, like you always were, and he could not entirely read the mixed emotions on your delicate face. 

You shuffled alongside your bed, stopping to shrug out of the heavy jacket you had on. “We should turn in early so we can be well-rested, in case we gotta fight tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement but remained silent, hovering near the coffee table and monitors. Your back was facing him and he just watched you fumble with your boots and belt. It was like your back was on fire, bursting with fueled flames as you could literally feel his gaze boring into you. The overwhelming urge to simply snap and ask him what the hell he was looking at was strong, so in character, but you refrained. It was too intimate, too quiet, but before you could even ask him if he wanted the shower first, the warmth of his chest was near, inches away and calling. 

Your breath hitched, shoulders rising slightly and exactly what Steve needed to witness. It was awkward for him to just stand behind you with no actual intention of touching you first - no, he needed a proper signal. So Steve waited those few precious seconds more until you turned, sun-kissed by the California sun and hair no longer in tight curls, before he glanced down at your glossy lips. You followed his eyesight, all knowing in his intentions, and you glanced at his lips as well. 

A gesture of approval. 

Steve pulled you in, both hands settling on your cheeks, thumbs exploring the corners of your mouth. He watched them dance and how your mouth parted slightly in response. He looked back up, studying the small crease forming in between your eyebrows and the pinch of water filling the inside corners of your eyes.

His thumbs felt like a gentle sigh, a promise of a sweet caress in both the daytime and dead of night. Although all his focus was on you, his own features reacted to the moment. His lips were also parted, sweet breath with the scent of those classic tiramisu’s he had devoured, touching the tip of your nose and equally trembling lips. 

So goddamn intimate that you found yourself internally cursing those sitcoms Wanda had forced you to binge watch. Because the two love interests, albeit they had several months or years of growing tension, rushed into their first kiss for the sake of limited airtime. They didn’t prepare you for practically a ten-year build-up, a relationship that was both heavily work and friend related, the slowness of such a moment fans would most certainly be jumping out of their seats for. No, nothing could have prepared you for the warmth of Steve Rogers. 

Your Captain. 

You registered the soft feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours, overlapped only slightly. Eyes now fully closed in surprise and pleasure, you leaned into it more, hands placed on Steve’s rising chest. The squeeze of his hands cupping your cheeks caused your lips to pucker more, but you were relaxed in his desperate touch. He tilted his head a little to the left, your lips sliding against each other’s and noses bumping. Steve frowned in concentration, pouring whatever emotions he had felt throughout the last few years into this one kiss, and he knew he couldn’t possibly fully portray them. And almost as quickly as you thought about how sweet and innocent of a kiss this was, Steve’s tongue slowly peaked out from behind his teeth and greeted your bottom lip. 

His tongue traced over your bottom lip warmly, welcomed by yours as you followed his lead. God, you would always follow his lead. 

You tried to move in closer, but your elbows were already bent fully against him and his hips were only a few inches from your greedy ones. One tiny step forward and you would be completely flushed against him - but you chose to respect the distance Steve created. 

You let out a quiet whine, body shuddering as Steve applied more pressure. It was as if Steve had never heard such a sound - completely unexpected and causing him to pause momentarily. He leaned away a little, lips still barely kissing yours. He opened his eyes, gaze wandering from your flushed cheeks still squeezed between his palms and to your fluttering eyelids. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he debated leaning forward again, to be selfish for once and to pass forth the trophy for ‘waiting too long’. But as you opened your eyes, no trace of regret or hate swimming inside your irises, Steve froze. 

You were his friend. His friend who teased him about the paint streaks across his forehead, who followed his lead no matter how ridiculous the order. 

He didn’t want you to inspect him further as well, so he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. It was only then that he felt you settle back down from your tippy-toes. 

You gulped loudly, throat dry and lips instantly craving him again. “Steve…”

Steve let go of your face and dragged his hands lightly down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head slightly, his breath now kissing your cheek. Although your cheeks were red, the absence of Steve’s palms made them cold. 

He took a small step back, hands straining to stay on your skin as he reluctantly pulled them away. The absence of any warmth finally woke you from that intense daze and you frowned at Steve as he pulled away altogether. The instinct to reach out was there, and you cursed yourself for being so clingy. 

“Steve?” you called again, voice hoarse but light enough to pinch at Steve’s fast beating heart. 

He looked up and locked eyes with your confused ones. Oh, you’re gonna hate him for this. 

He gave you a small and kind smile, one you had seen plenty of times when he was actually enjoying your company. He backed up to the door, gaze never leaving yours even as he reached for the handle and key card. 

And he wanted to bring his hands back to your face to rub away that wrinkle between your furrowing eyebrows. But he simply opened the door and left you standing near the edge of your bed, flushed with a deep sense of longing and growing confusion. 

Steve already knew the amount of heat he would receive from the moment gossip of the kiss spread. Whether he was first to tell or you were. Bucky’s going to kick his ass, for sure, no doubt about it. No matter his bond with Bucky, it could never excuse leaving you alone to unravel this situation. You had this hold over Bucky, a soft mutual understanding of mental torture, so this inevitable ass kicking would be justified. Plus, after years of being rejected over and over, mostly in the forties, Bucky might just kick his ass for simply being a dumbass. 

But Steve felt calm, an added relaxation due to the whiskey cooling in his hand. If there was anything Steve was an expert in, it was overthinking. You two had that in common - were you overthinking while absentmindedly watching TV? Overthinking while rubbing shampoo into your scalp? Overthinking while angrily stomping your way down to the hotel bar to hand his ass back over to him?

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see you burst through the doors. 

      “Anyone wanna start?”

Steve glanced around the circle of familiar and new faces. The group varied each week. Some people would try, share their anecdotes about lost loved ones, only to never show up for another session. Others often attended and never spoke, but they kept returning. Steve didn’t judge their choices - he couldn’t. No matter how many mornings he wanted to crawl back under the sheets and binge eat packaged foods, he never could. He had been at this job for two years. There was both pain and satisfaction in what he did. Sam would be doing this if he were here. 

And he had to do this for Sam. 

“My divorce was finalized yesterday.”

Steve looked over at the man who spoke first, a long-time member of this particular support group, and grimaced at his confession. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty, no wrinkles or gray hair, and he was ending a two-year marriage. 

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

The man, Michael, shrugged sadly, “We still love each other, man. But seeing your newborn disintegrate in your arms does something to your soul that’s just… we both knew we needed to move on. Even if it was from each other.”

Steve squeezed the small, red stress ball in his hand and tried to offer more condolences and a kind smile, but it came out rather painful. He opted to stay silent in case Michael wanted to continue. Instead, another member decided to comment. 

It went like this for almost an hour with Steve adding in his empathetic words of wisdom whenever he saw appropriate. It was good for everyone to share so openly, to carry the conversation with minimal involvement from Steve. Steve had shared snippets of his story with the group awhile back, careful to not mention the gruesome specifics. He had let out as much as he was able, not as much as he would have liked, but his main job was to facilitate. Besides, Steve went to confession every month to talk to someone - anyone - even if he wasn’t necessarily Catholic. But that’s just the thing - no one knew who they were anymore. 

The sound of a scraping chair leg caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to the entrance in search of the disruption. You paused in your movements, face scrunched in embarrassment. Opening one eye, you mouthed a quick apology and rushed to carry the chair to the circle. 

“I’m sorry I’m late. Subway was a bitch,” you muttered, your embarrassed smile growing wider. 

For over a year, Steve had subtly urged you to attend one of these meetings. He was witness to your nightmares, your destructive solo missions that even Friday had no records of, and your sudden breakdown last week. You were casually jogging around the outdoor track when you suddenly stopped and fell to your knees, broken sobs seeming to shake the trees around you. You were crouched for a good minute before Steve had seen you wipe your eyes and continue your jog. As if nothing happened. 

To see you here, whether to share or to listen, prompted the proud and erratic beating of Steve’s heart. 

“It’s completely fine. Time’s almost up but we still got time for you.”

You sent Steve a funny smile, amused by his professional tone. “Uh, yeah! A friend convinced me to come. He was pretty persuasive.”

Steve blushed, head tilting downward. 

You introduced yourself and let the group know you were also an Avenger. No one seemed shocked and you were suddenly grateful for this mixture of people. 

Steve sat and listened, his nerves settling. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” you started, thumbs dancing in your lap. “And I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

Steve sat up straight, eyebrows scrunching as he listened intently. 

You sighed, wetting your lips briefly. “The day before the snap, I was supposed to die.”

You wanted to avoid Steve’s gaze until the right moment. You continued, “I went on a mission to Mexico. Alone, which was completely against protocol but hey, we broke a lot more rules than that.”

Steve cleared his throat which earned a chorus of chuckles from the group. 

“And I was technically on house arrest but I found out a way to temporarily disable that ankle monitor,” you added, grinning from the laughs you were receiving. 

“Anyway, all my potential backup was nonexistent. I had friends on the run,” you paused, glancing at Steve with a somber expression. “And other friends literally fighting another battle on their home planet somewhere in space. So, I went alone.”

“While I was bleeding out from a bullet my own father ordered, Tony was already up in space. Loki was already dead.”

You hoped no one commented on Loki’s role in your life. He wasn’t exactly a nice figure to suddenly name drop in New York, but he was important in your grief. 

It was slightly unnerving to be on display here, but you weren’t exactly planning on returning. You just needed to rant. 

“I stitched myself up the best I could in that quinjet - which I almost crashed,” you muttered, smirking at Steve. “Sorry, Cap.”

“This is the first time I've heard you flew. You’re not even authorized to fly,” Steve declared, face scrunched in confusion and astonishment. 

“That’s not important,” you teased. “But the stitches were messy work. Horrible criss-crosses.”

Steve was in a tiny state of shock. He had known what happened to you, but to hear you talk so casually about the day before the world went to shit - it just made it more real. 

You had mentioned before that you never dreamed about the snap, but about everything leading up to it. 

“I woke up, betrayed yet again by my own blood, and Steve was suddenly there after two years. We were gonna fight an outside threat.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed lightly, “I was still healing but I was on the battlefield. Stayed close to Nat most of the time.”

The group was heavily invested in your retelling. “I couldn’t fight him, obviously. But I did see him. I saw how he ripped that stone from my friend’s head.”

A few winces sounded around the circle. 

“I guess I feel immense guilt. Like, I could have done something more even though realistically, I couldn’t. Kinda feels like I sat back and watched my friend’s die.”

No one spoke, but it was obvious everyone had survivor’s guilt. 

“And now, I’m living with the pain of having all three of my best friends stripped from me while also celebrating the fact that the snap took my father.”

Shrugging, you gave your last sad smile to the group. “I feel guilty for what happened while also being grateful it took someone who deserved it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve spoke. “You’re here today to tell your story. No one has to agree or disagree with you. It’s your story. Tell it like it is.”

You chuckled, “I could easily bother Steve with this at the compound.” You smiled at the teenager clutching what looked like a stuffed animal in his lap. “But I had nothing else to do tonight. My only friends are gone.”

“You and Steve aren’t friends?”

This time it was Michael that spoke, his eyes bouncing from you to Steve. You turned to Steve for some kind of answer. Was it a yes? Were you more like coworkers than true friends? 

Steve’s eyes softened and his kind smile was back. 

You answered, “I guess. I did come here for him.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kept his light-hearted tone, “I’m really glad you did.” 

Steve backtracked, clearing his throat as he addressed the circle. “I’m really glad all of you did. Same time next week.”

You busied yourself with stacking the chairs and dusting off your pants. Once most of the group had left, Steve gathered his things and walked over to you. “You take the subway?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and you stacked the final chair high. “I did. You drive?”

Steve hummed in response, “Want a lift?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not staying at your place tonight?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen Nat in a week. I should pay her a visit.”

He curled his jacket around your shoulders as you exited the building. You held it tightly, relishing in the comfort. The walk back to the car was quiet but not awkward. After such a heavy night, silence was most definitely needed. And just the comfort of being around someone you trusted added to the relaxation aspect of it all. 

Steve kicked a loose piece of gravel to the street. You watched him for a few seconds before you spoke, voice light and a puff of cold air escaping your lips. 

“Steve?” 

He turned to you and waited for you to continue speaking. 

“You know Sam would be so proud of you doing this, right?”

Steve watched the cold air leave his own lungs as well. He felt the weight of that statement pressing down on his shoulders as he looked up at the dark sky. “I know.”

     Steve knew he was utterly fucked, so fucked that any line that had been established was stepped over and kicked a thousand yards back. His mind was made up, he would not run, he would not succumb to some former mindset 2016 Steve would have fallen victim to. He was a new person, a completely different person than he was out of the ice and after the snap. He deserved to cross the line, he deserved whatever happiness was afforded to him - he deserved comfort in the arms of another after years of denying himself. 

He downed the rest of his drink with a loud gulp, mind made up, and headed back to your room. 

    It was best to just pretend it never happened… no? But did you want to pretend it never did? So many moments over the years where this could have happened, where either of you could have literally just said ‘fuck it’. As overthinking was a specialty, quite a useless skill, you thought about the countless fights you had. 

Red in the face, hands clenched until nails imprinted little crescents, absolutely seething at the mouth. Some of the things you would yell were vile, none at all honest but with the intent to cause pain for only a moment, and mumbled apologies later. You were literally enemies for these past two, long years. Enemies who had to be seated and scolded, tricked into accepting defeat and living as teammates once more. 

Perhaps one of those arguments could have been remedied by simply leaning in like you had tonight, by throwing each other against the wall, by pulling the roots of your hair as he tugged-

Nope. 

Nope. 

No matter how much tension you were now realizing you had for this man, tension that could literally be fucked out, wasn’t it too late to act on it? You couldn’t pinpoint the chance you maybe had and missed. 

Steve walked through the door in the middle of your rapid brainstorming. He just grinned sweetly and slipped into the bathroom. 

As simple as that. 

Now you couldn’t discern between the feelings of wanting to fight him or fuck him. Not being able to differentiate between them ignited a sour mood, and once he stepped out from the shower, you basically pushed him to the side to lock yourself in. 

Even the warm water hitting your body couldn’t alleviate the pressure of overthinking. You disregarded your hair tonight and instead just washed your body. As quick as you could jump back out and go to bed, the better.  

Sucking in a deep breath, you opened the door and shut off the bathroom light. Your eyes landed on Steve’s torso, shirtless and the only thing not covered by the white blanket. He hadn’t shaved his beard either, the length evident when he kissed you earlier. It felt wrong and right at the same time, a battle that you seriously did not want to deal with. To get involved with your mission partner was dangerous - not because Steve himself was dangerous, but because it was a giant distraction. A distraction that you couldn’t afford. 

But as he put down his book and lay it in his lap, looking up to look at you through hooded eyes, sleepy but alert, the ‘danger’ was nothing but enticing. 

You cleared your throat and padded down your pajama shorts absentmindedly, slinging your hair over one shoulder and focusing on plugging your charger into your phone. It was so silent besides your pitter-patter, and god, did Steve find that sound so relaxing, until you climbed into bed. Once your shuffling was done, the slight buzzing of Steve’s desk lamp drowned out all your other senses. And the longer it was heard, the more it sounded like a ticking clock. 

Steve shut the lamp off, the only light now illuminating your figure from outside. He studied your breathing, watching how every so often you would bring your hand up to scratch your cheek or move a stray hair. You looked so gentle, so inviting, so small. 

You were turned away from him and facing the wall, eyes shut as you listened to his movements. There was a small part of you that wanted to stay up all night talking, to lean on his shoulder and simply feel his warmth, to feel that beard against your cheek one more time. As quickly as those thoughts flashed through your mind did you scold yourself, that this was inappropriate and wrong and so dangerous. 

You felt a dip in your bed, heavy and unsure, a lift of your blankets, and it happened so quickly that you could have sworn you dreamt it. Steve wrapped his arm around you, his broad chest pressed tightly against your back and his lips attacked the skin just below your earlobe. Your breath hitched, eyes shot open, and your hands reached up to grip his wrist. Steve stilled. 

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, lips hovering over your blushing skin and breath practically blistering. You could feel him now, hard and pulsing against your ass and ready to move. You felt dizzy, overcome with such a rush of desire that you couldn’t help but stiffen in his tight grasp. 

“Don’t,” you choked out, feeling his body become rigid and his breath begin to quicken. 

“I’m sorry I-” he began to move away from you, voice no longer a whisper and tainted with panic. 

“No,” you pulled back, tilting your head up to lock eyes with him. You brought your arm up to grasp the back of his head, and you tugged it back to your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked. “Fuck,” he groaned, continuing the attack on your neck. But he gained momentum now, arm squeezing you against him tighter, and voice cracking as he moaned your name. 

“Steve, please do something.”

Your hands found their way back to his arm, gripping it tightly as he fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. He played with it, teasing in his actions, almost as punishment for the years you tormented him with your attitude. His lips pressed harder now, finding each patch of available skin on your neck and flushed cheek, and Steve has never felt so aroused in his life. He wasn’t even inside you, but the quick gasps he heard from you did plenty in aiding the rush of blood from his head to his stiffening cock. 

“Tell me what you want. Please, tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he moaned, the slightest experimental role of the hips causing you to whimper. 

“Touch me,” you practically sobbed, rolling your hips back against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt all of him.  

And just like that, he gave you what you asked for. He gripped your hip and shoved you closer to him, hot and ready and pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into you, little whimpers of his own touching your sensitive ear. He quickened his pace and he found it hard to think straight when the scrunch of pleasure all over your face, making you look so willing, was all he was focused on. He focused on the way you bit your lip, a bite and then a gasp, and then you were back to biting as if you were trying to restrain any higher moan. And even with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he could see the sun-kissed color of your skin and the bruising he was causing. He kept his mouth on you as he rocked himself against you, indulging in a few more selfish seconds of pleasure before becoming his generous self. 

He dipped his hand into your shorts and found the sweet nub that so desperately needed attention. His brain almost short circuited, the feeling of his fingers finally sliding into your wet lips making his throat dry. He drew little but skilled circles, each twirl of his index and middle finger in unison with the grind of his hips. Your mouth fell open by such pleasure, and you braced yourself by placing your left palm on the mattress and pressed down, nails scratching the cotton fabric and alerting Steve of your excitement. You pushed back against him, timed and in perfect harmony. 

You knew the room wasn’t on fire, but even if it was you didn’t think to check. 

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. Keep talking to me,” Steve begged, each rotation of his hips gaining pressure. His eagerness prompted you to reach back up and grab him by the hair, yanking his head to your tilted one and smashing his lips against yours. Steve gasped at the pleasant sting, somewhat surprised with himself that he liked that form of roughness. But who was he to judge his kinks when the tip of your nose was turning redder, the blush in your cheeks mixed with barely visible silver droplets of sweat, and a purple outline was beginning to form on your plump upper lip? 

The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, but still beneficial in getting Steve to rut against you even harder. 

He could so easily pull your shorts down and enter you, and if he was anything like he felt, then you knew it would sting. But you craved that sting and stretch, the thought of him inside you causing another gush of desire to leak from you. Steve dipped his finger deeper into you only to accumulate your juices and spread them higher. He went back to rubbing expertly, actions gaining speed to match your whimpers. 

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned louder, and you swore you felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You pressed back harder, his hand rubbing and pressing down on your stomach simultaneously. Your head felt cloudy, the pleasure coursing through your veins and to the very tips of your toes. “Oh, my fuck.”

Steve paused his fingers to trail his hand back up your stomach and to your breasts, pulling your tank top down to spill them. The sounds leaving your throat set him on fire, desire pulsing everywhere - his head, his heart, his aching cock that was pressed so closely against you that he could feel you vibrating. He pinched your nipple and rolled it, closing his eyes in response to your dirty purrs. “Let me make you come, doll.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” you quipped, ass tilting at an angle that caused Steve to choke. He growled from the attitude he couldn’t believe you still fucking had during a moment like this and kissed you roughly, both your broken moans molding into one. His hand returned to your shorts. 

“Do that again,” he begged, hitching his leg up to rest on yours. The angle allowed him to drive his hips even harder. You maneuvered to provide the same tilt, grinning at the pleasurable cries that left your Captain’s mouth. 

“I think I’m gonna make you come first,” you chuckled and took his bottom lip between your teeth. You pulled lightly, concentration still in the circle of your hips. He looked back down at you, determination and undeniable lust in his eyes. He thrust his aching cock against you, sliding himself over your ass. He did it hard but slow, the pressure applied giving the head of his cock such a sweet squeeze as he bumped it against the curve of your lumbar spine. 

The heavy duvet was abandoned now, cold air from the hotel air conditioner failing in cooling you down at all. You both had a thin sheet of sweat on your clothed bodies, goosebumps standing proudly, and lips all plump and red from your harsh kissing. 

Steve held you so close, so tight, and his fingers were drawing such rushed and tiny circles that you swore his wrist had to be cramping up. But the sound of both your whimpers started to mesh together, alerting you of such a sweet climax up ahead. 

“Steve, fuck, fuck, ohh,” you mewled, voice now high pitched and yes, it turned Steve on incredibly but it also fueled you. Your pornographic moans ignited an even deeper desire within you, just the true fact that Steve was touching you, Steve was getting you to make these sounds, Steve is actually hearing these sounds, Steve is making the same exact sounds. 

 “I-, please, come for me,” Steve pleaded, cock twitching with each thrust as he neared his end. “Make me come.”

His begging, his equally high voice, his skilled fingers rubbing rapidly and the slight pain from that, his breath burning your neck, were all too powerful, their combinations causing the fire in your core to explode and make you see white in a flash, black dots later clouding your vision. Your nails dug into his moving arm, crescents branded into him. You clenched around nothing, walls fluttering and thighs shaking as they pressed around his hand and fingers. 

The inappropriate squelching sound of your juices spreading as your thighs clenched around his cramping fingers, the slide so sensual and dirty, had Steve rutting against you one, two, three more times before he came in hard but long spurts. His mouth hung open, breath still fanning your neck, and his eyes were so tightly shut that the force was enough to strain them. 

“Oh, fuuuck, yes, yes!” Steve groaned, his body taking longer than usual to recover. His orgasm was powerful, more powerful than when he got himself off in the shower or in the comfort of his bed at night, and he knew it was because you clouded his senses. Of course, there was an added benefit to getting off with someone else, aiding that person in the same endeavor, but because it was you, it made the climax even more forceful, more intense. The whole situation was both unexpected and calculated, gentle and rough, and Steve’s heart was beating so fast by the thought of what just occurred that he found himself wanting to spill into you all night long, and to apologize for overstepping an unspoken boundary. 

You could feel the wetness of both your own release and Steve’s, head still cloudy from such a sharp orgasm. You hummed in satisfaction, reaching your arm over once again to lift his head up by his hair. He hissed at the pull now, his body all fucked out and satisfied. “You good?”

Steve gave you a lazy smile, chest heaving in unison with yours. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good.”

Steve scanned your face for any regret just in case your words held other meaning, but all he could see was your satisfied expression, cheeks still flushed pink, hair tangled, and pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and connected your lips, molding his with yours slowly and chastely. You both sighed at the feeling, highs now lowering and the coldness from the air conditioner causing a different set of goosebumps to appear. Steve pulled away, giving you one last peck as if testing the waters, and rested his forehead against yours. You both relished your post-orgasm bliss for a few silent minutes before cleaning up. 

You shared playful shoves as you cleaned up. It was almost innocent, a huge contrast to the sinful activities you two had just committed, but there was a genuine feeling of understanding in the room. Your heart clenched at the simple sight of Steve washing his hands, eyes meeting his in the mirror, a soft look in his that startled you. 

You gave him a smile so as to not alert him of your reaction, and exited the bathroom to climb back into bed. You drew the heavy duvet back over your body and cuddled in it deeply, chin hidden underneath and back facing Steve’s bed. It was a few more minutes before Steve came back into the room, shutting the light off, and looking at your resting form. He wanted to climb back in with you and hold you innocently, to have the feeling of your warm back against his broad chest, gentle exhales tickling the arm that would wrap around you. But he just looked back and forth from your bed and his, and he decided to not push the boundary further. He hesitated with this decision, but climbed into his own bed, the feeling of his cold sheets making him immediately regret it. He shuffled silently, his body facing yours. 

You wanted to lay beside him too. But whether you were making a smart decision or an absurd, cowardly one, one thing was certain: you could no longer ignore the stacking of such emotions you had for this man. 

It almost angered you, how much you denied yourself of even a simple crush for literally ten years, and it made you mad at Steve, too. Because if he hadn’t pushed you away, then maybe you could have accepted this sooner. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[samstree]

hi dear!! what about 37 for the pining prompts?? only if you feel like it 💞💞

37. "Characters cannot touch for plot reasons." Thanks for the prompt Chrysa!! Here's more empath!Jaskier!

Unfinished Story

Empath!Jaskier, 2.4k, soft geraskier, ciri has a nightmare, hurt/comfort, mentions of past violence

Part of the Empath AU 

Read on AO3

Ciri’s scream pulls Geralt out of his doze.

He springs up immediately, knocking Jaskier’s arm out of the way. The bard grumbles something incoherent on the bedroll before fully waking. “G’ralt, what is… Oh, shit.”

The scream continues, Geralt’s medallion thrumming because of the chaos carried by the sound. The ember is dying but the moon provides enough light for him to see Cir in a fetal position, her face buried in the crook of her elbow. Her ashen-colored curls obscure the view.

Geralt half-scrambles to her side, familiar panic seizing his heart. It’s been so long since she had a nightmare this bad, so long that it’s taking him a second to react.

“Ciri.” He shakes her shoulder gently, but she flinches away. The smell of fear rolls off of her in waves. “Ciri, wake up. You are dreaming.”

The sharp wail trails off to a quieter one, but her eyes stay shut, her brows agonizingly knitted tight. Geralt tries to soothe her by stroking her hair, only to have her snatch his hand and holding onto it for dear life. He squeezes, hoping it’s a comforting gesture.

Each of Ciri’s cries sends a pang of regret in Geralt’s chest. If only he could go back in time. If only he had found her earlier, before the horrors of Nilfgaard—

“Hey, let me help.”

A hand falls to Geralt’s shoulder, and Jaskier meets his gaze in the dim light, the bleariness in his eyes completely gone.

Please, he wants to say. The word gets interrupted by the girl’s writhing.

Jaskier takes over Ciri’s hand, despite her reluctance to let go of Geralt. She clings to him during bad dreams, even when she can’t properly wake up, but the witcher knows it’s important not to touch either of them right now. The wolf medallion vibrates more as the empath works, calming her through the touch.

“It’s okay…” Geralt murmurs helplessly to the girl still asleep. “It’s okay, cub. We are here.”

The empty space around Geralt is excruciating. Under the clear night sky, his witcher senses allow him to see the two of them basked in the silver moonlight—Jaskier kneeling at Ciri’s side, one hand clasped around her wrist and the other carding through her curls. The girl’s pained expression eases slowly.

“Oh… Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” Jaskier shushes her, the flow of chaos buzzing in the air. “Let me take your fear away, all right? Don’t fight me. Let me in, so you won’t be scared anymore…”

The bard continues to murmur sweet nothings to the girl, easing her resistance to his empathetic powers. At this point, Jaskier’s magic is like a second layer of skin to Geralt, gentle and warm and weaving around their hearts. Even when it’s not directly used on him, he feels somehow pulled to their connection.

To Jaskier and Ciri.

His empath bard and his child surprise.

Two halves of his world.

Jaskier’s eyes are closed to concentration, taming the waves of Ciri’s distress. The action exerts him, Geralt can tell from his elevated heartbeat and the slight slump in his shoulders. The witcher catches himself before he reaches out subconsciously. The gnawing urge to help almost makes him scowl in frustration.

Inaction has never been Geralt’s strong suit.

Finally, finally, Ciri’s eyes flutter open. She’s holding back the tears, as always, even when she’s confused from these dreams, even when she’s reliving her past and desperately searching for her family in the present.

“Geralt?”

Her voice is so small and he has to lean in to hear.

A relieved sigh escapes Jaskier’s lips as he lets go of the girl’s hand. With the magic dissipating, so does the stench of fear. The air settles. As soon as the medallion stills, Geralt surges forward to put a hand on her arm, so she knows he’s here.

On Geralt’s periphery, he senses bard stand and walk to the other side of the campfire—the empath usually needs a moment to collect himself after absorbing someone’s emotions—but right now Geralt’s focus is on his child.

“It’s okay. You are safe, Ciri,” Geralt whispers.

“I dreamed—”

“You are not there anymore.”

“It was burning…I—there was fire… and the man.” She sniffles, stubbornly refusing to cry. His child is tough, probably too tough for her own good.

“It wasn’t real.”

“Because you found me?” There’s a sliver of doubt in her voice that Geralt wishes more than anything to remove.

“Because I found you, Ciri,” he reassures. She’ll need reminding tonight. “You are my destiny and more. I’m here so you’ll never have to be lost again.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Geralt tucks away a strand of hair on her face and watches her eyelids droop heavily.

“I’m not. Not now that I’m awake.”

He returns the smile, although she can’t see it that well in the shadows. “That’s because of Jaskier.”

“Oh.” She searches for the bard. When Geralt looks back at the empath’s silhouette, he’s leaning against a tree, a few paces away from camp. “Thank you, Jaskier. Again,” she says.

“Of course, princess,” Jaskier says softly, “I know how scary nightmares can be, no matter how long it’s been. Those things may have happened a long time ago, but sometimes…they come back and haunt when you least expect it.” He pauses, looking to the distance for a moment. “I’d chase them away for you any time.”

She murmurs another thanks before her eyes close with exhaustion.

“Go back to sleep,” Geralt tucks Ciri’s blanket in, before taking her hand again, his thumb tracing a little circle on her skin. “Sleep, cub. We’ll be here. Both of us.”

It doesn’t take long for her to fall into a deep slumber, peacefully this time. Geralt sits next to her for a while longer just to be sure. When he finally leaves Ciri’s side to see to his bard, Jaskier is still standing with his back against the tree. He seems to be miles away, his expression hidden in the shadows, distant and inscrutable.

“Jask?” They are far enough from the girl but Geralt keeps his voice low.

With a surprised gasp, the bard notices him approaching and almost flinches. “Don’t—”

“Don’t touch you, I know.”

Jaskier rests his head on the tree bark. “Just for now.”

Geralt’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. Using those powers takes a lot out of Jaskier, and it leaves him unbalanced. The empath is so wary of hurting him by accident when he’s like this, with raw energy still rippling under his skin.

But in truth, Geralt doesn’t care. He wishes Jaskier could let him in, let him share the burden. Right now, with the space between them, he’ll have to rely on words instead of action.

It really isn’t his strong suit.

“Another nightmare… ” he decides to distract the bard while he recovers. “It’s been too long since Ciri had an episode. I thought it was all over.”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes. “We should all know better.”

Geralt frowns at the haunted look on his bard’s face. The tips of his fingers reach forward again, but he quickly hides the movement by crossing his arms before his chest.

“You sound like you are speaking from experience, Jask.”

“Do I?”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s stomach turns at the way Jaskier speaks about the girl’s trauma. “You know if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Jaskier squirms, chewing on his lower lip. Now he’s truly nervous, tense even. The witcher sees the way his posture stiffens and quickly adds, “Or not. Uh—it’s okay if you don’t—"

“No,” Jaskier interrupts him, shaking his head, “No, I want to tell you. I should tell you everything, at this point.”

Silence hangs between them as the bard adjusts his breathing. In and out, like he would before a performance.

“Years ago, when you first identified my powers” Jaskier chooses his words cautiously, the moon shining in his eyes. “I asked if you would use silver on me.”

Geralt’s heart sinks. “I would never, Jaskier. I—How could you ever think that?”

“Oh, relax, my love. I know.” the bard chuckles tightly. “Even back then, I knew you to be a decent man under all the gruffness. You wouldn’t even harm those confused monsters who drifted to human territory on accident, remember? You claimed that your life was just coin and contracts, but to me, it was clear that you were so much more.”

“You are not a monster,” Geralt argues.

“No, but someone else might think differently.”

The leaves rustle in the breeze, the air cooling as the night stretches on. Without the blanket, Jaskier shivers with only a thin chemise on his back. Geralt’s body gravitates toward him of its own volition. Fuck it, if he can just hold Jaskier right now…

“I was thirteen.” The bard is lost in memory. “This man, a magic user, came to our door. It was just me and my mother. He somehow knew about our identities and asked for her help. You see, she had been keeping it a secret for so long, so she couldn’t trust this man, this mage, who somehow just knew that we were empaths.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before continuing.

“His request was… weird. Something about a king or a royal court. I remember thinking that whatever he said sounded so sinister, it couldn’t have been any good. Mum sent him away on the spot, but afterwards she got so scared, like he’d come back again or something. That night, she barred the door and told me to hide in a storage chest. I refused, so she made me. She kept me obedient the entire time.”

Geralt frowns. “Her powers were the same as yours?”

“Stronger.” Jaskier starts pacing, a few twigs snapping under his feet. “She didn’t need contact to manipulate someone’s emotions like me, and she could influence many at the same time. I’m not as powerful—my father was human.”

“What happened next?” Somehow, Geralt knows the story will not end well. A mage usually means trouble. Or in this case, the shadow hidden behind Jaskier’s bright smiles and chirpy songs.

“She kept me calm the whole night, even when she wasn’t with me, but I could feel her fear. It’s was like an undercurrent beneath my skin. I could feel her emotions change. Then I heard the sound of fighting, but I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t go and help her…”

The salty tang of tears assaults Geralt’s nose, but they don’t fall. Jaskier looks up to the sky to hold back the grief that makes his hands tremble.

“Everything got fuzzy after that, but I still remember the pain and the despair. It was like a part of me was hurting with her. Part of me still does, during some nights.” Jaskier closes his eyes in agony. “When I got out the next morning, no one was there. Our home was wrecked, ruined. There was… There was so much blood, Geralt. I—I couldn’t…”

“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt watches as Jaskier’s shoulders shake, whimpers choking in his throat. Under the night sky, the bard retreats into himself, making his frame look so much smaller. He sways a little and Geralt extends his hands again, hovering by his elbow. “Can I please touch you now?” he pleads.

With a sniffle, the bard composes himself. He flexes his hands to see if his magic is in check. “I think so, yes—oh.”

Geralt pulls Jaskier in for the tightest hug, his arms wrapping around the bard’s frame protectively. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, he can feel another shiver running down Jaskier’s spine, so he rubs small circles into his back to get some heat back in.

He breathes in Jaskier’s scent, not knowing if the lingering stench of fear is from Ciri or the bard.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jask…” Geralt keeps murmuring into the soft hair by Jaskier’s temple. Gradually, the bard sags against his shoulder, letting himself be soothed and supported. Geralt then places his lips to the skin under Jaskier’s ear, and then his cheek, his chin, all the while holding him impossibly close. He’s ready to help the empath restore his energy with all the brimming love in his chest. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” the bard shakes his head. “I’m good. For now.”

They stand there for so long, swaying gently while the world sleeps, before the bard speaks up again.

“I looked for her, and him, at so many courts.” Jaskier’s slightly colder fingers rest on the nape of Geralt’s neck, buried into the hair there. “No mage fit his description. No trace of her either. I think that deep down, I already knew that she was gone, even back then. Otherwise, I would have felt her in there somehow. No matter how far away she was, but all I had was just this emptiness. I was alone since then.”

“You are not. Not anymore.”

“No,” Jaskier pulls away, the tears have dried. Geralt brings the pad of his thumb to trace those streaks anyway. Under his touch, Jaskier smiles. “You see, back in Posada, I met this witcher, a dashing and heroic one. He fell for me so hard that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without me, so he begged me to become his travel companion.”

“And you agreed?” Geralt chuckles.

“Not at first, but he wore me down eventually.”

The bard is the most ridiculous man Geralt knows, and yet here they are. Shaking his head in amusement, the witcher steers his bard back to their bedrolls. As they settle back into their usual position, Geralt can’t help but pull him closer, making sure they are touching from head to toe.

The cover sets heavily over Jaskier's body, slowly warming up his skin. His heart beats against Geralt’s ribcage steadily, showing with solid proof that the empath has survived those horrors.

“I found you too, Jask,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss between Jaskier’s brows.

“Good.” The bard's reply is muffled by Geralt's skin. Not far from them, Ciri is still breathing evenly, sound asleep. Geralt has everyone he needs to protect right here with him, tucked away from their separate demons.

And yet, his mind drifts to Jaskier's story. It’s a tragedy with no end and no closure. There was never a body to bury, no vengeance to seek either.

Somehow, he doubts that an unfinished story will stay unfinished.

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity​ @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses​ @mothmanismyuncle​ @theultimatenerdd​ @percy-jackson-is-sexy-​

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[anxiouslyfred]

The Stone Gaze

Summary: Virgil hates that he can temporarily turn people into stone and hopes that whatever the mirror superpower his soulmate has is able to counteract it.

He wasn’t quite expecting the energy and impulsiveness of Remus when they met in an Art Exhibition.

/\/\/\

Virgil hated his powers. He hated a lot of things really, but the power he had was the number one thing he hated and that barely even counted as self-hate or self-deprecation given a lot of the reasoning for it was how his powers impacted his life.

The only time he'd come close to thinking his 'superpower' (as society had deemed things not everybody could do) was when they were studying mythology and had covered Medusa. She had turned people to stone permanently as a gift to protect herself from those who would idolise or attack her. Before they learnt the ending that had seemed like a pretty cool thing to be able to do, but then she was killed as part of a heroes journey and Virgil realised how little people would think of his power should they learn about it. It was mythologically a villains power after all.

Hiding his powers wasn't enough to keep Virgil from the attention of bullies. They picked on him because he always wore his father hoodie after they lost him to illness. They'd call him names because he'd learnt to keep his hair, especially his fringe long enough to cover his eyes so nobody would get accidentally turned to stone. Eventually they'd even harass him to do their homework because his Dad pushed for good study habits.

Refusing to react to their insults or requests only reached the point they tried to beat him up once. When the leader of that group had shoved him against a wall his hair had fallen backwards, leaving a clear gaze directed to the bullies. As soon as the leader became stone the other kids had fled, crying for the teacher to come help.

Virgil's Dad had been called to the school to pick him up and explicitly direct everyone's attention to what had clearly been happening, given the position the boy had been frozen in while refusing to allow any punishment to be given to Virgil. Even once that was accepted by the teachers and school they tried to demand that he wore sunglasses or a visor to school for the safety of staff and children alike.

“I will not police the clothes my son wears because your staff cannot respect someone who doesn't meet their gaze directly. He has found that the long fringe is enough to counteract his powers and given the years he has attended this school without incident that should be perfectly suitable to carry on with.” His Dad has lectured the head teacher that day. He'd given more evidence that Virgil hadn't listened to, but the sentence stuck in his head. Once more his powers were up to him to control and prevent from being used and it felt like an even heavier weight to carry than he'd already found it.

The days of his schooling after that were lonely, isolated as he feared anyone he might befriend would try to meet his eyes. The only hope he had for getting through his life was that somewhere in their world was his soulmate; a person whose powers would mirror his own, and possibly, on the nights Virgil was willing to dream impossible things, counteract his gaze that turned people to stone.

/Over to Remus\

Roman had been the one to bring Remus into exhibiting his work. Honestly, Roman had been the twin to get them both into the art world in the first place. The charismatic, charming artist, whose painting were filled with energy most paintings couldn't capture and dreamt of finding his soulmate. When the art world had discovered he had a brother just as skilled in sculpting they were pulled around and paired together for exhibits constantly.

Remus had originally tried to explain the truth, that their works looked like they held more of life in them because that was what their powers did. Roman could bring paintings to life temporarily, and had often painted portraits of his friends and family so he could still talk to them while they were away. Remus in contrast brought sculptures to life when he touched them with a wish to talk. They'd always be in different positions than he'd awakened them from by the time the power wore off so he got praised for how realistic or believable his positions were.

None of that praise meant anything to Remus though. He sculpted things to feel less alone, to have people to talk to that wouldn't react in disgust or turn away when he said something a little more twisted than society was used to hearing. Each model he made had a mouth to talk and their own way to express their reactions so he could for a while feel accepted by someone other than his brother.

Today he had actually listened to Roman's claims that it's better for their exhibitions when the artist spends times at the display. Of course that didn't mean he was going to dress any differently that normal, just throwing on the torn skinny jeans and an off the shoulder top, with a jacket draped over his shoulders for when the air conditioning got too cold. Art Galleries always seemed to keep the space too cold, Remus swore on it.

“You can't be in here Mate.” An angry voice said, a hand accompanying it yanking him around to face a tall suited man, scowling down at him. “This is an art gallery and I don't care what the fuck you did to sneak in here you're gonna be-”

Remus had already started glancing for a nearby sculpture to reach for when the words cut off. The man whose voice had slowly been raising had now turned to stone, finger raised to point out the door.

“I'm the artist?” He blinked, properly turning now to try and find who else was in the gallery that might have done it.

A few metres directly behind where Remus was, there was a man looking like he would run any second, staring at the floor as though ashamed. “Sorry, I didn't mean to do that.” He mumbled, “The yelling startled me.”

“You're okay, dude. No harm, no wild birds around here.” Remus nodded, reaching back to poke the side of the angry man, focusing on him being alive and calm now.

“Apologies, I probably shouldn't have yelled, but seriously, homeless people aren't allowed in art galleries.” The man who had been yelling declared, having taken a deep breath as the stone released him.

Remus just raised an eyebrow at that. “Just because I haven't dressed all posh like you doesn't mean I'm homeless. And given I'm the one who sculpted most of the statues in this gallery, I believe your judgemental attitude can be taken elsewhere, or shoved up your ass since that seems to be where the rest of your personality is kept. Have your fun in hell, not in my gallery.” He spoke quickly, already directing the man away from the gallery, and nodding to the security guard that wandered between their exhibits.

He didn't delay any longer than that, caring more for the man who had turned him to stone than anything more that could be said. That had to be the complete opposite to his own powers, whether it had been a permanent transformation or just a temporary one, he wanted to know.

Luckily the man was still stood there, blinking at the spot where the angry fellow had been frozen. “He- he shouldn't... That never wears off that quickly.” He was mumbling to himself, not realising Remus had returned.

“Hey there modern day Medusa, you doing alright?” Remus tapped his shoulder, tilting his head when the acknowledgement was for the man to stare at his neck rather than look at him.

“F-fine. Sorry about that though. It really was an accident.”

“Why are you apologising for helping me calm the situation down before he did more than yell? I got him out of the stone and sent on his way. It's all hot stuff in heaven today.” Remus was genuinely confused over what was upsetting the man in front of him. Everything had been sorted out so surely they could move on to talking about soulmates already.

There was a quick glance up, to stare at his ear now, or maybe something over his shoulder. “You got him out of the stone? That wasn't my power just wearing off more quickly than normal?” There was a plea in his voice, as though scared of his own power.

“Yep, and while I can't really prove that here, given everything is already photographed and needs to remain the same to be sold, you can come see my works in progress. I'm Remus, by the way, Remus Windsor.” The offer was easy to give. No matter what people believed about needing to test contrasting powers in public to understand if they're completely opposites, he just wanted to calm this person down. Roman would understand that and hopefully leave to paint in the park or some sappy shit like that.

“Virgil and, yeah, please can we do that?” Virgil nodded, holding a shaking hand out towards him, while the other started pulling the hair that had fallen to his ears back in front of his eyes.

As Remus took his hand he was finally able to meet Virgil's gaze and grinned, tugging on it so they could run out of the gallery together, looking something between art thieves making their escape and teenagers causing mischief.

/To the art gallery\

“Princess, you better get your fat ass and any talking paintings the hell out of here. I've got my Medusa and we need to confirm this shit without an audience.” Remus barged through the doors still tugging Virgil along behind him.

Virgil was astounded by what had occurred in the last hour. He'd only visited the art gallery on a whim, curious over just how lifelike a sculptures positioning could be compared to what he'd seen when accidentally using his own power on people. He hadn't expected to almost add to the exhibition temporarily or to meet someone who could be his soulmate there as well.

Now he could only look around the studio that Remus had explained he shared with his brother. The walls were covered in paintings in various stages of completion. Some looked finished but missing the energy that the paintings back in the gallery had held, others were clearly completely done, but held back. A few canvases were merely sketches or only had their backgrounds coloured in.

Then there was the stone. There were throughout the entire studio several large boulders, some chipped into enough that a hand could be seen reaching out, or the nose of a dog. A few were just legs waving into the air, vague shapes for the rest of the body chipped away but the lips immaculately carved. There was even a potters wheel at the opposite end with a few vases and ceramic models left on a table beside it.

“Remus, seriously, you cannot just kick me out. I'm doing an oil painting.” There was a man identical to Remus stood in front of the only Easel in the gallery, now turned to them frowning with his brush poised to the canvas.

Virgil dithered for a moment before stepping forward. “Oil paints don't exactly dry quickly. You could spare a few minutes for us to figure our if we're soulmates couldn't you?” He muttered, for the first time in years looking up as someone turned to him. He wasn't going to deliberately use his powers without permission now, but having some evidence that Remus actually can reverse the medusa affect straight away would seriously take a weight from his mind.

The painter watched him for a moment before stepping closer, setting his brush down. “I'm Roman. Wouldn't it be more useful for you to prove this on a real person? Although I can understand the uses of turning Remus's sculptures back to stone at will. There's been a few incidents where they've been even worse than he can be.”

“Roman's volunteering to be tortured. Let's do it, see how long we can keep making him stone and real again in quick succession.” Remus stage whispered at him, cackling when Roman flipped him off.

Virgil just nodded, “Only once. I want to know if Remus actually can reverse this.” He cautioned, but turned his head enough to properly meet Roman's gaze, watching as grey stole over his body in a second.

Before Virgil could worry over how Remus would react to seeing that done deliberately, he was leaning forwards to shove his brother backwards, giggling along with the action. Roman was human again by the time he hit the floor, now scowling up at Remus.

“Okay, Rude. I offer to help my darling sibling confirm their soulmate is theirs and you shove me to the floor. I cannot work in such a hostile environment. I'm taking my leave of you, pray it won't be permanently.” He stood up, throwing the glare at them and leaving with all the dramatics of a pantomime dame.

Virgil had to snicker along with Remus as the door was slammed shut. Honestly, half of it was that he had to laugh or he might just burst into tears. In all his wildest dreams he hadn't thought his soulmate would be so excited to have his powers with them.

“Let's try on my figurines! I'm trying to make a dragon witch I can set lose to torment Roman when I'm heading out, and already have my Cthulhu baby, just waiting to be given life. Wanna see if you can turn them back to stone if I wake 'em up?” Remus was once again holding his hand and tugging him to the other end of the room as soon as he finished laughing.

“Before we do that, are you wanting a romantic soulmate, or a platonic one? I don't really care which we have but I'd be happier if we got to know each other first.” Virgil hesitated a moment, tugging back on his arm.

Remus waved off the question. “We'll cross that bridge when we reach it. If you want sex or not I'm making models I can sleep with anyway. They're funny to talk to if they realise how I made their bodies. Come on, meet my Cthulhu baby!” The whine was emphasised by bouncing and Virgil's arm being jumped up and down rapidly.

“Okay, okay, guess that explains why some are so twisted around as though trying to hide their bodies.” Virgil laughed, walking once more towards the table.

Virgil hated his superpower, and probably always would, but perhaps Remus can help him find a couple of things it's good to be medusa for.

[its-a-humanriot]

Common Language, pt. I

(This is the beginning to a bunch of Fallout 3 works I have knocking around my brain. I’ll post bits and pieces here and then post the full work to ao3 once it’s done)

(pt. I) / (pt. II)

---

Charon realises very quickly that he does not understand his new employer very well.

In the first instance, this is very literal.

Not many words were exchanged during her introduction as his new employer and him subsequently blowing Ahzrukhal’s brains all over the walls of the Ninth Circle. It’s not until after they make a very rapid exit and they are out in the quiet of the museum atrium catching their breath that he really pays any attention to her. Not much about his employer’s appearance immediately seems wildly unusual – she looks pretty healthy for a wastelander, if somewhat pale, and probably one of the youngest people to come through Underworld in several years. Her face is grubby with the expected dust and dirt of travel under her mop of short curly brown hair, slightly pink from sunburn across her nose and a clean strip of pallid skin around her eyes from the goggles that now hang around her neck (the look of it reminds him briefly of some small animal from before the war, though he can no longer recall its name). Although they look relatively well maintained, her armour and rifle have clearly been scavenged at least third-hand, and a faded red bandanna is tucked around the collar.

Charon takes all this in with a practiced eye, trying to evaluate what kind of person he is now bound to – as satisfying as it is to know that Ahzrukhal’s head is now spread all over the Ninth Circle, it has come at the cost of knowing his opponent. The girl in front of him does not look wealthy to be spending the number of caps he knows Ahzrukhal would have asked for his contract, nor hardened enough to have carried out whatever unscrupulous task he would have accepted as alternative payment. He can’t quite pinpoint it, but something doesn’t seem right. When she opens her mouth, his instincts are proved right.

“Well, fuck. I came to Underworld to cop a flop and a sling and hang loose for a while, maybe zee out for the night, and buddy up with you. I was not expecting to have to beat feet with a dead body behind us.”

Her accent is like no wastelander he has ever heard, and he doesn’t understand half the things that come out of her mouth. Charon can’t claim to be up to date with young people (as so few of them come through Underworld and most of Ahzrukhal’s associates were people who should absolutely not be allowed anywhere near children) but even among the various communities in the Capitol Wasteland there is usually a fair amount of common ground. This – whatever this is – is something else entirely.

His well-practiced poker face seems to keep his confusion hidden at least up until she turns to him with an uncomfortable smile on her face – she certainly has cleaner teeth than a lot of wastelanders, and not even any missing that he can see – and sticks her hand out in his direction.

“This isn’t how I was expecting to have this go but, uh, I’m Billie. Nice to actually meet you properly, Charon.”

He stares at it. A lot of people would avoid unnecessary physical contact with ghouls, even if they weren’t outright ghoul haters, and certainly none of his previous employers have ever tried to engage in something as cordial as a handshake. When he doesn’t react, she leans in a little sheepishly. “…I think you’re supposed to shake hands when you meet someone new, right?”

His stare moves up to her face. She looks about as confused as he feels. What rock has this kid crawled out from?

“What?” It’s hardly the first thing that he means to say to his new employer now they have time to talk, but this whole interaction is leaving him feeling entirely unfooted. She tilts her head at him and looks even more awkward, her outstretched hand dipping slightly before she withdraws it entirely and starts to comb it through her hair instead.

“Uh…I’m not used to meeting new folks? A couple of people have told me what passes for manners above ground but honestly, I’ve not had so many chances to try it on people who weren’t trying to vent me first.” Her face twists in an embarrassed grimace. “Is it the accent? I’ve been told it’s a little hard to understand. I can try, uh something else,” She drops her hand, brushes some stray curls out of her eyes and clears her throat. She offers her hand again and manages to take him by surprise yet again: saying clearly in an almost perfectly pronounced pre-war Transatlantic accent “Hello Charon, my name is Billie Morgan. Pleased to meet you.”

The sound hits Charon like ice cold lead in his stomach, a noise he hasn’t heard in decades beyond the occasional old holotape. It rings in his ears as fresh as it was then with all of the other memories he’d tried to bury - the cloying surgical smell of the lab in his nose, the claustrophobia of the sim pod – Scanning vitals… Welcome subject: 2875, identifier Charon. Beginning training simulation in 3, 2…

A hand touches his arm and the tension in his body spikes – Charon finds himself staggering backwards into a defensive stance. His hand, still moving on instinct, gets as far as the handle of his combat knife before his conditioning kicks in with a short shock of pain – the subject cannot harm the employer – and the opposing reactions form a strained stalemate and force him to a standstill, buzzing with adrenaline, as his presence of mind returns. His employer is now a few feet away, her brown eyes wide as she raises her hands.

“Woah, okay. Won’t do that one again. Sorry.” The artificial enunciation is gone and her original accent has returned, but she is speaking more slowly and clearly than before. He can’t tell if she’s just doing it to try and pacify him or if she is consciously trying to make herself easier to understand. Now that he has the frame of reference for it her natural inflection definitely has something pre-war about it, but it’s hard to pinpoint. “Easy there, big guy. I’ve got no scrap with you and I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?”

Charon has at least a full foot of height on this kid, and while she looks healthy she does not look strong – the idea that she would be able to hurt him in a close quarters fight is almost laughable. Slowly, he forces himself to let go of the knife handle. The tension in his shoulders stays where it is.

“I am unable to harm my employer. Physical violence on your part invalidates our contract.” The default line gives him something to fall back on for a moment while he straightens back up to his resting position.

“That’s…something.” She doesn’t look reassured, but she drops her hands. “So we’re shiny? Cause you looked real ready to stab me for a second there.”

“I am unable to harm my employer.”

“…Right.” She appears to wait a moment for clarification that does not come before continuing. “So about your contract – it’s kinda hard to read and I didn’t really get the full shakedown before you greased Ahzrukhal so I don’t know what your rates are. I’m a little low on caps at the moment but I can pay you some upfront and then I can earn a bunch back from whatever scavving we do in the next few days to get you the rest of your cut, then we can work out an arrangement. Sound okay to you?”

“I do not require payment.”

“So what, I keep you watered and fed and breathing and we’re square? Seems like a pretty cheap deal to me.”

“I do not require protection and you are not required to provide for me, though several previous employers have chosen to do so.”

“Wait.” Her brow creases. “What does the contract say?”

“The holder of my contract is my employer.” The words come readily to his tongue after many decades of repeating them. “My employer has my services in combat and in any other duties as they see fit and I am honour bound to do as they command for as long as they hold the contract. The contract prevents me from harming my employer while I am in their service. Physical violence by the employer against me invalidates the contract.”

She stares at him hard for a long moment before she speaks again with horror in her voice.

“You’re a slave?”

“I belong to no one.” The response is automatic, the only protest he is able to make. The words taste sour in his mouth.

“You’ve just told me that you don’t require payment of any kind and that you have to do what I say. If that’s not being a slave, I don’t know what is.” She turns away and pulls on her curls for a moment while she paces before turning back to him, her face stormy. “If I’d know that skeezer was a slave owner on top of everything, I might’ve taken a pop at him myself before you ventilated his face. Fuck.” Her eyes widen again. “I bought you from him.”

“If you find the terms of my contract objectionable, you may pass it on to another.”

“I object to you being bound to the contract. Passing it over to someone else doesn’t fix that.” Pulling a face, she pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, then pulls his contract out of her pocket. She looks over the worn paper for a moment, then a takes a single step closer to him and thrusts it in his direction. “Here.”

The ebbing tide of the adrenaline rush in his veins suddenly leaves all at once, and he is left staring at his employer’s hand again. There must a misunderstanding here. Again.

“You wish me to…hold the contract for you?”

She rolls her lips together before making deliberate eye contact with him.

“I want you to have it. Permanently, free of charge. The contract belongs to you - no more employers to boss you around.” Turning her eyes skyward for a moment, she takes a deep breath. “I’m hoping that greasing former employers of yours isn’t like a tradition or something, cause I kinda like being alive out here in the fresh air despite everything. And I have someone I really, really need to find.”

He stares at her for a long moment, stupefied. She stares back, with an expression that is perhaps supposed to be comforting despite the fact that her hand is shaking slightly. After the events at the Ninth Circle, she doesn’t have much reason to suspect that anything else will happen apart from her apart from the inside of her skull being spread all over the atrium.

“I cannot accept.”

At the sound of his voice she seems a little calmer, and gives him a warmer smile.

“Sure you can. No charge, no nothing, just like I s-”

“You misunderstand. I am physically not able to accept.”

“What?” The look of confusion is back.

“I am not able to hold my own contract. It is stated clearly in the contract terms.”

“You didn’t say that thirty seconds ago!”

“The contract terms are long. I paraphrased.”

“You paraphrased.” With a furrowed brow she pinches the bridge of her nose again with the hand holding the contract dropping to her hip, though her mouth pulls up at the corner – whether it’s from amusement or concealed frustration, he’s not sure. She takes in a breath, then drops her hand. “Right. Okay. And if I destroy the contract?”

“I am compelled to stop you from doing so, through any means necessary.”

“Even if you harm me? I thought you said you couldn’t do that.”

“Preservation of the contract takes priority over the life of my employer, though I must also take all possible actions to preserve your life.” Comforting people is not a talent Charon considers to be in his skill set. From the look on his employer’s face, he evaluates that this is still true.

“There must be a section in the contract for how it ends though, right? Surely no contract is gonna be able to hold you forever.” The naivety of the comment grates on his nerves more than he expects. Maybe it’s the aftermath of the adrenaline rush and the bewilderingly abrupt turn that this already baffling interaction has taken, but Charon’s response come out with more of a bite than he means it to.

“It’s not that simple, smoothskin.”

“But you don’t want to be bound by it, right?” Seemingly undeterred by the epithet or the warning in his tone, she continues earnestly. “If we just-”

“I said -” His voice is sharper than he would ever dared let it be speaking back to Ahzrukhal, louder than he has spoken in so very long, and he wrests control of himself back too late – his voice echoes back to him from the polished granite walls so that it rebukes him as much as it does the kid in front of him. Her eyes are wide, shoulders bunched up to her chin level, and he realises that he has unconsciously drawn up to his full height. The echo hangs in the air for a moment, and when it dies his words are back to their normal volume, even if the tone is strained: “ – it is not that simple.”

The moment continues to stretch out thin and the young woman doesn’t move or answer – just keeps staring at him. The silence leaves him feeling as unbalanced as the conversation did - worse now that he feels exposed in the wake of his outburst. Charon takes a rattly breath and fills his ravaged lungs to their full extent as he winds himself back under control – shoulders down, arms by his sides, he reverts to his typical guarding stance. When he speaks again, it in the direction of the young woman’s clenched hand rather than to her face

“For good or ill,” Charon says towards the faded scrap of parchment “I am in your service.”

[sergeantsporks]

What Greater Good Do I Have Than You?

Rating: Gen, General Audiences

The titans' hunger must be sated, Merlin knows this. But he wishes he weren't the one who had to do it

@alovesongshewrote said something about “do you think Merlin would kill Douxie for the greater good” and my brain went clickity clack and here we are :D

Ao3

The titans had to be fed.

It was necessary. To maintain order. Balance. Magicians lived forever if not killed—and yet more and more would be born.

So every millennium, a wizard had to die. They had to be killed where their magic could return to the earth, replenishing the earth’s supply, keeping the titans asleep and the Order happy.

That was Merlin’s purpose. It was his calling. It was why he’d been born—to maintain the greater good, to choose a young wizard every millennium to die. To train them, to grow and shape their magic into the perfect vessel, then kill them like a sacrificial lamb.

To raise children for the slaughter.

Again and again.

Apprentices gained and lost.

It became routine. He had to kill them. He needed to kill his apprentice.

Not this one.

He didn’t have a choice—this was how the balance was maintained.

Not Hisirdoux.

He’d killed his last apprentice around a century ago. That one had been harder—that one had grabbed his hand, with tears in her eyes, and had asked simply, why? She hadn’t begged for her life, hadn’t fought back. Simply asked why. He’d needed a break, needed to take a step back from all of the killing.

Arthur had handed him an apprentice on a silver platter, his sister, Morgana. Considerate, given that the fool kept slaughtering magicians in his war against magic. A waste. So many magical lives lost, but none of them in the right place or the right way to maintain the balance.

But Morgana grew too powerful too fast. She forged her own path, far too quickly. Merlin wasn’t able to shape her magic, and she never listened to him.

So when he stumbled across a spellcaster nearly getting his head sliced off by Arthur’s knights, he stepped in. The boy was appropriately grateful. Said he owed Merlin his life.

Something about that hit a nerve. Something about… never mind. It didn’t matter. He had an appropriate sacrifice, and it was time to begin to mold his magic.

Hisirdoux was one of the worst apprentices Merlin had ever had. He was clumsy, used magic as a shortcut to everything, and didn’t follow instructions properly ever.

It was all oddly endearing.

And as he spent more and more time with Hisirdoux (and he had to spend lots of time with him, had to oversee most of his training personally instead of assigning a book to read, because the boy would not learn the spell right if he just read it out of a book, by the seven rings, Merlin was starting to think he was doing it on purpose) he started to… grow fond of him. He found himself wondering if he could skip the sacrifice this time.

But that was ridiculous. He couldn’t—even if he did, Hisirdoux wouldn’t live long enough for it to matter, because the Order would note the lack in the balance, the titans would awaken, and they would all be destroyed.

Maybe he could find a replacement?

What was he thinking?! He’d never taken more than one apprentice at a time, what if one of them asked what had happened to the other? He couldn’t risk Hisirdoux becoming friends with some other apprentice and then trying to prevent their death!

He still found some girl spellcaster anyway, rescued her from Arthur’s knights. She headbutted him in the face and ran away as thanks. So that plan went out the window.

He had time, he had plenty of time, he had 900 years to find a replacement. Or find a way to stop growing so blasted attached to this oaf of an apprentice who broke everything he touched and would likely break his old heart as well.

In the past, Merlin had always managed to find some flaw with his apprentices, one that he exaggerated in his mind until he could pretend it wasn’t such a horrible thing to kill them.

Hisirdoux’s only flaw appeared to be that he cared a little too much. His sweet, trusting apprentice that looked up to him. That and he was clumsy. Merlin could work with that.

So he blew his apprentice’s clumsiness out of proportion. He scolded him every time he dropped something, expressed exasperation that he couldn’t do anything right.

Part of him hoped Hisirdoux would get fed up with it all and run away, where Merlin could never find him again.

But of course he didn’t. No. Of course not. Hisirdoux stayed, no matter how many times Merlin yelled at him, always with that same quiet determination, always sticking with him no matter how hard it got.

He was so determined to become a master wizard, to get his wizard’s staff. Merlin almost wanted to give him one, wanted him to live long enough to become a master wizard.

Morgana was right.

He was an old fool.

And then, one day, he found his apprentice locked in a wardrobe, under a sleeping spell.

Even though he’d just seen his apprentice a few moments ago.

Wonderful.

He confronted the other Hisirdoux, and found out that he was from the future.

900 years to be exact.

Right around when it would be time for the sacrifice.

According to this other Hisirdoux, the Order had attacked them.

So he hadn’t managed to kill Hisirdoux. Hadn’t even tried, based on the way his apprentice treated him.

It was… relieving to hear. Far too relieving, he told himself, considering that it heralded the end times.

When this future Hisirdoux kept arguing, kept pressing him, he shouted that he wouldn’t lose another apprentice. He’d been talking about Morgana, but he realized he couldn’t lose Hisirdoux. He couldn’t kill him, couldn’t kill a single other apprentice, and especially not Hisirdoux.

But… Hisirdoux hadn’t come alone. He’d brought along a young sorceress.

The wheels started turning in Merlin’s mind. He watched as Hisirdoux began to train the girl. As if he knew what a master wizard taking on an apprentice meant—as if he knew what came at the end.

But still.

Still the gears in Merlin’s head clicked quietly, formulating a new plan. The timing would be tricky, there would be such a small window. It wasn’t worth the risk, he shouldn’t go through with it.

But then, timing things was exactly his forte.

Hisirdoux would get his staff. He would be a master wizard.

With all that it entailed.

Still, when Merlin gave him the staff, he didn’t tell him the price of being a master wizard.

He didn’t tell his apprentice his original fate, the fate he was now changing. No, that was a job for himself in 900 years.

They sealed away Morgana, and the gears once again began turning.

Wait 900 years.

Bring the frozen Morgana to the Primal Heartstone.

Free her.

Perform the ceremony.

The magic might not be perfect, since he never had trained her very well, but it would do.

Hisirdoux didn’t ever need to know. He could keep his apprentice, and he didn’t have to put his burden, his heavy, heavy burden, on his son’s shoulders. He could continue on quietly, continue on loathing himself while Hisirdoux lived a long, happy life with his student.

Yes. This would work.

It didn’t work.

Things went wrong from the moment the trollhunter woke him up. And before he knew what was happening, Morgana was dead, and he was back to square one.

Kill Hisirdoux, or put his own burden on his apprentice’s shoulders?

Merlin watched as his son tumbled down into the time portal. He was running out of options!

Douxie returned moments later with his staff.

Maybe it was too late. Maybe it was all over.

No. No. He’d spent too long protecting this world, keeping the balance, losing his own soul to do so. He couldn’t stop now, not now that he finally had someone else to live for. Someone that he was actually protecting the world for.

Young Claire insisted that they go after the trollhunter. Merlin heaved a deep sigh.

“I know of a way to put off the order,” he admitted, “It will delay them for a millennia—that may give us an opportunity to retrieve Jim Lake Junior.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Hisirdoux said confidently.

Blast.

There was only one way to keep Hisirdoux alive. And there was absolutely no way for him to not find out.

Merlin had the ability to open a portal to one singular place. One of fate’s cruel machinations. And open it he did, taking Hisirdoux and Claire through to a place below trollmarket, to the last remaining Primal Heartstone. He sucked in a deep breath.

“Hisirdoux. You wanted to become a master wizard. I have granted you your staff, but there is one last thing I must teach you.”

Claire balked. “I don’t like this place.”

Before she could react, Merlin bound her to the heartstone with his magic. Hisirdoux yelped.

“Master! No! What are you doing?!”

“To keep the balance, to delay the order, a sacrifice must be made. A sacrifice of magic.

“No! You can’t! Not to Claire!”

Merlin could see it. The moment the realization hit him.

“Wait… Were you… planning to kill me?”

Merlin didn’t answer, but he was sure his silence said just as much.

Hisirdoux’s eyes filled with tears, and he gasped like he couldn’t breathe. “This whole time—you were planning on killing me? From the moment you rescued me in the alley—you saved me just so you could kill me later?!”

Merlin created a knife with his magic and held it hilt out towards his son. “Hisirdoux, it is the only way to keep the balance! Master must kill the apprentice—you said you wanted to be a master wizard, well, this is what it entails!”

Hisirdoux pushed the knife away, standing in front of Claire, his arms out. “Then do it. Kill me, like you originally planned. Because I won’t let you harm Claire.”

“Douxie, no!” Claire yelled. Her eyes sparked with magic, but the place was designed for the slaughter of wizards. Merlin’s magic held her.

Hisirdoux’s shoulders were trembling, but he managed a smile. “It’s okay, Claire. This way you can save Jim.”

Merlin’s own hand was shaking on the knife. “Hisirdoux, move! I don’t want to kill you! If you won’t kill Miss Nunez, then I’m afraid I will have to, but I will not lose you!”

“No! If you want to kill someone, if you really think that it’s necessary to save the world… I’m not going to let it be my friends. The only reason I’m alive today is because you planned to kill me. I’m not supposed to be here—my life is forfeit anyway. So do it. Let Claire live.”

Merlin raised the knife, his whole body shaking so hard he thought he might stab himself. Hisirdoux squeezed his eyes shut.

Merlin’s arm fell. “I can’t,” he whispered, so quietly he could barely hear himself.

His son turned his face away, tears leaking out of the corners of his closed eyes. “What are you waiting for? Just do it!”

Merlin hurled the knife down to the ground with a clang. “I CAN’T!” he shouted. He released the magic holding Claire. “Kill me instead,” he told Hisirdoux, collapsing to his knees in front of the heartstone, “I cannot kill you, and you will not kill Claire. So kill me instead.”

“What? No! We’ll find another way!”

“I might kill him,” Claire offered.

Merlin transferred the discarded knife to Hisirdoux’s hands with a spell. “Do it. I’ve killed so many apprentices. I cannot continue doing this—please. Avenge them. It is only fitting for me to die at the hands of my own apprentice, after I killed so many. Kill me, stave off the Order, save the trollhunter. You’ll have a millennium to find your other way—I could have looked for another way, should have looked for another way all this time. But I didn’t. That is my failing.”

Hisirdoux dismissed the knife in a puff of blue smoke, offering Merlin a hand up. “No. No more deaths, no more sacrificing wizards to this. We’re finding another way. We’ll save Jim. We’ll fight the Order. But I’m not going to continue this cycle.”

“Is every life so precious to you?” Merlin mumbled, “Even a life as decrepit and horrendous as my own?”

“Every life. We just lost Jim—I’m not losing anyone else. Not like this.” Hisirdoux pulled Merlin up to his feet. “You want to make up for what you did to your other apprentices so badly? You won’t do it by dying. You have to live, and repair the mistakes you made. You can accomplish good things, I know it, but you can’t do that if you die here.”

Merlin felt his eyes grow suspiciously wet. “What could I possibly accomplish that would be greater than saving you?”

His son’s eyes teared up, but he brushed them away and nodded to the still-open portal. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

[bearstarseraphffxi]

Subtext and Connotations

“Stupid kid…” Piccolo said to himself. He looked at the small human — no not human, not completely anyway — who had fallen asleep and casually collapsed onto him without a care in the world.

A world that had just gotten immeasurably bigger ten months ago.

Piccolo did not know how to react at first. This kid was a first for many things. He stayed still hoping he’d fall off.

But no… The son of his greatest enemy had just leaned forward and was now draped over one of his legs.

Piccolo sighed. He looked up at the moonless night sky. He absentmindedly wondered which pinprick of light was the fault of what he was about to do. What he had been stewing over for four months now, making him seriously analyze his birth and what could have gone wrong with the transfer. He was Demon King Piccolo, damn it…

Piccolo looked over to the west and sneered. He could practically hear Kami snickering in his head.

Piccolo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He put his large hand on the boy’s head. “Sebnek yemtaw himefinnew.”

Gohan moaned and twitched.

Piccolo jerked his hand away, but Gohan simply moved his arm and somehow ended up even more over his leg before he went still again.

Piccolo sighed in relief.

~~***~~

“Hey, Mr. Piccolo?” Gohan asked, adjusting his pants from the morning bush and small ki-blasted hole visit.

“What?” he said annoyed.

Piccolo stood as he always did, his back to him, but Gohan did not mind. That was just Mr. Piccolo.

When his mother was mad at his father, she would turn her back and talk in that tone when he would win the argument, then reword what he had said to make it look like she got exactly what she wanted all along. He did not know what he was “winning”, but Mr. Piccolo was being a lot nicer to him recently when he wasn’t beating him into a pulp.

“What does Seb nek yem taw—”

Piccolo partially spun around. “What?! You were awake?!”

Gohan stuttered, “I… you always randomly attack me. But you were gentle, so I went back to sleep.”

Piccolo regained his composure, crossed his arms, and towered over the boy. Any other child would be terrified, but this one just smiled back at him.

Piccolo sighed in annoyed defeat. There was no scaring this one. “I called you a silly boy last night in my language, that was all.”

“What part of it means silly?”

“Himefinnew. It is a single word that means a silly child.”

“You can call me Himefinnew any time you want, Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan said grinning, with what few teeth were left.”

Piccolo reached his hand out and grabbed Gohan’s head, then gently spun him around. “Let’s just keep it Finnew for short, got it?”

“Yes, sir! Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan said happily.

Piccolo suddenly punted the screaming boy high into the air. “Never turn your back on the enemy!” Piccolo shouted, jumping after him to start the day’s training.

~~***~~

Three months later…

“Hey guys!” Bulma shouted, holding her phone in one hand and waving with the other, “Dad says he’ll be here in about twenty minutes with the two cargo planes to take us to my place!”

“Does it really take this long to traverse your own planet?!” Vegeta snapped. “This planet is puny judging by its gravity!”

Bulma put her hands on her hips. “Oh, stop complaining, homeboy. It hasn’t even been an hour yet.”

“An hour?!”

Everyone glanced at the arguing couple before returning to their own conversations.

Piccolo glared ominously as Gohan was speaking with Dende and three young adults. They were laughing at each other’s bad accents while speaking each other’s languages. “He” knew that the three couldn’t speak properly and that the laughter was not genuine. “He” knew ‘teenagers’ when he saw them, the old word suddenly sounding like he heard it for the first time, even though it was spoken with “his” own mind’s singular voice.

It had only been a few hours and these sensations were getting old fast.

“(Hey there),” a Namekian came up to him awkwardly in their native tongue. “(How are you doing, after… everything)?”

Piccolo sighed. “(I)”, he stressed, “(am fine… Lumache. Really. Go comfort the others who are taking Guru’s death badly.)”

Lumache smiled relieved, but his face quickly changed to confusion. “(Are you sure? You’re speaking with a bit of a lisp.)”

Piccolo smirked. (It’s the accent here on Earth. I doubt ‘Kami’ will be coming down from his ‘high horse’ to meet any of you. But this is how we speak here.)”

Lumache tilted his head concerned. “(Is this ‘Kami’ another aboriginal like the pet?)”

“(Gohan is no pet)”, Piccolo said, barely containing his rage. “(And ‘Kami’ is…)” he paused. “(… the name of my egglayer’s hatchmate.)”

Lumanche raise his finger, “(But… ‘Kami’ is not a Namekian name.)”

“(I know, but his name is Kami. So get used to it.)”

Lumache bent his raised finger. “(And he was also called a… ah…)” he hesitated looking for the right words.

Piccolo smirked. “No, his name was Namekian and I will be using it going forward. That was the deal.”

Lumache sighed relieved with a thankful grin across his face, “(Oh, that goodness. I was worried, dear brother.)”

Piccolo was feeling both a little bad but also waiting in great anticipation to laugh at his reaction when the conversation with the teenagers got loud. He turned his full attention back to Gohan and Dende.

Piccolo uncrossed his arms, then bent his elbow as he balled his fist.

~~***~~

Moments earlier…

The teenager in the middle of the trio was making funny noises to the laughing of his two companions and the giggling of Dende.

Gohan, however, was being encouraging. “You’re getting close. Just find a soft spot near the top of your throat to click the area just behind the tip of your tongue against it.”

The teenager threw his hands up, and spouted what Gohan knew to be curses. “(This is bleep-ing ridiculous!)” he continued.

“(Don’t feel bad,)” Gohan said. “(I still can’t get *guttural sound with a secondary high pitch right afterwards* right. ‘Mr. Piccolo’ said he knows of a few ‘human’ languages with the sounds happening at the same time and that after the fighting we could look into ‘throat singing’ together.)”

The one on the teenager’s right chuckled. “(Yeah, and I’m sure this ‘Piccolo’ has been a big help since you speak with such a bad lisp.)”

“(He doesn’t have a lisp,)” Dende corrected. “(It’s just the accent of the people here. I’m told everyone speaks that way.)”

“(Dende,)” the one to the left shook his head. “(And the elders always say you were the smart one. Here you are believing everything a piccolo says.)”

“Dende,” Gohan whispered in English, “is there a word that’s also said as piccolo and not just a person’s name?”

Dended had a look of shock on his face. “You don’t—”

“(Dende, don’t bother,)” the teenager in the middle said. “(There’s no point learning this stuff.)”

“After everything that just happened, how can you say that?!” Dende said loudly, and in English.

The entire congregation went silent and turned to look at them.

As Dende started to whimper and Gohan wrapped his arms around him, the three knew they all looked bad.

“(Since you can’t say my name right,)” Gohan offered an olive branch, “(My teacher, ‘Mr. Piccolo’, calls me something when I’m being stupid. ‘Nickname’ doesn’t have a better translation than that.)”

Unknown to the youths, everyone’s sight was turned to the sudden fighting stance of the person all the Namekians but Dende knew only as Nail’s new Keeper.

“(Ok, ‘Hohan’, What’s this ‘Nickname’?)”

“(Himefinnew. He shortened it Finnew.)”

You could hear a pin drop.

~~***~~

Vegeta knew something was wrong instantly as his eyes scanned the clearing. This type of shock, disbelief, and the building rage so pungent it was tasteable on his tongue, this only came with something unforgivable. Vegeta enjoyed getting his prey to react like this. The resulting stupidity was entertainment on boring missions. Killing and eating children usually did the trick. Nappa didn’t even bother with the killing part first.

Vegeta smirked.

This wait just got a lot less boring.

~~***~~

“Gohan! Gohan, don’t say something like that!” Dende grabbed his armor and shook him. “Apologize!”

“What? Is… Is it actually a curse word?” Gohan said horrified as the possibility dawned on him. “Mr. Piccolo said it meant ‘silly child’.”

“Silly child?!” Dende looked over at Piccolo. “Has the meaning changed here?! Don’t you know what it means?!”

Suddenly, an adult came over and grabbed Gohan’s arm. He tried to bite his nails into his flesh, but they bent backwards instead.

Gohan barely had time to plant his feet when the man went suddenly flying through several trees.

Piccolo retracted his arm from the long punch and stormed over. “(Next person who touches that child joins Schnecke pulling splinters out of his tonsils!)”

“(How…)” “(Can we even do that?)” “(Did he just… extend his arm?)” were among the murmurs Gohan could make out. He also spotted several Namekians put their hands over their mouths and looked away, or even bending over at the waist.

Dende tugged on Piccolo’s pants leg. “How did you do that?” he whispered in English.

“(Don’t you dare teach something that barbaric and obscene to the hatchlings! You shame your role as a holy keeper to Na, eh?)” the Namekian paused. “(What even is your name, brother?!)”

“(He’s no brother! Brothers do not harm brothers! He attacked Schnecke!)”

“Why do they keep calling Mr. Piccolo ‘brother’?” Gohan whispered to Dende. “He’s from Earth? So was his father and Kami? They don’t have siblings.”

“Sib-lin?” Dende said confused. “I don’t know that word.”

Piccolo stood proudly, “(My name is Piccolo! Piccolo ‘Daimao’ the Second!” He slowly turned his head glaring into as many eyes as possible, “Heir to my dead egg layer, King Piccolo ‘Daimao’!)”

A pin drop could be heard again as Gohan looked around. All the Namekians had looks of horror on their faces. He kicked himself for being surprised.

“Gohan, what does ‘Daimao’ mean?” Dende whispered in English.

Gohan jerked his head. “Wha? You don’t? Then wha?” he stuttered. He began glancing around anxiously.

“Gohan what’s wr—”

Suddenly a Namekian fell to his knees screaming in anguish. “(Who names a child that?!)”

Piccolo stomped over screaming something so fast all Gohan could make out was Piccolo repeating his name over and over again, but judging by the adults scrambling to cover the children’s ears, he wasn’t old enough to learn a good portion of it.

Piccolo grabbed the Namekian by his collar and pulled him up. “(And if any of you touch Hime again…)” Piccolo extended his nails into long daggers, “(I’ll slice you apart so bad you can’t regenerate.)” He then shoved the man back on the ground and retracted his claws. “Hime!” he said walking swiftly over to Gohan. Piccolo put his hand on Gohan's head, gently turning and shoving him. “We’re leaving. Come on, boy,” he said in English.

Gohan stumbled briefly but quickly walked in step with him into the trees.

~~***~~

Vegeta was disappointed that the show seemed to be over after those two had vanished into the woods, but their energy seemed to still be close by. Suddenly Dende broke the awkward silence by running after them. The others began to shout before the old one the dead Namekian had placed hands on shouted something that made the others stop before he walked after Dende.

Vegeta turned to stalk them when he looked at the Earth woman who had turned at the exact same moment.

They looked at each other surprised before the woman gave an oddly devious smile, took two steps ahead then turned and pointed at him before repeatedly bending that finger. Vegeta took the strange gesture as an invitation to follow and the two disappeared unnoticed.

~~***~~

“Mr. Piccolo, what was that about? What happened there? Why was everyone mad at me? What did—”

“Not now, Gohan. They can still hear us.”

Gohan looked behind them.

“My ears are not for show,” Piccolo answered his thoughts.

Suddenly Piccolo looked behind them as well.

Soon Gohan heard it too.

“Wait! … Gohan, wait!” was heard softly in the distance.

Then came the rapid footsteps.

Dende burst through the trees stopping in front of them. He placed his hands on his knees panting. “Wait… Wait for me…”

Piccolo sighed. “Fine… you can come too,” he said annoyed. He began walking briskly again. “Hurry.”

“Yes,” Gohan quickly got in step.

Dende jogged out of breath behind them.

~~***~~

Piccolo eventually stopped and leaned against a tree. “Ok, this is far enough,” he sighed. He sat on the ground.

“Mr. Piccolo, what happened? Why was everyone mad at me?”

Piccolo sighed. “Gohan… from what I taught you about my language, break down Himefinnew into its parts.”

“Um…” he thought, “Finnew is the third person singular to finir, which means to find something funny, so… Hime is the part that means boy. I find the boy funny, or Silly boy like you first said.”

“Dende, quiet,” Piccolo said cutting him off. He looked back at Gohan. “Now Gohan, tell me the difference between the words red and crimson.”

Gohan paused. “They are both two words that mean the same color?”

“Yes, but there is a difference. Do you know why the word red is almost always used while crimson is not?”

Gohan shook his head.

“Crimson specifically means the color of human blood. To call something crimson is to compare it to blood. Now answer that question.”

“Blood is scary?”

Piccolo smiled, “Exactly.”

“So Hime is a scary version of boy?”

“What?! No!”

“Dende quiet,” Piccolo snapped.

Dende looked down.

Piccolo sighed.

“Gohan, what I’m trying to say is that many words have a hidden meaning. Like crimson is scary. Hime is… I… it…” Piccolo’s face and ears tinged purple. He covered his face with one of his hands. “Gah… what I’m trying to say is… Gohan…

“So you named the child but never told him? Were you ever going to tell him?”

“Elder Moori!” Dende said as the old Namekian walked out of the trees.

Piccolo shot up as his color deepened. “This is a private conversation!”

Moori gave a knowing smile to the adult blushing like a child being caught being naughty. He looked at Gohan. “So tell me Himefinnew, did Piccolo place his hands on your head and say ‘Sebnek yemtaw’ when he named you, or…”

Gohan started nodding before he finished.

“I see…” He looked at Piccolo, “I don’t know how significant it is with our kin on Earth, but for Namekians the naming ceremony is an important step in a child’s life. We do not name at hatching but let the child grow until it becomes apparent what his name is, like Dende here,” he looked at him, “Dende literally means ‘He writes in stone’. We named him that because he can memorize and repeat anything he hears perfectly.”

“And Nail means humility,” Dende said looking up at Piccolo.

Moori snickered, “Nail was not happy when he was named that by Guru. You don’t know this Dende, but Nail was actually very arrogant as a youth. He was sent to live Guru not because he was virtuous, but because he was a delinquent.”

Dende’s jaw dropped.

Moori looked at Piccolo, “Nail never lost that fire despite him learning to outwardly behave. I was greatly worried for you, but after everything that just happened…” he walked over and put his hand on piccolo’s shoulder. “I know you two will make a fine man once everything settles down in a few hours. Only a man with the pride in his name like that could embrace him fully and not be ashamed of his lesser instincts,” then he smiled knowingly, “Isn’t that right ‘Daimao’?”

“You know what that means, elder?” Dende asked.

Moori took his hand off Piccolo’s shoulder and looked down at him, “Yes I do. It’s a word that means the unpleasant part of all of us, like arrogance,” he glanced at Piccolo, “Or anger.” He looked back down, “While ‘Kami’ is the nice things about us, like friendship and loyalty.”

“But they are both words like crimson, right?” Dende asked.

He nodded. “Yes, they both have a special connotation that makes them very rare. Even the adults don’t know those words.” Moori looked down at his hands. “Even I… did not know those words until a little while ago.”

Dende nodded understanding.

Moori extended his hand. “Come with me, Dende. Let the ‘titim’ and ‘hime’ talk alone.” Then he turned in a random direction. “That goes for you two as well!”

“What?! How did you know we were here?!”

“You stupid bitch! Don’t you know how to keep your stupid mouth shut!”

“I am not a stupid bitch, you—”

Piccolo grumbled putting his hand over his face again.

Moori smiled, “I’m sure you’ll be able to relearn your awareness. Nail was always too easy to sneak up on.” He took a step then stopped, “It may not be my place to say, Daimao, but maybe losing some of your suspiciousness would be a good thing. It can be lonely as a piccolo no matter where your home is.”

He took Dende’s hand and left.

Piccolo sighed as the volume of the argument coming from the trees rose up several notches.

“So… we’ll be talking later, right?” Gohan asked, looking in the direction of the screaming.

Piccolo chuckled, “Yeah… … Actually, Gohan,” he knelt and whispered in his ear.

~~***~~

10 minutes later at the clearing, a large box-shaped plane touched down.

Dr. Brief hopped out.

“Daddy!” Bulma ran over.

“There’s my baby girl!” They hugged. “Phew. Oh boy, I’ll call your mother and make sure you have a nice bubble bath waiting with lavender candles.”

“Thanks Dad.”

“Hey! I thought you said two transports! That’s only one!” Vegeta shouted pointing.

Dr. Brief pulled out what looked like a grenade from his pocket and threw it a good distance away. Suddenly an identical craft appeared in a puff of smoke.

Vegeta gritted his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping.

Bulma threw open the passenger side door, “Come on, Homeboy! Come ride in the cockpit with me!”

Vegeta stiffened and clinched his fists. “As if I’d spend another second listening to your prattle!”

Then sit in the back with the friends of the people you killed for three hours, you jerk!”

“I’ll ride with the old man!” he looked at Dr. Brief to see him already talking with Dende.

“Sorry, sonny! The kid’s beat you to it!”

Vegeta bristled. “Fine!” he stormed over and shoved her out of the way. He climbed in and slammed the door.

“Jerk,” she said, wiping the grass off her. Bulma turned to the group as her father dropped the cargo ramp on his plane. “Ok everyone! Load up so we can finally get out of the bugs!”

Piccolo helped everyone find a seat, the elders and children bucketed on the benches while the teenagers and adults sat on the floor. Gohan did the same for the other plane.

Gohan came around to Bulma’s window.

She rolled it down.

“Everyone’s in over here. I'm going to ride with Mr. Piccolo in the other plane.”

“Ok, Gohan.” Bulma rolled up the window.

On the other side, Piccolo was talking to Dr. Brief.

“Everyone is ready. I’ll be with Gohan in the other plane.”

“Okey Dokey. See you when we land,” Dr. Brief smiled.

The Briefs watched Gohan and Piccolo walk over and disappear behind the other plane in their side mirrors. After a brief rock that felt like someone climbing in, the two rear doors closed.

As the two planes flew away, Piccolo and Gohan floated in the air watching them, having flown up after rocking the plane to avoid being seen on the ground after takeoff.

Gohan had his hands over his mouth stifling a giggle.

Piccolo grinned. “Deceit is fun, isn’t it Gohan?”

“Yes, don’t tell Mom I said so.”

“Secret’s safe with me.”

The two dropped their arms and sighed at the same time. Then they looked at each other.

Piccolo dropped to the ground first, Gohan landing moments later.

“Ok… We’re were we…” Piccolo said slowly.

“Actually, Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan said looking up.

Piccolo looked down.

“Could you tell me what you were saying when you were screaming your name? Besides the bad words, I mean. You spoke too fast. I… got the part where you threatened to chop him up, though.”

Piccolo sat down, “This… is going to be… just about as hard to explain as Hime is actually…”

Gohan looked down, “Oh…”

“Sit down, Gohan.”

Gohan sat down mimicking Piccolo’s legs position.

He halfheartedly smiled, then sighed. “Gohan… ‘Piccolo’ has a very specific meaning, and in fact wasn’t even a name until Kami called out, ‘I banish all that is abhorrent! Piccolo!” when they cleaved. Did you know how they were born?”

“A person ripped in two and became all good and all bad. But you’re not all bad, Mr. Piccolo.”

“Gohan, the ability to care for a child is a biological function. It has nothing to do with good or bad. My father felt every one of my brother’s die by your father’s hands just as much as Guru felt Frieza rip their lives away one by one.”

Gohan gasped softly.

“You didn’t know about my brother’s, did you?”

Gohan shook his head.

“Gohan. You know how babies are made, right?”

“A mommy and daddy each take half a small piece of themselves that can’t live alone, stick them together to make a new person then the mommy either grows them in their tummy or lays an egg and they grow in there until they hatch, right?”

“That is how things work on Earth,” he nodded. “But that does not work for Namekian’s like me.” He adjusted his position. “We don’t have both mommies and daddies. There is only one kind. We take a whole piece of ourselves, already alive, and place in an egg to grow again. That is why we feel the deaths of our children, because literally a piece of us has died.”

“What does this have to do with your name?”

“Because ‘piccolo’ means anything that is not part of us. Born from us. Is. Us. But like red and crimson, Piccolo is saved for special things, like an alien planet and the people who lived there. You are a piccolo, even if people won’t say it to your face.”

Gohan looked down, “And anything piccolo is abhorrent, right?”

Piccolo put his hand on Gohan’s head. “Not everything.”

“What…” Gohan started sniffling, “What did you say?”

“I was born on an alien world. I was raised as an alien. I am an alien. There are many other words I could have used to convey that, but using my name was just me beating it into their thick skulls without using my actual fists.”

“Being able to defeat your opponent without ever needing to touch them is just as big a part of war as actually fighting hand to hand combat.”

“Correct. If you weren’t such a goofball, there would probably be two Dende’s right now.”

Gohan gave a quick few laughs, then when quiet.

Piccolo waited silently for him to speak.

He waited a very long time.

“Mr. Piccolo…” Gohan finally started, but never finished his thought.

“Say what you are thinking Gohan,” Piccolo ordered, “Nothing you can say will ever make me mad. I have a thick skin.”

“Do… Do I… Do I have two grandfathers now…” he glanced up at his face, “that are kings?”

Piccolo smiled, showing his teeth.

Gohan gasped. Piccolo swore his eyes were sparkling.

Piccolo sighed and closed his eyes. He raised his finger. “One time. This one ti— ACK!”

Gohan flung his arms around Piccolo’s neck and knocked him flat on his back.

“Oofff,” he said, having the wind knocked out of him.

“Titim. Titim.” Gohan kept repeating, now crying in his ear.

Piccolo sighed and looked up at the clouds. He then suddenly raised his arms and gave two middle fingers to the sky.

Even thirty miles below, he could hear the laughing.

[fallenrepublick]

How would Sunder react to his s/o knowing how to do magic. Maybe she realized he wouldn’t be comfortable after living near the night sisters so she hides her powers but he walks in when she’s doing something, like making a wilted house plant grow? 😋 please answer this if you have time? It’s been on my mind all day 😂

Ahh yes, now this one would be a tricky situation

His instincts when he sees magic are quite negative, that much is certain. The moment he sees it, no matter what you may be doing, he stumbles backwards, nearly tripping over himself as he collects enough strength to run.

It's the conflict that's the worst of it. You... a witch, practising magic... just like they did... just like they had done to him. You had tricked him, then? Lured him into a false sense of security, wanted to hurt him just the same way, except only after you'd made him believe he was safe. That must be it, that has to be it. He knew it, he knew there was no one who'd want him other than a witch, no one who'd take him from the village. It was just like what he'd been told.

He locks himself away in a spare room for days. You sit outside the door, speaking through it with your head pressed to the cold metal, nearly crying between apologies, promising that you never wanted him hurt, that you would have told him when you believed he was ready to hear it. And you promise that what you'd said was never a lie, that you want him safe, that you love him.

He comes out for neither food, nor water, and barely rests. He's used to such things, anyhow. He wants to be angry, to take this opportunity and leave, return home and perhaps die in glory the way he was meant to. Yet... he can't help but stay back, can't stop himself from missing your voice every time you leave the space outside the room. Perhaps you did lie to him, maybe you did want him for the same reasons as the sisters. But he turns to the space around him, the shelter, the soft comfort and warm furniture that he would never have been given on Dathomir. He thinks, then, that if that were the price he would pay for this sort of life... it is worth paying.

When he leaves the room, you are not there. Instead, he finds you in the very place he had before, seated at a table in front of a window, beside a small pot, the weakening plant inside drooping down just as much as you do. And when he says your name, you whip around, standing quickly, hands pressed in tight fists to your chest, your face still slightly puffy and damp.

"Sunder..." you say softly, looking at how rigidly he stands, dodging your eyes.

"You're a witch..." he says, emotion all but unreadable. You shake, just a bit. He would have gone on to convey his wish to stay, that he would accept whatever true intentions you carry, if only as payment for the life you'd given him. But you beat him to it.

"I-I won't do it anymore, I swear," you say, as if you have to beg him to stay. "I-I was, I was just... I didn't want that flower to die, so... it was just- I figured a small spell wouldn't be too much harm, but- I know it scares you, I wasn't trying- I mean, I'm not like that, I..."

His attention is no longer on you. Instead, he looks behind, your work left undisturbed on the desk, his thoughts surrounding that one small bit of life.

"You were... trying to save that...?" he asks, a connection forming in his mind.

You nod quickly. "I got it from someone who hadn't properly cared for it... Just a little guidance in the right direction... that's all it really needed..."

And he asks something that he never would have believed he would be able to ask. "Could you... show me?"

With wide eyes, you nod again, and sit back at you chair, sliding the small pot in front of you. You want to say something, want to fill the silence, but you decide against it. Instead, you begin your work, sending small points of light from your fingertips to the base of the pot, where they would then find they roots. And you make your way up, planting them into the surface of the soil, into the stem, and finally the flower, which you gently cup in your hands and lead upwards, petals reviving from shriveled ghosts to healthy ovals.

There's a beauty in it, he finds as he watches you work. Your hands never grow harsh, never even consider harming the flower as you heal it, simply allowing it to rise as you lead it to its full potential. The fear that lies in his hearts, though still present, seems irrelevant, disconnected from what he's seen. It's as if the magic is not the same at all, as if there's a wall separating you from what he's felt.

And he touches your hand, for the first time in days, and simply says, "Thank you."

[one-boring-person]

A poly lost boys x reader who gets bullied in school. But hear me out! So she gets bullied but one day they(the bullies) pour this sort of 'bleach' over her and it gets into her eyes and her hair color changed. And so she avoids the boys as much as possible so they show up to her house and see her how would they react and deal with the bullies?

(BTW I love the story you did earlier thank you for that❤️😘😊🙏)

I'm really glad you liked it! Thanks for requesting again and I'm sorry this took so long to do! I hope you enjoy it😊💛💛

No "Buts".

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: swearing, bullying, physical harm

Masterlist

I rub at my eyes again, the stinging sensation still pestering me even after a good four hours of doing my best to be rid of it. By now, the scleras are no longer white, the usually pale expanses crosshatched by tiny crimson blood vessels, consequently making them appear bloodshot, though I'm starting to worry if it's something more serious - my vision has been slightly blurred since the incidence. Sighing, I climb out of bed and go to leave the room, intending to go wash them out yet again, hoping it will do something.

As I leave the room, I become much more aware of the chemical stench that hangs over me like a persistent cloud, the smell having soaked into my skin in the time it took for me to wash the stuff out properly. It acts as a constant reminder of the reason for my misery now, the strange liquid having stained my skin and hair badly, leaving mottled marks everywhere. Thankfully, the substance was not poisonous, or toxic in any way, but it still stung like hell, and the cruel use of it has left me in a bad place. The look on their faces as they stood and mocked me flashes, unbidden, to mind, my jaw clenching at the memory of my bullies thoroughly enjoying themselves at my expense. One minute, I had been walking through the Boardwalk, which was mostly empty due to it being prime work hours, enjoying my break as I simply looked out to sea, only to find myself doused in a stinging liquid the next, malicious laughter and snide comments chasing me the entire way home. It was horrible.

Shaking my head, I step into the bathroom and go to the sink, switching on the light as I finally realise just how dark it's gotten outside. Dread fills me at this, knowing that the boys will soon be expecting me on the Boardwalk. I can't go there, not after what's happened. Not looking like this.

I bend over the sink and turn on the faucet, cupping my hands underneath the steady stream of water for a moment before throwing it into my face, trying to focus it on my painful eyes. Wincing at the slight discomfort, I repeat this multiple times, blinking rapidly to properly cleanse them, though there has been no change when I pull away and dry my face. Instead, the skin around my eyes has become irritated and has turned a deep shade of angry red, giving me the appearance of someone who has spent the last day crying profusely. Chuckling bitterly at the irony of this thought, I turn off the faucet and leave the bathroom, going downstairs to get something to eat.

Upon entering the kitchen, I look up and check the clock on the wall: near enough eight O'clock. They'll be wondering where I am. Or maybe they aren't. Maybe they don't care. Cursing my mentality, I grab some snacks and sit on the counter, eating them absentmindedly as I rub at my marked arms, death in my fingers over the harsh discoloring,  grimacing at the ugly sight of it.

 I'm interrupted by the sound of three sharp raps on the front door. My head snaps up, swallowing the dry mouthful anxiously as I realise just who it will be, my muscles tensing as I try to remember if I locked the door or not. Coming up blank, I hesitantly place the snacks down on the counter and hop down, edging into the hallway, where I stand for a minute and stare at the door. Abruptly, I take my keys from the rack on the wall and step forwards, doing my best to keep quiet as I insert the correct one into the lock and turn it, sealing myself in as I draw the chain across, too. Having done this, I scramble straight upstairs, running to my bedroom, where I throw myself onto the bed and huddle into the covers. 

Burying my head into the duvet, I wait in silence, breathing hard, hoping to hell they don't try to come in another way, though, knowing them, they most likely will. 

It takes them a few minutes, but eventually I hear the tell tale tapping on the window, the same three knocks from before echoing slightly around the room. I try to ignore it, hiding myself further into the bed, only to look up sharply when I hear the glass pane slide up in its frame. A tight breath escapes me as I take in the sight of the four vampires climbing into my room, folding themselves through the small confines of the window frame. Freezing, I clench my jaw, eyes wide as they each straighten and regard me, their concern palpable on their faces, though it takes them a moment to speak.

"You really should learn to lock your window, (Y/n). Who knows what will come in." David comments to break the silence, gesturing to the frame, which he has now closed again, the latch drawn to keep it secure.

Still nervous, I simply swallow and let out a small noise of agreement, avoiding their gazes. Of course, they are quick to notice my change of attitude.

"What's wrong? And what's that chemical smell?" Dwayne questions me softly, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"N-nothing." I mutter, looking down at my lap to hide my face, glad that the hood I pulled up an hour before is still in place.

"Come on, (Y/n). We can all see something's wrong." David points out, sitting on my other side as Paul and Marko each at the foot of the bed.

"It's nothing." I try again, only to be cut off by Paul making a sound of disapproval.

"Please talk to us, (Y/n). We care about you." He cajoles me, rubbing at my leg over the blanket.

"Yeah, we wanna help." Marko chips in, smiling at me reassuringly.

I look around at the four vampires, sighing as I return my gaze to my lap.

"They got me on the Boardwalk today." I finally murmur quietly, knowing they will hear me.

"They?" David interjects, frowning slightly.

"The bullies…"

A noise of realisation ripples through them all, a slight growl of anger escaping Paul.

"What did they do? Is it something to do with the smell?" Marko questions, biting his thumb.

Sniffing, I nod, pulling at the sleeves of my hoodie.

"Yeah. They threw a bucket of some chemical over me. I don't know what it was, but…" 

"But?" Dwayne presses gently, rubbing my back.

"But it hurts. And it's done stuff to my skin and hair...I look like an idiot now." I clarify, looking back into my lap as I slowly pull down my hood, revealing my discoloured hair, blotchy skin and bloodshot eyes to the four of them.

Shocked, they can only stare in a mixture of anger and disbelief, looking over my very slightly disfigured features with unreadable expressions. For a moment, we sit in silence, my body slowly tensing as I become self aware of my appearance, my lip pulling between my teeth nervously. A low growl from David is eventually what breaks the tension.

"Oh, they're gonna get it now." He bites out, the others agreeing quickly.

Frowning, I look around at them.

"You don't mean… you're not gonna...are you?" I stammer, eyes wide at the thought.

"They fucking deserve it." Paul snarls from the end of the bed.

"But...you can't just kill them!" I protest, though I know my words are falling on deaf ears.

"You don't need to worry about it. We'll deal with them, and then they'll never bother you again." David promises I, moving so he can lie behind me, pulling my body into his as the others situate themselves around us.

"But-"

"No "buts". They deserve what's coming to them." Dwayne says, the brunette rubbing my arm with his thumb.

"And I am looking forward to making them pay." Marko smirks, grinning mischievously at me.