#shaking my brain* YOU CAN DROP IT NOW ITS BEEN MONTHS! ITS OK!!!!!!!! NO ONE GIVES A SHIT SO I SHOULDN'T EITHER

[brosif40]

I hope every little thing that embarrasses me has a very dies and explodes forever andd never exists again

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Another Warlock?

Leon cries a lot, Merlin is protective, and Arthur has to confront the cruelty of his Kingdom’s justice system.

To say that Gaius was surprised when Sir Leon burst into the Physician’s chambers late one evening, pale and sweaty and shaking, one hand shielding his eyes and one hand supporting himself on the door frame, would be a VAST understatement.

He goes to rush forward, not able to recall a single time he’s ever seen the normally incredibly put together man look so shaken, but the way Leon almost falls back in his effort to keep his distance stops him in his tracks.

His breathing is deep and dangerously fast, but before Gaius can call for help or demand the knight tell him what’s wrong, his voice comes out, rushed and cracking and desperate:

“Merlin?? Gaius, where’s Merlin, I... I need Merlin.”

In his shock, both at Leon’s whole terrified demeanour, and the tears he can now see dripping down the other man’s cheeks, he answers without thinking:

“At this time he’ll be in The King’s chambers. My boy are you sure there’s nothing I can-”

Before the physician can finish, Leon bolts from the room, the door swinging shut behind him as he stumbles his way down the corridor as quickly as he can, thinking of nothing but how much he needs Merlin.

His brain fails to make the connection between “The King’s chambers” and “Arthur”, and the knight sprints through the halls, bruising shoulders and elbows on doorframes as his sight is blurred by tears and a shaking hand.

Gaius considers following to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, but the man is very private, the type to never share his troubles. The physician decides to check in on Arthur’s chambers in a candle mark or so, just to make sure that no one needs any treatment or enforced bedrest; he settles back onto the bench, resuming his previous task with half his mind focused on how terrified Sir Leon had looked, and trying not to worry too much.

~

Arthur was sat at his desk, forehead resting on his hand as he tried to force himself into reading just one more page of the month’s food inventory report. It was boring stuff, but he was King, this had to be done. Uther had never bothered, but Arthur’s head had been filled with ideas on how to better redistribute food since long before he became King, so he never gave up an opportunity to double-check the reports.

Merlin was settled at his dining table across the room, carefully polishing each of Arthur’s many blades. His sword was the first to be done, but Arthur had rather pettily demanded that Merlin also see to the various daggers and knives that The King usually kept hidden around his room, despite the fact that none of the had been used in the three months since Merlin had last cleaned them.

Frankly, Arthur had started to find Merlin’s quiet grumbling a pleasant background noise; he always seemed to be able to concentrate better when in the other man’s presence. Despite Arthur’s boredom and headache, and Merlin’s exhaustion and aching hands, there’s nowhere else either of them would rather be.

The King had just about given up on getting anymore work done; it was late, and he had to give in to the idea that his headache was only going to get worse, so he organised the papers into rough piles on the desk and lent back in his chair, hands folded in his lap as he blinks up at the ceiling. He looks down just in time to make eye contact with Merlin, and he returns the man’s soft smile before he can stop himself.

Merlin raises an eyebrow, almost certainly about to say something scathing about Arthur’s Kingly Mask slipping in the evening, but before he can utter even a word, the main door slams open with a crash, bouncing off the wall loudly.

Arthur stands quickly, tensing when he realises that the sword normally hidden under his desk is currently on the other side of the room with Merlin. The servant already has a dagger expertly held in one of his hands as he moves around the table to see who had burst in, and Arthur makes a mental note to make sure Merlin knows how to use it properly at later date.

The King goes to rush around the desk, but a sharp intake of breath from Merlin as he drops the knife on the table and holds a firm hand out to him, undoubtedly telling him to stay where he is, stops him in his tracks. Arthur trusts Merlin, despite not being able to see whoever it was that had practically broken the door down.

Arthur blinks in surprise when he sees an unarmoured Leon stumble round the corner, hand over his eyes and shaking as he calls Merlin’s name, his voice cracking as tears stream down his pale cheeks. Arthur gulps and goes to move towards him, but finds himself frozen when Leon collapses to his knees, both hands now clamped tightly over his eyes as his sobs become audible. Merlin rushes to him, falling to the floor in front of the knight and taking his wrists in soft hands, not even bothering to look to Arthur as he focuses all of his attention on the distraught man.

“Leon? Leon you need to tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Arthur marvels at the way Merlin’s voice wavers only slightly, though quickly reminds himself that the now fully-fledged physician was used to dealing with panicking patients, it’s just Leon that he’s not used to panicking.

Leon’s breathing is deep and uneven, and Merlin moves one of his hands to the back of the knight’s head as he stutters out a frantic:

“Merlin, I... please- I need help... please make it stop, I don’t- I don’t know how to make it stop, please.”

Merlin frowns, trying to calm his own breathing as he runs his desperate gaze over the knight’s body, trying to figure out what was wrong, but it’s Arthur’s sharp gasp and muttered "what the fuck...” that has him look up.

What he sees makes it decidedly harder to keep calm.

The pillow that Arthur had thrown at him that morning was floating a few feet off the ground, as was a vase of flowers by the (thankfully swung shut) door. The flames in the lit hearth were colourful and jumping, filling with odd shapes and seeming to shiver in time with Leon’s panicked wheezing, and the curtains were shaking in a wind that wasn’t there.

Merlin gulps and curses to himself quietly before looking back down to Leon, grabbing his wrists and trying to pry his hands away from his eyes:

“Leon, I need you to look at me. Everything’s going to be ok, but I need you to look at me right now.”

Arthur is still frozen in place, hand twitching by his hip as he subconsciously reaches for his absent sword. 

Merlin still ignores him, rubbing his thumbs over Leon’s wrists softly as he carefully pulls his hands forward. Leon finally gives in, letting Merlin hold his hands close to his chest, shutting his eyes tightly and struggling to draw breath:

“Open your eyes, Leon. I promise that you're safe, ok? I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you, but I need to see.”

Leon shakes his head slightly and whimpers, and Merlin glances over the knight’s shoulder as a loud pop sounds from the fire. The servant moves one of his hands back to Leon’s hair, stroking slightly as he asks him to open his eyes again, trying to keep his voice soft even in his panic. The older man finally complies, and Merlin clenches his jaw to stop himself from gasping at the gold of Leon’s irises.

Merlin glances behind him briefly, but is grateful to see Arthur’s bewildered gaze focused on the floating pillow rather than Leon, and looks back to him with a soft smile on his face, laying the knight’s hand flat over his chest as he speaks:

“I need you to calm down, ok? Everything’s going to be ok, there’s nothing wrong with you, and I won’t let anyone come anywhere near you. We’ll figure it out, but I need you to take deep breaths ok? Can you manage that?-”

Leon nods slightly, leaning forward and pressing his hand into Merlin’s chest as he pushes his forehead into the servant’s shoulder. His breathing slows slightly, and Merlin is grateful to feel the hitches in his breath grow less erratic:

“-That’s it, just one breath after another, ok? You’re absolutely fine, Leon, I’ll keep you safe, just breathe.”

It takes a few minutes of Merlin’s soft words and quiet encouragement, but he’s grateful to see the fire die down to a normal size, the curtains stilling, and everything that had been floating drop to the floor. He’s relieved when the vase lands softly, knowing that a loud crash at this point would probably just set the shaking knight off again.

Though he definitely tenses at Arthur’s outburst:

“What the fuck?!”

Leon falls back onto his hands, scrambling back and staring in terror over Merlin’s shoulder towards the befuddled King. Arthur recoils slightly at the fear on Leon's face, but before he can react, Merlin jumps up, leaping forward to grab Arthur’s sword from the table and twirling it expertly in his hand as he moves in to a defensive position in front of Leon’s still-cowering form:

“I won’t let you hurt him, Arthur. You'd have to kill me before I let you lay a hand on him.”

Leon stands on shaky legs, desperate to stop Merlin from putting himself in any danger, but his fear stops him from doing anything other than grip the back of the servant’s tunic in shivering hands. Arthur just looks even more confused, his wide-eyed stare moving between the terrified knight and angry servant:

“What are you talking about?? Will one of you please tell me what just happened?!”

Leon sniffles quietly, tugging on Merlin’s shirt lightly, but Merlin just holds a hand out to the side, gesturing for Leon to stay behind him and keep quiet as he strengthens the grip on his sword:

“It would seem, Sire, that Leon was born with a touch of magic, and it’s just made its first appearance. Like I said, You’d have to kill me before I let you hurt him just for existing.”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath and Leon whimpers slightly, but Merlin just squares his shoulders even more and adjusts his grip, glancing to the other weapons on the table. He knows he probably couldn’t take Arthur in a swordfight, but he rapidly comes to the conclusion that he would happily out his own magic if it was the only way to protect his friend.

Arthur holds his hands out placatingly, but doesn’t make any moves towards the table or Merlin and Leon, speaking slowly, despite the clear worry and suspicion in his voice:

“Merlin, you can’t be born with magic. So just explain what’s happening, the truth this time. If he’s been cursed or something, then we’ll fix it, no one’s going to hurt him.”

Merlin snarls slightly. Before, when Arthur’s backwards views and misunderstandings about magic had just affected him, it just made him sad. Now they were putting Leon in danger, doing nothing but making his friend even more scared, he found that they made him angry:

“With all due resect, Arthur, are you really going to trust whatever shit Uther told you about magic?? Has it never occurred to you that any and all information on sorcery in this Godforsaken Kingdom is censored, or just straight up wrong? I’m telling you, it is entirely possible to be born with magic.”

Arthur’s expression morphs to one of anger, and Leon pulls on Merlin’s tunic again, trying to get him to step back. The servant just reaches behind him, squeezing Leon’s wrist briefly and holding his position as Arthur grinds out:

“Magic is evil, Merlin, it corrupts.”

Merlin just rolls his eyes harshly, tightening his grip on the sword once again as he argues:

“Yeah? Well this magic has been inside Leon his entire life. Do you think it possible to be born evil? Do you think Leon was born evil? Do you think he’s been evil all his life and just not known it? Or do you think he suddenly, a few minutes ago when his magic first manifested itself, made the switch from good to evil? Look at him, Arthur,-”

Merlin steps to the side slightly, gesturing vaguely at an almost-hyperventilating, still-crying Leon behind him:

“-he’s fucking terrified because his head has been filled with lies and he thinks one of his closest friends is going to strap him to a pyre just for existing. At which point I feel the need to remind you that if you want to burn Leon, you’re going to have to burn me right alongside him.”

Leon’s teary eyes widen and he tugs on Merlin’s shirt again, his voice quiet and cracking:

“Merlin, no, you can’t-”

Merlin shakes his head, not looking away from the shocked King as he strongly says:

“I can, and I will. I promised you I would keep you safe, and that’s what I intend to do. I think it’s time Arthur learns the truth.”

Arthur is taken aback at Merlin’s protectiveness at first, but quickly bristles at his words, tensing and narrowing his eyes as he says:

“And how would you know all about magic, Merlin, you’ve never seemed to take an interest in it before, never bothered correcting me before.”

Merlin looks at The King like he’s an idiot, eyebrows raised and mouth open, freezing like that for a moment of two before he speaks incredulously:

“Are you serious?? I grew up outside of Camelot, where accurate information about magic is far more readily available. I know a hell of a lot more about sorcery than you, I just don’t talk about it because your head is full of lies and you’re a stubborn prat.”

Arthur takes in a deep breath, his face falling into a worrying mix of confusion and sadness. His eyes dart around slightly and his hands twitch as he thinks, obviously trying to come to some sort of conclusion that makes sense in his head.

He looks up suddenly, freezing once again as he stares at Leon, only just now seeming to notice how terrified he looks. How terrified Leon, the only swordsman Arthur has ever met who can consistently beat him, one of his closest friends and most trust advisors, a man seven years his senior who had always supported him and offered advice... how terrified that man looks. Of Arthur.

Merlin relaxes his posture slightly, lowering the sword as he stares at Arthur with a slight suspicious frown on his face. Leon breaks Arthur’s stare, gaze darting to the weapons on the table before he glances briefly to the door.

Arthur’s face falls even further, looking just a tad horrified that Leon thought Arthur was going to attack him, that Leon though he might have to make a run for it. The King finally looks over to Merlin, his eyes wide and tears gathering as he takes a staggered step back, his voice barely above a whisper:

“How... how was my father so....”

His words trail off and Merlin lowers his sword fully, letting out a gentle huff of air as he raises a mournful eyebrow:

“Wrong?”

Arthur nods, and Merlin takes in a deep breath, sighing as he tries to decide just how truthful to be:

“Magic... magic killed his wife. He ignored the warnings, didn’t consider the consequences, and was blinded by fear and hatred and a need for revenge, a need for someone to blame.”

Leon takes in a surprised breath at the same time as Arthur, and The King takes another step back, leaning tiredly against his desk as he stares at the floor, muttering:

“The apparition of my mother was real, then?”

Merlin shakes his head, taking a step towards him but still keeping his distance, hyper aware of Leon still stood behind him:

“I don’t know whether the apparition was real or fake, but it... it was telling the truth, I think.”

Arthur nods absent-mindedly, frowning at his feet for a few moments, the silence heavy and tense on everyone’s shoulders. Merlin can’t help but feel a spark of hope in his chest; was this it?? Was this when things changed?

The King looks up again, hands clenched tightly and tears still gathering in his eyes as he stares at Merlin:

“Merlin... how many- if people can be born with magic, if it isn’t actually evil, if it just... is, how many... how many innocent people have died, have been hunted, burned?-”

Arthur takes a few steps towards his friends, letting out an incredulous, almost manic laugh as he runs his hands through his hair roughly:

“-How many innocent people have I killed, just for existing?”

Merlin sighs and shakes his head, finally dropping the sword back onto the table and closing the gap between the two of them, putting a strong hand on The King’s shoulder:

“You can’t think like that, Arthur, you were just following orders, you didn’t know any better.”

Arthur meets Merlin’s gaze, rapidly blinking away the tears as he mumbles:

“You managed, Leon evidently managed.”

Merlin frowns again and shakes his head, looking back to Leon in confusion:

“Hmm. I grew up outside of Camelot, remember. Leon however... the magic inside Witches and Warlocks tends to manifest in the teen years. I mean, it can happen earlier or later, but you’re, what? Thirty?”

Leon gives him a weak smile and raises an eyebrow:

“Thirty-five.”

Merlin’s frown just deepens as he looks Leon up and down. The knight drops his smile and gulps, not understanding the problem as Arthur sidesteps the servant:

“Witches and Warlocks?”

Merlin hums absent-mindedly, still staring at Leon:

“People with natural, instinctive magic. Sorcerers and sorceresses are people who study it, they’re taught it from scratch, like you were taught how to use a sword. Witches and Warlocks are born with an innate ability.”

Arthur nods, but finally notices Merlin’s confused stare and Leon’s uneasy frown:

“What is it, Merlin? Is Leon... ok?”

Merlin shakes himself out of his stupor, blinking in surprise and looking between the two concerned men:

“Oh! Yeah, I’m just... why now?? For your first outburst, that was pretty weak, especially considering how freaked out you were, so you obviously don’t have all that much natural magic, so why did it take an extra twenty years to make itself known?”

Leon just shrugs his shoulders slightly but Arthur blinks his eyes in surprise and steps away slightly:

“You really do know a lot about magic, don’t you?”

Merlin nods again, looking just a little embarrassed as he shrugs and runs a hand through his hair before turning back to Leon and pushing him to sit at the table. Merlin sits next to him, twisting in his chair slightly to face the still tense knight, and Arthur sits slowly opposite him, clearly waiting for some sort of explanation or... something. 

Merlin continues to stare at Leon, evidently trying to figure something out, and he takes a deep breath before slowly mumbling:

“Something must’ve changed.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely for Merlin to continue:

“I mean... magic has strict rules, even seemingly random instinctive magic works in specific ways. There has to be a reason that yours has suddenly decided to come out and play. So... what changed? Why did your magic stop hiding?”

Leon scoffs slightly and sits back in his chair, all of a sudden realising how tired he is but still being unable to untense:

“I... you talk about... magic, as if it’s sentient.”

Merlin smiles slightly, fondly almost:

“It is, in a way. Not so much for regular sorcerers, but for people with instinctive magic, you don’t... control it, you ask it, you work with it. It will react to your needs and wants and emotions, it’s part of you, but it’s also... separate. It will try and protect you and the people you care about, without you even realising sometimes. Maybe... maybe that’s what happened.”

Leon fiddles with his hands in his lap roughly, picking the skin at his nails as he gulps:

“What do you mean, maybe what happened?”

Merlin smiles, taking Leon’s hands in his own and raising a disapproving eyebrow at the blood just started to seep through old scabs:

“Maybe it was protecting you, keeping you safe. Held itself inside until... I don’t know, it was safer?”

Arthur finally pipes in then, interrupting Merlin’s verbalised stream of thought:

“But it wasn’t. Granted, I haven’t executed many people, but I’ve been King for years, and up until five minutes ago I was still under the impression that magic was evil.”

Merlin shook his head:

“No, not safety from you... safety from Leon.-”

Leon recoils slightly and Arthur frowns in confusion:

“-Something about you changed. Your... views on magic?”

Merlin tilts his head as he says it, obviously asking, and the knight bites his lip, gaze darting between the two men nervously. Arthur just gives him a smile and nods encouragingly. Leon shuffles in his seat uncomfortably, not making eye contact with either of them as he quietly speaks:

“A few months ago I... saw someone do magic, in the castle. I was angry at first, but it seemed so... innocent. It didn’t hurt anyone, it had no consequence, it was just... it looked natural.”

The knight finally looks up again and Merlin nods knowingly, making a mental note to find out who was stupid enough to use magic in the-

...

He notices the pointed way Leon is looking at him, and he scraps that mental note in favour of making a new one, reminding himself to thank Leon later for not immediately killing him.

Merlin bites his lip and Leon rolls his eyes slightly, but before either of them can say anything, Arthur leans across the table, patting Leon on the shoulder comfortingly before sitting back and nodding to himself. He clears his throat and bites his lip as the two of them look to him nervously:

“I’m... curious. Of all people.... why Merlin? You had no idea that he knew so much about magic, you discover that you have magic, and the first person you rush to, you trust, you believe will protect you in a Kingdom that would see you burn... is Merlin. Why?”

Leon gulps, his gaze darting to the young servant, and Merlin widens his eyes slightly before setting his face into well-practiced neutrality and looking back to Arthur:

“Well, like I said, I grew up outside of Camelot’s propaganda.”

Arthur tilts his head and furrows his brows:

“Yes... but so did Percival and Gwaine and Lancelot. And he grew up with Elyan and Gwen, so...”

Merlin clenches his jaw, his brain running through all the possible lies he could tell. Depending on how the rest of this conversation goes, now may or may not be the time to out his own magic:

“Well... look at me-”

He throws his arms up loosely:

“-I’m one of the only people he knows who couldn’t actually do much damage to him if I turned on him. He’s a Camelot Noble Arthur, pretty much all of his friends and family would run him through in an instant if they found out what was happening to him.”

Arthur frowns mournfully, but his nod is understanding as he stares at the table for a few moments. He squares his shoulders and looks up again, his voice strong and Kingly:

“We have some laws to revise. Tomorrow, the three of us are going to visit the Druids, we can leave Leon there for a little while so he can learn to control it at least. I’m sure we can come up with some sort of excuse.”

Leon nods, but Merlin takes a deep breath before shaking his head:

“That... that won’t be necessary.”

Arthur just frowns at him in confusion, but Leon’s eyes go wide as he stares at the servant, taking his wrist in a tight grip; a clear warning. Merlin just gives him a weak smile before sitting up straight and looking to Arthur, his face blank:

“I can teach him.”

Arthur just looks even more confused, before he huffs and rolls his eyes:

“Merlin you may have an odd amount of knowledge in that big head of yours, but it would still be better for someone who was born with magic like him to help.”

Merlin doesn’t even hesitate in his response:

“Exactly.”

Arthur looks up at him sharply, taking in a deep breath and straightening his back when he notices the gold of Merlin’s eyes. It takes him a few moments to respond, and Merlin’s eyes have faded back to their bright blue before Arthur sighs and nods, not looking away as he mumbles:

“I think... that somehow I should’ve expected that.-”

The King leans forwards and puts his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on the table; he lets out a short, humourless laugh, and Merlin and Leon share a worried glance. Before they can say anything, he looks up again, a disbelieving smile on his face:

“-I’m desperate to be angry, furious, even. But after everything I’ve said, done, directly to you and in general, I really don’t think I have the right.”

Merlin shakes his head, anxiety and guilt swelling in his stomach:

“No Arthur, I lied to you for over ten years, you’re allowed to be angry.”

Arthur shakes his head again, but before he can say anything, Leon pipes up, his voice strong and no longer cracking and shaking, despite his obvious nervousness:

“That... No. With all due respect, Sire, you’re right.-”

He turns to a dumbfounded Merlin:

“-You lied because it was the only way to protect yourself. By Camelot’s laws, you- both of us, should have had death sentences from the moment we were born. Lying to save yourself torture by pyre... that isn’t selfish, or cruel, it’s... justice.”

Merlin looks like he wants to argue, but Arthur just shrugs his shoulders and nods, giving his servant a pointed glare before going back to looking curiously confused, and settling an assessing gaze on Leon:

“Can you... feel it? The magic?”

Leon shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, and squeezes Merlin’s hand in his subconscious search for comfort:

“Uh... yeah sort of. Honestly, I’m trying not to, it... it scares me.”

Merlin squeezes back before swivelling in his seat and pulling Leon to do the same, so they’re sat facing each other; Arthur leans forward so he can see what Merlin was fiddling with. The servant cups his hands and rests them under Leon’s own cupped hands, looking up to the older man with a smile:

“It’s not something to be afraid of, Leon, it’s a gift. Let go, feel it. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. Just... feel it.”

Leon gulps, but lets out a breath and relaxes as he closes his eyes. Merlin’s grin grows, and Arthur stares in wonder at the golden glow of his eyes, his gaze darting to Leon’s face when the man begins to softly smile. Merlin’s next words come out as barely a whisper:

“Open your eyes, look.”

Leon takes another deep breath before opening his golden eyes and looking down at his hands, letting out a surprised laugh when he sees a miniature blue flame, floating a few inches above his palms. He can feel it’s warmth, feel the new odd sensation in his chest feeding it, sparking down his arms and into the flame, mixing with something that feels so very... Merlin. He looks up at the grinning servant, not able to persuade himself to look towards the King even when he hears the other man mutter, his voice quiet and full of wonder:

“A gift indeed.”

~

THE END!!!

Ok so I might write a part 2 to this, basically about Merlin teaching Leon in secret (with Gwaine and Lancelot getting jealous because how the fuck did boring, rule following, 8 years older than him Leon end up becoming Merlin’s best friend??) and a visit to the Druids and a ban repeal and a proper reveal.

BUT it isn’t a definite, and if it does happen it won’t be any time soon, so I guess just consider this done?

I hope y’all enjoyed it!! Same as always, you wanna write it up, let me know and credit and tag me!! :D

[the-iceni-bitch]

Territory Getting Hotter

Pairing: Carol Danvers x enhanced!Fem Reader

Words: ~2.9k

Summary: You’ve made another mess for the Avengers and they find out about your relationship with Captain Danvers

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (fe receiving oral sex, use of toys, squirting, overstimulation, light dom aspects), mentions of canon level violence, SMUT!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: I love these two!!! Dom!Carol is it you guys, wow. Also, reader is such a massive pain in the ass and I love her for it, I can’t wait to piss off every single Avenger with her antics.

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist here!

You beamed at Carol when she walked into the kitchen, still bleary eyed from sleep as she stretched and ran a hand through her hair.

“Hey babe!” You grinned at her. “Guess who made pancakes?”

“You’re the best sweetie.” She murmured, wrapping around your back and nuzzling into your hair. “We’ll make a housewife out of you yet.”

You laughed as she moved to pour herself some coffee when there was a sudden pounding on the front door.

“Danvers!!” A low voice shouted through the door. “Open up, its Rogers!!”

“Shit!” She hissed, looking around frantically as she tried to find someplace to stash you.

“Would you relax?” You said as you rolled your eyes at her. “He has to find out sometime.”

“Yeah, but not today! He already sounds pissed. One second!!” She shouted back, throwing on some sweats. “Just find somewhere to hide, I don’t feel like dealing with this today.”

She moved to open the door as you shook your head at her, weighing your hiding place options.

“Hey Steve, what’s up?” She said, nonchalantly as she let him inside.

“What’s up? Have you watched the news yet this morning?” He seethed as he stormed into the kitchen.

“Oh no. What did she do?” Carol said, taking a deep breath and cursing you in her head for whatever shit storm you’d started now.

“I can’t even talk about it, I’m so mad.” He growled, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee without even asking. “Even Stark was pissed, and he’s usually pretty lenient.”

“Uh-huh.” Carol said as she chewed on her lip and nibbled on a piece of bacon.

“She managed to drag Thor into it, too. We may have to move her to a full time handler, one that she can’t corrupt.” He said, starting to calm down a little bit. “We’re having a meeting about it in 30 minutes, just wanted you to be prepared. How would you feel about taking her on?”

Carol heard a snort from somewhere in the apartment and did her best not to whip around to find you. Unfortunately Steve heard it to with his damn super soldier hearing.

“What was that?” He hissed, his eyes darting all over the quarters.

“Uh, my smoke alarm’s been acting up.” Carol muttered, trying to usher him out the door. “I’ll think about it, see you soon!”

She slammed the door closed and started searching for you.

“What the fuck did you do, baby?” She asked, scanning the apartment for you.

“Y’know, I think I’m gonna leave that for a surprise.” She heard from above her head and shot her gaze upwards.

You had somehow managed to wedge yourself into a tiny corner in the ceiling of the hallway leading to her bedroom. She was giving you a disapproving look as you dropped to the floor with a grunt and grinned at her.

“You think you can handle me babe?” You said as you moved to the bedroom to get dressed.

——————————————————————————

The two of you were sitting across from each other in the conference room half an hour later, trying to act like you didn’t fuck each other’s brains out every chance you got.

Or, at least Carol was. You were sliding your foot up the inside of her leg as she glared murderously at you and you just grinned like an idiot. She shook her head at you and turned to look at the giant screen where Tony was pulling up the surveillance footage as the rest of the team gave you exasperated glances.

“Oh, here we go, we’re getting to the good part.” Tony said, giving you a meaningful look as he slowed the footage down. “Now who’s this guy you just punched in the face and then threw across the club like a rag doll?”

“I think that’s the Duke of Edinburgh.” You said with a shrug, leaning back in your chair.

“No, that’s the Duke of Sussex, y’know, the queen’s nephew.” Nat said as she took a long drink of her coffee, looking exhausted.

“Oh shit, really?” You said, still grinning like an idiot. “Whoops.”

“And wait, here’s where Point Break blows all the lights in the club, which he says was your idea, so the two of you can make a run for it.” Stark said when the video suddenly went black.

“We weren’t making a run for it, we were pursuing our suspect.” You said, staring daggers at Thor as he tried to sink into his chair.

“Uh-huh, and did you catch your suspect?” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, he’s in holding right now.” You said with a shrug.

“What?! Why wasn’t that in your report?” Rogers said as he started to dig through the pile of paperwork in front of him.

“I haven’t completed the report yet, Captain Rogers.” You said lightly. “I made sure to update Captain Danvers though.”

“Let’s not get off track, this is about you assaulting a member of the royal family.” Tony said as he tried to redirect the conversation.

“He assaulted me first! He grabbed my ass and made some very ungentlemanly comments about what he would do if he got me in his car.” You said, pouting as you rested your head on your hands.

“He did grab her ass, Stark. I saw it.” Thor piped up before Rogers shot him a look and he went back to inspecting his coffee.

“So you threw him? That seems like a bit of an overreaction.” Tony said with an uncomfortable shrug.

“It’s a reflex, Stark.” You said, your eyes rolling back in your head as the other women frowned at him. “Sorry, I don’t think putting up with sexual harassment is in my job description.”

“Ok, ok fine. Nat, is there anyway you can spin this?” Stark said, turning to Romanoff as she let out a deep sigh.

“Yeah, the man is a pretty notorious dog, shouldn’t be too hard.” She muttered.

“Great! Excellent meeting team, see y’all at the next one!” You said, starting to stand up before Steve turned his attention to you.

“No, we still need to discuss your recklessness, Y/L/N.” He seethed, shooting you a scowl that you returned with a mocking air that had Carol trying to hold back a snort. “I’ve thought about it a lot and I think the best course is to have you under more direct supervision. I considered splitting up you and Odinson but I feel like that would just spread the chaos around after how much you’ve corrupted him.”

You shot a grin and a wink at Thor that he returned as the two of you finally relaxed, but Steve was still talking.

“So, Danvers is going to be accompanying you on your missions now. I feel like her levelheaded attitude is just what’s needed to keep you two in line.” He said with a satisfied smirk.

“Uh, you sure Danvers is the best choice there, Cap?” Tony said whole Nat snickered into her coffee.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t she be?” Steve said as he looked around at everyone’s amused expressions with confusion.

“They’re fucking each other Steve.” Nat said nonchalantly, sending Steve into a spluttering fit as you started cackling and Carol just rolled her eyes and groaned.

“What?!” Rogers roared, his eyes moving frantically between you and Carol as you grinned at him like an idiot. “How long has this been happening?”

“Six months.” Carol said resignedly, taking a gulp of coffee as she shrugged uncomfortably. “Didn’t really feel like dealing with the paperwork.”

“Si... six months?” Steve groaned, burying his face in his hands. “And you didn’t think that might be a conflict of interest?”

“Don’t worry Cap, Danvers is quite the disciplinarian.” You said with a wicked grin as you waggled your eyebrows suggestively.

Carol growled at you and gave you a meaningful look, and you just rolled your eyes at her before leaning back on your chair and propping your boots on the conference table.

“Well... shit.” Steve sighed, running his palm over his face in exasperation. “I guess Bucky can probably oversee some of your ops, and I’ll take over the rest of them. What?”

You and Thor both groaned at that, rolling your eyes at each other.

“Just, Barnes? Could you pick a bigger stick in the mud?” You said with a shrug. “I mean, we get it dude. You were tortured by evil scientists for years who turned you into a mindless killing machine, who wasn’t? And, I love you Steve, but do you even drink?”

“Ok, we’re gonna head out now.” Carol said as she frowned at you, stepping between you and Steve before a real fight broke out. “Guess we’ll report to HR as soon as we can.”

“Uh-huh.” Rogers mumbled, pouting a little as she ushered you out of the room.

Nat followed after the two of you lazily, shaking her head at Steve and Tony as Stark and Thor tried to assure the Captain that he was loads of fun to be around and a blast at all their parties.

“Congrats again you two.” She said with a grin as she split down a different hallway to her own quarters.

“Thanks Nat! You ever gonna tell him about you and Wilson?” You yelled after her, laughing when she flipped you off over her shoulder. “Told ya they knew, babe.”

“Yeah.” She mumbled before grinning at you. “So, you beat up a royal?”

“Shit. In my defense, I didn’t know he was a royal until after I threw him.” You said, following her down the hall back to her apartment. “I thought he was just a smarmy asshole.”

“That’s the problem, sweetheart.” She purred over her shoulder. “You never consider the consequences of your actions.”

“That’s all I think about, babe.” You said with a wicked grin as you waited for her to open the door.

“And now you’re dragging poor Thor into your messes.” She tutted, shaking her head at you as she closed the door and stripped off her jacket. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you had a little crush on that himbo.”

“If you didn’t know better?” You beamed at her, starting to unbutton your jeans and step out of your boots. “Honey, he’s a literal god. I have a massive crush on him.”

“Oh, are you trying to make me jealous?” She ripped off her tank top and threw it aside. “Cuz I’m already pissed at you.”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?”

She stepped forward and gripped your jaw tightly, smashing her mouth to yours as she started steering you towards the bedroom. You yelped when she tossed you on the bed, grinning as she climbed on top of you.

“You’re such a bad girl.” She growled at you, ripping your bra off in one quick motion.

You screamed when she slapped your tit harshly, the stinging sensation warming your chest while she bent to open the top drawer of the nightstand.

“I am. I’m fucking horrible.” You gasped as she rifled around. “What are you doing?”

She grinned at you as she straightened back up, holding a set of extra shiny looking restraints.

“These are vibranium.” She cooed as she grabbed your wrists and dragged them above your head, hooking them through the headboard as you panted underneath her. “I stole them from R and D, and there’s no way even you can break out of them.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” You said around a smirk, giving your hands a test yank and nodding appreciatively as Carol shackled each of your feet to the opposing bedposts.

She bit her lip as she stared at you, your legs spread wide over the bed and making your back arch. You moaned as she tore off your panties and slapped your pussy, your muscles twitching as arousal seeped out of you.

“Mmm, you look so good like this.” She mumbled, sliding down until she was laying between your thighs. “Can’t decide whether I should edge you all night or make you come so many times you forget your own name.”

She ran her tongue over your slit in a heavy stripe and you let out a shriek as you came as soon as she reached your clit. She pressed your hips into the mattress as she lashed her tongue against your bundle of nerves, making your legs quiver with the strain of your orgasm.

“Looks like you made my decision for me.” She grinned at you before diving back in.

Her tongue swirled through your folds expertly, sucking your lips into your mouth and humming against you as your pussy started clenching around nothing. She wrapped her lips around your clit and you came again with a sob as your limbs pulled against the restraints, your body trying to arch off the bed.

She shoved her tongue inside you and you screamed as another orgasm crashed over you when her teeth brushed against your tiny bundle of nerves. Carol kept curling her tongue inside you as you vibrated underneath her, moaning as your release flowed into her mouth and soaked her chin.

“Fuck, Carol!” You whined as she sat up between your legs and lightly ran her fingers over your inner thighs. “That was almost too much.”

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” She smirked as she watched you panting underneath her, reaching for the bedside table again while you squirmed.

“Hey!” you exclaimed as she pulled out a massive dildo from the drawer of toys. “Is that my stormbreaker? I’ve been looking for that!”

“Yeah, well I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” She murmured before dragging the length on the thing through your slick coated folds, making you keen. “Did you know this thing comes with a thruster?”

“Yeah, why do you think I bought it?” You teased before your eyes rolled back in your head as she shoved it inside you.

She started fucking you with the toy at a punishing pace, grinning as you came apart like putty in her hands. Tears started leaking down your cheeks when she turned the vibrating function on and angled it so it was teasing against your clit with each push.

You whined as she bent over you and wrapped her lips around your nipple and swirled her tongue around it. She grinned against your chest as you tried to arch into her mouth, your restraints still holding you in place.

“Mmm, you gonna come again baby?” She muttered, nipping at the curve of your breast as your body started twitching, your release looming over you as you sobbed wordlessly. “Do it, you look so pretty when you fall apart.”

She twisted her wrist and you shrieked as your pussy fluttered wildly, your release leaking out around the dildo and pooling on her sheets. Your cried as she kept fucking you through it, wet sloshing sounds filling her bedroom as the toy slid in and out of you easily.

You let out an inhuman wail when she turned on the thruster and you felt the tip of the toy punch you in the cervix, coming again immediately as your body writhed wildly.

“Shit, I see why you love this thing.” She smirked as she kissed her way up your chest, still shoving the toy into your overworked cunt as your body went lax, your head polling to the side and drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. “You think about Thor fucking you when you use this, babe? Maybe I should bring him in here to fuck you stupid while I watch, would you like that?”

You just mumbled stupidly as your body shook with another orgasm, sinking into the bed in your fucked out state. Her slap snapped you out of it, making you take in a sharp breath as your brain rebooted.

“I asked you a question.” She growled as she twisted the toy again and you let out a low moan.

“I feel like this might be a trap.” You gasped as she palmed at your breast and laid down against your shoulder, still thrusting the toy into you viciously.

“That sounds like a yes to me.” She purred, nuzzling into your neck as she gave the toy a final push.

You screamed as she pulled it out of you suddenly, your release squirting out of you in a violent rush. Your body thrashed violently with the power of your orgasm and Carol cursed as you snapped her headboard and bedposts, the bed frame shuddering before one of the legs gave out and it sank to the floor with a crash.

“Holy fuck, you ok?” She asked, sitting up and grinning at you as she assessed the damage you’d caused.

“Yeah.” You said, swallowing thickly as you moved your limbs with a groan. “At least we know the cuffs work! Sorry about your bed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She murmured, grabbing the key and unlocking the restraints before pulling you back against her chest. “We’ll just use yours I guess.”

“Are you gonna move in with me? I think that may give Rogers an aneurysm.”

“He’ll get over it.” She shrugged as you nuzzled into her chest. “Now, how do you think we should approach Thor?”

“What?! You were serious?”

——————————————————————————

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Tempting Offer

EZ Reyes x OFC (Aanya Reyes)

Request by @garbinge: Ok and 43 with whoever your heart desires as well cause I’m a sucker for a good ol true love trope (from This List)

Warnings: so much fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I’m still not out of my writing slump. Still got a lot going on. But Anj sent me this request literal months ago and it’s been living in my brain ever since. Plus, I haven’t updated Remind Me in a hot minute so I figured doing a fluffy little prequel/spinoff would be a nice change of pace for a story that is so heavy with angst haha. I have a future chapter planned that actually references what happens in this story, so I’m excited to be able to share the real context for it all with you guys. Hope you enjoy! xo

EZ Reyes/Remind Me Taglist: @ly--canthrope @noz4a2 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @kelpies-shed @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @mayans-sauce @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @enjoy-the-destruction @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @masterlistforimagines @kkim120 @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder @crowfootwrites @redpoodlern @punkgoddess-98 @black-repunzel99 @lexondeck @mrsstevenbuchananstark @berniesilvas @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @amorestevens @angelreyesisdaddy04​ @samcrobae​ @langiinspirations​ @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​ @lightblindingme​ 

She knew who was at the door before she’d even heard the knock. She laughed as she made her way through her apartment, trying to slide her earring into place as she did. Pausing in front of her door, she took a moment to take a deep breath and get herself mentally prepared. It wasn’t their first date, but she still had the jitters as though it was.

Undoing the chain on the apartment door, she pulled it open. EZ was standing on the other side, hands hooked onto his belt since he hadn’t worn his kutte this time. Without a second thought his eyes scanned her over, a smile immediately taking over his features the longer that he looked at her.

“You look beautiful,” he nodded.

She bit down on her lip for a moment, her face heating up at the compliment, “Thank you,” stepping back, she waved for him to come in, “You can come in, I just gotta grab my shoes and purse and I’ll be good to go.”

“Take your time,” he lingered close to the door, glancing around her apartment.

It was the first time he’d ever stepped inside. He’d picked her up and dropped her off the last few times they went out, but he never went past the threshold of her place. She didn’t necessarily offer, and he wasn’t going to push it if she wasn’t ready or comfortable. However, as he stood there and looked around her living room and into what he could see of the kitchen, it seemed exactly like the kind of place she would live. It also made him very nervous to ever have her over at his trailer. Her apartment felt so fresh, all warm colors and walls covered with bookshelves. The one big set of windows that she had, had a bench with a few plants on it that were coming along well for being in a small apartment.

“Alright,” she was pulling the back of her shoe over her heel as she half walked, half hopped towards him. Standing upright as she landed in front of him, she flashed him a smile, “I’m ready.”

“You sure?” he chuckled.

“Positive,” she motioned for him to open the door, both of them walking through before she turned to lock it behind them. As she followed him, tucking her keys into her purse, she asked, “So do I get to know where we’re going tonight? Or is it a big surprise?”

He smiled at her as they walked down the flight of stairs to the ground floor of her apartment building, “It’s not a big secret.”

“Are we taking the bike?”

He shook his head, “It’s within walking distance.”

“Ooo,” she smiled over at him, “now you’ve got my attention.”

As the two of them walked along the sidewalk, EZ listened with genuine interest as Aanya recounted her day to him. He reveled in her stories of new books that she’d gotten into, and strange customers that she’d encountered during her day. Although if EZ was being honest with himself, he would have sat there and listened to her read every page of the phone book and he still would’ve kept his interest. She had more love in her words than most people had in their entire bodies, and he was captivated.

He stopped outside the door to a small diner, smiling over at Aanya before pulling the door open for her, “Right this way.”

Her face lit up, “I haven’t been here yet!” she walked through the door and turned around to face him, “I always meant to come here and just never made the time.”

EZ nodded as the two of them walked and found a booth to sit in, “My pops is really good friends with the woman who owns the place—she’s been buying from him for years.”

“You know,” Aanya casually flipped through the menu, “I’ve been to your father’s shop plenty of times and I’ve never seen you there.”

The statement got him to look up from the menu, “You’ve been to the shop?”

She laughed, looking over at him, “Of course. Only butcher in town, Ezekiel.”

“He’s never mentioned that he sees you.”

“Something tells me your father isn’t one for gossip,” she laughed for a moment before she paused, “You talked to him about me?” her lips curled into a smile.

“Well,” he drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he bit back a shy smile, “yea. Of course.”

They’d long since finished their dinner, but the two of them were perfectly content to just sit at the table and talk. The waitress knew EZ well enough and she very casually brought over coffee for each of them when she saw how good of a time the two of them were having. It’d been a long time since she saw EZ bring anyone around, let along someone who had him smiling the way that he was.

“I just can’t believe,” Aanya laughed between sips of her coffee, “that I’ve already met your brother. I should’ve known! I should’ve known that was him.”

“Why would you have known?” EZ chuckled.

“Because he was at your father’s shop! And he had on, you know the,” she gestured vaguely to her shoulders and chest, “the vest.”

EZ smiled, “The kutte?”

“Yes!” she pointed at him and nodded, “The kutte.”

“I feel like maybe I should mention that not everyone in a Mayans kutte is a Reyes brother. Angel just so happens to be both.”

She chuckled, nodding, “I figured that much.”

“I think Pop would lose his mind if there were any more of us,” he smiled.

Aanya laughed, “I think Felipe is usually on the brink of losing his mind anyway.”

“Raising Angel will do that to you,” he replied without missing a beat, both of them laughing.

“I’m sure you weren’t a cakewalk either, Ezekiel.”

“Well what makes you say that?” he leaned back in the booth, feigning offense before giving in and laughing.

Shaking her head and taking a moment to finish her coffee, she replied, “Your very sweet and handsome smile doesn’t fool me, EZ. I’m sure you’re just as much of a troublemaker as your brother.”

“You think I’m handsome?” he smirked.

Laughing, she nodded, “Of course I do.”

The two of them walked back to Aanya’s apartment. Along the way she’d casually linked her arm with his, leaning against his side as they walked. EZ tried not to get too lost in the sensation of it, trying to focus on what she was saying to him. He was trying to focus but there was something so comfortable, so right, about the feeling of her leaning into him the way that she was.

They made their way up the stairs, and EZ leaned against the wall next to her door as he watched her slip the key into the lock. The smile on his face was practically a permanent feature whenever he was with her, and it had been a long time since someone made him feel that way.

“I had a really good time tonight, Ezekiel,” Aanya leaned against her doorframe with a smile.

He adored the way his name sounded coming from her. With a slight nod, he replied, “Me too.”

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow when I’m done with work?”

“Yea, yea that works,” he reached forward and gently slid his hand into hers, “Let me know if any of the new deliveries look any good.”

“I always think they look good,” she chuckled, “If you want a real critic’s opinion, you should come in and talk to Laura. It’s…it’s hard for me to find a book I don’t like.”

“If you want, I can bring you some pretty terrible books.”

Rolling her eyes, she laughed, “Tempting offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Alright, but you’re missing out.”

“I guess I’ll have to live the rest of my life knowing that,” she laughed, shaking her head. Looking up and meeting his gaze, her smile softened, “Thank you for tonight. Get home safe, okay?”

“Always do,” he smiled before lifting her hand up and pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Standing up onto her toes, she placed a brief kiss on his cheek, “Goodnight, Ezekiel.”

“Goodnight,” he smiled as she walked through the door and closed it behind her. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself not to linger as he made his way back down the stairs, replaying the night over in his head with a smile.

The next morning, both EZ and Angel had shown up to the carnicería first thing to help Felipe with a large delivery. Angel had immediately gotten on his little brother’s case when he saw what a good mood he was in. EZ had always been the biggest morning person out of the three men, but even with that being true he still seemed peppier than usual. After a lot of questioning from Angel as they carried in one box after another, he caved and told them about his date from the night before.

Angel shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow, “No way. No way she’s real, bro. I just don’t buy it.”

“What do you mean you don’t buy it?” EZ laughed and shook his head, “She literally stops here all the time. She’s seen you here!” he gestured to the shop in its entirety.

“Really?” Angel seem perplexed, “She talk to me before?”

“I’m assuming not if you don’t remember.”

“Not everyone’s got a memory like yours, Boy Scout.”

“Nah, but you’d remember her.”

Angel rolled his eyes, mocking his brother, “You’d remember her. Jesus, EZ. Two dates with this girl and you’re already in love with her?”

“Four dates.”

“But who’s counting?” Angel smirked, “Look, I’m very happy for you and your very real girlfriend.”

EZ gave his brother a shove, but before it could descend into an all-out wrestling match, Felipe started ushering them both towards the door, “Go finish this somewhere that I don’t need to pay for everything you break.”

“Love you too, Pop,” Angel laughed as he let his father push them both out the door, the sign on it still saying that the shop was closed.

Despite the fact that they didn’t get to talk for their whole ride over to the clubhouse, as soon as they parked their bikes Angel was right back to giving EZ grief for the girlfriend he was convinced didn’t exist. EZ shook his head and laughed, taking the jokes and low-level verbal abuse in stride the way he always did. He knew that arguing past a certain point just made it all that much more fun for Angel.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Angel had moved on from making fun of EZ and has started going in on Coco and Gilly. EZ couldn’t say that he was upset about his brother’s shift in attention. He did, however, find himself frequently checking his phone to see if she’d texted or called. It wasn’t often that she messaged him while she was working, but it didn’t hurt to check.

He was just about to slide the phone back into the pocket of his kutte when it started to vibrate. Glancing down at the screen, he smiled when he saw Aanya’s name lighting up the screen, “Hey.”

“Hey!” her voice was bright, happy, on the other end of the line, “I’m just getting ready to leave—they got someone else in to close up tonight.”

“Oh, nice. I’m, um, I’m still at the scrapyard,” his free hand gripped the edge of his kutte.

“That’s fine, I figured. I thought of you earlier, though, when I was going through the new shipment of books that came in.”

“Did you?” he scuffed the toe of his boot against the dirt.

“I did. There’s one in here that I think you’ll really like. Can I swing by and drop it off?”

“You don’t gotta drive all the way out here. I can swing by your place if you want.”

“It’s fine, really. Besides, I have all this extra time on my hands now,” she laughed.

“Alright,” he didn’t have it in him to tell her no, “If you don’t see me, the guy Chucky who works the front office can come and get me.”

“Perfect. Alright, I’ll see you in a little bit.”

He knew that telling Angel that she was coming was only going to make the situation worse. If there was no time for him to prepare comments beforehand, there was the possibility that EZ could just do a normal introduction. It helped that everyone was relatively busy with club business.

EZ was walking back down the steps of the clubhouse, about to head towards the front office when he saw Aanya walking next to Chucky. The two of them were talking and EZ couldn’t help but to take on her contagious smile. He couldn’t hear what the two of them were saying but Aanya looked thoroughly amused, and knowing Chucky he had to assume it was something good. When she locked eyes with him across the yard, EZ could see her thanking Chucky before turning and heading in his direction. EZ immediately spotted the book hanging from her hand as she walked up to him.

“He seems so fun,” she nodded back over her shoulder in Chucky’s direction.

“Yea,” EZ laughed, “he’s somethin’ alright.”

EZ was too busy looking at the woman in front of him to see that Angel had seen her come onto the yard, watching intently as she walked over to his brother. Angel saw as the woman laughed at something his brother said, and for a second he really couldn’t believe that EZ had been being honest with them this whole time. Angel really thought that his little brother had just been exaggerating to get him and the rest of the club off his back.

“Looks like you’ve been working hard,” Aanya smiled as she reached up, cupping one side of his face in her hand as she thumbed a streak of dirt off his cheek with her thumb.

He felt like his skin was on fire at the contact, but he tried not to let it show, “Just trying to stay busy.”

“That makes two of us,” she laughed, “I hope you don’t mind me just popping up like this. I don’t want to intrude on everything you’ve got here.”

“You’re not intruding. If anything, you’re a very welcome distraction,” he chuckled.

“At least I’m welcome,” she smiled.

“Always,” he couldn’t stop looking at her.

The two of them stood there for a few moments before Aanya cleared her throat, remembering why she’d shown up at the scrapyard in the first place. She held the book close to her chest for a moment before handing it over to EZ.

“Just came in today, so I haven’t read it. But I read the first chapter or so while it was slow this afternoon and it seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

“I’ll be sure to write up a full report when I’m done with it,” he smiled.

“Lucky for you, I grade papers as generously as I review books,” she laughed, resting her hand against his chest. Her fingertips traced along the stitching of the leather covering his torso. Looking at his prospect patch for a moment, she looked back up at him, “Kutte.”

He laughed, nodding, “You got it.”

“It’s my one new piece of information for the week.”

“That and all the first chapters of books you’re going to be reading for the rest of the week,” he gave her a knowing look.

“Like you wouldn’t do the same thing if you worked there,” she lightly patted his chest.

“Maybe,” he rested the hand that wasn’t holding the book over hers, completely enveloping it.

“I don’t know how late you need to be here tonight, but if you want to come over later, you can.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprised by the invitation, “Yea?”

She nodded, “Yea. If you have plans with your brother or something I totally understand. Just thought I’d mention it.”

“I’ll be there,” he didn’t have plans, but even if he did he would’ve dropped everything for her, “I’ll give you a call when I leave here in case you need anything.”

“Sounds good!” she felt her heart beating a little faster in her chest, “Alright. I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you tonight?”

He nodded, “See you tonight.”

He was expecting her to flash him a smile and a wink before turning and walking away. But, much to his surprise, she gently cupped both sides of his face in her hands and pulled him down into a kiss. It took him a moment to really register what was going on, but once he did, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. He could feel the way she smiled into their kiss and in that moment, he realized that there was nothing else in the world that he’d rather do. He’d drop damn near any and everything to be able to kiss her like that all the time.

She pulled away, hands still resting on the sides of his face. She smiled as she took in the slightly dazed look on his face. Tracing her thumbs along his cheeks, she gave him a soft peck on the lips, “Bye,” she let out a quiet laugh.

It was hard to get himself to force out the one-syllable word as he stared at her. He’d never been good at taking things slow, and as he stood there looking at her, seeing the way that she was practically glowing, he knew that he was very quickly falling in love with her. He wished he knew how to articulate the way that she made him feel, but instead he settled for getting his thoughts enough to say goodbye to her until he saw her again later.

He’d offered to walk her back to her car but she waved him off, insisting that she was fine and if nothing else Chucky would gladly escort her, which EZ knew was true. He watched her as she sauntered back towards her car and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. His fingers curled tighter around the book in his hands, pressing it against his chest.

The feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket snapped him out of his daze. He reached into his kutte and pulled it out, sighing when he saw that Angel had sent a picture to the group chat with all the guys. Not knowing what to expect, he opened the message and saw a picture of himself and Aanya, one hand on his cheek while the other held the book. The next message was a text from Angel, one that made EZ shake his head, “Guess boy scout wasn’t lying after all. She’s real”

Before EZ could try to respond and come to his own defense, Gilly sent a message to the chat, “Still don’t buy it. I wasn’t there. Didn’t happen”

Knowing that it was just going to descend further into chaos, EZ decided he might as well play into it, “Alright. Guess you won’t care if I leave early to go and see my not real girlfriend then. See you guys tomorrow”

Angel called out to him from across the yard when he read the message, “Hey, hey. I don’t think I said all that!” Angel walked over to his brother, laughing the entire time, “Nah, nice to see she’s a real person.”

“Yea, that’s one of my favorite things about her,” EZ chuckled and shook his head, tucking the new book close to his chest.

[arrowflier]

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing!  Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance.  Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

“Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside.  Forces himself not to fix it.  But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed.  “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath.  “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake.  “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous.  “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare.  “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.  

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself.  There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window.  Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together.  Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips.  “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can.  The words can’t change something that’s already true.  “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.  

And he does.

[holykillercake]

Emergency Light

ᴋᴏʙʏ x ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

word count: 2.6k

summary: 

Female reader developed a crush on Koby since he stood up against Akainu in Marineford. Someday at a party at the marine´s, you get drunk, too drunk. Koby takes you to your room before a disaster happens. You two get stuck in the elevator while everyone is busy partying.

highlight:  You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now.

warning: 1. ¨Do not press random buttons.¨ - LAW, Trafalgar; 2. Trafalgar Law is not part of this story, but his wise words are worth of quotation. 

notes: *knock knock* Hi, guys! After a terrible writing block, I finally finished @pure-kirarin​´s lovely lovely request, which I used as summary since it was really good! I really hope you like it! <3 A little disclaimer! At some point, the ¨too drunk¨ part vanished from my brain, so our reader is just... drunk, hahaha. 

𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤, 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖!

¨Y/N-san!¨ 

You were wiping a sweat drop from your forehead when the pink-haired boy appeared beside you, offering an isotonic drink and a warm smile. 

You did your best to hide the tiny heart attack you had.

¨Koby-san!¨ you shouted, smiling awkwardly. ¨Oh... is it for me?¨

¨Of course! You have been working really hard these days.¨

¨Thanks.¨ you took the drink from his hands. The heat and condensation caused a layer of cold sweat to wrap the bottle. ¨I just don´t know why they are making us help prepare this party. They have a team for this, Koby-san! Besides, we´re Captains now.¨ you pouted the last bit. 

¨Yeah...¨ he scratched the back of his neck. ¨well, at least we get to spend some time together!¨

¨I know, I just-¨ you stopped talking as his words processed in your brain. 

You felt your blood vessels dilating on your cheeks, leaving a hot sensation on your face. 

Perhaps he was just being polite, or maybe you were making a big deal out of this, but you couldn´t help. You have been fond of him for a while now, and you couldn't stop that involuntary reaction of your body when he said such lovely things. 

Koby realized the words that came out of his mouth, and the scene that followed made even your spirit giggle. His eyes opened wide, and you could almost feel his throat running dry with all his stuttering.

 If that was a blushing competition, you would be down to the second place. 

¨W-We´ve been on separate missions for ten months, right? I m-mean... and it´s not dangerous or anything, and-¨ 

¨Yeah, you´re right, Koby-san.¨ a smitten smile blossomed on your lips, and you tried to hide it by sipping the refreshing drink. 

As stated by the boy, you had spent almost a year in different locations of the Grand Line, leading missions of your own. That was the kind of thing you had to do as promoted Captains.

You had no idea where Koby ended up going. These subjects could not be discussed over snail transponders, just for precaution. In fact, you barely spoke to him during this time. There were only a few nights when you would exchange coded messages. 

Since you became Captains, your tasks have kept you apart for much longer than before. You couldn't help but miss him and wonder how he must be doing during those times. 

You have already met thousands of Marines. Some even stronger and more agile than him, but no one had his willpower. You would put your hands on the fire for that. 

Whenever you felt unmotivated or helpless, the memory of the boy standing up against Sakazuki, putting his life on the line to honor his fallen comrades made your blood burn hotter. 

He did what no one else had the guts to do. 

Too blinded by the bloodshed, in the end, the number of casualties made it clear that accomplishing the task was no reason to celebrate.

When the sole of your shoes stained with blood and the blade of your sword sliced through anyone who didn´t wear the justice symbol on their back, you questioned if the Marines had finally lost their purpose. 

You should be civilized and do justice, but not at the expense of soldiers who had families to return to. If the target had already been eliminated, why were you still fighting? 

A chill ran down your spine when, for the first time, you looked up and faced the massacre. It was as if before, you could look at everything and, at the same time, see nothing. 

If Koby hadn´t stood up at that moment, you wouldn´t be here today. Maybe for leaving, maybe for dying. But his act of braveness and courage returned a bit of your hope. 

You wanted to see how far he could go, and hopefully, you would be by his side. 

Before, you used to watch him, along with his colleague Helmeppo, getting beat up and beat up by Garp and always put himself back on his feet. 

You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now. 

From your room, you had a perfect view of the training circuit, so you could see the cycle repeating itself over and over again. Boys, seduced by the idea of absolute justice, strength, and power to fight bad guys, came to Marineford willing to prove their worth. They would fall a few times before the sparkle in their eyes started to fade. 

Eventually, they would fade too. 

Those boys, however, fell and fell, being punched to a pulp, then patched back together only to suffer on Garp´s hands again. Watching them became your late-night entertainment, and seeing their improvements and growth turned out to warm your heart. 

At some point, you were assigned to be their opponent, and from that moment on, your days became brighter. They would share the craziest stories and tell the funniest jokes. Or not so much tell jokes. They were naturally clumsy and fun. 

Although, if you could choose, you would prefer to spend more time with Koby. Nothing against Helmeppo, he was just too much sometimes. But apparently, they came in a two-for-one pack. 

                                                             ***

It has been only a few hours since the party started and you reached the jackpot. You had taken all your frustrations on alcohol and rice cakes, and it showed. 

Every ten seconds, the memory of what you wanted to do disappeared, and that was somehow hilarious, making you explode in laughter and cause commotions. So for every ten seconds during the first hours, one of the last remaining sober in the enclosure had tiny cardiac arrests. 

Everyone was drunk enough to have a good time without causing any trouble. But the detail worth mentioning was that your party had started a little earlier, under the statement that you needed a little incentive to help you through the night. 

It meant that your energetically loud phase was close to reaching its end, giving place for your sleepy and distracted persona. Your eyes felt heavier by the second, light dizziness fogging your brain, but it felt relaxing. 

¨You know Koby is a type of meat?¨ you said, resting your chin on the table and giggling to yourself.

¨Y/N-san, I-I don´t think that´s the name of it.¨ his face turned red as he shifted on the cushion, adjusting his posture. 

¨Ugh, you´re so nervous Koby, you should relax.¨ you sang the last syllable. ¨Look at Meppo, he´s relaxing.¨

Your lips bent in a goofy smile as you watched your comrades building an okaki tower on Helmeppo´s head. The blonde had passed out on the table a few minutes earlier, too exhausted and drunk. He looked so peaceful in his sleep that a yawn escaped your mouth, catching Koby´s attention. 

¨Y/N-san, you should go to bed already. Y-You look tired.¨ his voice trembled when he took sight of your sparkling but sleepy eyes, rosy face, and messy hair. 

¨Hmm, no... I´m still good.¨

Another yawn. 

¨Come, I can walk you to your room before you relax like Helmeppo.¨ 

Your brain was working in slow motion, so by the time you thought of answering him, your grip was already tight in his. A little tighter than necessary, but you were afraid your wobbly legs would cease, and honestly, he didn't object at all.

The air outside the salon made your nostrils hurt within every breath, not because it was freezing cold but because the alcohol made your body run hotter than usual. Your ears felt like they were clogged, but that was merely the tingling silence on the empty hall. 

When he guided you inside of the elevator and pressed the corresponding button to your floor, your gasp, which echoed through the narrow walls, made Koby jump back, scanning for any sign of danger. 

¨Oh my God, look at this, Koby!¨ 

He watched you walk closer to the panel, completely mesmerized. ¨Uh... what, Y/N-san?¨ 

¨Wow! They never did this before!¨ you shouted, falling on your knees and leaning in like a child on an ice cream shop showcase. 

The boy kept staring at you, who pressed the buttons in a row with shimmering eyes. What was in that saké?

¨They never did...?¨

¨Look!¨ you clicked some more. ¨When I press the buttons... they light up!¨

A moment of silence fell upon the two of you, and although Koby always felt comfortable in your presence, he wasn´t sure what to do now.  

You, on the other hand, didn´t seem to mind, too focused on your groundbreaking discovery. 

¨Y/N-san, they have always...¨

¨This is so cool!¨

¨Y/N-san... I don´t think you should...¨

¨What does this one do-¨

A loud shriek escaped your mouth when the shaking of the elevator took you off balance, making your butt meet the floor in a thump. The lights flashed a few times before everything in your sight was pitch black. 

You heard Koby call your name, asking if you were hurt, but all you could do was hold still, fearing for your life. The alcohol made the bouncing feel like a devastating earthquake. 

¨Y/N-san!¨ you felt light pats on your shoes. ¨Are you ok? I can´t see anything!¨ 

Koby crawled on the floor, using your foot as a way to locate you. 

¨Koby, stop moving.¨ you whispered, but he seemed not to hear, lost in his rumbles. ¨Koby, stop moving!. We´re going to fall.¨

¨Wh-no! Y/N-san, are you hurt?¨

¨No, I don´t think so.¨ you answered, head swirling and heart racing in your chest. 

¨Y/N-san, did you press the emergency button?¨ 

¨No!¨ you stopped for a second, failing to hold your drunken giggles for yourself. ¨But that´d be a great idea right now. I think I remember where it is!¨ 

You twisted your body towards the panel, ignoring Koby´s attempts to stop you, and started to touch the many buttons, searching for the emergency one. 

Click. 

Click. 

Click, click, click. 

¨It´s not worki-¨ you squealed when the elevator struck again, piercing sound of creaking metal cooling every disc in your spine.

¨Y/N-san, please stop pressing the buttons!¨ Koby cried. 

The feeling was too strange. You felt everything rocking slightly, no light was coming in, and the adrenaline made it difficult for you to calm down and adapt to the darkness. 

Your breathing had already become irregular and heavier when the emergency light turned on. It was dim and greenish but better than nothing. 

¨Oh, no.¨ he said.

¨No, no. Don´t say oh, no.¨ You shook your head. 

¨Y/N-san, that´s the emergency light.¨

¨Yeah, so...?¨

¨So the elevators are not a priority now.¨

¨And that´s bad...?¨

¨Well, yes, because the energy is being used somewhere else.¨

You stared at him for a few seconds. All of his words made total sense, and in a normal situation, you would be able to handle it without further complications. 

¨Koby, I don´t know if you´re getting somewhere...¨

¨Y/N-san, there was probably a problem with the generators, and they had to redirect the energy consumption.¨ you nodded, starting to connect some dots in your head. ¨I think they are sending everything to the kitchen beca-¨

¨Wait.¨ you said with a terrified expression painted all over your face. ¨We´re stuck?¨

He saw the panic grow in your eyes. 

¨Y-Yes. B-But it should be back soon, don´t worry. Someone will come.¨ 

You remained in silence for the first hour, mainly because you kept falling asleep.

Little by little, the effects of the alcohol on your body began to cease and your temperature to cool down. Added to that, the darker the night fell, the chillier it got. So at some point, you couldn´t sleep anymore because your bones wouldn´t stop shivering. 

Koby handed you his coat as soon as he took notice of your discomfort. 

¨No, you don´t have to-¨

¨Y/N-san, you´ll end up getting sick.¨ he spoke, leaning a bit forward so you could take the piece of clothing. 

¨Thanks.¨

A huge smile rose on your lips when the coat fell on your shoulders. It was incredibly warm and had his soothing laundry fresh smell. 

Maybe with a hint of meat from the party. 

It served you like a cape, so you pulled the collars closer to your body and curled up to retain the warmth. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel like it was him. 

That granted you another nap. 

Still, after about twenty minutes, something woke you up. This time it was a sneeze from Koby, who leaned against the wall, hugging his legs close to his body. 

Guilt hit you right in the guts. 

You crawled towards him, gently poking his leg. 

¨Koby-san...¨

He raised his head and mumbled something you didn't understand. Maybe he asked if you were ok. 

¨I... I´m still a little cold... c-can I sit by your side?¨

¨Uh? Yes, of course.¨ he shifted on the same spot, only to return to the previous position. 

His voice was a little nasal and rasped, probably from the cold. You hoped he wouldn´t get a sore throat. 

The coat became a blanket that you used to cover both of your legs, although he made sure you had gotten the bottom end since it had more fabric.

¨Are you feeling better, Y/N-san?¨

¨I am, thank you.¨ you whispered.

¨Y-You can lay on my shoulder... if you want.¨

You smiled and did as he suggested, curling up closer to him. It took you very little to fall asleep once you rested your head on his shoulder. His body began to feel warmer, and he even asked if you wanted to hook your arm with his to maintain warmth. 

Using the last bit of boldness provided by the saké, you reached for his hand. You had this sensation, deep down, that the feelings you carried for him were reciprocated. But you could deal with this some other time. For now, you focused on calming down the fireworks inside of your chest. 

[EXTRA SCENE]

A roaring noise followed by a ray of light fished you out of whatever dreams you were having. You pulled the blanket up to cover your eyes and snuggled deeper into the warm body in front of you.

Nothing crossed his mind at that moment. All you wanted to do was get rid of the light and have a few more hours to sleep. However, a sound like a throat clearing caught your attention.

You blinked a few times, images of last night taking form in your memory. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was you leaning against Koby.

I must have slipped to the floor at some point. 

Your hands were wrapped in a turquoise fabric, and it didn't take long for you to realize that the fabric was wrapped around someone.

Koby's scarf.

Koby!

You ended up lying in front of each other, sharing his uniform. Your face a few centimeters from his chest.

After yawning a couple of times, you opened a distance to look at him. 

His face was wrinkled, brows furrowed, and lips turned into a pout. The round glasses were no longer on his head, and the bandana, like his hair, was frowzy. 

So adorable.

A louder throat clearing made you turn your head. The groggy smile on your lips disappeared instantly with the image of the elevator repairer, Garp, and dozens of other marines staring at the two of you.

[karlnapity]

i declare war on my body.

chapter 1: it’s sad to know that we are not alone in this.

(tws: nongraphic self-harm)

punz is the first to come back after the egg is destroyed.

it makes sense; after all, he’s the least connected, the least influenced. he only ever existed on the outskirts of the faction, still the most in control of himself of everyone.

it only takes a few days for him to recover, the red receding bit after bit from his eyes. he spends most of those days sleeping, only waking every few hours to stare at the wall. he tells sam his head feels buzzy, like his thoughts are all out of order, and all sam can do is rub his shoulder and encourage him to go back to sleep.

it’s on the fourth or fifth day he starts to regain any sort of energy, tells puffy a little about what it was like to be under the egg’s influence. he’s allergic to any sort of vulnerability, but no one can deny the way his hands shake, and puffy holds them with her own.

the last of the red bleeds through his tears.

>

it takes around two weeks for ant to make any sort of semblance of consciousness. he blinks his cat pupils open on the final day, stares sam in the face, and starts to cry. his eyes are still purple-tinted, but sam can’t care less as he envelopes his friend in a hug. ant is mumbling something that sounds like ‘i’m sorry' over and over and over again, and sam shushes him, runs a hand along the fur on his head in a calming gesture from when they were kids.

they stay there for a long time. whenever sam tries to pull away, ant hooks his claws in sam’s armor and doesn’t let him leave.

sam doesn’t say anything about it, just obliges.

>

it’s a hard and long process, apologizing. punz and ponk speak in quiet, mumbling voices, and no one dares interrupt them. ant begins with puffy, sitting next to her on the beds they set up, and he recounts the story to her.

“i wish i could tell you more,” he says. “but i don’t remember all that much.”

it’s a complete lie, and he has a feeling she knows, but thankfully she doesn’t pry. she just stands, takes his hand, and pulls him to his feet.

his legs are still a bit shaky, but she supports him as she leads them outside.

the vines are gone, and he can’t help but let out a small cry of relief. she grins at him as she leads him to hannah’s house.

the colors are still gone from her house, but as they settle outside he admires the roses that have started to push through the grass once again.

it’s such a wonder to be in control of himself once again. he opens and closes his hands a few times, still relishing in the feeling.

(he’s not sure of the timeline, of how long he wasn’t himself, but he can’t bring himself to ask.)

he looks at puffy, who’s watching him with a complicated expression. he reaches out a paw, and she takes it.

“i missed you,” she murmurs.

he’s been doing a lot of crying in the few short days he’s been awake, but he never seems to run out of tears.

“i missed you too.”

“we were so worried about what would happen to you after it was destroyed. it had such a strong hold on you…”

“i know, i know, but i’m here now, right? everyone’s gonna be ok.”

(it’s a lie. he’s still coasting on adrenaline, on pure unfiltered relief right now, but he knows it can’t last long. he knows they’ll realize they don’t forgive him, and he knows they’ll realize that it was his fault. because it was. he can’t let himself relax for long.)

she doesn’t make eye contact, and he can see her face pinch a bit at that. he feels a bit of a pit growing in his stomach. he almost doesn’t want to ask.

“what is it?”

she purses her lips. “we’re not sure, on bad.”

his stomach drops.

>

he demands to see bad immediately. it’s a long process, on such tired legs, to get down to the area below. they let him and punz recover on the surface, but puffy said they wanted bad as far from any of the egg’s possible influence as the final vines were being destroyed.

he’s sequestered in a room deep below, and as puffy leads ant down the hallway his anxiety grows.

as much as he wants to see his friend, part of him doesn’t.

a lot of him doesn’t. he stills. he can’t bring his legs to move any more. puffy walks a few more strides before she notices he isn’t behind her, and she doubles back.

she notices his expression immediately. “what’s wrong?”

he struggles to get the words out. he’s been struggling with that a lot, lately. he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can get it out. it’s still surprising to be able to do so.

“i don’t know if i want to see him.” it’s a painful admission, and part of him fears puffy will immediately call him an asshole. hell, he doesn’t fucking want to see his best friend, one of the people he cares most about, his friend who’s comatose. that’s a bit of a dick move.

but she doesn’t. she rests a hand on his shoulder, and he pulls her into a hug as he hiccups. she rubs his back. they sink to the ground, and puffy holds him close.

“why don’t you want to see him?” there’s no judgment in her voice, not like he feared, and something about it unlocks his words.

“i just… part of it… i don’t want to see the effects, because that’ll make it so much more real.” he bites his lip. “and... we... we did such shitty things together- and i don’t want to remember them- i don’t want to remember how we treated each other- and-”

he can’t breathe. she rubs on his back, murmuring reassurances, and little by little the anxiety in his chest dissipates enough for him to think. he pulls back, a bit, gets a clear look at her face. she gives him a small smile, and he returns it.

“you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. we all get it.” she shifts closer, so they’re sitting side by side on the hallway floor. “it’s a hard thing. you deserve to feel comfortable, first of all. you deserve to put yourself and your recovery first.”

he tugs his knees to his chin. he doesn’t deserve to be first, not after what he did to everyone. puffy’s just being nice. they- his victims- they deserve to be first.

(but does bad count as a victim? he can remember, faintly, being horrible to bad. they fought all the time, he knows that, and not just with words.

the egg pit them against each other, had them fight for everything. he remembers more than he cares to.)

old wounds sting, even after they’ve long since healed. he puts a hand on a faint scar on his arm.

bad doesn’t count as a victim. he shivers.

“ant?” puffy asks gently.

“i don’t want to see him,” he murmurs, as horrible as it feels. puffy nods, pulls him into a brief hug, and tells him to go back upstairs, that she’ll be right behind.

he crawls into bed, and he sleeps for a long, long time.

>

“how’s he doing?” puffy asks as she enters the room. sam looks up from the bedside, setting his book on his lap.

“no change,” he says. puffy purses her lips, takes a look.

bad’s been sleeping fitfully ever since the egg was destroyed. he was the first to go down, collapsing the moment the final vine was severed. sam speculates the egg was siphoning the most energy from him, considering he was the leader of their cause.

he looks terrible. he’s hardly been able to sleep consistently for over half an hour, still gasping and wrenching in what seems to be pain, and they can’t figure out how to fix it.

he still has vines curled around his arm and face. they can’t find where it’s coming from, and every time they trim it back it returns within hours.

a few days ago they came in to find it seemingly ripped out. he was bleeding, badly, but when they returned with medical supplies it had already grown back.

(they decided to keep a constant watch, after that.)

she touches a hand to his forehead. none of them are exactly sure what temperature demons are supposed to be, but all the same he seems far too cold. she strokes his cheek, pulls away and adjusts the blankets. it’s a bit tough, with his height, but they make do.

he’s so pale. his skin looks almost gray where it used to be vibrant, and the red accents still haven’t turned from white.

(he looks dead. every time she comes to see him she can’t help but reach for his pulse. can’t help but check.)

she leans back, sighs. “ant didn’t want to see him.”

sam frowns. “punz and ponk didn’t, either.”

“he didn’t say much on it,” she continues, sitting beside him. “but he seemed almost… scared, i’d say. he said they didn’t treat each other too well.”

“it’s not surprising, is it? it must have been torture, it’s not surprising to learn it had them be awful to each other. if they were too close they’d find a way to fight back, and it couldn’t have that.”

she nods, putting her head in her hands. sam rubs her shoulder. she leans into his side, lets herself break just a little.

(only a little.)

“i just wish he’d wake up.”

“i know,” he says quietly. “i miss him. we’ve just got to hope it’s soon.”

>

punz starts out the day with the express need to forget what the fuck happened.

he can’t bear the way they look at him. puffy and sam’s pity makes him sick, and ant’s trying desperately to avoid him at all costs, and ponk still has a hard time looking him in the eye.

it hurts. he wants things to go back to the way they were, but he doesn’t because that was dream. he’s not sure what he wants.

he deserves a fucking break.

he’s not supposed to leave, yet, not without someone to accompany him, but he doesn’t care. the constant care is suffocating, and he just wants to pretend he’s back to normal for five fucking seconds.

so he grabs a bag, a couple loaves of bread, and

his head still hasn’t cleared, and his body is still utterly shot from being stretched to its limits for months, so he can’t run too far, but he doesn’t care.

(the pain is good, means he’s atoning, and when his lungs burn this hard he can’t even focus on memories.)

he coughs, stumbles, and finds himself on the ground. he rolls over, lays flat on his back, and stares at the sky. he wants to scream.

can he not have five seconds?

his brain feels fuzzy again. it’s been hard, lately, to think much of anything beyond a need to escape a mysterious, nonexistent enemy that’s probably just inside his own mind, but he can’t relax, can’t let himself go, can’t concentrate on anything because of sheer fear.

(puffy says it’s hypervigilance, a trauma response, but that doesn’t make sense, because wasn’t he doing the traumatizing?)

none of it makes any fucking sense. he just wants to curl up on the hill he’s found himself on, stay there forever. it’s so hard. he just wants to stay here forever.

he curls onto his side, closes his eyes. everything’s fuzzy.

“punz?”

he jolts, almost screams, but it’s ponk. he can relax around ponk. ponk’s safe. he settles back onto the ground. “you awake, buddy?”

he waves a hand, and ponk grabs it. he feels the other sit beside him.

“you’re not supposed to run, it’s not safe.”

punz grunts, rolls back onto his back. he has to put extra care into making words, now. it’s so much more tiring. he considers just not responding. he does. “yeah.”

ponk sighs. “ok. can you stand?”

it’s a long process to get back to the base.

>

bad wakes up slowly.

the first time, sam barely notices it. he rolls over, raises a hand to rub on his face, which isn’t too uncommon. the keen of pain that follows is still business as usual, much as it makes sam’s heart ache.

then, all of a sudden, he gasps. his hands fly up to pull at the vine on his face. his eyes are still closed, but he’s crying, sobbing, even, and he grasps with what seems to be his full strength. sam stands, trying to figure out what to do, when the vines fly off with a sickening noise that makes sam want to be sick.

they fall to the ground, and he raises a netherite boot to crush them. it makes a horrible squelch, and sam knows he’ll have to burn the boots later to get the stain off, but it doesn’t matter.

what matters is the blinking, too-dim, barely open eyes in front of him.

sam pulls him into a tight hug. bad makes a sort of growl in the back of his throat that makes sam’s hair stand up on end.

bad doesn’t usually speak in his native tongue, anymore, and sam has no idea what he says, but he doesn’t care.

his friend is alive.

>

everything hurts so much. every single nerve in his body feels like it’s on fire, feels like he’s burning up from the inside.

someone- sam, it’s sam, it’s sam it’s samit’ssam- is petting his hair, running his fingers through the knots and working them out gently. he’s saying something, but the rushing in bad’s ears is too much to be able to understand anything at all.

he’s so tired. he wants to fall asleep, wants to sleep forever, but the pain is so much that he can’t do more than collapse against sam, let the other man carry his weight. he wants to bring his arms up to return the hug (it’s the least he can do) but he can’t.

he lets out a whine. everything is too much. the world is too bright, his own breathing is too ragged to his ears, even sam’s touch hurts. sam just continues murmuring words bad doesn’t understand and running his fingers through his hair.

the door opens, or at least he thinks it does. he’s not sure. his weight is passed from sam to another and he cries out. he doesn’t want sam to leave him, but this new person talks in a voice that calms him. he feels a warm washcloth on his face and it’s the only thing that doesn’t burn. the person takes his hands and warms them between their own, and the pain eases just a little.

he relaxes, slowly.

there’s still whispering in his ears and he tries so hard to tune it out.

(it hurts.)

he curls in on himself when it grows too loud.

it gets louder. he doesn’t stay awake for long.

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time

ok, so. a little disclaimer before we get into the good stuff. Cannon is in no way whatsoever being followed in this. honestly? im not even sure that i REMEBER cannon at this point. that said, cannon is non applicable. at. all. 

moving on. YES, i WILL finish B!DBWM stuff eventually. but uh...not today. i just mentally cant. it. will. come. when. my. brain. can. handle. the. world. that. i. had. tailored. for. it. 

ALSO this is going to be kinda sporatic, but the goal (not end all be all but) is to have this wrapped in a pretty little package and finished (at least on my end) by the end of february.

and now....onto the stuff you came here for!

---

Marinette was running late to school when she met him. She ran into the boy and stumbled back, flailing to catch herself before she fell. He looked down at her owlishly, before looking around. By the time he had returned his gaze to her, the teen had pulled herself back together. He smiled and nodded at her, before moving to go around. When Marinette had pulled herself together enough to call a short “sorry!”, He was already gone.

That was three weeks ago. Now, she was looking at a picture of their interaction, where it blared on the front page of the newspaper that Jagged had sent her. When Marinette had received the package, she had been confused. Jagged wasn’t supposed to send her another demo for a few weeks. They were still working on singles. When she had opened the box and found five different American publications with her on their front page, the teen designer had shrieked. With shaking hands, she picked up the top one and studied the headline.

HAS BRUCE WAYNE’S WARD FOUND PARISIAN LOVE?

The bold text was catching, sure, but Marinette was caught on WHO it was placing her with. Someone she had never met. The second one had a picture of her next to Jagged at an event, and a picture of the boy next to a blonde girl. The headline wasn’t much better than the first.

TIMELINE OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MDC AND THE HEIR TO WAYNE INERPRISES.

The teen snorted. She was starting to see the pattern. Putting the tabloid down the girl moved onto the next one. This one had, once again, a zoomed in picture of the five second interaction between her and a stranger. The title, however, was different than the first two.

ALL OF BRUCE WAYNE’S CHILDREN, AND THE INSIDE SCOOP ON HIS NEWEST DAUGHTER

She squinted, laughter bubbling up a little as she observed the piece of fiction. Whoever the Bruce Wayne was, Marinette hopped that he was able to combat this, because she had no intention of letting this fly.

Tim and Bruce were staring at the pile of papers in mild shock. When Jared had reached out to them in mild panic, they had been confused. His panic had been explained when the rocker had arrived carrying a stack of tabloid literature a foot thick. When he had thunk’d the stack down on Bruce’s desk, the businessman’s shock had been more than notable. When Tim had picked up the first few publications the initial look on his face was mirth, but it quickly morphed into shock, then panic. When he handed the top item to Bruce, the older man frowned. When the second pamphlet made its way to his hands, Bruce paused. His next move was to call the Wayne family lawyers. when he turned back to his old friend, all the faces in the room told the same grim tale of what was to come.

When Tim found out that it was Jared’s niece that he had accidentally run into in the brief moment in Paris, he wasn’t sure whether he should be more stressed by it, or if it was by pure luck. When Bruce’s friend went on to explain that the girl would probably already suing the reports and papers that had published the rumor, the young CEO was impressed. To have a lawyer on hand like that was…surprising, considering that she couldn’t be older than 18.

When he asked the rocker if he thought the girl would let anyone go after her, he laughed. Then, Jared Stone explained that the girl was known in Paris for squishing rumors with surprising efficiency.

That evening, Bruce invited his childhood friend home for dinner, and the star spent the evening telling stories of their capers as children, with Alfred grimacing in agreement with the stories. Partway through dinner, Jared’s phone went off. While the rest of the family tensed, glancing to Alfred, their guest frowned at his phone before rushing to answering. “Hey Little Rocker! How’s Pari- oh. So, Penny was more efficient then I thought she’d be. I- yes I figured that you may want to hear. Do- No! Marinette, what!” here, the man paused, his head cocked to the side, his eyes screwed up in thought. “No luv! Sue them within an inch of their lives! You more then have that right.” Here, the rocker paused before he laughed. “Tell that buzzing bee of yours that she’s a good friend. Alright, Miss Mari. I’ll ring you when I’m back on that side of the Atlantic.” He laughed again, “See you soon, Marinette.” The table stayed quiet, waiting for the man to give an indication on the status of the conversation. “Well, Brucie, expect to hear from my niece in the next few day, or at least, her team of lawyers.” the Wayne patriarch blinked before nodding in hidden surprise.

When the family was talking during patrol that evening, Tim grumbled. The 18-year-old was still taken aback that the press had even seen the momentary interaction almost a month ago. As his brothers listened in, many of them started to make fun of the teen. When Jason tuned in, he dropped in the middle of tale. At his confusion, Tim sighed and started over, again. While the family was laughing over his run-in with the press, the former Robin shook his head and silenced his family. He had a feeling he wouldn’t live this one down for a while.

Originally, Jason had found Tim’s predicament hilarious. Of course, the kid had to have the worst run-ins with the press. Then, he had picked up one of the many tabloids with the story. When he had seen the pictures, all mirth left the resurrected vigilante. The noirette that was looking up at him from the page? Yeah. He knew her. Better than anyone else, actually. With shaking hands, the young man paged to the story. What he found was…illuminating. So. She had been adopted. In France. In Paris. After forcing his lungs to draw breath, Jason pulled out his phone. He had arrangements to make.

The day after Jagged had sent her the gossip rags that were considered journalism, Marinette strode into school with a scowl so ingrained in in her features that anyone who didn’t know her would think the expression was permanent. When she stalked into the Lycée classroom, Chloé grinned at her from where she had settled in the front row. Marinette nodded at her friend as she slid in next to her. Lila came skipping in moments later, a cruel smile playing on her lips, before falling when she saw the bone quaking scowl resting on her nemesis’ face. “oh Marinette! Did something happen? Did…did you anger your parents? Did they find out about all those men?” the other girl huffed before turning to her. Lila froze as she was met with the iciest glare that she had seen in years.

“oh Lila. That’s so cute. It almost sounds like you still think that your little stories affect me at all. That’s…adorable.” The Italian girl shrunk under the younger girl’s stare. Suddenly, she understood why people had been warning her to leave the teen alone. this girl, she was brutal. “lucky for you, you’re not the one I’m after, this time. My lawyers have bigger fish to fry.” The newer addition to the classroom gulped, her throat suddenly very dry. It occurred to her that maybe Marinette had let her take control of the class. After all, if they turn that easily, why would she want them for friends. The smaller girl nodded as she watched the realization run over Lila’s face. Raising her eyebrows, the Eurasian girl motioned her classmate along, sending a cruel smile after her.

Chloé waited until the little liar was gone before giggling at her friend’s reaction to the girl who had become their daily annoyance. “I’m guessing you saw what’s been running in the American news? I thought it wouldn’t take long for you to respond. Are a plethora of lawsuits on the way?” Marinette giggled slightly as her severe demander giving way to the internal glee that was consuming the teen over the sheer chaos that was to come.

When Jason touched down in Paris, he tensed. The atmosphere in the city was less carefree than he remembered. There was an air that actually reminded him of Gotham. Tense. Waiting or the other shoe to drop. The expectation that your day was going to go wrong set from the moment one woke up. Pulling out his phone, the Gotamite looked up the address to the bakery that he had found when digging online. If today went the way he was hoping it would, the bakery would be his only stop for the day. Of course, he didn’t count on Gina.

When she called him over from where she was standing by her bike, Jason had to smile. The woman was part of the reason that he wasn’t still camping out in Gotham, waiting to kill a certain billionaire. Once the spry biker had latched onto his arm, the young man knew that his mission would have to wait just a bit. After all, he owed Gina almost everything he had.

[abbyilr1967]

Safe In Your Arms - Keigo x Reader

Summary: Hawks has been gone for work for almost a month, and one night as you’re alone in your shared apartment you are paid an unexpected visit from unexpected guests. 

A/n: This was requested by the very lovely @levis-odm-gear​ , I changed it up a little bit, but I hope you still enjoy. As usual, here is a link to my Masterlist. 

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.6k

Keigo has been gone for almost a month. The most he could tell you was that he was going away on a mission, and was unsure of when he’d be back. He had also told you that he would still be in the area to check in on you, from afar, of course, to keep you as safe as possible. Knowing you had Keigo out there watching over you like your own personal guardian angel made it a little easier to sleep at night. Tonight, however, you were in the middle of making yourself some dinner, your back turned to the rest of your apartment, as you had the t.v. on in the background to fill the silence. 

You move effortlessly through the kitchen as you prepare the ingredients you needed to prepare your dinner. Suddenly a hand flies out in front of you wrapping around your mouth, your assailant pulling you back against them. 

“Sh sh sh sh,” you feel their breath on the back of your neck. “Don’t fucking scream.” 

Your fight or flight instinct kicks in, and you kick your assailant in the shines. Their legs buckle and you wiggle yourself free, before sprinting for the door. 

Your hand is on the knob, you pull with as much force as you can, only to have it stopped by a large hand, you look at it in shock, and notice very distinct patchwork that starts at the wrist and disappears under the sleeve of their jacket. You know exactly who it is, you’d seen his image plastered all over every news outlet in the country. You whip around and are face-to-face with one of the most notorious villains in all of Japan. 

“Dabi,” your voice wavers. You hadn’t even heard him come in, and that’s what frightened you the most.

“Looks like I’m famous,” he gives you a devilish grin, face is just mere inches from yours. He plants both hands on either side of your head, effectively caging you between him and the door. 

“What do you want,” you bring yourself to lift your gaze to his eyes.

“It’s not what I want, but who,” he drags one slender finger down your right cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“Wha-” 

“You know what,” he places that same slender finger over your lips “I’m gonna cut right to the chase, I’m taking you.” 

Your heart rate picks up, and your breathing starts to become more ragged and uneven. 

“It’s ok Doll, we just need to use you as a bargaining chip so that Mr. Bird Brain will do our bidding.” he pauses, slowly lowering his finger from your lips. “So the real question is, are you gonna behave? Or are we gonna have a problem?”

Looking over Dabi’s shoulder through the tears that are beginning to build, you see a single red feather float in front of the balcony through the window, before sweeping its way out of view. Dabi tips his head down to meet your eyes, He uses another one of his slender fingers to tilt your head back towards him. Your eyes lock with his brilliant cerulean ones and he asks again. 

“Are you gonna have a problem?” You blink away the tears timidly shake your head no. 

“Good Girl.” He gives your cheek a pat before lowering his hand again. 

He takes a step back from you, giving you some room to breathe. 

“Get some shoes and a jacket,” he walks away from you, continuing his inspection of your apartment, as well as keeping a close eye on the door to the balcony. 

“You want me to get dressed?” you hadn’t thought your kidnapper would be concerned with your state of dress when they come to take you. 

“If you’re going to cooperate, I’d rather not have you complaining that your cold, or that your feet hurt while we wait for our ride,” he says, not bothering to look back at you. “So are you still going to cooperate?” He turns his head over his shoulder this time, and you give him a nod. 

“Then get dressed,” he says before he turns back around to watch the exits. 

You reluctantly move towards the closet and grab a pair of shoes and a jacket. You slip on the shoes and zip up your jacket, stuffing your hands in your pockets. 

“I’m ready,” you say, nervously playing with the ends of your sleeves in your pockets. Dabi turns back around and walks towards you. He uses his thumb and forefinger to grab your chin. 

“Such a cutie,” you pull your chin out of his grasp, and he scoffs.

“So bratty too,” his comments make you shudder. “Let’s go were gonna make a little trip to the roof.” Dabi takes hold of the back of your neck and begins to lead you out of your apartment. You can feel the difference in the texture of his skin, versus his scarred skin. He leads you out into the hall and towards the stairs to the roof. 

~

The air feels cold against your face as you exit the building to the roof. 

“Where the fuck he is,” Dabi mutters. “What the hell Kurogiri.” He pushes you out into the middle of the roof. You pray that Keigo sees you up here before that Kurogiri guy has a chance to make an appearance. Dabi’s hand is still planted firmly on your neck. 

“Let her go Dabi,” Keigo’s voice echos in your ears, but you feel Dabi’s grip on you tighten significantly as drags you to the edge of the building, so that your dangling over it, feet flailing as the panic begins to set in. 

The screech you let out was piercing. Your hands quickly find purchase on Dabi’s wrist as you pray that he doesn’t drop you. In any other situation, you would have marveled at his strength.

“Glad you could join our party,” Dabi exclaims. “So glad you could make it.” 

Keigo’s eyes lock with yours, and he can see the terror behind them. The sound of your struggled gasps and grunts fill the air. 

“What do you want from her,” Keigo takes a step foreword. 

“Ah, ah, ah, stay over there, or I’ll drop her,” Dabi threatens, leting his grip on your goes lax, pretending to drop you before grabbing onto you again. 

“Keigo don’t let him drop me, please!” you cry, letting the tears of fear roll down your cheeks, frantically reaching for anything to hold onto. 

“I’m gonna let him do anything to you Y/n,” Keigo equipes himself with one of this long feathers, which he can sharpen into a sword. 

“Fuck,” you hear Dabi curse under his breath, as you see the warp gate open behind Keigo. 

“Keigo Behind you!” you shout. 

He whips his head around to see the warp gate. You can see the panic start to set into the features on Dabi’s face, and you can see the gears turning in his head. 

“Sorry Doll,” You feel his grip loosen again, but this time he lets go fully. 

“Keigo!” you shreik. Dabi makes a dash for the gate, as Keigo sprints to the edge of the building. He throws himself over, flying as fast as he can trying to catch up to you. Your screams echo off the surrounding buildings as the ground grows closer. You close you eyes and await the impending impact, but it never arrives. Instead you feel strong arms envelop you. 

“I’ve got you Baby Bird,” you instinctively wrap your arms around Keigo, holding on as tightly as possible. “You’re safe now.”

All of you emotions come crashing down on you as you soar through the air, and you silently cry into Keigo’s chest. “I’m so sorry Honey, I should have been their sooner.”

His grip on you tightens as he holds you closer, determined to keep you safe.

 He carries you through the air, whispering soft reassurances to you until he lands on the roof of his agency. “Let’s get you inside Kid,” he says, allowing you to regain you land legs before helping you inside. 

He takes you to his office, setting you down on the couch before leaving to get pillows and a blanket that he kept there on the off chance he hadn’t made it home. He sets the couch up as a make shift bed, and wraps you in blankets before pulling you into his lap, where he proceeded to rock you. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” he places a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” followed by another kiss. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” you turn to face him, placing both your hands on his cheeks. “You were there for me when I needed you, and thats all that matters.” 

You were still a little shaken up after the events that has transpired that night, but knowing you had Keigo there made it better. 

“Let’s get some sleep, you’ve had a very eventful day Love Bird,” Nodding back slowly, Keigo pulls you into a spooning position so you can get some rest. Feeling his chest rising and falling against your back while he rubs his hand up and down your side and nuzzles against your neck allows you to forget, even for a minute, that this wasn’t going to be the last time something like this happens. You knew what you were getting into when you’d made you relationship official with the hero. 

But for now, you were Y/n, and he was Keigo, and that was all you needed.

[mxvladdy]

heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 28: The Pot Boils Over

Warnings:” strong language, sexual themes

Summar: Juniper finally comes clean to Heisenberg…

Feedback appreciated. 18+

Their interactions for the following days didn’t fare better. Juniper was touchy and moody, almost bursting into tears at some of Heisenberg’s comments. He was at a loss, used to her being a bantering partner.

She’d started avoiding the workshop, from a mixture of the smell and her recent lack of patience for his joking. At night Heisenberg would frequently hear her crying softly when she thought he’d fallen asleep or while she hid away in the bathroom.

It broke his heart.

He knew she was suffering, but wouldn’t talk to him. When he would attempt to get answers from her it seemed to push her father away.

So he started focusing on work more, spending more time away from the apartment.

His worry worked its way into a sharp blade, slicing into him when his mind would wander.

Was it his fault? It must be. That’s why she wouldn’t speak to him…

The thought swam darkly around his brain.

How did he fuck up?

The worry was blanketed with anger and annoyance, his usual response to hard to process emotions. He knew what being angry felt like, it was normal. It was easier to handle, he thought.

But it made him simmer like a kettle, ready to boil over every second. The deeper he sunk into worry and self-loathing without any type of answers, the higher the heat rose on the kettle.

After their most recent spout, it finally did boil over…

Heisenberg sat reading at the table, smoking a cigar quietly. Juniper bruised herself with cleaning up the dishes after their most recent meal. The smoke hit her face, making her wrinkle her nose. For some odd reason it sent a sharp bolt of annoyance through her.

“Do you have to do that?” She grumbled as she wiped down the table with a damp rag.

“What??” Heisenberg looked up sharply, confused.

“Smoke at the table while I’m cleaning.”

“And? It never bothered you before.”

“It’s bothering me now!” She snapped.

Heisenberg dropped the cigar in the ashtray, fixing her with a narrow gaze. “Just deciding to be a complete bitch to me or does it just come naturally?” He barked, leaning back in the chair.

“Excuse me?” Juniper threw down the rag, turning to meet his gaze.

They stared down at each other for a long, tense moment. Juniper was the first to break, looking away with glassy eyes.

“You are such an asshole.” She began to walk away, hiding her face.

“Me?” Heisenberg stood, anger rising, “You’ve been treating me like shit.” He went after her, grabbing her wrist in a strong hold. Juniper stopped dead but didn’t look back at him.

“Why have you been acting so damn weird?”Heisenberg asked, his brows knotting together. His voice was rough and accusing.

“Getting all buddy-buddy with Donna?” He walked towards her, “Being quiet as hell around me? Acting like I’m going to bite, what’s going on?”

Juniper’s shoulders shook a bit, refusing to turn toward him. He didn’t take the silence well, grabbing her arm and forcing her to face him.

“Juniper, fucking talk to me!” He almost begged, “If I fucked up just tell me.”

He saw tears start to fall from her eyes, her lips trembling. Heisenberg heard the cups and plates in the cabinets begin to shake and clink together.

He took a breath, trying to calm his voice a bit, realizing she was much more distressed then she was letting on.

“Buttercup?” He wiped a tear away, “What did I do?”

Juniper pushed him away a bit, “W-we messed up Karl.” On the chairs fell away from the table with a loud clatter, papers swirled around them.

Confusion clouded his eyes.

“K-Karl,” she stammered through tears, “I’m pregnant!”

His grip fell from her, his face losing color. In the wake of his silence she started to blurt everything out.

“I've been asking Donna to teach me how to sew and make clothes so I c-could maybe make things later.” Her hands covered her face, “And I've been trying to c-collect things that wouldn’t be suspicious.”

Heisenberg stumbled back a bit, his lips a thin line. His mind was a garbled mess, stomach totally flipping as he almost lost his footing. The floor felt like jelly under his legs and thought hammered through his brain. So much made sense now but damn…it was a lot to take in.

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” Juniper cried, “I thought you would hate me.” The papers and small bits of metal began to fly erratically around them, silverware rattled in the drawers as the kitchen knives threatened to pull free from the block.

She gulped, looking up at him, “Please say something. Say anything!”

She almost begged, “Just yell at me Karl, please!”

Heisenberg looked almost dumbfounded, eyes wide, as he asked in a low voice, “Buttercup, you’re pregnant?”

“Haven’t you been listening?”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so…I took a test.” She looked down, “And my stomach feels different…”

“Fuck.” Heisenberg whispered, crumpling into the kitchen chair. His hands balled into his hair.

Juniper stood still for a moment, trying to control her breathing. Everything in the room started to slow until the debris around them fell to the floor. The cabinets grew silent as the soft hum died. Juniper wiped her eyes with a shaking hand.

“How long?” Heisenberg’s voice was hardly auditable.

“About a month.” She admitted, padded closer.

He put his face into his hands, his thoughts a storm in his head.

“D-Do you want me to leave?” Juniper asked, her voice wavering.

He looked up suddenly at her, “Of course not! Just give me a fucking second ok.”

She nodded, worrying her hands.

~

It was a while before they had a real conversation about the matter, eventually sitting down to talk.

Shocked couldn’t begin to describe how he felt.

He shifted between bewilderment and fear.

“Heis…” Juniper knocked on the side of the doorway to the shop.

Heisenberg didn’t move, his chin resting on his folded hands, “Hm?”

“Can…can we talk?” Juniper’s voice was heavy, almost pleading.

“…sure.” He answered, his voice was not tinged with any ill.

She came forward, pulling up a chair to sit close to him. They sat in silence for a long moment before words tugged at her lips.

“You haven’t broken anything.” She observed, almost surprised.

“I’m not angry.” He said frankly, not moving his head to look at her.

“Then…what are you?” She ventured.

He mulled over his answer, not truthfully sure himself.

“Confused.” He finally admitted.

Juniper nodded in understanding, even though she had time to process everything.

“And a bit upset.” He went on, “That you waited so long to tell me.” Juniper opened her mouth but he continued, “We’re in this together…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide shit from me.”

His words stung a bit but she understood his hurt.

“I’m sorry.” She reached out a hand, fingers finding his coat sleeve.

He gave a little rumble of acknowledgment.

“This also makes our lives a lot more complicated…everything is fucked.”

“Does it have to be?”

“Well it sure as hell puts me on a tight time limit on the whole ‘revolution’ thing.” He snorted.

When she didn’t speak he rattled on, “Your in danger…so much more than before. I’m not losing you again.”

His voice was determined, almost breaking under the weight of his promise to himself.

“And about…about the baby?” She held onto his sleeve even tighter, worry making her tremble a bit.

His lips were a thin line, eyes clouded. “We’ll figure it out…” he sighed, “Won’t let that bitch have it either.”

His words gave her a bit of relief; hearing his want to protect not only her but the baby quelled her fears of him rejecting the child altogether

“…you said you took a test?” He ventured, words breaking the silence that had blanked the room.

Juniper nodded, “I bought one from the Duke.”

“Where is it now?” He asked.

Juniper shifted uncomfortably.

“What did you do with it, Doll?”

“I…panicked.”

“Where?”

Her eyes teared up a bit, “I-I threw it off the balcony…into the scrapyard.”

Heisenberg gave a heavy, exasperated sigh. There was a silence between them for a moment before Heisenberg stood, “I have to find it.”

He paused, “What does it look like?”

“A little pink and white stick…made out of plastic.” She admitted.

“Of course it fucking is…”

~

It took him three days of sifting through scrap to find the test. When he found it he burned it until it was unrecognizable then disposed of it in the deepest reaches of the factory. Now that it was gone it gave him a small semblance of relief.

Even now Juniper acted like more of a mother then Miranda had: speaking fondly about the growing life and in the soft tones of her voice. The very fact she strove to learn new skills for the future child’s benefit spoke volumes to him.

He was still on the fence with how he felt, a mixture of fear and confusion. But seeing her be the thing he never had brought hope to flutter about his chest like a young bird.

Neither of them knew, or could recall, their true parents, no memories to guide them now. But they had each other and a dug in desire to keep this child safe.

The most important thing now was secrecy.

Heisenberg knew it couldn’t have just been a miracle of nature. It had to be the work of Mother Miranda, some sick scheme to breed a vessel from her strongest subject.

But fuck all of that.

This was his, his blood, his baby.

And he would do everything in his power not to let her sink her golden claws into it.

~

That night as they got ready for bed together Heisenberg practically scooped Juniper up and took her to the bed. She made little sounds of protest but he was persistent. Now that the immediate threats were sorted out he just craved comfort.

He flopped onto the bed, nuzzling into her. She wiggled into a more comfortable position on him, cupping a hand over his strong jaw.

“What’s all this for?” She smiled.

“You’ve been so worked up recently that you’ve been a prickly bitch to me for weeks…I just want to hold you ok.” He huffed out.

Juniper looked away, the guilt flooding back into her. She blinked away the threatening salt water, her heart clenching. She hugged onto him, “I’m sorry.” She sniffed.

He accepted the hug, nuzzling into her hair and huffing out deeply. “I know…” he murmured.

They lay there for what felt like hours, just enjoying each other’s heartbeat and warmth. Tension seemed to flow from them, the comfort washing away weeks of stress.

“I love you.” Juniper murmured into his chest.

“I love you too, buttercup.” He whispered back, dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head.

Heisenberg was still concerned for her and their situation beyond words, but the heaviness of the world could wait. He lay back, holding Juniper to his chest as he thought. The fact she carried his baby at that very moment still baffled him. Something deep in his heart sparked to life, burning brighter and hotter the more it all settled into reality in his mind.

He squeezed her softly, earning a little mewl.

Fuck…he was going to be a Father.

[pixieungerstories]

Quarantine - 4

Nick had changed his tactics.  Now, instead of growling, howling and creepy laughter, he whispered.  It was like living in an ASMR app.  Somehow the lights were always dim and Nick was occasionally purring sweet nothings in my ear.

Someone came to inspect the wine.  They had questions I could not answer, I parroted back the approved line that Nick was the one selling and they would need to call or email him.

A week later, someone came and took away a box that Nick had packed and there was a hell of a lot of money in my bank account.

Which was just as well, I had my hours further reduced.

I lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling and listening to Nick whispering about how he was planning how to spend the wine money on the house.

I was dancing around asking if I could use some of it to cover my living expenses.   He wasn’t getting the hint.  I realized that was very nearly fair.  He had been very clear he was here for the house not for me.  It had been his wine.  Of course, I was the one who had the income from the wine sale to claim on my taxes.

“Nick?  Would you pay me to paint the place?”

That made him stop.

“And why would I do that?” he breathed against my cheek, making me shiver.

“I have no idea how long I will be without work and I’m afraid of running out of money,” I admitted.  “And of having strangers coming in, possibly bringing the infection with them.  We don’t know if people can get Covid twice.”

He didn’t reply.  In fact, there was no sign of him for the better part of a week.  That was a whole other level of creepy.  The house just felt empty.  There was no one to talk to and I hadn’t realized how often Nick would brush past me until that stopped.

I was soaking in the tub on Saturday night, wishing for a glass or wine or a beer.  There was still wine in the basement, but it was all the stuff Nick was saving for a special collector.  It had come as a surprise when the wine appraiser said that I had drunk a twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine out of my coffee cup the last time I had cracked one open.

No, the wine was wasted on me and deliveries from the liquor stores were booked for weeks if I wanted to schedule a delivery.

The lights flickered.

“Nick?” I asked.  There wasn’t any reply.  I pulled the plug with my toes and climbed out of the tub.  I had been avoiding the second floor of the house as much as I could but it was where the tub and shower were.  The lights flickered again.   There was a huge crash of thunder signaling the start of a summer storm, then the lights went out and the rain started.

“Shit.”  OK, I told myself, no need to panic.  It’s just a storm. I am just trapped in pitch blackness, in a storm, while naked and I have to not trip over my clothes and make it safely down steep and narrow steps by memory.  The thunder rolled again, a huge almost double crash that had to be really close.  My feet were wet and the tile was slippery.

“Nick?”  I tried.  “I could use a little help here.”  I bit back a scream as the bathroom door creaked open.  “Nick?”  I whispered.

I shrieked when something brushed my hand then tried to relax as I realized it was a towel.  I wrapped up and tried to feel ahead of me with my feet as I inched my way towards the door.

That familiar low voice growled in my ear, “it would be safer if I carried you down the stairs.”

I swallowed, then nodded.  I was scooped up and cradled.  There was no real sensation of movement until I was placed on my feet and he guided my hand to what turned out to be my bed.  Then he was gone.  The room was briefly lit by lightning and I swore for a moment I could see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen.  The thunder followed in an instant rattling the whole house.  I was glad I had gotten the roof fixed.  

Looking toward the front window, it looked like the street lights were out too.

I hate storms.  Objectively, I know that I don’t have to be afraid, but storms completely bypass the objective part of my brain and reach right into my fear response.  I sat on the bed, shaking with fear in a way that I hadn’t felt since Nick tried to lock me in the bedroom.

“Lift up your hand,” he whispered, near enough to make me jump.  “I can’t turn on your hedgehog night light but I can hand it to you.”

I tentatively held up my hand and he didn’t so much pass me the light as drop it into my hand.  I fumbled for a moment before finding the right place to press to make it light up.  It didn’t really help, but I slid back across the bed until I bumped into the wall and sat clutching it anyway.

“You are very afraid,” he observed calmly from somewhere to my left.

“I’m trapped in a haunted house, during a storm and I am only wearing a towel.  This is where the sound track plays the creepy music and the audience tenses up in anticipation of my imminent death.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so that when he did speak, I made an undignified squeak and jumped.

“You can’t see me bring you clothes.”

“What?”

“I can’t bring you your clothes unless you turn off the light.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t see me.”

I thought about arguing about whether it was that I physically couldn’t see him or if he just didn’t want to be seen.  Still, I had trusted him to carry me down the stairs.

I turned off the light and fought not to hyperventilate.  My robe was placed in my lap a moment later.  That raised more questions.  If I turned on the light to get dressed did that make it easier or harder for him to see me.  Was the dinky little nightlight really going to keep him away in the storm?

I turned it back on and looked wildly around the room as it cast strange shadows.

“I used to like that,” he murmured.  “The taste of fear.  Its smell.  All the little noise that humans make when they are afraid and trying to be quiet.”  He paused and there was a moment of uncomfortable lack of talking filled with the sound of howling wind and driving rain.  “I have never lived with one of you this long before.  Your fear is different.  You become afraid at times when I am unable to see the threat.”

“Like now,” I mumbled, as I scrambled into my clothes.

“No.  This fear I can understand.  Primal fear is very familiar to me.  It’s my bread and butter, so to speak.  You are afraid of when I am here and when I don’t answer and you are afraid of your job.”

I stopped for a moment and tried to understand that last one. “I am afraid for my job,” I countered.  “If I can’t work, I don’t earn money.  Without money, I can’t pay my bills.  If I fall behind in my payments, the bank repossesses the house and this is an even more shitty time to be homeless than usual.”

“Hmmm.”

I shivered and tried to pull the blankets around me.

“You can lay down,” he suggested.  “You would be warmer and more comfortable.”

“It would be easier if I could see you,” I muttered.

Nick snorted, “No it wouldn’t.”  The wall where his voice was coming from got darker, then a swirling shadow detached itself from the wall and drifted towards me.  It was vaguely humanoid but with soft wavering edges like ink dropped into water.  His eyes still shone in the darkness.  

“That’s a little scary,” I whispered “but I could get used to it.”  Then he grinned showing entirely too many teeth and I started to doubt my words.   The way he stalked towards me wasn’t entirely comforting either.  The bed dipped under his weight and I found myself pulled into his lap.  It was the first physical contact I had since he left.  It was weird to realize that he was the only other person to have touched me in months.  I tried to relax against him, he was warm and dry. 

I couldn’t hear a heartbeat.  It was weird.  “You could rub my back, if you want.  It was nice the last time you did that.”

Nick gave a low chuckle, then he began stroking me.  We sat like that in the storm until the wind died down and I drifted off to the sound of the rain.

[everlarkficexchange]

Full Circle

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 26: Mockingjay canon divergent - Prim was never killed. Gale and Katniss try to get back to how they were before the war, but he realises that he’s already lost Katniss’ heart to Peeta, heart, mind, and soul. Any POV. Submitted by anonymous.

Summary: The prompt is pretty self explanatory, and I did my best to stick to it, however I was not prepared to completely write Gale out of Katniss’ life. Sorry? This is from Katniss’ POV.

Rating: Teen and up audiences.

Word count: 12,567

Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight. She’s more active on ao3 though, where she’s Starlight_Wren.

Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s all I’m doing. And for once, it’s enough. It’s enough if I just stand in the midst of lush greenery surrounded by the flutterings and scuffles of animals in springtime, just breathing and listening. My bow hangs limp in my hand and in the other I idly twirl an arrow. I’ll make my shot, eventually. When I feel the time is right, I’ll open my eyes again, to a world that’s coming to life once more, and I’ll aim and shoot. Dinner served. Not yet though, the time is not right.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Over and over again. It feels good to be out in the sun, to have it warm my winter chilled body. Perhaps it shall thaw out my heart too, but that can’t happen. Not yet, the time is not right. As the day warms up and begins to start in earnest, the animals become more loud in their search for food, shelter, and perhaps even a mate. They ignore me, standing as still as I am, not making a sound. I even briefly feel the tip of a wing swoop so low overhead it ruffles my hair. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s almost time. Time to open my eyes and find my mark. I have to be quick about it, but these animals have become idle with their hiding skills in the time I’ve been away. No longer looking out for traps and flying arrows. I’ll use it to my advantage. Somewhere in the distance, a group of birds start up a melody. Conversing in short little tweets and chirps. Almost - I twirl my arrow once more in my fingers - time. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. My eyes snap open, letting the bright sunlight shine into them. I squint momentarily before I set my eye on my first mark. A wide-eyed rabbit, that stares at me from behind a protruding tree root. It doesn’t even try to run, it just stares right at me, until I lodge an arrow into its eye. A still comes over the clearing, creatures waiting with bated breath for the next arrow to fly. It doesn’t take me long, two squirrels, oblivious to the still around them, squabbling over an acorn. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. I bag tonight’s dinner, clean off my arrows, and am on my way. I’m not even ten metres away from the clearing when it comes back to life. Stupid things. I don’t know why, but it peeves me. Gale and I only stopped hunting regularly in these woods a little over six months ago, and already the animals have forgotten our presence. It’s ironic that with one tyrannical leaders fall, so did mine and Gale’s rule over these woods. Dr. Aurelius tells me that that’s OK, with a chapter closing within my life, another can begin. Then again, of course Dr. Aurelius can say these things, he’s not the one who actually has to let the chapter close. I don’t want it to - part of me still longs for days spent foraging and hunting in the woods, my partner by my side - but I know it has to.  

Breathe in. Breathe out. I’ve made it to the fence. Here comes the tricky part; making it back to the Village without letting myself slide into a mental vicious circle of passing the blame. Don’t look. Even as my rationale tells me not to, it’s impossible not to stare at the charred remains of my people being tipped into a gaping black pit that used to be the Meadow. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. No need to cry. My tears won’t help them now. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t cry. As soon as I think it, though, the tears burn at the back of my eyes, and my nose stings and flares. I move my feet faster up the hill. No point in hanging about. The gate to Victors Village looms up in the distance, towering above the carnage of my fallen District. It stands tall and proud, and I subconsciously shrink before it, though the wrought iron lettering looks rusted and dilapidated. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. I stand among the overgrowing gardens and sunken houses. Families are living in them now, and the entirety of the Village hums with life, all but Haymitch’s, Peeta’s and my own. In Haymitch’s resides only the old drunk with a sea of liquor bottles to wade through on the floor. Peeta’s house waits cold and unlived in, standing by until his return. In my own stands nothing but a few boxes waiting to be shipped off to District 4, where we will be greeted by my mother and Prim. 

Breathe in. Brea - a tremendous crash comes from within Haymitch’s house. I’m standing at my own front door, hand resting on the handle when another crash comes from his house. I might not be particularly fond of the old man, but I still care about him, enough to start running like a madman towards his house. He’s drunk most of the time so it wouldn’t surprise me if he accidentally threw himself down the stairs.

Bursting in through his door I yell his name, “Haymitch!” 

As expected, I get no response. I walk on soft feet through to his living room where he lies prone on his sofa, one of his arms hanging limply to the floor where a bottle of half finished liquor sways a little. No doubt he fell asleep like this. 

I give him a rough shake, and for once it’s enough to rouse him from his slumber. He sits up, giving me a disgruntled look, before taking another swig from the bottle. I snatch it from his hands, and he looks up at me, clearly pissed off.

I narrow my eyes at him, “Do you have a guest Haymitch, or have the racoons finally taken over?” 

“Wha-?” He continues to stare at me nonplussed.

“Jesus, how out of it were you Haymitch?” 

“I’d say he’d been out cold for a couple hours when I came in,” says an achingly familiar voice behind me.

I jump, and both mine and Haymitch’s head snap towards the source of the voice, where a blond boy - no, man - stands. He’s smirking slightly, I imagine at the shocked expressions our faces are wearing. I can’t help it, it’s a reflex really, one that I hate to have developed, but I take a step back. Peeta looks at me, and his smile drops, if only by a fraction.  I wince, I don’t mean it, just a precaution.

He looks well, and his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. As I stare unabashadley at him, he frowns slightly. 

“So, what, you just let yourself in and started doing god knows what with my kitchen?” Haymitch grouses. I finally manage to snap my attention away from him, and become very interested in my shoes. 

From the corner of my eyes, I watch as Peeta scratches the back of his neck and bounces his foot nervously, “Guess I’m more of a self-imposed guest then.” 

Following his comment, a silence falls over the room. I can’t really remember the last time we were all together alone like this. It must have been some time before the Quell happened, when we were training. Less than a year ago then, yet it feels like a lifetime. 

Quietly, I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say that will break this awkward tension that’s settled over the room. I should have left earlier. Instead I just say, “Well seeing as you’re OK, I’ll be on my way.” I point lamely to the front door, and start making my way over there. 

I’m just about out of the whole stinking house, hating them both for ruining what was looking to be a good morning, when Haymitch calls after me, “Hold it sweetheart, what’s in the bag?” 

I huff, yanking the whole bag off before throwing it at his face. As hungover as he is, his reflexes are still remarkably good and he catches it before it hits him. He gives me a pointed glare before taking a look inside. Giving me a satisfied smirk, he throws the bag back and announces, “We’ll have dinner at yours then.” 

I’m about to protest when he comes lumbering over to the door and slams it in my face. I stand dumb-struck, face inches from the door, hunting bag hanging clenched in my fist.

Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s all OK. 

———————————————————————-

I stand over my stove, grinding my teeth and staring resolutely out of the window, only occasionally looking down as I stir the mediocre stew I’ve concocted.  I worry my lip between my teeth, not caring if it starts to bleed. There’s so much that has been left unsaid between Peeta and I, a thousand apologies and explanations owed both ways. And I don’t even know where to start, or if I even want to open that conversation yet. But I’m wracking my brains and I can’t find anything else that Peeta and I really have in common, other than our horrific experiences. I decide that I’ll simply try and get through this dinner with as little talking as possible. 

I spent the rest of the day after the rude encounter with Haymitch and surprise reunion with Peeta cleaning up the entirety of the house and packing away the rest of the clutter, making space for whoever was going to move in after I left. I find that the menial chores of everyday life, such as cleaning, cooking, washing, help to alleviate some of my pent up frustration and have quite a calming effect. As dull and repetitive as they can be, focusing my brain power on such an unimportant task helps keep me centered and grounded in reality. 

It’s around that time of day when the afternoon is coming to an end, and the sun is starting to lower in the sky. The sun is coming in at an odd angle, blinding me, when I hear a firm knock at the door. I huff, stomping down the hallway to the entryway, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the white spots in my vision. Thinking it’s Haymitch coming early to give me some sort of lecture about behaviour around the newest inhabitant of Victors Village, or to watch me cook and tell me I’m doing it wrong.  I yank open the front door and say in a rather impatient voice, “You needn’t have come early, I know perfectly well how to cook without burning my house down.” 

I’m still squinting slightly, but when my vision finally clears I see only a broad chest standing in front of me. Looking up, I’m met with Peeta’s  face, once more frowning at me. “I know that,” he says, “I just thought I’d come early to help out a little, I brought some bread,” he sheepishly lifts his left arm showing me a small basket filled with rolls and buns. 

“Oh,” I stammer, “right, well come on in then.”

I turn my back and start marching back to the kitchen, scrunching my face and resisting the urge to bang my head repeatedly against a wall. Of all the ways I could invite Peeta into my house, that has got to be one of the worst. “Mind the boxes,” I say as an afterthought, conscious that most of the front of this house is littered with them, and not wanting him to trip over one. 

He hums behind me, and I can hear his heavy tread picking over the little maze that I’d inadvertently created when piling them up. 

I plant myself in front of the stove again, stirring the simmering stew - even though I know full well that it doesn’t need stirring anymore - and yank the curtain closed. 

He enters the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I see him glance back down the hallway furrowing his brow slightly, I silently beg for him not to ask about them. 

“You can put the basket on the table,” I rush out, as soon as I see him open his mouth. He nods his head, and places the basket on the corner of the table. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I don’t think I’ve ever wished for the arrival of Haymitch, but right now I really hope he comes waltzing in.

“What’s with the boxes?”

No such luck.

I sigh, and hunch myself over the countertop. “I’m, uh, leaving.” 

“Oh,” he says it quietly, and I’m not sure if I was even supposed to hear it. 

“District 4,” I elaborate, even though he didn’t ask, “My mother got a job there, and there’s a school with a good training program for Prim.”

“That’s good, I guess,” he says, his leg has started to bounce again, “I was wondering where they were.”

A silence falls over the room, and my breathing starts to pick up. Just say something! My brain scrambles for something to say, because there is no way I can stand here in silence with Peeta. “I only really came back here to, you know, pack up, and uh… say goodbye.” 

As I pull out the drawer to look for a good bread knife, I see Peeta nod, digesting this information. Still he says nothing, nothing about what he thinks of this, what he feels about me leaving. I don’t know why I should care, but I find that I do. Where is Haymitch? Can’t he for once in his life be on time? I’m drowning here, helplessly floundering around.

“Well you know how it is,” I continue, “needing a fresh start, after everything that’s happened…” I don’t know why I’m saying all of this, to Peeta no less, but the words won’t stop pouring out of my mouth. 

I take a deep breath to steady myself, and consider clamping a hand over my mouth to stop myself from saying any more. Peeta stands stock still in the entryway of the kitchen, I don’t think he knows what to say, which is a first. I’ve rendered Peeta Mellark speechless. 

To fill the quiet, and desperate not to say anything else, I begin scurrying around the kitchen. Wiping off countertops, and rinsing already cleaned and drying dishes. I’m frantic, and I have no clue as to where to go from here. What to say to this man standing in my kitchen, someone I know so much, and yet so little about. 

I’m banging open cupboards and drawers, searching for a knife to cut the bread with, when Peeta comes to stand beside me. I’m searching through a drawer, which I know doesn’t hold a bread knife, my hands are shaking and I can’t make them stop. That’s when he reaches over, and clasps my hands in his. I freeze, and look straight ahead at the standard kitchen tile, willing myself to breathe.

“Katniss,” he murmurs, “look at me.”

I blink slowly, and my lip trembles, but slowly I turn my head to look at him. He’s so close, and he’s looking at me with such intensity that it should make me nervous, but it doesn’t. 

“It’s OK,” he smiles, in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring way, but I’m transfixed by his eyes, and they’re not smiling with him. I sag slightly, I want so badly for it to be OK, every morning I trick myself into believing it’s OK, just to be able to get up. It isn’t though.

“No, no it’s not OK,” I whisper, “None of anything that happened was ‘OK’.”

I look down, fascinated by the way his large pale hands seem to engulf my own smaller darker ones. He doesn’t seem to have a response to that either, so we just stand there in silence, until Haymitch finally comes strolling through my back door. 

Quickly, I yank my hands from Peeta’s and take a step back, brushing away non-existent wrinkles in my clothing. Haymitch, seemingly unaware of the strained atmosphere in the room, plonks himself down at the table before rambling on about some phone call he received from Plutarch. Peeta tries to catch my eye, but I move swiftly away, collecting bowls and spoons, and finally procuring that wretched bread knife. Carrying them over to the table, I give Haymitch a withering look, it isn’t exactly his fault that I’m unable to be in a room alone with Peeta and have a normal conversation, but he didn’t have to invite everyone round to my house for supper either. 

He quirks one of his eyebrows in amusement, catching on to my annoyance. 

“I hope you didn’t stare at the food with such a sour face, you might have spoiled it,” he says, eyes narrowing at me in challenge. Goading me into saying something I might regret. He thinks I’m stupid, he thinks I don’t understand why he’s doing this to me. I fully understand that this is him punishing me for leaving, he doesn’t want me to know it, that he doesn’t want me to go, but unfortunately for him he told me once when I was escorting him back to his house after another one of these damned dinners. 

He’d leant in close to my ear, breathing sour fumes into my face, and said, “You shouldn’t leave, you can’t leave, Twelve is your home remember. And anyway, what’re you gonna do without your favourite resident drunk.” It hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to guilt me into staying, but at least he’d shown more finesse before, using Peeta’s inevitable return against me. This was the first time he had actually shown any indication that he was remorseful of my decision to leave. He’d then belched loudly, and fallen asleep right there, with me holding him up in the middle of the road. 

I stare him down, daring him to say another word, but he reaches over the table and grabs the bread and knife. “Well at least I can know that one part of this meal won’t give me food poisoning,” he exclaims loudly, I only roll my eyes and stalk over to the stewpot. Peeta tries once more to grab my attention, but I studiously avert my gaze from his and busy myself with finding a tea towel to carry over the steaming dish. I sigh quietly in relief when Peeta finally makes his way over to the table and takes a seat opposite to Haymitch.

“We’ve missed your bread around these parts,” Haymitch proclaims, “haven’t we, sweetheart?” He looks up at me, daring me to deny this sentiment.

I place the pot down onto the table with a little more force than necessary, causing both Haymitch and Peeta to jump in their seats. I give each of them my best glare, effectively shutting off all conversation for the next five minutes. 

As we eat in awkward quietude, the only sounds that fill the room are the clink of a spoon hitting a bowl or a crunch as someone bites into a roll.

The silence suits me just fine, and the glowering looks that Haymitch sends me from over his bowl don’t bother me in the slightest. At first I don’t realise, but Peeta starts to fidget on the other side of the table, tapping out an erratic beat on the table and holding his spoon in a death grip before releasing it slightly. 

I watch in fascination as his knuckles turn white from the effort, I know it’s a horrible thing to think, but I begin to wonder if it’s my throat he really wants to grip in a chokehold. I give an involuntary shiver, and stare down at the stew that I so hastily threw together, ashamed of my line of thought. 

I’ve just about finished my bowl, when Haymitch clears his throat. I inwardly groan, does the man never take a holiday? 

To my surprise, however, he only leans back in his chair, levels us both with a look, and says, “Thank you, that was… lovely,” his features, so hardened by years of having children die on his conscience, soften slightly and he turns his focus to me. I shrink back a little at the scrutinisation, but his eyes hold no malice, they just look right into my soul and I know what he’s going to say before he even says it, “You did good, sweetheart.”

Even though I knew it was coming, my breath momentarily stills in my chest. I look back at him and my face crumples. Haymitch knew exactly what he was doing when he said it, he’s reminding me that we were, and still are, a team. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, and I don’t want him to be, he’s here. And I am forgiven. 

“Boy, would you give us a moment,” Haymitch says softly. 

I’m barely holding myself together, the flimsy strings that have been holding my already fragile psyche together all these weeks are about to fail, and I’m once more grateful for the fact that Haymitch understands me so well, because as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t fall apart in front of Peeta.  

I hear rather than see Peeta hastily vacate the room, and though I was expecting a floodgate to open and for the tears to stream from eyes as if a dam had been broken, none come. The kitchen isn’t filled with my howls and sobs, it’s filled only with the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Within me though, an inferno rages. Filled with the screams of the far gone dead, and me at the center gasping and retching. 

They are bursting to be let loose, they are threatening to tear at the very seams of my sanity and being. Some are my fault, some happened on accident, and some happened because I wasn’t watching closely enough, but they all shout the same. It starts with my father and ends with Squad 451. It’s pent up somewhere inside me, all the hurt and anguish, under lock and key, and it’s writhing and scrambling to be let loose. For me to let it go. But I’m scared that if I do so there won’t be anything left. These people’s deaths are what define me, and I have no idea where I lay in the mess of faults and debts.

In the kitchen though, silence still reigns, I’m staring stoically at the tiny amount of  watery liquid that remains at the bottom of my bowl. Haymitch takes my clenched fists in his own roughened and grubby hands. He doesn’t bore me with trite platitudes, he just sits in silence waiting for me to either release my torment, or push it back down. 

We stay like this for what seems like hours, but eventually my tense muscles relax slightly and I remember how to breathe normally. My ghosts are silent again. I look up at Haymitch, exhausted and emotionally rung out, and I wait for his ‘sage’ advice to come. All he offers up though is;

“You got off the train, sweetheart. Stop trying to get back on.” 

He rises from the table, and for once he carries the dishes over to the sink. He pats me once on the shoulder before leaving. I watch as he hobbles from my kitchen and down the road to his own house, looking years older than a man his age should.

—————————————————————————–

After the somewhat disastrous dinner, I made sure to isolate myself from anyone who might cause me some sort of distress. It wasn’t hard, seeing as I’ve never been the most sociable of beings, and I had plenty to do before my departure. I packed the remainder of the house up, and left a bottle of liquor on Haymitch’s doorstep, with a hastily tied bow wrapped around its neck. I then ventured into the woods, I didn’t bother with getting out one of my bows and arrows, I just wandered through the dense foliage, silently saying goodbye to all I used to know, and with it my childhood. 

The people came, as arranged, to help move the boxes to the train station. I boarded the train in the dead of night, with only Greasy Sae there to bid me farewell. The train moved out of the station with little ado, and I found myself a spot in one of the corners, sat on a crinkly tarp. 

It was decided that if I was to be travelling from District 12 to District 4, it couldn’t be on one of the new passenger trains, it would cause too much ‘excitement’ as Plutarch so eloquently told me. I was to travel in one of the trains filled with building materials, and rations. I agreed, as I see myself as being rather intimate with small cramped spaces.

The train chugged along, rocking me into a state of tranquility. I breathed in, and I breathed out, hoping with all of me that it could finally be OK.

——————————————————————–

It isn’t until a few days after my arrival in Four that I see it, a small piece of paper on my floor. It must have fallen from one of the boxes whilst I was unpacking. Frowning, I pick it up, 

If you ever want to talk.  - Peeta

Underneath is a number, a phone number, Peeta’s phone number. I clutch the paper in my fist, crumpling it a little. I’m standing stock still in my room, the sunlight is filtering in through the window. It isn’t particularly special, in fact, the writing is scrawled, as if he was rushing to get it done. But it’s still from Peeta, and it’s rattled me. 

There’s so much to do, I promised Prim we could go for a walk on the beach, Gale is visiting, I said I’d go see Annie for tea. But right now, none of that matters, because the world has gone still with me, and I don’t know what to do.   

I yank open my desk drawer, looking at the crumpled piece of paper one last time, before placing it in there with all of the other things that I no longer know what to do with, but can’t get rid of; a locket, a pin, a pearl, and a spile. I then slam the drawer shut, hoping that the sounding finality of it will echo across all time, time to say goodbye to all that. I close my eyes against the desperate want to open it again and cradle all of these things in my trembling hands. There’s just so much to do. 

——————————————————————-

I manage to stay away from the drawer, and the objects inside that call for my attention. I take walks on the beach with my mother and Prim, listening to all my little sister has to say. She looks so happy and content as she jumps and twirls on the sand and it makes me happy. I sit with Annie, in the surf or on her porch, holding her hand through her grief, or letting her talk about all she wants. Sometimes we prefer the sound of the waves though, letting the reliable sound of it coming and going fill us with a sense of security. Because even if it goes, it always comes back. 

Gale visits, and we try our hand at fishing and sailing. We fall in a lot, and the cold water is shocking and sobering. It’s good to be back on familiar ground with Gale, the uncertainty and mistrust that plagued our friendship over the past year still hangs over our heads, but we don’t talk about it. Sometimes, though, I’ll catch him looking at me a certain way, or a silence will fall over us, and I’ll curse the war for nurturing such a blank space in our friendship. 

I look into the Capitol archives, at my mothers request, to look for pictures of myself and Primrose from when we were younger. 

The pictures I find are black and white, standard for the mandatory pictures we had to take in school. In mine, I look about ten years old, I’m wearing two braids with ribbons in them. I don’t seem too pleased about this, in fact I look about ready to tear off the head of anyone who says anything about the ribbons. I’m staring at the camera with mild curiosity, but mostly apprehension, though the small smile I’m wearing suggests differently. Primrose looks so young, still carrying a meagre amount of baby fat, her blonde hair falling only to her small shoulders. I can practically hear her giggling at the camera, all blue eyed and dimpled. I forgot that she used to look like that, and my heart aches for the family of four who lived in a small shack in the Seam. I even find a picture of my mother, from when she was younger, and what people said is true. She’s beautiful, around fifteen or sixteen in her picture, and she’s giving the camera a sweet smile, her beguiling eyes are clear of all sorrow that plagued her later years.  

For a while, these pictures take pride of place on our mantle, next to my mother and fathers wedding picture, until Prim declares we must take new ones. So, we do. And their lively colour fills first our mantle, relegating the others (apart from the wedding photo) to my mothers bedside table, not quite forgotten, but no longer the center of attention anymore. Then our fridge, and eventually Prim and I create little collages on the wall. 

My phone calls with the good doctor dwindle to once a week. He tells me that whilst I might always ache for the ones I have lost, making new, happier, memories is a ‘damn good way to honour their memory’. 

———————————————–

All of this ‘moving forwards’ business comes to a grinding halt, however, on the 4th of July. My forced abstinence from the drawer of trinkets that I can’t make sense of, ends. It’s Reaping Day. And I feel so alone. 

I’m awake before dawn, having screamed myself awake from the nightmares that won’t ever leave. I don’t bother with going back to sleep. I slip out of bed and make my way to the kitchen, where I boil the kettle for something to do. 

The tide is in, licking its way further up the sand, coming closer and closer to our house. It never reaches, but a part of me always thinks that it will. I seat myself on our window seat, watching as the water encroaches further up the beach, swallowing sand as it goes. I curl my feet up underneath me, and drink slow tentative sips from my mug. 

Though I try to focus all of my attention on watching the water, my eyes keep on finding their way back to the phone that hangs happy and yellow from the wall, just out of reach. If my eyes aren’t staring holes into the phone, they start fidgeting over to my closed bedroom door, searching for the strength to stay where I am.

My tea goes cold, the tide starts to move back out, and the sky begins to go pink. And still my attention is focused only on the phone and the whiteness of my bedroom door.

Eventually, my will bends, and I can’t stand the stillness of my indecision anymore, I abandon my mug on the table and shuffle over to my room. I find the note exactly where I left it, crumpled in a ball and left to collect dust. A part of me was starting to think that I might have imagined its existence. 

Smoothing out the crumpled paper in my hands, I promise myself only once. 

I dial the number before I can lose my resolve and back out, and wait, impatiently tapping my foot. The phone seems to dial forever, and I’m sure that it’s about to ring off when I hear the click of the phone being picked up.

“Hello,” the voice that crackles through the speaker sounds remarkably tired and my heart sinks like a stone, “Peeta Mellark speaking, who is this?” 

I open my mouth, but my voice sticks in my throat and I can’t get the words out for the life of me. 

“Hello?” 

I close my mouth and breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to calm the nerves that are causing my heart to bang incessantly against my ribcage. I feel as if I have run a marathon. My head is pounding and my palms are sweating. 

“Alright, well I’m going to hang up now.”

I panic, scared that he might actually hang up and then I won’t be able to get a hold of him again; “Wait!” 

“Katniss?” He sounds so shocked and mildly confused. When I hear him say my name, I realise how desperate I’ve actually been to just hear his voice again. I want to talk to him, so I force the rest of the words to unstick from my voice box.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, taking another deep breath, “Katniss.”

There’s no sound from the other end of the line, and for a moment I’m scared that he might have hung up the phone. 

Almost as if he was reading my mind he says, “Sorry, just grabbing a chair.”

“Oh.” The relief is tangible in my voice.

Once more a silence fills the line, with only the crackle of static and white noise filling it. I’m filled with a sudden sense of guilt, why did I leave it so long? 

“So…” Peeta starts, “you called.”

“Yeah,” I reply, searching for something to say that won’t outright tell him that I only called him because I was feeling lonely. Isn’t that why I called him though, because I’m so alone, even when I’m around people. I shake the thought from my head, Peeta doesn’t need, let alone want to hear about that. 

He’s about to say something, but I jump in before he can, “Peeta, I’m sorry for not calling you before,” and as I say it I realise that I mean it, I really am sorry for shutting him out of my life. Because as much as I want to move on, I can’t if I leave whatever we have unresolved. I take a deep breath and manage to squeak out, “It’s Reaping Day, and I can’t get through it without you.”

I lean heavily against the wall, suddenly weak in the knees from my confession, scared that it won’t be enough to start to make up for all the harm I’ve caused him. 

Turns out that it is though, because he tells me to take a seat, and he starts to talk. Distracting me from the paranoia I’m feeling, how am I supposed to get through this day every year for the rest of my life. I have a sudden vision of resurrecting snow from the dead, just so I can kill him, for all the suffering he has caused me, everyone really.  

He talks about nothing at first, but then I join in, and I realise it’s not that bad. It’s actually good, I feel good talking to him, like a weight has been lifted from me and I’ve finally reached the surface of deep deep water. Breathing in deep, clean breaths of air. 

“Tell me, what’s happening in Four, right now I mean,” he asks.

“Umm,” I turn my head to look out the window, “the sun is starting to rise over the houses.” 

“Oh?” he says, interest piqued, “that must be pretty, describe it to me.” 

I do, stumbling over my words and trying to tell him just how gorgeous it is. How the pinks wash away the greys and blues of twilight, how the sun looks so yellow and bright, delighting in the fact that it is rising once more, how it makes me feel as if the world is being given permission to awaken by the sun. And once I’m done I can feel that Peeta is smiling on the other end of the line.

“The sunset is even better, you should come see it,” I whisper without really thinking about what it is implicating. 

A silence settles over us once more, and it isn’t awkward even though my last sentiment is hanging in the air. 

Peeta either didn’t hear what I said, or chooses to not say anything to it, because what he says next is so completely off topic that it takes me off guard; “Katniss, why did you vote for there to be another Hunger Games?” His voice is grave, and I can tell that this has been on his mind for the entirety of our conversation, if not longer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, following my prolonged silence, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no,” I say, quick to wave off his apology, “you have a right to know.”

I’m quiet whilst I try to collect my thoughts, and Peeta doesn’t interrupt, already sensing that this will open up a larger conversation, one that I wasn’t anticipating when I decided to pick up the phone.

“Coin didn’t like me because I didn’t trust her. She wanted my support when it came to electing a new leader, and she wasn’t sure that she would get it from me. So, she wanted me gone, I had served my purpose as the Mockingjay, and now I was more useful as a martyr than anything else. That’s why she sent you out onto the field, and had you join Squad 451, she was hoping that you would kill me,” at this I hear Peeta’s sharp intake of breath, and I can already hear him try to start to apologise, but that would only open up a whole other can of worms, and I only want to say all of this once, so I continue heedless of Peeta’s attempt to interrupt with an apology.

“I guess she wanted to get it on film or something, to prove what a horrible monster Snow was, turning two lovers against each other, and all that. As we both know, that didn’t really work out for her when we went off the grid on our own mission. She could no longer control what I did, and had no one supervising me, she could only hope that one of the many pods in the Capitol would kill me off. When it became clear that I wasn’t dead, and in fact very much alive, despite much of our Squad not being so, she needed to get me back under control. Rope me back in as it were.”

I suck in a deep breath, preparing myself for what I would next confess. I have only spoken of this once, shortly with Gale. Long enough to know the gist of what happened, and understand what exactly needed to happen next. Peeta sits in silence on the other end of the phone, I have his attention, “Coin needed to break me, she needed me to be so worn down and desperate that I would go for the easy way out. The people would now follow me into anything, and if I did not lead them to Coin they would not go on their own.”

“So, she authorised Prim to be sent into the field. Only thirteen, she would not have been allowed otherwise. That day, in the City Circle… Primrose was supposed to be there, by chance her hovercraft got held up with some sort of technical difficulties, and only made it in time to see the aftermath of the second round of bombs going off.”

“I voted for another Hunger Games because I could see no other way out, nothing was going to change. Ever. Not with Coin around, anyway. I needed her to trust me, to think that I was on her side.” 

I hear Peeta suck in a sharp breath on the other end of the line, digesting all of this information, and understanding what I’m implicating. That Coin’s assassination wasn’t just me going slightly off the rails. 

“Guess the odds were slightly in my favour on that one,” I add with a wry smile. 

The line is quiet for a while, but Peeta catches on faster than I expected, and asks; “Does anyone else know?”

I debate on telling him names, but decide against it. He already knows enough, and if there ever is a deeper investigation on the matter, I don’t want Peeta to be implicated. “As far as I know, only three, and one of them is dead anyway.” 

In my mind’s eye, I see Peeta nodding his head, understanding that he won’t be getting names and shouldn’t press me on the matter. 

“Does, uh, Prim know what could have happened to her?” He questions in a soft voice.

“We’ve never really talked about it, but I assume she does. She was part of the crew that helped rescue myself and a few others from the carnage.” I look out the window, curling myself tighter into my ball on the window seat, picturing what my sister must have seen that day, I shiver involuntarily, my voice trailing off. The sun has risen fully now, and I can hear my mother and Prim rousing, getting ready for the day. 

“Listen, I - uh - have to go, my mother and Prim are awake, and Prim will probably want to be with me today.” I chew nervously at my nail, wincing out how it might sound to Peeta.

“Oh, right, of course,” he replies hastily, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Frantic that he might disconnect the line, and I won’t get the chance to speak to him again, I rush out; “I’ll call again, I promise.”

“OK, that’s… good.” he states.

I can hear some shuffling on the end of the line, and I know he’s standing up to hang up the phone so I hastily add, “Oh, and Peeta, take care of yourself.” I then rush to hang up the phone before him, with a smile as bright as the sun on my face. 

Later that day I receive calls from both Johanna and Haymitch. Johanna tells me she’s planning on visiting soon, and with a chirpy voice that drips with sarcasm trills down the phone, “Happy Hunger Games, brainless!” Then hangs up the phone so fast I have no chance to get a word in. Haymitch calls rather late in the evening, already buzzed, and slurs some well wishes down the phone that make hardly any sense. 

I spend most of the day with Annie and Prim, who clings to my side and holds me at every opportunity she gets, sitting on the warm beach, sunning, and listening to tales of the sea that Annie murmurs to us whilst stroking her steadily swelling tummy.

Gale visits in the late afternoon, though it wasn’t planned, stating he won’t be staying for long. We sit next to each other on an abandoned pier that’s become our new spot, and he lets me lean my head on his shoulder. We sit in silence whilst I doze in and out of a light sleep, and he stares steadfastly out into the ocean, intermittently stroking my hair. 

That evening, my mother, myself, and Prim sit on the porch, listening to the wind whistle through the reeds, and the waves crash against the shore. My mother brushes and braids my hair, and I let her. Prim sings silly songs that our father used to sing to us when we were little, whilst she strokes a rather disgruntled Buttercup. 

I’m not surprised when that night Prim curls up into bed next to me, hugging me tightly. She whispers into my neck, “I won’t let them take you from me, not ever again.” I stroke her hair and back, murmuring assurances into the top of her haid, fighting the urge to cry. 

When she asks if I’ll sing the Meadow Song to her, I do, but I have to stop when the tears start  streaming down my face. Prim, so young, and yet so wise, understands, and tells me in no uncertain words, “Rue is safe now, they’re all safe.” And with those words accompanying me, I fall into the first dreamless sleep I’ve had in months.

——————————————————————–

I make good on my promise to Peeta a week later, breaking my silly promise to myself that I would only call him once, and call him. We only talk for about ten minutes, where he tells me all about the rebuilding in Twelve and how Haymitch has adopted some wild geese, and I tell him about the comings and goings of Four. The conversation isn’t a long one, and we don’t touch on any touchy subjects, but I realise it’s enough. It’s enough to hear his voice, and to know that he’s OK. Eventually, our calls go from every other week, to once a week, to twice a week, to every other day. We have a few false starts, but I come to realise that that’s OK too. Sometimes, our conversations are lengthy, and other times, they are a mere five minutes of us sharing meaningless conversation.

Dr. Aurelius continues to call, and gives me new ways to deal with and think about everything that happened. Usually half of what he says is complete jargon, but if I listen closely enough I can pick out the little nuggets of advice that are worth my while. 

Buttercup finally ventures further out onto the beach when he realises that that’s where all his fish dinners are coming from, and ascertains that he’s still scared of water after what I did to him as a kitten. It amuses Gale and I though, to watch the cat find a fish in one of the many rock pools, and hiss at the unyielding water whilst stalking around the pool. 

Johanna does come and visit, in late July, and she has me lead her into the sea bit by bit. It takes two weeks of some tears, lots of swearing and cursing at the Capitol and Snow, coaxing from myself, and shouts of encouragement from both my sister and Annie before Johanna manages to stand before me, salty water up to her armpits. She’s gripping my forearms in a vice hold, and she’s standing mere inches from my face.

Gritting her teeth she hisses out, “Say something, anything, to distract me.”

I think for a moment before telling her, “You know that weird lumpy thing on my forearm that you were commenting on earlier,” she nods at me, “You gave me that ugly scar, you bitch.” 

It has the desired effect, and she starts cackling, before adding, “A thank you would have been nicer.” She then dunks herself fully underwater. When she comes back up, Annie and my sister are cheering from the beach, my mother is leaning against the railing on our porch stairs smiling. Johanna coughs a few times, before shaking the water from her short choppy hair like a dog, and embraces me fiercely, wheezing into my ear, “We don’t talk about this, ever again, alright.” 

I only smile, and pat her on the back a few times, before leading her back onto the beach, where the sun dries our chilled bodies. 

Later that day, when my sister has gone off to one of her classes, Annie, Johanna, and I sit on the sand watching the waves rolling in and out. It has a calming effect, and the hypnotic sounds cause both myself and Johanna to yawn and lay back, looking up at the clear blue sky. 

Johanna’s almost dozed off and I’m beginning to feel heavy headed, when Annie unwittingly plants a seed in our heads. She turns and looks out at the unrelenting sea, and says, “Have you ever wondered what else might be out there? I used to, I still do. Finnick used to tease me for it, said there was no point in wondering about the what ifs of this world, I don’t know though.” 

Johanna and I both look at each other in bewilderment, to be truthful I had never really considered the wider world around me when I was younger, too concerned with the here and now and the immediate obstacles facing me; such as getting enough food to live through the week. I think the younger me would have sided with Finnick on this, why ponder about something so out of reach and fantastical. Sure it might have been a fun thing to wonder about, but at the same time a little hard to wrap one’s head around. But now… the possibilities seem endless, and the thought of there being more people out there doesn’t seem so worrisome and out of reach anymore. 

Johanna says something first, “Nope, never wondered. And even if there were other people out there who’s to say they wouldn’t be ten times worse than us.”

Annie shrugs, and says with a little smile, “Who’s to say they’re not terribly nice, and maybe even awfully rich,” She looks down at us with an intense look in her eyes, “My mother used to say there were people, from way back when, who would pillage and steal from other ships and cities, they were called Pirates and they sailed the seven seas in massive wooden boats,” She sighs contentedly, obviously thinking of some sort of happy memory that we’re not privy to, “Doesn’t that sound amazing?” 

I try to imagine this, stormy seas and troubled skies with big ships rocking back and forth on the waves, but I can’t quite envision it. We abandon the conversation and the sun begins to set. I sigh contentedly, watching as the sky turns a blood red and the few clouds are stained orange.

Johanna nudges my arm, “Say, I’ve been meaning to ask, how’s things with lover-boy? Is there anything happening between you two?” 

I’d managed to avoid this conversation with basically everybody for the past couple of months. My conversations with Peeta were a private matter and it was a luxury that I was extremely grateful for after our relationship in the past being shoved under a microscope for all to see, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to let anyone in on this yet, if ever. I’m pretty certain that my mother and Prim are aware of whom I’m talking to on the phone, but they’ve never asked me about it, for which I am thankful.

I ring out the ends of my hair, which are still a bit damp from the sea, and gnaw at my lip, “Uhhh, nothing much to tell really…” 

Johanna makes a disbelieving sound and raises her eyebrows at me, “Sure there isn’t, brainless,” she turns to look back out at the sun setting, and I think she’s going to drop it when she adds, “You’re still an awful liar, by the way.”

I splutter, trying to seem cool and indifferent, but clearly they both see right through me. Annie pats my shoulder sympathetically, before proffering her opinion; “It’s alright, Katniss, you don’t have to tell if you don’t want to… but if you are talking, I think you should invite him for a visit, he’s probably awfully lonely in Twelve with only Haymitch and the reconstructors for company.”

This last comment gives me pause, I’d never really considered what Peeta does when he’s not on the phone to me. I just sort of assumed that he painted and baked and did other Peeta-ish things, I don’t really surprise myself with this either, for I am once more reminded of how self-centered I am, especially when it comes to Peeta. 

I scratch at my ankle absentmindedly, “Yeah, maybe I will.”

We sit on the beach even after the sun has gone down, Annie’s words still ring in my head and I actually begin to consider inviting Peeta. At the moment, I’m completely fine with keeping our friendship as an over-the-phone thing, I know it’s always there waiting and I can always come back to it.

 Annie is a good distraction from these thoughts though, as she points out a few constellations. I’ve never been much of a star gazer, my father used to try and show me the shapes they made in the sky, but I could never make them out, so instead of showing my inadequacy I just pretended I didn’t care. 

She likes these sort of things though, myths and legends that her mother told her when she was little, passed down from mouth to ear for centuries. We used to have an old man like that in District 12, he would hang around the Hob telling stories from an overturned crate to the miners’ children. My father used to describe him as ‘away with the fairies’ and I find that that analogy fits Annie rather well.

Eventually, Annie bids us a good night and clambers up the beach. Johanna, still lying next to me, turns her head to face me. Her eyes are hard, and her face looks serious, I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when she holds up her hand to stop me.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend to know what type of relationship you have with Peeta, but I’m gonna tell you this straight because I know Annie would never. You are the only one out of us Victors who got out of the war relatively unscathed, the rest of us kind of lost everything and everyone we ever knew. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, but you should be aware of this.”

She sucks in a breath, clearly quite desperate for me to understand, “You care for him to some extent right? Like enough to risk your life for him, repeatedly?” she asks me. I nod slowly, wondering where she is headed with this impassioned monologue. “Then cling to it, and don’t ever let go. You have him now, you could have him now if you chose to do so. I’m not saying in that way, because I have no idea where you are at with that hot cousin of yours, but you have a choice. Which is not something the rest of us have. Your months of pining after him in District 13 are over, brainless.”

“I wouldn’t say I pined after him,” I say defensively.

“Oh whatever,” Johanna replies, borderline aggressive, “and that is so not the point anyway.”

“No, I know.”

“Just think about it, alright?” she says as she pulls herself up from the sand, waiting for me to follow.

We’re walking up the beach when Johanna adds, “Also what the fuck is up with Annie and her crazy stories? I have not once thought that there might be something else out there,” she waves her hand out dismissively at the ocean, “Is that just me?”

I snort at this, she might be one for cultivating awkward situations, and she loves uncomfortable lines of questioning, but she never really gets so earnest about it. I decide to play along, “No, I never did either, until this evening of course. I guess when you live next to the sea though, and you can see where the horizon ends, it makes sense that someone like Annie would wonder about what came after.” 

Johanna nods at this, adding in a conspiratorial voice, “I think we would make great pirates, don’t you brainless?” 

I laugh a genuine laugh at this, “Sure we would be.”

———————————————————————– 

Summer wears on, and things happen as usual. Buttercup learns that he can scare the fish into leaping out of the water, so that he can catch them in his mouth. I help Annie in buying things to prepare for her baby. Her tummy is swollen, and looks quite uncomfortable. When she walks, she does the signature pregnant woman waddle. I continue my calls with Peeta, and eventually I decided that it wouldn’t be half bad if Peeta came to visit. It takes me a while to build up the nerve to invite him, remembering the last time I made an off-hand comment about it, but I do. We speak at length about it, and eventually I convince him. It takes the incentive of a break from Haymitch, and a sunset to remember for the ages to get him to agree, but in time he does. A date is set in September, which according to Annie is when the sea is at its warmest. I find that I’m actually looking forward to it, and when I tell my mother and Prim about it, I can’t help but grin like an idiot. My mother gives me a knowing smile, that I try not to let grate on me, and Prim gives me a brief but excitable hug.

I knew the conversation would have to happen at some point, even so, I’m not prepared for it when it comes. I was hoping that the conversation wouldn’t have to happen at all, but I know that if Gale and I are going to have any sort of relationship in the future I need to start being honest with him. I think I owe him that much. 

We’re heaving ourselves out of the water, onto the pier. We went deep sea fishing, and on the wooden planks awaits a healthy pile of clams, muscles and oysters that we’ve collected over the morning. Gale is busy separating them off into separate piles and counting them up, whilst I’m wringing out my hair and tying it up into a bun so it doesn’t drip too much down my back, when he casually asks what I’m doing next weekend. I freeze, deliberating on how I should best tell him this.

I decide I should just be bluntly honest with him, “Uh, Peeta’s coming to visit,” I try to keep all inflections of emotion out of my voice, nonetheless I still choke on the last part of the sentence as it comes out. 

Out of the corner of my eye I see Gale freeze in his sorting, but he recovers quickly and continues, asking in a level voice, “I didn’t know you were in touch with him?” 

To his credit, it doesn’t sound like an accusation, more of an enquiry. “Yeah well, most people don’t. I guess after so long of having everyone paying attention to us, I just wanted to keep it private.”

“That makes sense,” Gale replies easily.

I’m a little confused, and perhaps even a little peeved that Gale is acting so reasonable. A part of me wants him to freak out on me, or become acidicly jealous. I’m not really sure why that is, but it’s the truth. 

Gale gets up to grab his shirt, and it seems that he is wholly done with this conversation. This confuses me even further, what is he playing at? I try to read his face, try to understand what he actually thinks about this, so I know where to go next. But his trademark scowl is absent from his face as he reaches for a towel to scrub at his hair, it’s neutral and passive. 

“We’re not an item you know,” I blurt out.

Gale stills, and looks up from underneath the towel, “OK?” 

I once again try to read his expression, but come up short. Losing my patience with him I cry out, “Oh for fucks sake Gale! Would you just tell me what you’re thinking, instead of acting like a… like a block of cheese.” 

He raises his eyebrows at this, “A block of cheese? Really, Catnip?” he chuckles, and I feel myself blushing furiously.

“Well you know what I mean, don’t you? You’re acting so… so… Oh I don’t know, you’re just being annoying!” I huff out, standing up and reaching for my T-shirt as well. 

There’s quiet for a moment, and I think my outburst will just be ignored like so many others I’ve had, but then I hear Gale sighing behind me, “What do you want me to say to you Catnip? Be careful? Congratulations?! I know for a fact that neither would go down well…”

My back is still turned to him, and I’m scowling out at the sea cursing whatever deity decided that I needed to care about whatever the fuck Gale thought. I could almost growl for the frustration of it. 

“Katniss,” Gale starts, “Where exactly is all this coming from?”

I whirl around to face him, ready to tell him all the things he should be doing right now, saying in this situation, because I have about a thousand nasty things that I could hurl at him. But I see his face and it’s asking for me to be open and honest with him, so I am, “I’m scared I’ll fuck it up, like I did before… like I did with you.” 

“Well… I can’t promise you that you won’t,” he smiles at me, “but even if you did, he’d come back to you, like I have, and like he’s done a hundred other times.”

“I don’t know, Gale, I’m pretty screwy in the head, and well, so is he. What if I do or say something that… sets him off?” 

“Well you’ve been talking to him over the phone I assume,” I nod in confirmation, “and has anything you said or done set him off on a violent rampage?” 

I shake my head, “No, but there are times when he just goes silent…”

Gale is quiet for a while, and he’s looking at me strangely, when I raise my eyebrows at him in askance, he says, “Sorry, just wondering how I got into this situation.”

I smile sheepishly and tell him, “I’m sorry, I’m such an ass.”

Gale smirks at me and says, “Now that is something we can agree on.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say playfully, but then I add in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry I couldn’t, don’t, love you the way you wanted me to,” thinking that whilst we’re at it I might as well apologise for this as well.

Gale looks at me for a few moments, seemingly contemplating what to say next, “Don’t be, having you as my friend is one of the greatest privileges of my life,” he shrugs, “And it’ll pass.”

I look at him, and I too wonder how we got here. Johanna’s words from a couple weeks prior ring in my head; You are the only one out of us Victors who got out of the war relatively unscathed. A sudden wave of nostalgia hits me, and I rush forwards to embrace him. He might not be the same kid I met all those years ago in the woods, but neither am I. I might not agree with all of his opinions, or the things he’s done, but I forgive him for it. And I need him to know this.

“I do love you though,” I say into his chest.

And like the idiot that he is, he replies, “I know.”

I look up at him in mock outrage, and he’s smiling down at me. I can see it too now; It will pass, and he will get over it. I lean my head back into his chest, smiling secretly at how glad I am that I still have him too.

—————————————————

The next weekend arrives far quicker than I would have liked, but it arrives nonetheless. The day is balmy and warm, and the walk to the station has my clothes sticking to me. I shrink into the shadows as much as I can on the platform, wanting to see him before he can see me. The unnaturally warm day seems to be getting to the people of Four as well, who are usually quite personable, they hustle and bustle around me not even looking back when they accidentally bump into me. 

I’m all jittery with nerves, and I can’t stop bouncing on the balls of my feet, twisting my fingers in my other hand. The train pulls into the station and I feel as if I might puke, I get the overwhelming urge to run before it’s too late. But then he’s stepping off the train steps, he has a small overnight bag in his hands, and he’s looking round the station for me. 

I watch him for a few seconds, take in how he’s filled out in the past few months, his blond hair a little too long on the top as it falls in his eyes. The station, so busy only a few moments before, is now emptying out as people get off the train to attend to business or board the train to be whisked off to who-knows-where. 

Finally, it looks as if it is only him and I on the platform. I step forward, off of the pillar I’ve been shrinking into, making myself more visible to him. As soon as he notices me, my heart stills in my chest. There’s no going back now. He smiles warmly at me as he comes up to greet me. Was he always this tall? I look up at him and am greeted with his startling blue eyes that seem to almost glitter in the sun.

“Hey,” he proffers.

“Hi,” I return.

We’re silent for a beat, and I rock back and forth on my feet waiting for him to do something.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing for me to go.

We walk in relative silence on the way back to the house, only exchanging a few words with one another as we leave the station. Otherwise I let him take it all in, District 4 is pretty different to Twelve. Architecture and landscape wise, but also in that it wasn’t hit that hard during the war. The things that were bombed, a few fisheries and a port, have long since been rebuilt. 

It’s an uphill trek towards the Village, as all Victors Villages were always built apart from the actual District. I guess in a show that Victors were no longer a part of normal District society, and should be regarded as something other.

The afternoon passes with easy chatter, and before I know it the day is cooling off from the initial midday heat. The sun is beginning to lower in the sky and I realise all we’ve done today is sit in the surf, toes in the sand, talking. I did briefly go into the water to splash around and cool off, and Peeta went in up to his waist, but refused to go any further into the constantly shifting water. 

I can already tell that the sunset will be spectacular, there’s a little bit of cloud coverage and the sun is shining brightly. My father used to say that this type of sunset is a ‘shepherd’s delight’ I have no idea what that means seeing as I never bothered to ask. 

There’s a slight lull in the conversation, and I stare wistfully out at the horizon and not for the first time since Annie asked, I wonder if there is anything out there. I start untangling my knotted damp hair and turn to Peeta who is also staring out at the sea, though I have no clue as to what he’s thinking about. 

“Have you ever wondered what else could be out there?” I ask tentatively, rousing Peeta from his thoughts. 

His brow furrows as he considers my question, “No, not really. I mean we were always told that everywhere else became uninhabitable after multiple natural disasters and nuclear war,” he recites the things that were told to us every week in class. “Why’d you ask?”

“I don’t know, just something Annie talked about when Johanna was here, I just keep on thinking that if Panem survived then maybe some other civilisation could have as well. I feel like if we ever did do some sort of… expedition, I would want to be a part of that.” As I’m saying it, I’m trying to yank my hair apart, the trouble with salty water is that it makes everything feel sticky and hair is no exception to that.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Peeta offers, holding up his hands. I shrug and hand him the knot, trying not to finch away when his hands travel conspicuously close to my throat, though I can tell that he is making his movements as deliberate as possible. We sit like that for a while, my sentiment hanging in the muggy air, whilst Peeta disentangles my hair. 

“You’re not thinking of leaving again, are you?” Peeta asks quietly.

“No, I mean if the opportunity arose, then maybe,” I murmur, “I just feel like everyone has these things going for them; Prim is studying to become a doctor, Annie has her baby, and I’m fine with helping with all that, but it’s still her baby, you know? And Gale is off doing his thing in District 2 most of the time, which I’m alright with. I’ve just sort of become his weekend hobby. I mean I’m happy for them, of course I am. It’s just I don’t have any real purpose anymore, I don’t even have to worry about bringing food to the table either, because my mother has a steady job with a steady income and then there’s still the Victor’s earnings that I get,” this is the first time I’m admitting all of this out loud, or even formalising these feelings into coherent thoughts, but I realise that this feeling of ennui has been plaguing me for some time now.

“I just, there’s no purpose for me anymore. I served my job and now I’ve just been cast off, and am expected to ‘figure it out’. How am I supposed to know what I want to do with the rest of my life?” I come to the same conclusion that Peeta must have come to before the Quell, “Nobody needs me anymore.”

I look down at my nails and start picking at them even though I’ve already bitten them down to the quick. It’s a nervous habit of mine that I just can’t seem to shake. Peeta’s fingers still in my hair as if he’s debating on something, finally he says something though, “I do, I still need you.”

I twist around to face him, and I swear if only for a second his eyes shift down to my mouth. I find myself almost subconsciously leaning towards him. I’m about six inches away when I check myself, our friendship is still fresh, and so, so precarious. There’s no space for me to mess this up with a choice that I make on a whim. I shake my head a little and move back, looking away from him in embarrassment. It’s then that I notice that the sun is about to set, and I really want Peeta to see this. In all of its glory. Because the weather here can switch from unbearable muggy heat, to thunderstorms and clouds the next day. 

I stand up, brushing the sand from me, and look down at Peeta whose eyebrows are raised in askance. “Come, there’s this really good place we can watch the sunset from.”

It’s a cliff I found in my earlier ventures of District 4’s landscape. The ground is a soft mixture of sand and mud, the grasses stand tall even when the blustering wind bends them. The sea crashes around below, as it hits the rocks and foams and sloshes around. It’s wild up here, but also oddly quiet. 

We get there just as the sun begins to dip lower and lower into the sky, staining the clouds pink and orange as it goes. I’m watching Peeta as he watches the scenery, and I can see a faint smile touch his lips. He must feel my eyes on him, because he turns to look at me and says, “I get it Katniss, I do. To keep on trying to find your place in this world, the nagging thought that you should just start over somewhere new. I understand why you think about what comes after the horizon… and if there ever is an opportunity where you get to go figure that out, I would support you.”

I look at him a little astounded by what he’s said, but wanting to forget the whole rant form before, I dismiss it with, “Yeah well even if I wanted to go, I’m not sure they’d want me. I can’t follow orders for the life of me, and I’m pretty sure that’s a trait that they’d want.”

“Ah, well I can’t disagree with that,” Peeta says teasingly.

He’s smiling down at me, and I find that I’m grinning like an idiot. I keep on wanting to tell him to watch the sunset, but I’m mesmerised by his smile and the way his eyes laugh with it. And it feels so good to know that I put that there. So, I think fuck it, and pull him down by the shoulders to kiss him fully on the mouth. 

It only lasts a mere few seconds before we break apart. Peeta is holding my jaw in his hands, and is breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against mine. And for a moment I’m scared that this was the wrong move after all. That in my attempt to make this day perfect for him, I’ve inadvertently messed it all up. 

But then he smiles again, and relief courses through my veins causing me to almost slump against him. He breathes out, “I’ve been waiting for you to do that all day, I thought I was actually going to have to ask you if you didn’t catch up on all my hints.”

I chuckle lamely, trying to think of when he dropped any hints, but before I can think too much about it, Peeta’s lips are once more brushing up against my own. It starts soft, but the kiss quickly intensifies, and I think I may have whimpered into his mouth. As Peeta sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, I think that this is right. That with the sun setting the sky ablaze, making it seem as if the world is once more on fire, this was the perfect time for Peeta and I to share this moment. 

And as I reach up to tangle my fingers into his too long hair, I know it without a doubt. That even if I did move away to Four, that even if I did sail away in search for something more, I’d come back to him. As reliable and predictable as the world coming back to life in spring, as the tides moving in and out, as the waves crashing against a shore, retreating but always returning, as the sun rising and setting, or even as simple as breathing in and out. I’d come back to him. Always. And as I come to this realisation, I know that with this knowledge, things could finally be OK.

- Fin -

[kindahoping4forever]

Watch Me Bloom: A Few Weeks Ago // Ashton Irwin

Thanks to everyone who read, shared and/or sent a kind word about A Few Months Ago. I’ve never divided up a fic like this before so it’s been both exciting and nerve-wracking, but I’m so pleased to see the response! 

The concept for this section came about early on but I revised and retooled it a lot so again, many thank yous to @cal-puddies​​ for the constant (and I mean constant) encouragement, reassurance and support that I require when writing, I know I was especially needy about this one. 😂 Also shout out to @ashtonangst​​ for the last minute notes and vote of confidence on the final revision.

No thanks to Ashton Irwin for distracting me, stealing my thunder and generally being a Gremlin TWICE IN ONE DAY. He’s the worst and I love him 😌

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash featuring the slightest hint of angst, unprotected sex within an established relationship, shower sex, mirror sex, playful spanking, wow there’s really not a graceful euphemism for tit fucking is there? Well there’s elements of that as well as oral sex performed on a male and brief cum play. But like. All in a soft, fluffy context lmao

Word Count: 3390

Watch Me Bloom Masterlist

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

You exhale loudly as you shut your laptop and reach for your phone. You’d arranged to take the morning off, wanting to be with Ashton when news of his album broke online, to watch the chaos unfold, to enjoy seeing him take in all the love and excitement you knew he deserved.

You were grateful to be working from home but it’s often difficult to get away and unfortunately, you woke up to calls about a work emergency, resulting in an unavoidable Zoom meeting that dominated your morning. Ash was understanding but you couldn’t help how disappointed you were.

You scroll through the messages from him, smiling at the liberal use of exclamation points and bizarre choice of emojis used to convey his excitement about the screenshots and links he’d sent you. He’s already getting press and the fans are losing their minds at every new piece of information. You’re thrilled for him but can’t shake how defeated you feel that you weren’t able to be there to experience it all firsthand.

You consider heading downstairs to check in but you note he’s probably getting ready to post his official announcement by now. Not wanting to disturb him, you instead decide to head for the bathroom, thinking a hot shower might improve your mood. You stop to answer one last text, reassuring him that (save for the spelling errors you corrected), the draft of his post is excellent and the fans will be ecstatic to hear him confirm the news.

You step under the rainfall shower head and stand still, letting the hot water run over your body, feeling your shoulders drop and your muscles relax. You close your eyes, enjoying the chance to shut off your brain after a morning of feeling so many varied emotions.

After a few minutes, you begin your routine and you’ve just finished with your body scrub when you hear footsteps shuffling through the doorway; you turn to see Ashton observing you through the glass shower walls. “Well, hi,” he greets you, tone flirty as his gaze flickers up and down your wet, naked body.

You can’t help but feel your mood brighten at his presence. “Hi,” you match his inflection, laughing. “All posted? Officially in business?”

Even through the slight steam you can see the pride on his face. “Officially,” he beams.

“Excellent,” you smile back. You turn away momentarily to return the sprayer to its mount and chuckle when you hear the shower door. Within seconds, Ash is naked behind you, slinking his arms around your waist and fitting his face into the crook of your neck, swaying with you as he presses quick kisses into your neck. .

“Just announced your very own album and yet you’re still gonna act like finding your girlfriend in the shower is the most exciting thing to happen to you today?” You tease, leaning back against him.

He laughs as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth. “Even in the big moments, gotta take the time to appreciate the everyday ones,” he murmurs, biting gently.

You squeeze his hands as they rest on your hips. “Well, speaking of big moments, I still feel bad that I missed out on this morning, Ash,” you softly admit.

"Baby, it couldn’t be helped," he says nonchalantly, sweetly kissing your cheek before spinning you around to face him.

You’re not quite ready to meet his eyes, so you play with the chain around his neck as you choose your words. “I know, but… you’ve really made an effort with some of the stuff we talked about, like coming to bed with me or having dinner together. So I kind of feel like I’m not showing you the same courtesy - and for something so much more monumental,” you point out.

“Sweetheart, your work isn’t any less important than mine,” he frowns, brushing your wet hair off your face. “I know you wanted to be there and that means a lot, I don’t feel slighted at all, I promise.”

Ashton cups your face and kisses you sincerely. When you pull away, you rest your head on his shoulder; he pecks the top of your head and then reaches for the shampoo. You smile to yourself as you feel him begin to apply it to your hair. He gently taps you and you loudly smooch his shoulder before lifting your head and turning your back to him once again. He works the shampoo into a lather, applying just the right amount of pressure with his fingertips to give you a relaxing scalp massage.

There’s a cozy tranquility in the air as he grabs the handheld sprayer and rinses your hair out, cutely shielding your eyes when he comes close to your face, having learned from past showers gone wrong. Next he applies your conditioner and while it sets, you have him lean closer to you so you can wash his hair. It’s the longest and curliest it’s been since you’ve known him and you truly can’t get enough of it.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he breaks the silence to say, “You know, it’s pretty sexy that you’re so good at your job the whole company was ready to fall apart just because you wanted the morning off."

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened. I’m so glad you’re not threatened by my #GirlBoss nature,” you giggle. You scratch your nails over his scalp as you finish lathering his hair and the resulting groan has you absentmindedly biting your lip.

“Never! Plus it means less work for me,” he jokes, yelping as you tug on his hair in response.

You finish up with each other’s hair, chatting and joking easily. When you’re done, you burrow into his chest again and he hugs you tight against him. “You OK, love?” He asks.

“Yeah, just enjoying being close to you on your special day,” you answer softly, smiling as you trace the trail of water droplets running down his chest. “Wanna have something for us to remember it by, this is a nice start. Maybe I’ll order us something good for lunch, set up a fancy backyard picnic.” You lightly kiss along his collarbones as you think out loud.

Ash smiles, running his hands up and down your sides. “Sounds nice… we could also make a few memories in here.” He wiggles his eyebrows as his hands detour to grab your ass and pull you closer to him. “Feel like celebratin’, baby?”

You grin. “Ah, in a year where you’ve already gotten ‘new album sex’ and Jesus, how many rounds of ‘new single sex,’ you’re still playing that card?” You tease, voice wavering because his hands have wandered to your breasts to roll your nipples just the way you like. “Seems pretty greedy to me.”

He responds with a low, smug laugh in your ear, "Can't help it if I'm prolific, sweetheart.”  

“Well, I am happy to see you so frequently inspired," you tease, hand dropping to give his cock a firm squeeze as you proudly bat your eyes at your innuendo.

He smiles, pulling you in; it'd be sweet if there wasn’t such a devilish look in his eye. He gives you a lengthy and lusty kiss, hands roaming over your body, groaning as you work him to hardness. “Feeling pretty inspired to take you like this.”

He’s barely finished his sentence when he turns you around towards the shower door. You give a satisfied hum as you put your hands out to brace yourself and instinctively spread for him. “Aww, that’s my good girl,” he purrs. You shiver as he traces his fingertips all the way down your spine, starting at your neck and working his way down; once he reaches your ass, he uses both hands to cup it, squeezing and massaging.

You sigh and arch your back, jutting your hips out, wanting him to continue; a loud open palm smack lands across one of your ass cheeks and though you expected it, a half-gasp, half-moan escapes your lips.

He leans in to whisper in your ear, cock brushing against you. “Thought I was the greedy one here,” he teases, delivering a strike to your untouched cheek, followed by a pair of rough slaps to each side. Your whines reverberate through the bathroom while his mouth lavishes kisses along your shoulders, hands soothing the reddened skin of your backside.

His hands wander between your legs but you stop him, murmuring, “Don’t need it, want you enough already.”

Ash sweetly kisses behind your ear before pushing inside you at an agonizingly slow pace. When he's made it all the way in, without thinking, you breathe out, “Yes, finally,” which earns you another quick spank. You giggle, catching sight of his amusingly annoyed reflection in the mirror above the counter across from you.

He playfully nips your shoulder and thrusts into you. As he picks up speed, he notices you biting back a moan. He growls, “Uh-uh, let me hear you, baby, wanna know how good my cock feels inside you.”

You rock back against him, hoping it’ll earn you another swat and when it does, you whimper loudly. “Feels so fucking good, Ash,” you enthuse. Keeping your balance against the door with one hand, you straighten up to reach behind you and pull him in; he understands, movements slowing as he kisses you hungrily. You tangle your hand in his hair, giving it a tug and he grunts into your mouth.

One of his hands travels to briskly begin rubbing your clit; the pressure is like a jolt of electricity through your body and your hand drops from his hair back to the shower door to steady yourself. “Careful, love,” he rasps, other hand pawing at your breasts.

Nuzzled into him, you stay in that position for a few moments and he moves against you, occasionally pressing his lips to your face. You catch sight of the mirror again and become fixated on watching him as he carefully works your body: the way his hands work in perfect coordination to please you, how his hair falls in his face as he drives his cock into you, how his eyes screw shut and he fusses his lip between his teeth at the sensations of having your pussy wrapped around him.

It fascinates you to see the two of you like that, so loving but also driven by what seems to be a desperate need.  “Look at that,” you pant, stroking his forearm to get his attention. “Look how well we fit together… I didn't realize it'd look as good as it feels, babe.”

Ashton groans as he studies your reflection. “What a fuckin’ gorgeous sight we are,” he agrees, voice gravelly with lust. “You always look so unbelievable when I watch you take me, baby.”

You moan at how wrecked he sounds, how wrecked you look, the eroticism of your encounter overwhelming you. “I love seeing us like this, Ash… Fuck… Wish I could actually see it, see myself taking your cock,” you babble. “Might have to finally make that tape like we’ve talked about.”

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he whispers, fingers digging into your skin. You spread your arms further apart on the door and he smoothly sweeps them behind you, locking them into place with his. Restrained, with nothing to brace you, your front leans completely up against the door and you watch as your tits obscenely bounce off the glass as he speeds up, pounding into you.

You start breathing heavily and he smiles to himself, knowing he’s got you figured out. “Should I be nice and let go so you can touch yourself, baby? Or would that ruin it, since me holding you like this is what’s getting you off?” He taunts, grip on your arms tightening.

“So fuckin’ close… Ash… please… fuck, please,” you murmur, unable to take your eyes off the mirror, feeling yourself slowly tense as you watch him manhandle you, seeing yourself so debauched.

Ashton shifts your arms, pinning them back with just one of his, leaving his other free to roam down the front of your body. “Because you said ‘please’,” he smirks, rubbing fast around your clit. You whimper in relief and your head starts to drop down but he nudges it with his own. “Nah, baby, watch. Want you to see how beautiful you are when you cum for me.”

“Ashhhhh… babyyyyy… fuuuucck…” Your words come out in staccato sighs as you bounce between his body and the glass; his fingers are steady on your clit and his voice lowly encourages you, telling you how amazing you are, how much he wants to feel you cum. He sounds like he needs this as much as you do. You zone out a little as you pulse around him, watching yourself orgasm through the glass, and as always, it’s his soothing whispers of “so pretty, baby” that bring you back to earth.

He gently sets your arms back on the door, pressing soft kisses over your shoulders as you come down. His hips have completely stilled, waiting to see how much more you’re capable of handling. “You good, love?” He sweetly asks, studying your face in the mirror.

"I'm so glad I had to work today," you joke breathlessly. He snorts and bites at your neck.

You feel spent but a thought popped into your head while watching your reflection and you want to explore. “Up for trying something?” You eagerly ask.

“Of course,” he agrees curiously. You push off the door, allowing him to slip out of you and you turn towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know I gave you shit earlier but it really does make me happy that this is how you like to celebrate,” you start, pecking along his neck and jaw, landing at his lips, which you kiss softly. “And I just want you to know I really am so so proud of you.”

Ash’s arms wrap around your waist and he smiles brightly. “I know, baby. And I’m so grateful to have you with me. Every step of the way, you were there to take care of me.”

You kiss him harder, filthier and needier than you did before and his resulting groan tells you he’s caught off guard. You feel him shiver under your touch as you ghost over his nipples before stopping at his new rib tattoo on your way to his abs and then finally gripping his cock.

“Well, I am absolutely going to take care of you right now,” you wink, dropping to your knees in front of him. He laughs at your questionable joke but quickly sucks in a sharp breath when you begin placing wet kisses along his shaft, whimpering as you taste yourself on him. You trace your tongue along the underside of his cock and circle the head for a bit before you wrap your lips around it and gently apply suction. You hear him huff a few times as you keep your attention focused there instead of taking him further into your mouth and you smile at his impatience.

He catches your look and shoots one right back at you. “Thought you were gonna take care of me, not torture me,” he smiles.

You let him drop from your lips and firmly tug as you look up, grinning. “I have a feeling when you're cumming all over me, you'll think it was worth the wait.”

He’s only able to gasp in response because as soon as the last word of your sentence leaves your mouth, you’re taking him as far down as you can. His hands are instantly in your hair, not quite pushing you down but gently applying pressure as you stay unmoving for a beat, holding him in your mouth, enjoying the heavy feeling of his cock on your tongue. You softly move your head back and forth, easing him further towards the back of your throat before you let yourself gag around him and pull off. You repeat this process a few more times, allowing more and more spit to fall from your mouth each time; knowing he loves when you get messy with it.

“Fuck, baby, always so fuckin’ good on your knees for me, always know just what I need” Ashton rambles, provoked at the sight of you pulling back to stroke him with a long, thick string of spit still connecting your mouth to his cock. You beam at his praise while he runs his hand over your face, somehow both tenderly and aggressively. “Gonna let me cum all over those gorgeous tits?”

You lean into his touch, mouthing at his hand a little. He takes the bait like you knew he would and pushes his thumb into your mouth, watching closely as you close your lips around it, swirling and sucking before scraping your teeth on it as he pulls it out.

"Is that what you want?" You ask, looking up at him with big eyes as you sit up higher on your knees. "I can also do you one better." You bite your lip in concentration as you guide him between your breasts, using your hands to trap his cock against your body and enclose him.

You've never heard anything quite like the sound he makes when you begin rubbing your tits up and down his shaft, a sound so throaty and new it makes you clench. You continue to massage his length against your breasts, your soft skin and the novelty of the act working in tandem to get him off.

You make eye contact as you spit on his cock and you feel it twitch on your chest as he moans. This fantasy has come up before, usually via sexting while he’s on tour but neither one of you had tried to follow through until now and judging by the noises he’s making, it’s living up to the expectation. You know he’s going to go wild when you breathily encourage, "Come on, babe, I think you should fuck 'em."

Ashton doesn't need to be told twice and immediately starts thrusting vigorously. He practically growls when you flick your tongue out to catch his tip on an upstroke, so you keep doing it.

"Jesus, baaaaby…" he groans, sounding positively undone, his pace unrelenting as he ruts against you. "So hot… fuck, so good…"

You grin at his incoherence, knowing he must be close. "Thought a special day deserved a special treat," you boast. "Ready to cum for me, babe?"

Ash acknowledges your words with a grunt, pulling away from your chest and putting his cock in your mouth again. You bob your head with intent to finish him and you know he's desperate when he gets a bit aggressive, pushing you to take him further down than last time. You've had him in your throat for less than a minute before he starts breathing heavy and pulls out just in time to shoot streams of cum all over your chest.

"Yes, baby… fuuuuuck… so fuckin’ good to me," he groans rhythmically in time with each spurt. You place the head of his cock on your tongue and milk out the remaining drops, revelling in his satisfied sounds.

He looks in adoration and disbelief at you, covered in his cum, clearly pleased with your work. He helps you off your knees and moves to kiss you when you press a finger to his lips, holding him off while you drag your other hand through the mess on your tits, delivering the substance to your mouth.

"God, I love you, baby," he sighs exhaustedly, kissing you passionately, groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself on your tongue. “This is so much more memorable than you sitting on the couch reading tweets with me.”

You cackle, pulling away to clean yourself off under the spray. "Well, I love you too," you coo. “Always happy to celebrate my man.”

Ashton grins and cradles you against him. “Good to know… I’ve got some ideas for how we can celebrate the second single coming out next week.”

You giggle and turn, wanting to see his face when you reply, “You plan that and I’ll take care of the celebration for your video premiere tonight?"

He pulls you closer and smirks, “Deal.”

————-

@mymindwide​​​​ @suchalonelysunflower​​​​ @pxrxmoore​​​​ @loveroflrh​​​​ @ghostofmashton​​​​ @sexgodashton​​​​ @feliznavidaddycal​​​​​​  

@castaway-cashton​​​​ @ashtonlftv​​​ @cashtonasfuck​​​​ @megz1985​​​​ @ashdork-irwin​​​​ @angelicfluffs​​​​ @findingliam-o​​​​ @abadaftertaste​​ @youngbloodchild​​​​  @irwinsbetch​​​​ @ashsun​​ @everyscarisahealingplace​​​​

@wiildflower-xxx​​​​ @metalandboybands​​​​ @another-lonely-heart-blog​​​​ @realisticnotes​​​​  @makeamovehemmings​​​​​​ @golden166​​​​ @burstintocolor​​​​

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@queenalienscherrypie @lovelybonesetc​​​​ @Obey-Kaylin @xsongxbirdx​​​​ @justhereforcalum​​​​ @calumftduke

@laura66sos​​​​ @calumrose​​​​ @karajaynetoday​​​​  @pilunb​​​​ @jazzyangel242​​​​ @babylon-corgis​​​​  @heyheyhaleyd​​​​ @calmsweetcreature​​​​

@spicycal​​​​ @talkfastromance4​​​​  @holystxne​​​​ @myloverboyash​​​

@meetmedowntown​​​​  @fedorable-killjoys​​

@irwindoll​​​​ @cheekysos​​​​​ @carrielfisher​​​​​ @lukedorkyhemmings​​​​​ @creampiecashton​​​​​ @lovelywordsblog​​​​​

@trix-arent-for-kids​​​ @uh-huhh-honey​​​ @tobefalling​​​ @aladyofalbion​​​

@likehuhdude​​​  @curlycalums​​​  @cxddlyash​​​  @reddesert-healourblues​

[namelesswolffreak]

"Boyfriends"

I've been working on this story concept for....3-4 years now and I've finally managed to work everything out to the point I'm confident in posting this little blurb of the main characters. So, I hope you enjoy and feel free to ask questions about them and their world.

Context: This takes place in a world of super powered people heavily inspired by MHA / Marvel / Miraculous. Waker (Way-kur) Atlas is Dare City's main hero who is put through quite a lot on a daily to weekly basis trying to beat the baddies and Cyrus Fauthrin is his infamous thief arch nemesis turned lover and best friend who causes trouble around the city just to get the Hero's attention.

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

The melancholy of the day was waning on Waker as he patrolled the quiet streets of one of Dare’s many neighborhoods which was quite unusual considering every seven seconds a villain was after his head. The sun was barely above the clouds, no one was really awake yet and the only thing that accompanied him was his footsteps as he jumped, hopped and skipped to the next platform he summoned under his feet. He happened to be bounding over Lay Wind Park, the foxes fast asleep in their dens to his disappointment, but the Hero Monuments were still a sight to behold in the early sunrise as they shone with brilliance in what little light was filtering over the surrounding hillsides.

The wind blew past his frizzed locks as he stood above the park near a tree in the shade, expression steeled and focused as he watched for signs of trouble as he waited for a certain someone to arrive. Today was uneventful and rather slow, the kind of day Waker preferred if he were being honest. Heaven knew being bored all day was ten times better than returning home to the countless kitchen sink surgeries he’d have to do with worn needles and his mother’s thread pinching into his skin as he sewed up bloodied wounds full of shrapnel and debris. Much better. The birds were chirping a happy, lazy song as they flew by on the breeze and the distant hum of an awakening city filled the natural ambiance of cicadas and crickets quite nicely as he watched and waited. He dare let out a sigh as the scene took hold of him fully, a warmth washing over him that he hadn’t felt in the recent weeks.

Which wouldn’t be for long as the rustling of tree leaves and a “Boo!” have him falling off of his platforms and hurtling towards the ground with an embarrassingly shrill scream.

“Waker!” A concerned voice follows as a blue blur dives after him.

Ground spiraling as he falls, Waker braces for impact, too late to conjure any platforms beneath him to break the fall so, he readies himself, waiting for the hurt and pain that would surely follow with some scrapes and bruises…………...But it never comes. He unscrunches his eyes and removes his arms from his head to see a blue, sparkling light surrounding him.

Irritation and embarrassment take over him immediately.

His face turns a copious amount of red as he’s carefully scooped up in pale arms that hold him close and, humiliatingly enough, in bridal style. Oh god no, he curses mentally, murmuring a soft “No…” into his shield of arms. This was so not how he wanted to show up in front of his partner after their long and grueling few weeks of not being able to see each other outside of villain fights and breaks in between their testing week.

The sudden warmth of a chest presses against his side and the delicate rhythm of a frantic heart race beneath his one hand as the other quickly grabs for his cape to hide his strawberry cheeks. There was no way in hell he was letting ‘he knew who’ see him in such a state, there was no possible way he could let the witch-like thief catch him like this. A brave hero didn’t get scared or spooked by rustling leaves and the word boo! Absolutely absurd! Though a voice in the back of his mind said he already had.

“You are such a fucking clutz, I swear.” And a huge scaredy cat, the blue-clad ravenette doesn’t say aloud, but his tone implies anyways. “I should take you to my ballet classes sometime, maybe then you’d actually learn some balance.” The comment only makes him clutch the soft fabric tighter around himself.

He’s loathing the thought of unveiling himself now, but he knows he’s been caught, his normally stoic or serious persona now broken and practically burned away as he knows his cape isn’t doing much to hide his warm face or the tenseness of his grip. Plans to forever sink himself into a hole where nobody could possibly ever find him again after this mess are shortly abandoned for now and gaining courage Waker swallows the huge lump in his throat and tries to cleverly reply. “H-hey, what’s a-....What’s up, Witch Boy?” And he knows the intended playfulness doesn’t go through as he’s met with a narrowed glare.

The other isn’t amused. “Witch boy, really? Did I actually scare you that badly that you lost a couple of brain cells?”

“Shu-shut up, Cyrus!” He defends as this “Cyrus” just sighs at him, though his stare more sly than pointed now.

“Get out of that stupid thing so I can see your face.” He says with a tremble in his voice that Waker can definitely tell is laughter, the prick. “Or I’ll totally drop you again.” And like hell he will, Waker knows, but he takes the threat seriously nonetheless and loosens his grip on the cape just enough to see the Ravenette’s brilliant and ever playful smile.

For a moment Waker just stares and admires him, those brilliant blues sparkling, no, literally sparkling as he says something Waker doesn’t catch. The sun is framing his face so perfectly in the light, highlighting those perfectly red cheeks he would love to kiss every morning, and the slight upturn of his lips as he smiles down in reverence at him, and the slow flutter of his lashes that compliment his features nicely. Though braided off to the side Cyru’s hair never fails to make him look so ethereal as the gentle morning breeze brushes back his loose strands. Waker swears it looks like its made up of space itself when he lets it go during the night time, convincing himself he can see stars within the strands when he stands beneath the moonlight. It doesn’t take much to make the hero swoon regarding his partner nowadays. Daydreams of peaceful nights alone on the couch watching movies together after his nightmares keep him awake and alert run through his mind, or the times Cyrus has saved him from getting beaten to a pulp and they spent hours talking over stitching him back together about nothing at all, and every single time Cyrus has stuck up for him at school, reminding him of the warmth this person carries with them and all the love and affection he’s constantly showered in when they’re together. It’s strange how much Cyrus has changed over the past few months from raging emo to ride or die friend, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. He doesn’t even try to stop the lofty sigh that escapes his lips as more dear memories cross his mind.

And Cyrus is all too quick to recognize that dumb look on his face.

“Oh, hell no!” Is the only warning he gets before being promptly dropped, this time no blue aura to save him from hitting the dirt below, landing with a thud. “Not this early in the morning!” Though Waker could have sworn Cyrus was sharing the same look with him not minutes prior.

“Ow! Why’d you drop me, asshole!?”

Cyrus cocks his hips as he floats there, his wide brimmed conical now covering his eyes in an intimidating manner, making him way more menacing than he should considering his current attire. “Oh please, don’t even act like you’re hiding that stupid look on your face, Idiot! I ain’t dealing with your whole sappy dappy act this early in the morning.”

By “sappy dappy” Waker knows exactly what he’s referring to and scowls accordingly. Apparently, holding hands and having morning cuddles while complimenting everything about Cyrus is considered sappy and lovingly disgusting. Well at least to some people, it’s called affection and admiration!

“It’s a look that means I like you, asswipe!” Waker shoots back, malice nowhere to be found in his tone though, barring more on playfulness.

“Do you think I’m in love with you or something!?”

And they then stand there -well float there- in silence, both looking each other in the eyes, narrowed brows testing the other to make the next move or say the next snappy comment. And for a moment it looks as if the words really have cut too deep, but Waker isn’t one to remain serious for long as his shoulders begin to shake, prompting the other to clutch his stomach and stifle a grin as their eyes water over with laughter.

“Oh, no, not me, I could never.” Waker quips, leaning back and hugging both his arms, not caring for the dirt now caking his suit. Cyrus is quick to come back with his own natural snark.

“Pfft, as if! Absolutely not. Me and you, the orange haired frizz ball who kicks my ass more than twice a week over that one time I stole a candy bar? You gotta be fucking with me!” He bellows, Waker taking note of the boy flipping upside down where he floats in the air, his face a contortion of joy and happiness as his ripped dress flows with the wind.

He finds the display rather adorable, recalling that such a thing only occurred by accident when the thief was getting emotional. His inept ability to control his powers never failed to amuse the Hero. The little wrinkle of his nose didn’t quiet his thoughtful admiration either as he blushed in between bouts of giggles.

"I wouldn't have time to be your lover anyways!"

“It’s only 6am, when can I admire my boyfriend so it fits within your busy schedule?”

And the laughter is immediately quieted, a heavy silence filling the air, even the crickets and cicadas falling victim to it. The world is waiting in bated breath as if listening to the drama unfold.

Waker holds in a breath. Oh shit, oh fuck, he really fucked it up this time! Way to go, Atlas, you really did a number on today!

…………

………….

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just did-”

“It’s ok……” Cyrus breaths out, taking a long drag of air before finally finishing. “It’s….ok.” He manages to lower himself to the ground, dress falling at his sides, and crosses his arms in doing so. “We’re-I’m going to have to get used to it eventually.” He shrugs. “Right?”

There’s a weight to his words as Cyrus steps closer to the redhead that Waker recognizes near immediately. They’ve had this talk before, a talk that has led to a misunderstanding or two between them in the past and a verbal fight at that. The term “Boyfriend.” It was a touchy subject to say the least and while it had been a challenge for even Waker himself to start using it, it also seemed Cyrus was struggling to accept the lofty title. A long time ago before the two even met, the word had a different meaning to it for them both, but Waker had long since come to terms with it himself, but understood Cyrus’ hesitation in saying the word freely. He considered his next words carefully.

“I know you don’t exactly like the ter-”

“It’s not that I don’t like it Waker…..”

“I know, Cy, but.” Failing to put his thoughts into words Waker scrambles forward to catch Cyrus’ hands in his own, pecking each delicately, square on the knuckles, gauging his reaction whilst he does so. When Waker is met with a soft smile, he returns it, though his much softer and kinder in Cyrus’ eyes. “I shouldn’t have said it when you’re not ready. Just because I moved past it doesn’t mean you have.” Noticing his smile slipping he clumsily adds in, “And that’s ok! Really, it’s ok and I mean, and I love you and-uh, I get it and I mean I just say boyfriend because that’s what everyone else says, expects- wait no- I didn’t mean to phrase it like that uh-I don’t really get the need for a title for what we have anyways, like so dumb right!?”

Followed by more ridiculous rambling that has Cyrus covering his mouth trying not to giggle. It’s a nervous habit that has come to amuse the thief to no end. “And-it not like it means anything to us, its just there for other people so they know that um, we, us, you and I are an um item I guess wow that was cheesy and dumb and I am so sorry that you have to put up with me oh god I’m rambling and no, don’t look at me like that. I’m doing the thing again aren’t I-” Shaking with laughter again Cyrus has to put a hand on his shoulder to get him to shut up because he knows if he doesn’t Waker could go on well into the night and has before. It didn’t help that he could feel the tremble of the others fingers, realizing Waker was going to throw himself into an anxiety attack if he didn’t.

“Waker!” And Waker promptly closes his mouth, panic clear in his eyes that Cyrus quickly combats by brushing strands of orange out of his face and behind his ear. “Just take a deep breath.” And Waker does, following the instruction intently. “And let it out, slowly.” And Waker follows that too, looking that much calmer as Cyrus pulls him closer. “Slowly.” He rubs his thumbs over Waker’s hands. The trembling is still present, but less so. “There you go.” And doesn’t stop telling him to breath calmly until he feels Waker’s grip relax in his own.

Delicately and softly, each flyaway is combed back into place only to immediately pop out again, but Waker appreciates the sentiment anyways and Cyrus has no problem being given an excuse to keep combing through such lovely soft tufts. He loves the soft mane of fluff on his partner’s head that even since their first meeting has remained as untamed and wild as ever. -Such a shame he always ties it back when he’s on duty though- It just adds to the contrast between his actual self and hero persona, the sweet and endearing ball of anxiety vs the serious and battle ready hero of Dare city who couldn’t catch a break. And he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit to which one he preferred.

“You don’t need to tell me-er.” Waker quickly corrects, trying not to sound patronizing. “I don’t need you to explain yourself Cy. You-we don’t need to have a name if that’s what you want, that’s what I’m trying to say. Official or unofficial or whatever, I won’t treat you any different.”

“I know Waker. I…..I really want to call you that, just I-.......I just like what we have right now and-”

Waker just pecks him on the cheek quickly and pulls away to pat at a spot on the ground, looking longingly back up at him. A soundless “You don’t want to lose me.” goes unsaid as Cyrus complies, Waker taking the shorter one in his arms once more.

It wasn’t a matter of Cyrus being afraid to commit, though maybe it was, not even he was sure of what was going with himself anymore, but a fear that the wonderful friendship he’d built up with the hero would end or change or just not be the way it is now because they suddenly started calling each other boyfriends. He’s had it happen one too many times at this point, every one of his previous “boyfriends” changing everything once they started dating, acting as if kissing and romantic outings were supposed to be their only interactions from now on. They were no longer interested in the random silly things he found on the internet or just hanging out doing whatever, but were interested in using him, his body, parading him around and rubbing it in peoples faces, being denied having fun if it wasn’t their idea of “fun” and more. Cyrus' stomach curls remembering being ignored for weeks to months at a time because he wasn’t feeling up to being in bed with them or awkwardly sitting off to the side while his one boyfriend at the time showed him off to his friends and bragged. It was the same guy who he used to play videogames and eat cookies with on the weekends, talking about anything and everything…...It hurts him to realise there probably was never a friendship there to begin with. Just an elaborate ruse to get him into bed at some point.

And that was one thing Cyrus feared when they had held hands for the first time after awkwardly admitting to harboring feelings for each other after the high of a fight they were forced to join sides on. Never had the thief felt more relieved that his feelings were reciprocated, but also more scared that he had just ruined the one healthy relationship he managed to make in those many months spent together.

Cyrus removes his hat and huddles under Waker’s chin, placing his head right on his heart that gives out a steady, comforting rhythm and brightens when the taller of the two puts his head on him in return. No, Cyrus thinks, this is different.

A long silence falls between them as they cuddle in each other's arms, just watching the sun come up. Basking in each other’s presence, taking in the warmth of their bodies pressed together in this nice early morning, and relishing in the calm which was far and few in between with their double lives and they were thankful. There’s no need to exchange words now as a quiet understanding befalls them both.

It’s only after the sun seems to peak at the crest of the hillsides does Waker make himself heard again.

“Is that why you dropped me?” And Cyrus blinks for a quick second, processing the question before understanding and then playfulness cross his expression.

“No it’s because you’re a dunce.” He huffs. “And fucking heavy as hell.”

Waker chooses to ignore that last bit. “But I’m your dunce.” He boops his nose.

“Damn, straight you are.” And Cyrus retaliates with a kiss on his.

Boyfriend or just “friend who I like to kiss and hold hands with sometimes”, Waker loves him and Cyrus doesn’t doubt that for a second.

[bumblebee-moreno]

Awkward meetings (GN!reader)

Request: "Awkward first meeting for all the boys" and "Awkward first meeting and You lost something very important to you and they’re helping you look for it with Frankie Morales" for @luminescentlily

(Boys included are: Din, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, Frankie Morales, Max Phillips, Marcus P, and Marcus M.

Warnings: None?

A/N: Sorry this took so long to write. I had to leave a few boys out due to writer's block (Ezra, Tovar, and Zach Wellison), and I wanted to get this posted rather than continuing to stare at the screen in hopes of my brain miraculously functioning. To make up for my lack of inspiration at least a little bit, I added Marcus Moreno. Hope that's ok :)

Din Djarin

You feel a tug at your pant leg. Looking down, you are greeted by a pair of large watery eyes and big green ears. “Well hello there,” you smile, crouching down to be closer to the small child. “Where’s your family?”

He simply responds by lifting his arms towards you. You take that to mean he’d like to be lifted up. Scanning through over the crowded marketplace, you search for someone who the kid might belong to. You really have no idea what you’re looking for, having never seen anything like him, but you search nonetheless.

���Hey!” an angry voice calls out behind you. You whirl around, and before you know what’s happening, the child has been torn from your grasp and there’s a blaster to your head.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him I swear, I was just trying to find his family,” you blurt out, raising your hands in surrender.

The figure in front of you doesn’t respond at first, keeping his blaster pointed at you while he inspects the child for injury.

“Why did you have him?” The voice from under the helmet demands.

“I just found him by himself and I wanted to make sure he found his family,” you explain, voice shaking. “Are you his… Does he belong to you?”

“… yes.” He cautiously returns his blaster to its holster.

“I’m sorry,” you relax. “I didn’t mean to scare you. He’s just so… small. I didn’t want him to stay lost.”

The Mandalorian clutches the kid close to his chest as if he’s afraid they’ll be separated again. “Thank you.” He nods his head just enough for you to see the motion.

Javier Peña

“Shit, I’m going to be so fucking late,” you mutter to yourself, walking as fast as you can without sending the tall stack of papers in your arms flying.

On your way down the hall, you start going down your mental checklist.

‘Closed the window so the cat doesn’t escape? Check.’

‘Turned off the lights? Check.’

‘Locked the front door? Fuck.’

You stop in your tracks. How could you forget to lock your front door? You spin on your heel and run back towards your apartment, your one free hand switching between searching for your keys and adjusting the unstable tower balanced on your other arm.

In your haste to get your apartment locked so you can get to work on time, you fail to watch where you’re going.

Your body smacks into another. You fall backwards, losing your grip on the meticulously organised files. They scatter across the floor, completely losing the order you’d spent all night putting them in. The wind is knocked out of you for just long enough to hear the man you ran into grumping about how you should watch where you’re going.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m running late, I should’ve been paying more attention.” You pull yourself to your knees and start gathering your work off the floor. You’d normally stand and make sure the man you ran into is okay, but things at work are tense as it is, and being even later than you already are isn’t going to reflect well on you. Especially now that all of last night’s hard work needs to be done over.

You expect him to get up and walk past you. After his reaction to being practically tackled, you wouldn’t expect him to give you more than a second thought. But then a stack of papers lands on top of the one you’re already holding.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his. “You okay? You hit the ground kind of hard there,” Your neighbour asks.

You swallow thickly. “y-yeah, I’m fine,” you give a shaky smile. “How about you?”

“I’m all right, just running a bit late,” He offers a hasty smile before helping you to your feet. “I gotta get to work, but um, I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, momentarily forgetting how late you are.

Agent Whiskey

‘Ugh I really needed this day off,’ you type underneath the photo before pressing send.

You place your phone on the edge of the tub before relaxing back into the warm water.

It isn’t long before your phone buzzes. Your eyes widen in horror at the response:

‘I think you’ve got the wrong number, darlin’.’ It’s paired with a photo of a man you’ve never met.

He is kinda cute though. You’d never think the whole “unironically cowboy” thing could ever work but… No. No. You can’t be thinking that kind of stuff. You just texted a stranger a photo of you in the bath for fuck’s sakes, you can’t be attracted to him after that!

You frantically scroll up to examine the photo you sent, breathing a sigh of relief when you confirm that the photo you sent didn’t have anything too revealing in it; between the angle of the camera and the bubbles in your bath, nothing too embarrassing is visible.

‘Shit, I’m so sorry, that was meant for a friend ’

You pick up the shred of paper your best friend scribbled their new number on while you were at lunch with them yesterday, to figure out what happened.

‘not a problem, It’s a nice distraction from this god awful meeting I’m stuck in’

You frown. ‘You’re in a meeting and you’re texting a total stranger?’

You return your gaze to the phone number in your hand. “what in the fuck,” you say aloud to yourself. The second to last digit. It’s supposed to be a 4. Not a 9.

A shaky photo appears on your phone. It’s obviously taken from peeking just the camera of his phone over the edge of the table.

‘Damn, that looks like a serious meeting, shouldn’t you be paying attention?’ If you were texting at work, especially in a meeting, you’d have your ass handed to you unless someone was dying (and even then, it would depend on what kind of mood your boss is in that day). And this guy is just casually texting you, a stranger, during a meeting with people who look like they make more money weekly than what your whole car is worth.

‘I’m a bit more concerned that I don’t even know the name of the person who texted me such a lovely photo 😉’

‘It’s Y/N.’ you send. ‘And please delete that picture, that’s kinda private’ you ask, crossing your fingers that he respects that.

‘Already done. Mine’s Jack, since you obviously weren’t going to ask 🤠’

A soft smile appears on your face. Maybe it is kind of okay that you accidentally typed in the wrong number. Or… it will be after you (lovingly) cuss out your friend for having such bad handwriting.

Frankie Morales

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself, searching through your pockets. “shitshitshitshitshitshitshit” You swear you just had them. Or… maybe you left them on the counter back at the library?

You turn around to run back, rifling through your bag. You only make it a few steps before you’re knocked backwards to the ground.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you blurt the moment you catch your breath again. Barely sparing a glance towards the man you ran into, you start gathering your books.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” the man insists. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He helps to gather your books.

“You okay?” he finally asks.

You look up at him and freeze. He’s really cute. In the ‘I give the best hugs in the world’ kind of way.

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. “I just think I lost my car keys at the library, and I’m running late for lunch with a friend.” You mentally kick yourself. You just ran over the only attractive man you’ve seen since moving here, and then the first thing you do is overshare?

“Oh, did you want some help looking?” he immediately offers.

“I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs. “I’ve got lunch plans I’m desperately trying to find an excuse to get out of, so you’re helping me, really.”

“Okay, um… sure,” you nod. “an extra set of eyes looking wouldn’t hurt.”

“Cool. I’m Frankie.”

You introduce yourself and shake his outstretched hand.

The two of you make your way back towards the library.

“so…” you break the uncomfortable silence. “Lousy lunch plans, huh?”

“…yeah,” Frankie falls silent for a moment. “A couple of guys I used to serve with invited me out and I didn’t really have an excuse to say no.”

“Don’t get along with them?”

“We used to be friends, but I’m kind of rethinking that lately.”

“Oh,” you debate asking more questions. But then again, he doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to, right? “Did… did something happen?”

“Convinced me to go to South America a while back, which would’ve been fine, except we kind of got stuck there, and my wife was left alone with the baby.”

Your stomach dropped at this. You’re not even sure why; you just met the guy, you really have no reason to be disappointed he’s taken.

“Was she at least understanding?” You ask.

“huh?”

“Your wife.”

“Oh,” Frankie chew his lip for a moment. “no. When I got back, she was… possessive. Searching my phone, never letting me go out with friends, that kind of stuff. Separated a few months later.”

“Oh,” you try to ignore the fact that your heart skipped a beat; you can’t be excited—that’s insensitive. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, actually. I was helping you find your keys, and here I am ranting about my whole tragic backstory as if you actually cared.”

“I don’t mind.” You actually like listening to him. But you keep that to yourself.

“You shouldn’t have to listen to all that though—”

“Shit!” you interrupt him. “I’m such an idiot.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Frankie looks like he’s assuming the worst.

“…I didn’t lose my car keys. I walked here. And lunch with my friend is next week.” You chuckle bitterly. “I was so lost in my head I completely forgot she rescheduled. Sorry I wasted your time.”

“It’s okay,” Frankie laughs. You can’t help but smile at his lopsided dimple. “Hey, since you don’t have lunch plans and I want to get out of mine… Can I take you out? You can tell me your life’s story since you already know mine?”

“Sure,” you smile, though half of you is screaming to just leave the country to escape the embarrassment.

Max Phillips

“Ew, no.” you scrunch your nose.

“Hey, you’re the one that lost the bet.” Eva insists.

“I am not kissing a random stranger.” You sweep your gaze across the crowded café.

“It was your idea.” Eva sips her tea.

“That was because I thought I was going to win.” You cross your arms across your chest.

“You don’t get to opt out just because you’re a sore loser.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know them, what if they have a disease or something? Gross.” Your stomach turns at the idea.

“Okay, fine.” Eva sighs. And, for a fleeting moment, you have hope that she’s given in. “Kiss that guy then,” she points.

You turn. “Oh my god, Eva. No.”

“What? He doesn’t look like he has a disease,” Eva shrugs.

“He looks like a frat boy.”

“He’s cute though.” Eva leans in a not-at-all-subtle way to get a clearer view of him.

“I hate you.” You stand up. “And when I’m done, you’re buying me an entire bottle of vodka to wash my mouth with.”

“Yes!” Eva cheers triumphantly. A few people shoot her expressions of annoyance at the outburst.

You storm over to the man and pull him in by the collar. His lips barely brush against yours before you’re stomping back to your friend. Though, for a moment, you actually consider staying to talk to him. Eva was right, he definitely isn’t hard on the eyes.

You push the thought from your mind and collapse back into your seat, scowling at your friend.

“You’re literally the worst human being on the planet,” you huff.

“You’re just being dramatic,” Eva laughs.

“Am not.” Okay… maybe you are, but Eva can’t know that.

“Fine. We’ll go get you a drink once I’m back from the bathroom.” Eva skips off, still laughing about your reaction.

She’s barely out of sight before her seat is filled by the stranger you just kissed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I lost a bet,” you don’t look up at him, instead choosing the glare at a stain on the wooden table.

“I figured as much.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I also figured I have the right to at least know the name of the person who just kissed me.”

You reluctantly introduce yourself, still refusing to make eye contact with the man.

“I’m Max. And, if you want to apologise for kissing me without my consent,” he throws a napkin with a phone number scribbled in red sharpie onto the table in front of you, “You can call me.”

Marcus Pike

You hum quietly to yourself, unable to stop smiling. It’s been so long since you’ve gone on a real date. You turn on your shower, but instead of water coming from the showerhead, it starts leaking from the base of the hose.

That can’t be good. You turn off the water and fiddle with the shower. Maybe it just came loose.

You reach for the handle to try the water again. But before your hand can even touch the cool metal, the entire shower head disconnects from the wall and clatters to the shower floor.

Letting out an exasperated groan, you start gathering your clothes into a bag. You really don’t have time for this today. Crossing your fingers your neighbour is home, you head next door.

You’ve never actually talked to him, but you figure he’s probably a safer bet than the crazy old neighbour on your other side; the way he looks at you whenever you run into him gives you the jitters. And not the “he’s a creep” kind of feeling you get when anyone else stares for too long. More like the “he’s probably got a taxidermy cat in his living room and a human body in his closet” kind of feeling. So the neighbour you’ve never even introduced yourself to will have to do.

Your knock echoes through the quiet air. Shifting from foot to foot, you wait impatiently for an answer.

The door clicks open, leaving you face-to-face with your neighbour, who is way cuter up close than you expected him to be.

“…hi,” He greets you as if he’s startled by your presence.

“…hi…” you bite your lip and tear your gaze away from his face to examine your shoe. “I… Well, I live next door, and well—”

“I know,” he interrupts.

“I-What?”

“I’ve seen you… around. We get home from work at the same time, so…”

“Oh.” You chew on your lip for a moment. “Look, my shower broke, and I have a date I have to get to, and well…” you drift off. Are you really asking your irresistibly adorable neighbour who you’ve never met if you can use his shower?

“Oh. Okay, did you want to use mine then?” You pretend not to notice how pink his face has turned.

“Would you mind? I just—I’m running late and I don’t have time to figure out what’s wrong with mine before I leave and still have time to get ready to go.”

“Sure, Come on in,” He shuffles out of the way to allow you space to enter. “Down the hall, second door to the right.”

“Thank you so much,” you smile awkwardly. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You walk as quickly as you can without breaking into a run to get to the bathroom, leaving Marcus frozen in the doorway.

This is not how he imagined meeting you. Not that he imagined that at all. And he definitely hadn’t spent hours trying to figure out how to ask you out. Because that would be weird.

And he just let you use his shower to go on a date with someone else.

Fuck.

Marcus Moreno

“Excuse me,” a voice speaks up from behind you, just barely audible over your music. You turn around to find that the voice belongs to a young girl.

“Hello,” you greet taking out your headphones.

“Do you see that guy over there?” she asks, pointing across the cluttered bookstore to a man struggling to balance a tower of books while skimming the shelves for more.

“The one in the glasses?” you confirm.

“That’s my dad,” the girl nods. “He thinks you’re cute, but he’s too afraid to talk to you.”

“Oh,” you say, unsure whether you should be flattered or amused.

“He says it’s ‘cause he doesn’t want to weird you out,” she elaborates, “but I think he’s scared you won’t like him back.”

The man glances up, and, upon seeing his daughter talking to you, rushes over. He pauses only briefly when he trips over a box of books placed in the middle of the walkway.

“Oh, here he comes, act natural,” the girl whisper-yells just before her father arrives. “Oh, hey dad,” she greets him nonchalantly.

“Missy, what did we just talk about?” he scolds.

“I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “I shouldn’t go up to strangers and tell them my dad thinks they’re cute even when he totally does.”

Missy’s dad freezes, a look of horrified embarrassment washing over his face. “You… You told them what?”

“I’m going to shop some more,” she walks away, winking at you.

“Hey, you get back here, young lady,” he calls after her, struggling not to raise his voice above a murmur in the middle of the peaceful book shop. His daughter ignores him.

He groans under his breath. “I’m sorry about her,” he turns back to you.

“It’s okay,” you laugh. “I’m Y/N,”

“Marcus.” He looks down at his armful of books. “I’d uh… I’d offer a handshake but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile. Marcus smiles back. You allow a moment of uncomfortable silence before speaking up again. “So… you think I’m cute?”

“What? No! I mean, Yes. I mean…” Marcus’ face scrunches up in embarrassment. “Yes? But not… not in a weird way. I wasn’t like… admiring you or anything. That’d be… weird.” Marcus hangs his head with an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll just shut up now.”

You smile again at the flustered man in front of you. After a moment, you pull a pen from your sweatshirt pocket.

“Well, here’s my number,” you say, writing as clearly as you can across his forearm. “You can text me if you decide you do think I’m cute… In a weird way.”

You walk to the counter to pay for your books, sincerely hoping he decides to text.

---

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