#yeah this the most effort I’ve probably ever put into a piece.

[nihils-trolls]

So What Is The Plan?

Mayara Khepar, Allaik Tentau | Moxie’s Smithing n’ Arms Google Doc Link | Previous Related Drabble

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve actually been inside your new shop. Weird, huh?”

“Not really, given your uh, predicament, I guess? If anyone saw ya’ though, you’d be screwed. Don’t need more flies hoverin’ around this place.”

“Relax, doll. Y’ worry too much. But I did check already- we’re all good. May have a few eyes on this place, but not now. That’s why I chose this night.”

The explanation does little to assuage the concerns Maya has, but what else is she supposed to say? Silence fills the normally raucous workshop space the two are occupying. They seem to have a thing for creating such an awkward moment between each other. Fortunately, Mayara is the one who speaks up this time.

“Doll?” Mayara scoffs. “That’s a new one,” she says before promptly returning to finish the piece she was working on. 

It was almost done, and going towards a deal she made not too long ago. It was originally just supposed to be a standard project, but for some reason she started putting a lot more effort into it. Guess he’s getting a steal, comparatively, she thinks. Considerin’ I haven’t asked for anything yet.

“What’cha got there? Looks… old fashioned. Like one of those revolvers from a western.” Al peeks over at her worktop as she burns a design into the grip of said revolver.

“Nothin’ for you. Gimme a sec, and I’ll put this away. Just needed the momentum to finish up.”

“Don’t want it anyway. Still happy with the other one I got from ya’.” He waits somewhat impatiently as Maya puts her tools away. There’s important things they need to talk about and get set up. “So, I noticed y’ managed to get the uh, errands all ran.”

She looks over at him with a particularly neutral expression. “Guess so. The real question is, did it affect his business? Can’t really tell just from fucking shit up.”

“Oh, trust me. It did. Even overheard a conversation. ‘Take care of your little ghost problem, and maybe then we can work something out!’ Mar’s absolutely livid. Distributor wants nothin’ to do with ‘im.”

Now that puts a smile to Maya’s face. “Good, then I have his attention.” She motions him over to the center workbench, which had been cleared of tools and miscellaneous debris. Instead, laid on the table was a map with various locations marked and circled. “Part one, ruin his reputation and completely fuck his business partners over- done.”

“Heard that. Guess we’re movin’ on to the next part, eh?” Allaik points down at one of the marked locations.

“Part two. Sabotage. Chrome’s got two other small warehouses across the city. We destroy the supply, maybe take the whole building down with it. I already know what you’re gonna suggest, but for that you’re gonna need somethin’ that burns a lot hotter than gasoline.”

“Way ahead of ya’. Already got my eyes set on a sizable supply of flash powder. Or as I should call it, thermite. That stuff should do the trick, and we’ll just disable the fire suppressants while we’re there.”

Al looks almost… impressed. Maya’s not usually one to take initiative like that, or to plan things so far in advance. That’s one of the reasons he was here. “Okay, well ‘s soon as you get a hold of it, we can get that part set up. Don’t wanna do it too soon, otherwise it’s more likely that someone’ll find it-”

“-Yeah yeah, and that’s the last thing we want. I know. And you’re the one who said I worry too much, doll.” Her laugh is apparently contagious, as Al chuckles along with her.

“Fuck, when you say it, it just sounds weird. Don’t ever say that again.”

He sighs, catching his breath and returning to the matter at hand. “There’s no real time limit, but there is a night that most of the lackeys’ll be out. Probably our best night to make the point. You got ideas?”

She pauses for a moment, looking over to the corner where a small, four-legged robot was charging. “Yeah, kind of. I’ve got a ton of throwable and remote choke bombs for a decent cover. That’ll let ‘im know it’s me who’s there at least, as well as give me some room to work.”

“Fire won’t work with the choke bombs, though,” Allaik points out.

“Yeah, but we’re not burnin’ this one down, are we? It’d be fun, I admit. But there’s something in there that I want- something you can’t grab for me. That’s why you’re gonna plant these around instead.”

Mayara hands him a box- kind of small, but no shorter than his forearm. Upon peeking inside, Al sees it’s a box with small, flat disc-like devices. They’re snuggly fit into foam to avoid jostling, which means they’re somewhat delicate.

“Maya. What the fuck are these?”

“Controlled demolition explosives. Just plant those around on major supports, the whole building’ll crumble apart. Careful not to shake those around too much, don’t need my workshop blowing to pieces for a second time-”

“Second??-”

She makes a sharp noise to cut him off, and continues. “Not what you should be worryin’ about. You’re the one who wanted to burn all the hideouts down-”

“-Excuse you, arson was your brilliant idea-”

“Anyway,” she cuts off again, “that’s the best way to’ make sure what I want from there survives. Do not put a charge close to where my old shop was. ‘Kay?”

Allaik is just baffled by the request, along with the fact that these devices are supposed to be strong enough to bring the whole place down. However, he doesn’t say no. He tucks the box away into his modus, and shakes his head.

“I knew you were fucking crazy. What’s even there that you want so badly?”

“What.”

“What?”

Maya looks him dead in the eye. “...None of your business. I have my own secrets to keep, and you got yours. Just don’t need anyone seein’ it other than me- and don’t, go looking for it. That’s a threat.”

He returns The Look. “Fine. Whatever. Don’t know what’s so fucking important to you there, but I can appreciate you not diggin’ into my business well enough.” He mumbles under his breath. “Askin’ me to fuckin’ blow the place to bits. Okay,”

“Anything else you needed from me this wonderful evening, Allie?” Mayara smirks. She knows he hates that nickname.

“Fuck off, Khepar,” he chuckles. “Naw, I think that pretty much covers it, other than specifics. I’ll keep in touch though.”

“You better.”

Before he makes it out of the back door, Al turns around to face Maya again. “-And hey, try not to get yourself killed, yeah?” 

“Haven’t killed me yet, and I don’t plan on dyin’ anytime soon. Now get the fuck outta my shop before someone sees ya’.”

[locria-writes]

untitled pt. 3/?

general notes -- enemy-kun??? where is he???

last edit -- 06/07/22

III.

25 May, 2X58

“Do you think the Lunar Fleet will really take over?”

“I think so. Their ships have been coming here all week.”

“Is it just us, or are they doing that everywhere?”

“I don’t know, but my sister-in-law lives in Libertas Three and said she saw the Lunar Fleet enter Libertas One.”

“How scary…say, Honos is such a small colony, so they wouldn’t get violent with us, right?”

“I hope not. We’re a peaceful place, I don’t think we could hide anything.”

Symphora pretended like she heard nothing, a feeble attempt to spare herself from rousing the ever-present anxiety inside of her, which promptly failed when she nearly jumped at the buzz of her phone.

“Sun, where are you right now?” Her employer, Clarus Barsamian, immediately began talking, not even waiting to confirm she was listening.

“Um, Honos One?”

“Yeah, yeah, where exactly?”

“The market of First Square?”

“Great, get to the Lunar Territories’ embassy and tell them we can’t do it.”

“Sir, I don’t work Saturdays, and I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Barsamian sighed loudly from his end. “The Lunar Fleet gave all of us a list of whitelisted companies we’re allowed to ship to. I don’t need to tell you how many of our clients didn’t make the cut.”

She was quiet for a moment, letting the information sink in. “They asked this of all companies?”

“Yes, and because I’m heading the Honos Shipping Union, we were asked to tell them to stuff it.”

“I get that, but why do I have to do it?”

“Because, Sun!” He sounded exasperated, like he couldn’t understand her hesitancy. “You worked for the military during the Third War, right? You’re used to dealing with these military type people, so go give them a piece of our mind!”

“Firstly, sir, I was a pilot, not rear service, and not bridge work. Secondly, I don’t even know – “

“I’ve sent a document outlining the situation. Do as you see fit, and good luck, Sun.” With that, the line was cut, and she stood there, baffled, and unsure of exactly what was happening.

“Fuck, I don’t get paid enough for this.” Hardly a week went by without her wanting to strangle Barsamian for bulldozing his way through things and ignoring other people’s opinions.

While walking to the embassy, she went over the document – protestations that this was an illegal move, there was no precedent (at least, she hoped there was none), and so on and so on. She didn’t know what Barsamian expected her to do, since she figured the Lunar Fleet would just ignore her. There might be a few effective threats she could pull, but that would all hinge on her bluffs not being called. She was grateful at least, that her clothes were at least mostly acceptable, and she silently thanked her father for drilling the importance of looking put-together at all times into her.

Without even the faintest idea of who to look for, she tried to calm her racing heart, and marched into the embassy. Stating who she represented would probably be enough to get nudged in the right direction, or maybe asking for a liaison officer, or maybe just breaking down in tears and hysterics would suffice. Oh well, that could always be a last ditch effort if nothing else worked.

To her dismay (or perhaps her good fortune), the embassy was packed full of people. Soldiers, bureaucrats, and civilians alike milled around, likely all busy from the inevitable Lunar occupation. Symphora grabbed a ticket, noting the 179 on it. They were currently calling 94 and it was already 11:35, so lunch was quickly approaching. Most of the embassy staff would be off for lunch, and only a handful of receptionists would continue through it, meaning it would probably be mid-late afternoon by the time they got to her. What a waste of her day off…

She found herself a little alcove to hide in, the perfect spot to keep away from others’ prying gazes, and with a fairly good vantage point of the rest of the foyer. The one thing she disliked though, was that she couldn’t see a secondary exit from this point, and there was a less-than-straight path to the main door, but oh well, that was life. There was a Lunar soldier to her left, eating his lunch while taking a call, presumably a young child, judging by the raised pitch of his voice and constant repetitions, and to her right was a greying woman who kept scrolling through her phone, probably a civilian looking to renew her visa. Feeling awkward and out of place, she took out her own phone, and began re-reading the document Barsamian sent her.

As much as she silently cursed Clarus Barsamian, she was still grateful for his help. When the Third War ended in disaster, and she had no idea what to do with her life, he offered her a job (of dubious legality, but a paying job nonetheless), got her a place to live, and helped her adapt to a life closer to normalcy. They hadn’t ever properly met before, but she did remember seeing him with her father a few times, and Barsamian told her it was the least he could do for such his old associate’s daughter.

It seemed strange at first that a comparatively small company like Barsamian Stellar Shipping (and to a lesser extent, the Honos Shipping Union) would be so close to S-V Industries (let alone her father), but the more Symphora thought about it, the less weird it became. Business was amoral and full of grey legalities, so she just accepted that this was what it was, and deigned not to probe any further. Besides, it wasn’t like she planned on staying here for the rest of her life, and S-V Industries was now just a relic of the past, and beyond any of her concern. All she had to do now was continue on with her original life plan – work like hell, complain about work, and work until she died because there was no other way of living.

[a-second-hand-sorrow]

Congratulations (Roy Kent X Reader)

WC: 3407

Warnings: Swearing, discussions of pregnancy

Summary: The five times Y/N tells someone about her pregnancy.

A/N: This fic was requested by a lovely anon and it can be read as either a standalone piece or an accompaniment to Lover, whatever you choose. I hope you guys enjoy this!

1: Keeley

Of all the people Y/N was going to tell about her pregnancy, the first person was naturally going to be Keeley. She hadn’t even told Roy yet, instinctively calling Keeley as soon as she saw the two lines on the stick.

“Hiya babes, how are you?” Keeley asked cheerfully, surprised Y/N called her work phone rather than her mobile.

“I’m pregnant.” Y/N blurted out, suspicious at Keeley’s sudden silence. However, it was broken very quickly by a very loud, trademark Keeley Jones scream.

“Holy shit! Congrats, babe! That fucking amazing, you’re gonna make such a great mum.” Keeley said, her enthusiasm easing Y/N’s nerves slightly.

“Thanks Keels. I’m freaking out a little bit, but I figured I needed to tell you. You’re my best mate after all.” Y/N said, and Keeley was very happy to hear that.

“You’re so nice to me, it’s ridiculous. Have you told Roy yet?” Keeley asked, and Y/N paused.

“I’m going to take your silence as a no, then.” Keeley said, and Y/N laughed nervously, her eyes anxiously darting around the room.

“Yeah, I haven’t told him yet. It’s not that I’m scare of how he’ll react, I just don’t know how to tell him.” Y/N said, and Keeley hummed contemplatively.

“How are we thinking? Like a subtle, heartfelt confession or a big massive reveal?” Keeley said, pulling up a Word document on her computer to begin taking notes.

“Probably closer to the subtle route. Roy’s never really been a big gestures guy, so I think he’d appreciate it being more personal. Plus I don’t want to put in all the effort a grand gesture needs. Can’t be arsed, to be honest.” Y/N said frankly, eliciting a loud laugh from Keeley.

“You and Roy are perfect for each other, Y/N/N. Ok so something small and personal. Holy fuck, I think I’ve got it!” Keeley exclaimed, and Y/N could hear the sound of her frantically typing on her keyboard.

“You planning on telling me what your brilliant idea is, Jones?” Y/N said, waiting for Keeley’s response.

“A custom Richmond jersey with Roy’s number on the back that says ‘Kent Junior’ on it. I’m just drafting up an email to send to our kit manufacturers to see if they’ll do it. If they don’t, I’ll fight them all until they cave.” Keeley said, and Y/N felt a smile break out on her face instantly.

“That’s perfect Keels! God, you’re a fucking genius.” Y/N said, glad that she finally had a plan for how to tell her husband the news.

“Awe, you know it babes. I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got that meeting with the Bantr people coming up and I really can’t be late.” Keeley’s apologetic tone was strong, and Y/N immediately reassured her.

“It’s fine, you being on track to become the most amazing boss bitch ever takes priority, but thank you so much for your idea! Let me know what the kit people say.” Y/N said, smiling brightly as Keeley said her goodbyes before hanging up.

She finally had a plan, now all she had to do was execute it.

2: Roy

It had been about two weeks since Y/N spoke with Keeley, and when she finally received the package with the little Richmond jersey she nearly burst into tears. Children are so tiny, and that jersey made her painfully aware of it.

Today Richmond had a match at Nelson Road, and Y/N was sitting in the box like always, sandwiched between Keeley and Rebecca. While Rebecca was distracted talking to Higgins about something, Y/N leaned over to Keeley.

“I’m telling Roy after the match. I’ve got the little jersey in my bag, I’m gonna pretend it’s a present for him to celebrate his first season coaching.” Y/N said, and Keeley’s eyes widened.

“That’s fucking brilliant!” Keeley exclaimed, trying to keep her voice down to avoid suspicion. Y/N smiled at her, confident in her plan.

The match went surprisingly well, with Richmond taking the win by one goal. Y/N was so happy for Roy, watching his excitement play out on the pitch.

After the crowds had dwindled out of the stadium, Y/N found Roy alone in Ted’s office. She took in a deep breath, knocking lightly on the door frame.

“Babe!” Roy said, Y/N waving at him shyly. He smiled at her, walking forward and pulling her into a brief kiss. She kissed him back, a little upset when he pulled away.

“Congrats on the win, babe. The team’s really needed that Roy Kent spirit around here.” Y/N said, and Roy waved his hand dismissively.

“You’re just flattering me.” He said, still bashful when given compliments. Y/N smiled, reaching into her bag for the jersey which she’d carefully wrapped in white wrapping paper, a small silver bow on top.

“What the fuck is that?” Roy asked as he noticed the package Y/N was holding.

“It’s a ‘congratulations on doing so well in your first season as a coach’ present. Surprise!” Y/N said, holding the gift out towards Roy with a bit of a flourish. He took it somewhat suspiciously, grunting as he struggled to open the wrapping paper.

“Is this a Richmond jersey?” Roy asked and Y/N nodded, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Why’s it so fucking tiny?” Roy said, dropping the wrapping paper on the floor as he examined the jersey.

“Take a look at the back.” Y/N said softly, and Roy flipped it over. He saw his name and number and thought Y/N was just being stupid until he saw what was written after his name.

“Kent Junior? Y/N, what is this?” Roy asked, and although he was sure knew the answer, he wanted to be certain.

“Well, it’s the jersey that we’ll ideally give our child. I’m pregnant, Roy.” Y/N said, her voice breaking slightly as tears welled in her eyes.

Roy gasped, looking up from the jersey to meet his wife’s gaze. He didn’t say a word, and Y/N was terrified he was going to freak out until he put his hands on her face and pulled her into a kiss. He was so tender, so gentle with her that she wondered what had happened to her husband.

“You’re telling me we’re having a baby?” Roy said, his usually gruff voice softer than Y/N had ever heard it. She nodded, tears falling down her face.

“That is the best news I have ever heard.” Roy said, kissing Y/N once more before dropping down to his knees so his face was level with Y/N’s stomach.

“Hey little one. I know you probably can’t hear me and have no fucking clue who I am right now, but I’m your dad, and I’m going to love you so fucking much, you hear me?” Roy said, resting his head against Y/N’s stomach as her hands fell to his shoulders.

“You keep that up and our baby will be saying ‘fuck’ before it can walk.” Y/N said, a weak laugh slipping past Roy’s lips as he stood up.

“If our baby’s first word is anything other than ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ I’m asking for a paternity test.” He joked, a few stray tears falling as he watched Y/N laugh at his awful joke.

“Let’s go home, Roy.” Y/N said, and Roy nodded as he slipped his hand into his wife’s, joy radiating off him in waves. He was going to be a dad, and there was no one else he’d rather go through this journey with than Y/N.

3: Ted

Ted had become like a father to Y/N in her time spent with Richmond, and as much as Roy refused to admit it, he had grown very close to Ted as well.

As they walked through the changeroom hand in hand, they were both a little nervous. Y/N waved at Sam as he passed them, Roy simply giving him a curt nod. They approached Ted’s office, taking in a deep breath.

“You ready?” Y/N asked, glancing up at her husband. He nodded, knocking on the office door with his free hand.

The door swung open far quicker than they were prepared for, and they were greeted by the sight of an incredibly smiley American.

“The Kents! How are my two favourite people in the world doing today? Second only to Kermit and Miss Piggy of course. Do they count as people or Muppets?” Ted asked, ushering the couple into his office.

“I’ve always thought of the Muppets as people.” Roy said, Ted widening his eyes before nodding to himself.

“He’s a closet Muppets fan, don’t tell anyone. Once you’ve heard Roy sing a one man rendition of the Muppets Christmas Carol your world is forever changed.” Y/N said, grinning despite the daggers getting sent her way by Roy.

“You promised to never tell anyone that.” He said, and Y/N shrugged her shoulders playfully.

“As much as I am loving this fascinating insight into y’all’s relationship, is there a reason for this visit?” Ted asked, and Y/N nodded, looking over at Roy.

“We have some relatively exciting news we want to share. Roy?” Y/N said, prompting her husband.

“Right. Y/N is pregnant.” Roy said, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his straight to the point attitude. Ted gasped, his hands flying to cover his mouth.

“This isn’t some weird prank, right?” Ted asked, and Y/N shook her head.

“It’s all real. I found out about three weeks ago so it’s all still early days but you’re the first person we’ve told together.” Y/N said, and Ted felt his heart swell.

“Together? Have you told anyone else?” Ted asked, cocking his head to the side questioningly.

“I told Keeley when I first found out but other than that no one else knows. There’s also something else we want to tell you.” Y/N said, and Ted beamed at both of them, eagerly awaiting the next piece of news.

Y/N nudged Roy, trying to prompt him to speak. “We want you to be the godfather.” Roy said, and Ted’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“Do I have permission to hug you two right now?” He said, his voice wavering slightly. Y/N nodded eagerly, Roy letting out a grunt that Y/N had come to learn signified ‘yes’.

Ted jumped out of his chair and pulled the couple into a big hug, squeezing them both tightly. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve loved being able to have the pleasure of watching you two grow both as people and as a couple, and to be able to watch y’all become a family is just beautiful. I’m so proud of you both.” Ted said, his kind words nearly bringing tears to Y/N’s eyes.

“Thanks Ted, that really means a lot. I know Roy isn’t very vocal, but it means a lot to him too.” Y/N said, pulling away from the embrace. Ted nodded, moving a step back to look at them.

“If you guys need anything at all, don’t be afraid to call me, you got it?” Ted asked, and Y/N nodded, looking up to see Roy send a nod Ted’s way.

“Well alright, thanks for stopping by!” Ted said, waving as the couple left his office. On their way out, Beard walked in, sending Ted a questioning look.

“What was that about?” He asked, sitting down opposite Ted, who waved him off.

“That was nothing important. Anyways, what can I do for you, Coach?”

4: Rebecca

Y/N, Keeley and Rebecca had become an unstoppable trio in their time knowing each other, and when Y/N knocked on the door of Rebecca’s office, she was unsurprised to hear Keeley’s voice telling her to come in.

“Y/N! How are you?” Rebecca asked, standing up from her seat to give Y/N a quick hug.

“I’m great, thanks Rebecca! How are you?” Y/N said, taking a seat on the couch next to Keeley.

“Oh, I’m doing pretty well. Keeley and I were just chatting about this guy I’m meant to go out with this weekend. I’ve never really liked being set up, but Sassy’s been insistent.” Rebecca said, and Y/N chuckled at the exasperated tone in her voice.

“My opinion on you dating remains steadfast. You and Ted would be absolutely perfect together.” Y/N said, Rebecca instantly going a shade of pink Y/N recognised from whenever she’d brought up the prospect of her dating Ted in the past.

“As much as you seem to refuse to drop that idea, my answer stays the same. I’m his boss, it would be wrong on so many levels.” Rebecca said, and Keeley piped up with a comment of her own.

“You were Sam’s boss as well and that didn’t stop you.” She said, and Y/N snorted with laughter, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as Rebecca stammered.

“Let’s move on to something else please, ladies. Y/N, how are things with Roy?” Rebecca asked, and Y/N smiled at her, preparing herself for the news she was about to share.

“Things are going really well actually. I’m, uh, I’m pregnant.” Y/N said, and Keeley simply smiled at her friend, already well aware of her situation.

Rebecca, on the other hand, was receiving this news for the first time and she was pleasantly shocked. “Shit Y/N, congratulations! That’s amazing news. Who else knows?” Rebecca asked, reaching over to give Y/N another short hug.

“Well, just you, Roy, Keeley and Ted. We’ve been trying to keep it a little on the down low. I think Roy doesn’t want any sappy stuff from the team so we’re leaving them ‘til last. He’s a big softie but he refuses to let the team know that.” Y/N said, pulling away from Rebecca’s hug with a chuckle.

“That sounds like the Roy we all know and love. How far along are you?” Rebecca asked, curiously looking over at Y/N.

“We’ve known for just shy of a month so probably a bit more than that. We’ve got our first appointment today, actually.” Y/N said, a smile deeply etched onto her face.

“That’s wonderful! You two are going to make such amazing parents, I can just feel it. Do you have a preference for the sex?” Rebecca asked, standing up to grab a glass of water, placing it in front of Y/N.

“I’ve always wanted a girl, but to be honest I don’t really care. As long as the baby’s healthy that’s enough for me.” Y/N said, taking a sip from the glass Rebecca gave her.

“Can you imagine Roy with a daughter? Heaven forbid anyone who dares so much as look at her wrong.” Keeley said, and the women all laughed loudly, the image coming into their mind vividly.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Regardless, he’s going to be an amazing father. He’s already freaking out if I try to do anything he’s deemed too physically demanding.” Y/N said, chuckling to herself as she put down the glass.

The sound of knocking caught their attention, and suddenly Y/N looked up to see Roy standing in the doorway.

“There you are. I figured I might find you here. You tell Rebecca yet?” Roy asked, walking over to Y/N and stopping down to kiss her head.

“She did, and you both have my utmost congratulations.” Rebecca said, Roy sending her a rare smile in response.

“Thanks Rebecca, it means a lot. You ready to go babe? I don’t want to be late.” Roy said, and Y/N nodded, standing up from her seat on the couch.

“We’ve gotta head to our appointment, but I love you guys so much.” Y/N said, hugging Keeley and Rebecca goodbye.

“Congrats again, I hope everything goes well.” Rebecca said, waving the couple off as they left her office.

“God she’s gonna be such a fit mum, I just know it.” Keeley said, her comment earning a snort of laughter from Rebecca.

“You’ve got a very good point there, Keeley.”

5: AFC Richmond

Training had gone well today, and Y/N could feel the energy as she walked out onto the pitch.

“Whistle!” Roy shouted, and thankfully everyone listened and fell silent. He looked over his shoulder and saw Y/N making her way over, giving her a wave.

The team saw Y/N and all waved at her, a bright smile on her face as she waved back. Once she was at Roy’s side, he took in a deep breath.

“You may all be wondering what Y/N is doing here.” Roy said, the team all nodding. Y/N always came to matches, but it was rare she came during training.

“Well, it’s because we’ve got some news.” Roy said, slipping his hand into Y/N’s. She squeezed it gently, clearing her throat.

“The Richmond family is getting another member.” Y/N said, and this comment prompted confused looks as the team muttered under their breath.

“We’re having a baby.” Roy said, and suddenly the muttering turned into full-blown hollering, the team going mad. Y/N laughed, looking at the sea of fully grown men jumping and cheering.

“Congratulations you two.” Beard said while the team was distracted, and Y/N smiled warmly at him.

“Thanks coach.” Roy said, squeezing Y/N’s hand. The team was still chattering madly amongst themselves, and Ted took the incentive to blow his own whistle to calm them down.

Roy gave him an appreciative nod and turned to address the team. “That’s all we wanted to tell you. You can all fuck off now.” He said, and though his words were sharp the team knew he meant well.

“Congratulations. You’ll be wonderful parents.” Sam said as he passed Y/N, giving her a brief hug.

“Thank you, Sam.” Y/N said, squeezing him gently before breaking away. He smiled widely at them as he walked back into the changeroom.

“Congrats bruv.” Isaac said, his simple response respected by Roy, who gave him a nod in return.

“Felicitaciones!” Danny exclaimed, his ever-present joy as strong as ever. Y/N chuckled, smiling back at him.

“Muchas gracias, Dani.” She said, waving gratefully at him as he left. Suddenly Jamie was standing in front of them, and Y/N glanced between him and Roy, hoping to God something bad didn’t happen.

“As much as I hate the thought of you two having sex, I guess you’ll be good parents. I had a really shit dad, and even though I find you a colossal pain in my ass, I can tell you’ll be a good dad.” Jamie said, looking Roy dead in the eyes. Y/N looked anxiously at Roy, waiting for him to respond.

Instead of Roy saying something aggressive like he usually would, he took in a deep breath and hugged Jamie. Y/N was shocked, making eye contact with Ted and widening her eyes as if to say ‘what the fuck is happening?’

Ted simply shrugged at her, a playful smile on his face. Y/N turned back around and saw that the two men had parted, no words having been exchanged yet. Jamie nodded, moving over to quickly peck Y/N’s cheek before walking off.

Y/N looked at Roy, still trying to process what she’d just seen. “I guess Jamie’s less of a massive prick than I thought.” Roy said, and Y/N couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“I guess in a weird way Jamie’s been like our trial kid. Just think about!” Y/N said, and Roy immediately pulled a face.

“I don’t fucking want to think about Jamie being my trial kid.” Roy said, and as much as he pretended to detest the idea, Y/N had a surprisingly good point.

As they walked off the pitch towards Roy’s car, Y/N couldn’t help but be overwhelmed at all the love and support the Richmond family had given her over the course of her time with them.

That insane love and support became even stronger the day they welcomed their daughter, Y/N’s hospital room filled to the brim with as many members of her crazy Richmond family that were allowed in. As she looked around the room, she felt her heart swell at the sight.

Unfortunately, most of the team were banished from the room once Roy started crying as he held his daughter, telling them all to fuck off so he could have a private moment with her. Y/N laughed, looking over at her husband holding their daughter, muttering softly to her as he sniffled.

“She’s perfect, Roy.” Y/N said softly, watching as Roy’s teary eyes met her own.

“She gets that from her mother, I’m sure.”

[hotchs-bitch]

A Temporary Reunion

Summary: Being in a long-distance relationship isn't perfect, but you and Aaron are determined to make it work

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: Language 

A/N: Just a little part 2 to A Temporary Absence, set roughly a year later! I really wanted to write a piece where Aaron is a true workaholic in a happy relationship, so this was really fun to do :) I'm probably not picking this up as an ongoing series, but please enjoy the follow up on their relationship.

Happy reading <3

Prev part | Series masterlist | My masterlist

“The first available flight isn’t until the middle of July.”  And I would rather hitchhike to Virginia in a murderer’s van than take a plane again, you add in your head.

“Go ahead and book it, then. That’s better than nothing.”

You let out a sigh, closing the airline tab on your computer. “Aaron, are you sure about mid-July? I’ve got to be home by the second week of August at the latest. It doesn’t give us that much time.”

“It gives us some time.” He’s right. “It’s better than nothing. We’re lucky enough that you get most of the summer off. I know it isn’t ideal but if we come up with a better idea you can get a refund, so just get a ticket before they run out of seats.”

“Yeah, okay.” You type nonsense on your computer for a minute. “Done. Can you answer my original question from twenty minutes ago? You know, before you sidetracked me into buying a plane ticket and derailed my whole summer?”

You can hear the smile in your boyfriend’s voice when he responds. “My day was fine, thank you. It was Morgan’s birthday on Monday, but we were in Kansas. Garcia brought in a homemade cake today.”

“Hmm. What kind?” you ask, moving your laptop to the other side of your bed.

“Chocolate. It was shaped like a thundercloud, but the lightning bolts resembled... well, let’s just say I’m still trying to decide if I can get away without writing anyone up for it.” He admits, making you laugh aloud at the visual.

“She seems talented, I’ll have to commission her when I’m in town.” You roll onto your back and look up at the ceiling, putting the phone near your head. “What did Derek get? You did get him a present, right?”

“Hey, give me some credit. I got him cufflinks and a gift card.” Aaron defends himself.

“I’m withholding that credit, based on the cufflinks. I’ve never seen Derek wear cufflinks. And a gift card to…?” you cover your eyes, like it’ll help you avoid the answer. Out of all the things you’ve learned about Aaron since reconnecting with him nearly a year ago, only one has stood out as a glaring negative.

He’s awful, possibly the worst ever, at giving gifts. He makes a good effort and is always thoughtful, but he manages to miss the mark every time. You usually help him by vetoing particularly bad ideas, especially since you’ve gotten to know the team a little better on sporadic visits, but he seems to have taken this one into his own hands.

“Maybe he doesn’t wear them because he doesn’t own them. And it was for Azucar,” he says. He always gets a little touchy when you make fun of him for his gift-giving abilities, and this is no different.

He’s so sensitive to criticism, you think. “Uh huh. Sure. And what is that?”

“An ice cream shop. He said they have the best cheesecake ice cream he’s ever tasted.”

“Oh.” You perk up at that. You’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting an answer like Walgreens or Home Depot. “Good job, babe! But cheesecake? I thought he liked rocky road, that’s what he got when we all went out.”

“It’s his second choice.” Aaron explains with an enthusiasm that tells you he’s very proud of himself for knowing about Derek’s opinions on ice cream. “He gets it because he says no one around here can make ‘real’ cheesecake ice cream. He’s picky.”

There goes the other shoe. “No one around there?” You grab your laptop, doing a quick search. “Aaron? Tell me that you didn’t get him a gift card to an ice cream shop that only has locations in Florida and Texas. Please tell me that, and let it be true.”

“We go to Florida all the time.” Aaron defends himself. “We’ve been there twice in the last three months.”

“As long as their gift cards don’t expire, you did well.” You shut the laptop, returning your attention to Aaron’s voice on the phone. “Just promise that you won’t get me something in Florida for my birthday?”

When he responds with a laugh, you let the sound wash over you. It’s not as deep as his speaking voice, but there’s something smooth and infectious about it, and you find yourself giggling along.

“I’ve got it, Scout’s honour. No Florida-derived gifts for you.” There’s a knocking sound and then a voice in the background, and you hear Aaron speak to someone else while covering the receiver. It’s a little muffled, but you can hear “call the team” in what you’ve come to think of as his ‘work voice’. You hear the shuffle of the phone moving back up to your ear. “I hate to cut this short, but-“

“You’ve got a case.” You finish the sentence for him, and he sighs in answer. “You aren’t cutting it short. If anything, it’s probably a bad idea to keep you on the phone for this long while you’re in the office. Even though you were supposed to go home hours ago.”

“Don’t apologize for that.” He says it more like a demand than a request, like he needs you to know that you’re not bothering him. You can hear the voice in the background again, speaking a little more insistently now. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you from the hotel.”

“And text me as soon as you land. Have a safe flight, Ace. And be careful, yeah?” Even if you’re not with him, you’ve heard enough work stories to know that anything could happen to any member of the team.

“Always, sweetheart.” The line goes dead a moment later and you pick your phone up, plugging it into the charger.

You reopen your laptop to carefully examine your calendar. There’s a week and a half left of school, and you can’t get on a plane to Virginia until July. Even then, you’d rather drive. Wait, you can drive.

The idea hits you like a phallic-shaped chocolate lightning bolt, and you grab your phone again to dial your coworker, the other teacher for your grade. “Daniel? I need a favour,” You greet him.

Within minutes, you’ve convinced him to keep an eye on your class for the rest of the school year. Report cards have already been submitted, and the kids will just be watching movies anyways, so it’ll be easy for him to shepherd all the kids into one classroom.

You send off a quick email to the principal to let her know about the change, then start to pack. Once you’ve finished, you put your suitcase by the front door of your apartment and then sit down to watch some TV. The text you’ve been waiting for rolls in about a half hour later; wherever Aaron is, it was a relatively quick flight.

Aaron: Just landed safely.

Me: thx for letting me know. going to the station?

Aaron: Dinner then hotel. Too late to start work. No victims = no countdown between them. Arsonist.

Me: that’s good! (the victim # not the arson)

Aaron: Agreed. Need to go. Can call from hotel in 40?

Me: don’t worry about it, I’m going to sleep soon

Me: try to call me if you get a break tomorrow. night <3

Aaron: Goodnight <3.

—————

Either you’ve got to start looking for plane tickets sooner in the future, or Aaron needs to do all of the travelling from now on. This is the longest drive of your life, and you aren’t looking forward to repeating it when you go home.

You pull up to the FBI headquarters, parking in the lot marked as ‘For Visitors’. The walk into the building is vaguely familiar, but as nerve-wracking as ever. You go through the motions of signing in and receiving a visitor’s badge, but once you’re on your own you realize you’ve got no idea where to find the only member of the BAU that’s still in the building. Shit.

You peer around the first corner you see, hoping that you’re not violating national security or something.

“Looking for anyone in particular?” You hear a voice, and you turn your head to see your favourite tech analyst standing at the bottom of a staircase behind you.

“Penelope!” You rush to her, the two of you meeting for a long overdue hug. “How are you? I was just looking for you.”

“I’m great! What are you doing here?” She asks once she’s stepped back, adjusting her glasses. She starts to walk, and you follow her.

“Summer holidays.” You explain. “I don’t have to be in the classroom for the next month and a bit. And I can do my work from here with my laptop, so I thought I’d take a drive and come visit.”

“I’m happy you did! We don’t see enough of you around here.” She pulls open a door, and you follow her down a new hallway. “I’m sure you know that the team is on a case, but I’m sure the boss man is busting his butt to get back here and see you.”

You let out a nervous laugh at that, climbing the staircase she leads you to. “He seemed to think they’d be coming back today, so this is more of a surprise. I actually haven’t told him.”

“You what?” She raises her voice in excitement, the noise echoing through the otherwise-silent stairwell. You shush her immediately, but she pays you no attention. “That’s so romantic! Are you going to wait in the bullpen? Or his office? You can hang out in my lair for now if you want.”

“Lair, for now.” You agree. “Do you know when they’re-?”

Penelope’s phone rings, and yours starts to buzz at the same time, effectively cutting you off. “Hello?” you both ask. You hear her greet Derek, but the sound of Aaron’s voice on the other end of your phone call is all you can truly focus on.

“Hey, so, we just caught him. I can’t talk for long; we’re boarding the jet. The flight shouldn’t be more than an hour, I promise I’ll call you as soon as I can.” Aaron’s voice is low, honey-smooth and warm. It makes your chest ache. You’re happy as can be with your current arrangement, but that doesn’t mean you can’t wait to see him in person.

“An hour?” You glance at Penelope, and she gives you a thumbs up. “Okay, I’ll talk to you then. Have a safe flight!”

She barely waits for you to hang up before she’s squealing. “This is so romantic! Let’s go right to the bullpen.”

“Okay, okay.” You let her pull you along, giggling at your friend’s excitement.

Penelope leads you down another hallway, then pulls open a large glass door. “Voila. Are you going to set something up? Do you have balloons, or a banner?”

“Uh, I was just going to say hi,” you admit, biting at your thumbnail in thought. “Do you think I need something else? Aaron says they’ll land in an hour.”

Penelope shakes her head and glances at the time on her phone. “No time for that. The flight there took them less than an hour, and that was in the dark. They probably won’t take that long today.”

“Hmm. Alright, come on.” You head over to the cluster of desks that normally houses the agents of the BAU when they aren’t in the field. Sinking into Spencer’s chair, you watch Penelope sit at Emily’s desk.

“So how are you? How are things going with Aaron?” She draws out his name. Even though you’re used to the team calling him Hotch, they all seem to find it hilarious when you use his first name.

“Aaron is… great.” You admit, fiddling with your hands. “It’s so great, Pen. He was so scared at the beginning, what with all the breakup horror stories around here. But he’s perfect.”

You both know exactly what horror stories you’re referring to. The agents of the BAU give their all to the team, and sometimes romantic partners aren’t alright with that. You know for a fact that one of Rossi’s marriages ended when he missed a sister-in-law’s birthday to investigate twin serial killers a few years ago, and that he hasn’t been the only one left by someone who can’t cope with the devotion that the job requires.

“How are you dealing with the distance?” Penelope asks after a long moment, one where you think about Aaron’s fears early in the relationship.

“It’s not ideal. But he’s gone for work so often, it doesn’t really make sense to uproot across the country for him. I’ve got my life there, and he’s got his life here. Not seeing the other person every day doesn’t mean we don’t care about each other.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. That sounds like Hotch.” She accuses you with narrowed eyes. “If you aren’t as happy as you could be…”

“I am! I swear. It’s his words for the reasoning, but we both agree. We’re okay like this.” You tell Penelope, laughing a little bit at how defensive she can get over both you and Aaron.

You can see in her eyes that she doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter, though. You are happy, even if your relationship isn’t everyone’s idea of perfect.

“Hmph… whatever you say.” Her phone rings once, and she glances at it. “Organized Crimes needs access to my digital analysis software. Promise you won’t go making any big romantic gestures until I’m done setting it up for them, please? Hide from him if the team gets back before I do.”

“I promise. Go!” you wave her off, and she scurries away.

Once you’re alone, you start to feel a little awkward. There are other agents working in the bullpen, and you aren’t blind or deaf to the stares and whispers of people wondering who you are and what you’re doing. You finally decide to go to the kitchen and make some coffee, leaving your phone at Spencer’s desk.

—————

You take your sweet time in the kitchen, and you’re still stirring your coffee by the sink when Penelope runs into the kitchen. She skids to a full stop behind you, panting with exertion like she’s just run a marathon.

“Elevator! They…. Just got…” she points out into the bullpen and grips the countertop with her other hand, unable to finish the sentence.

“I’ve got it.” You set down your coffee mug and get her a glass of water, rubbing her back as you pass it over. “Here, have this. Take a minute.”

She drains it, then stands a little straighter. Re-energized, she grabs you by the hand to pull you back to the desk. Your phone is buzzing, and you note Aaron’s name and picture on the screen, but that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is the way time seems to slow when the elevator door opens. The way Aaron is staring at the ground, phone to his ear as he waits for you to pick up. The way he lifts his gaze as he exits the elevator, breathes out ‘Sweetheart’ in a voice so full of love that you could drown in it. The way he pushes past Derek and Spencer without looking, eyes trained on yours as he wraps his arms around you for the first time in months.

As always, the only thing that matters is how much Aaron loves you, and how much you love him.

You throw your arms around his neck and it feels like coming home, and he squeezes you against his chest like he feels the same. Both of you silently agree not to take it any further; there’s no sense kissing in front of everyone in the bullpen. As it is, you can hear the team catcalling and whistling from behind him.

You can hear the clatter of his phone hitting the ground by your feet, but the noise is forgotten when you turn your attention to the beating of Aaron’s heart against your own. You love the feeling, can hardly get enough of it. It’s proof that he’s here with his arms around you, making you feel safe and loved as he sways you gently in his arms and whispers ‘I missed you so much’ against your cheek.

The moment has to end eventually, and it does when you respond with, “I bet I missed you more.” You can’t resist kissing the tip of his nose, but it’s the action that finally makes him pull back with a laugh that he tries to hide with a cough. Right, he’s the boss here.

“Save it for my office, please.” He untangles himself from you and you follow suite, but you aren’t surprised when he takes one of your hands into his own. He squeezes it once, reassuring one or both of you, and then turns towards the team while you grab both of your phones off of the floor and desk.

“Hey, guys.” You give the rest of the team a little wave, taking way too much amusement in the looks they’re giving you and Aaron. “Happy birthday, Derek. How’s that gift card?”

Derek snorts at that. “Warming up my wallet for now, thanks for asking. I never want to get pulled into another harassment seminar again after this, okay?” He looks between you and Aaron, who rolls his eyes at his agent.

“There’s a big difference between a hug and whatever happens on your phone calls.” The exhaustion in Aaron’s voice makes it apparent to you that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

“And if that were just a hug, I’d agree.” Emily chimes in, smirking at the way blood rushes to your cheeks.

“Alright, alright. Aaron?” You tug at his hand, and he drops yours, wrapping the arm around your waist instead.

“I know. Let’s go to my office.” He starts to steer you towards the staircase.

“We aren’t invited?” You hear Dave tease, and you shoot him a look over Aaron’s shoulder.

“Absolutely not. But I’ve got some thoughts on that French Malbec you’ve been pestering me to try, and you aren’t getting out of that conversation.” You call out, letting Aaron pull you away a little faster.

Dave laughs at that, gives you a nod. “You know where to find me. You kids have fun up there.”

You hide your eye roll as you and Aaron climb the stairs. When you get to his office door he unlocks it with a slightly shaky hand, then steps aside so you can enter first.

The office is bathed in warm sunlight glinting off the desk, which is covered in the usual stacks of file folders and consults. You notice a picture frame facing away from your, the image only visible from Aaron’s big leather chair.

He sinks into it with a little grunt, one hand reaching for the picture frame like it’s a habit to do so when he sits down. He stops himself just before touching it and pulls his hand away, eyes cutting to yours as he leans back. “I thought you weren’t coming until mid-July.”

“I wanted to surprise you. I hope it’s not a problem.” You relish the way his eyes light up at the answer.

“No problem here.” His smile could power every building in downtown D.C. It’s an expression that the inside of his office doesn’t see enough of, and it only makes you feel more special to evoke such joy in him. “I missed you.”

“I told you already, I definitely missed you more.” You glance at his blinds. “Want me to close those?”

“You’re going to get me in trouble one of these days,” Aaron complains, but he’s got his eyes fixed on you and he’s trying to fight back the smile that’s been overtaking his face since he first saw you minutes ago.

“That doesn’t sound like me, Ace.” You turn to smirk at him once the blinds are closed. “Come say hi properly, already.”

Aaron gets to his feet while you check your phone, which has started to buzz again. “Ignore them.”

“Ugh.” You step back. “One second, it might be work.”

Penny: You’ve been in there 2mins and the blinds are closed? Really?

Me: I work fast ;) go back to your lair

You let out a giggle when she sends back the running emoji, then drop the phone on Aaron’s desk.

“Sorry about that. Where were we?” You murmur, one hand tracing up his tie when he’s close enough.

“Somewhere around here, I think.” Aaron leans down a little, brushes your lips with his. “Was it an important text?”

You think of Penelope and her highly endearing nosiness. “Nothing urgent.”

“Good.” One arm finds its way around your waist, and he pulls you to his chest. You close the space between you with a kiss, your hands resting on his chest and forearm.

He kisses you softly, emotion pouring into it. When you pull away for air, he presses his lips to your forehead. “Hi,” He whispers.

You’re reminded of that night in the bar with his team, and every time he’s seen you since; He’s barely stopped touching you, or he has his eyes trained on you if he has to step away. Like he thinks you’ll disappear.

“Hi.” You whisper back, pulling him back in by his tie for another long kiss. He deepens the kiss almost immediately, and you break away when Aaron’s hand starts to travel down your back. “In the office? You’re better than that.” You tease.

He chuckles and steps away, leans back against his desk. “So how long are you here for?” He asks.

You bite your lip, more nervous now than you thought you would be. “Well, I was kind of hoping I could stay for the summer. If it doesn’t work, that’s okay, I can just head home in a couple of weeks like I would have. I can also get a hotel if you don’t want me staying with you the whole time, or I could-”

“Hey.” Aaron gently cuts you off. “You’re rambling. Of course you can stay with me, for as long as you want.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He reaches for your hand, and you give it to him. “I can’t assure you that I’ll be around all the time, but I’ll bring work home instead of staying late here. There will be cases, though.”

You nod. Aaron’s work really is his life, and you aren’t expecting him to take time off for you. “I know. We already do the distance thing pretty well, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed. It doesn’t mean I don’t prefer having you in my arms.”

“Trust me, you don’t exactly make it a secret.” You squeeze his hand, pull it gently. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” He looks at his watch and then back to you. “Go where?”

“I don’t know, let’s get lunch. Or we can go for a drive. It doesn’t matter,” you say earnestly, because it doesn’t matter. Once again, the only thing that matters is that Aaron is in front of you, real and solid and currently tightening his grip on your hand.

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“And? You’re the boss, you stay until 8 most nights, and you put someone in jail before noon today. If anyone deserves to leave in the middle of the day, it’s you.”

You can see the moment his resolve crumbles. He doesn’t answer you verbally, but his little smile tells you everything you need to know.

When he turns to grab his phone off the desk, he knocks over the picture frame you’d seen him reach for earlier. It lands face up, and your heart actually flips in your chest when you recognize the picture of the two of you in your apartment at Christmas. You’re smiling at the camera, Aaron pressing a kiss against your cheek with an arm around your waist. It’s one of the only ‘coupley’ pictures you have together, but it’s your favourite.

It's his favourite too, apparently.

Aaron clears his throat and reaches past you to pick up the picture, placing it back where it had been. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs.

“Sorry for what? That you don’t keep it in your go bag?” You lean in to kiss him again, chest swelling with affection.

“That’s not the picture of you I keep in my bag,” he says softly, pulling away before you can make contact. “We should get going soon, or we’re never leaving.”

He has a point, so you allow him to lead you out of the office and past the other agents, waving at them as you go.

—————

As soon as you exit the building, Aaron pulls you against him. His arm wraps around you as you walk down the sidewalk. “We could go for a walk?” he suggests, glancing at you. “It’s a nice day out, and you wouldn’t believe what they charge for gas around here.”

“Lead the way.” He’s right about the weather. As you stroll down the sidewalk together, the sunlight washes over you. The cool June breeze keeps you from overheating, but you still shed your jacket after a few minutes.

Aaron takes it from you wordlessly, draping it over his arm before taking your hand in his.

You don’t speak for a long time. When you do, it’s a little quieter than you mean for it to be. “I guess I’m here for a while.”

“Hmm?” He must be lost in thought because it takes him a moment to respond. “Oh, yeah. So how long do I have you for? Physically, that is.”

You grin, bump his hip with your own. He knows that he’s got you, whether you’re with him or across the country. “Well, let’s see. I was supposed to come in the middle of July and leave after three weeks. So, I guess you’ve got me for seven. Physically.”

“That sounds nice. I think you’re going to like it here.” Aaron says thoughtfully, like he’s been pondering it.

“I’ve been here before, you know.” You point out with a grin, and he squeezes your hand.

“I know that. But we just did touristy stuff and spent time at my apartment and with the team.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m looking forward to having you here in a more… domestic sense.”

“Domestic, really? You have a thing for housewives I don’t know about?” You tease.

He snorts. “Not exactly what I said. It’s going to be nice having you around, as long as you’re not getting mad at me.”

“Are you planning to do something that’s going to make me mad at you?” You ask him. You’re immediately suspicious, but Aaron just laughs.

“Of course not.” The sidewalk splits off into a footpath up ahead into a lightly forested area like the backside of a playground, and you lead him down it while he talks. “But, you know, I don’t want you thinking that I’ll be around all of the time. I can’t take time off.”

“I know that. I’m not expecting you to take time off just to see me.” Aaron doesn’t respond, so you keep talking. “I’m not going to be here forever. I know you’ve got your routine, your work, your whole life. I don’t want you to try to squeeze me in around it, I don’t want to be another obligation you’re working your ass off to take care of.”

At that, he finally speaks. “That’s not fair.” He lifts a tree branch for you to duck under, then follows suit.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair. I’ll find my place in…” you wave your free hand, struggling for the words. “In your world, I guess. There’s space for me, Ace, and we both know it. Just let me find it, let’s use this summer to do that.”

“You aren’t an obligation. And how do you expect to find a space when I’m not around?” He challenges. You can hear the raw fear in his voice, his worries from the beginning of the relationship once again rearing their ugly heads.

You’re so distracted by it that you don’t notice the large rocks on the path, and almost trip over one before Aaron steadies you.

“Maybe that’s a part of it. Maybe we deserve to know what it would be like, if we lived in the same place.” Your voice softens a little, and so does his when he responds.

“Sweetheart… I don’t want you to be disappointed. That’s all. I don’t want you to wake up hating me because it’s the second case of the week and you haven’t seen me in days. I don’t want you to regret coming out here.”

“I don’t plan on hating you, and I’m not going to regret anything. It’s almost two months. We’ll see each other more than we have in the last year, no matter how much you work.”

He can’t argue with that, and you both know it. “You know that I’m not asking you to move here.”

“I wasn’t aware that it was even on the table,” you say, “but I know that. Let’s just enjoy the next few weeks, and the rest of it can wait.”

Aaron stops walking when the path ends inside the entrance to the local park. “The rest of it can wait.” He repeats it like he’s trying to commit the words to memory.

“It can. ‘Cause I’ve got you, and you’ve got me. Physically or not.”

“I prefer having you physically,” Aaron murmurs, with a glimmer in his eyes that has you flicking him.

“I know you do. We’re going to be fine either way, you know that?” You put a hand on the back of his neck, pull him in close.

Before you can connect your lips to his, he breathes out, “I know.” He closes the distance with one hand on the middle of your back, pulling you closer to him. It’s sweet and chaste- you’re in public, after all- and he smiles at you once you’ve pulled away. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You reach for his hand and interlock your fingers, just gazing at him.

This summer might not be perfect, and you might even hate it at times, but Aaron is worth it. Whatever capacity you can have him in, whatever space in his heart he carves out for you, you’re willing to take it.

Even if it’s just a temporary reunion.

Taglist: @crowfootwrites @abschaffer2 @kajjaka @jaspxr

[whirlybirbs]

          (  this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan​ from this beautiful set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

       (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST   |   NEXT  )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.  

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

[beelsnack]

I Put A Spell On You - Obey Me Boys and A Witch MC

I may have mentioned it in an ask or something before, but I'm actually a practicing witch. (Sorry, Mammon.) So, in honor of spooky season, I bring you witch MC!

----

Lucifer: "Can I ask you something?"

Lucifer looked up from the report he had been working on. In the House of Lamentation, hearing that question was very rarely followed by anything but disaster. He bit back the urge to sigh and turned to look at the human. "You may."

"Have you ever been summoned by a witch?" the human set down their pen. They had taken refuge in Lucifer's room in an attempt to actually get their homework done, and had been working diligently up until this point. "Like, successfully."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, I haven't. I doubt any mortal witch would have the power to actually summon me."

"That's what I thought," they leaned back in their chair, stretching.

"What brought this on?"

"A witch I know up in the Human Realm swore up and down that he had, quote unquote, ‘summoned Lucifer himself.’ No one believed him anyway, but I figured I would ask just to confirm my suspicions.”

“No, it is highly unlikely that a mortal witch would have the magical power to summon me,” Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Although many have tried.”

“What happens to them when they do?” they asked, completely abandoning their work at this point. Part of Lucifer wanted to reprimand them for getting distracted, but he couldn’t deny that he liked having their attention on him. “Do you curse them or something?”

“I do nothing,” he smirked as they got up to lean against his desk. Perhaps he could stand to take a break as well. “The minor demons they actually summon, however, often have their fun with those foolish enough to try.”

“Oh, I’ll bet the Little Ds have a blast with them, huh?” the human grinned.

“Ask Number Two about the time he possessed a ouija board and convinced a human they would die if they ever wore the color blue again.”

Laughing, the human moved to return to their spot at his coffee table where they had spread out all of their study materials. Lucifer, however, had different plans.

“Oof!”

In one quick, fluid motion, he had grasped the human around the waist and tugged them into his lap. The movement had mussed up their hair, and he affectionately moved a few strands out of their face to see their adorable pout.

“You know, my dear, you are the only human witch able to summon me. You should wear that fact like a badge of honor.”

Mammon: “Now that’s just playin’ dirty!”

The human had to make a concentrated effort not to laugh at Mammon. “Yeah, they really didn’t have to go that far. They already have you by the balls.”

“They do not!” Mammon growled, crossing his arms. “Nobody has control over The Great Mammon!”

“Except for the multitude of humans who you made pacts with because they promised you a few bucks.”

“Wow, okay.”

Shaking their head, they gently plucked the doll out of Mammon’s palm. It was a standard poppet, made out of cloth. “Why don’t you just have Lucifer or Satan undo the curses?”

“Because,” Mammon huffed. “Human magic is different from demon magic. None of us know the first thing about it.”

“You just don’t want to admit to anyone that the witches pulled one over on you again.”

“Can you fix it or not?”

Smothering another laugh, they brought the poppet closer to examine it. Aside from the basic filling, it felt like there were some stones in there, and they thought they smelled some herbs.

“So, basically all you need to do is remove whatever link they used to bind the doll to you,” they muttered, more to themself than anything. “Usually it’s hair, nail, a drop of blood if they’re feeling particularly nasty…”

“That’s what they were doin’?”

The human looked up, tilting their head. “What?”

“One of the witches was bein’ real nice to me,” Mammon sighed. “Patting me on the head when I dropped off some money for them. Shoulda known she was trying something fishy!”

“Okay, that answers that.” they made their way over to their desk, plopping down in the chair. “So she probably pulled out some of your hair and put it inside the doll. So all we have to do it get it out, this thing becomes a regular old doll, and voila, curse broken.”

“How do we do that?” Mammon asked, peering over their shoulder as they reached into their drawer. His blue eyes widened when they pulled out a pair of scissors. “Whaddaya plan on doin’ with those?”

“Mammon, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

“Wha - ack!”

Mammon doubled over in pain at the same time the human cut open a slice on the doll’s belly. There, right in the center of the stuffing and stones - and there were herbs in there, they had been right! - was a little bundle of white hair, tied with a piece of twine.

“Ah-ha!” they plucked the bunch out of the doll, and Mammon just barely managed to catch himself on the corner of the desk before he went crashing to the floor.

“Holy shit, human, I’m gonna fuckin’ hurl.”

“Do it somewhere that isn’t my room, please.”

Leviathan: “Levi, I don’t know how to tell you this, but ‘witch’ and ‘magical girl’ aren’t the same thing.”

Ever since they let it slip that they practiced witchcraft, Levi had obsessively forced them to watch every magical girl anime he could think of. It was his way of relating to them, they were sure, but it was starting to get a little out of hand. There were only so many variations of the magical girl trope in existence.

Levi frowned at them. “It’s not?”

“Well, for one, I don’t own a super cute lolita dress.”

“Do you want me to make you one?”

The human laughed. “Somehow I don’t think showing up to a coven meeting wearing a pink loli dress will make the others take me very seriously.”

“What about blue?”

“Leviathan.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed. “So if it’s not like in the anime, what is human magic like?”

“A lot more boring than demon magic, honestly.” the human shrugged, turning back to the monitor. Since they had put their foot down against watching Madoka, the two of them were rewatching Sailor Moon. “A lot of using herbs and crystals and energy. Really symbolic.”

“That is boring,” Levi scowled. “You don’t even get a transformation sequence.”

“I’m just as mad about it as you are, dude.”

Satan: “Holy shit, Satan, that is a ton of books.”

THe demon had no reason to look as proud as he did as he sat the stack of books on the table in front of him. “This isn’t even all of them. Some of them are cursed, so I let them be for now.”

“That’s...both impressive and concerning.” the human picked up a book off the top of the pile. “Whoa, it’s even handwritten!”

“I’ve collected my fair share of grimoires over the millennia.” Satan took a seat across from them, watching as they turned each page with reverence. “I believe that one is from a Scottish witch from the 16th century.”

“Should I be wearing gloves or something?” they cradled the book like it was made of glass. “This is historic, Satan.”

“I’ve cast the appropriate spells on them to prevent them from decaying, don’t worry.” Satan laughed. “Although your concern is appreciated.”

“I could learn so much about the craft from these,” their voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide as they scanned each page like it contained the secret to eternal life. “This is...wow…”

The look of utter rapture that the human had on their face was endearing, and Satan couldn’t help but smile softly at them. “Feel free to peruse them whenever you like. They deserve to be appreciated.”

“You mean it?” they looked up with hope sparkling in their eyes. “Thank you so much, Satan!”

“Of course,” he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind their ear. “That look on your face is worth any price.”

Asmodeus: “I have a gift for you!”

Asmo poked his head up from where he had buried it in his D.D.D. The human stood next to the couch, arms clasped behind their back and a giddy smile stretching across their face. Asmo could practically feel them vibrating from excitement.

“Ooh, for me? Darling, you shouldn’t have!” He pocketed his phone and gave them his full attention. “What is it?”

They held out their hands, revealing the treasure they had been hiding. “Ta-da!”

Asmo carefully picked up the chain from their palms. Dangling from the end of it was a small bottle, wrapped carefully in wire and turned into a pendant. Tiny, translucent pink stones sat inside, nestled in a layer of salt and herbs. The magic surrounding it was faint, as most human witchery was, but it was so uniquely them that Asmo could just about cry.

“Oh, darling, you made me a love charm!” he exclaimed, immediately slipping the necklace on. “It’s so cute! I love it, thank you so much!”

The human smiled. “I’m glad! I wasn’t sure what to do with the rose quartz, but I knew you would love them, so I figured I would make you something! Not that I really think a love charm would work on you, but I figured you would appreciate the aesthetic.”

Asmo laughed, reaching forward to cup the side of their face gently. “You don’t need to use a love charm on me, darling. I’m already captivated by you.” His other hand came up to touch the pendent resting against his collarbone. “This will just serve as a reminder of how spellbound you’ve made me.”

Beelzebub: When they had first described themself as a “kitchen witch,” Beel had thought that they meant they were a really good cook.

And while that was true, they also were literally a kitchen witch.

“Basil for protection...oregano to ward off negative magic...there, that should do it.”

To Beel, it just looked like they were making pasta. Which was never a bad thing. But they chose which herbs to season it with such intention and purpose, Beel knew it was more than that.

“Do herbs really have magic?” he asked, leaning on the counter next to the stove while the human worked on magic dinner. “I’ve never thought of them as particularly magical.”

“It’s more of a human thing,” they said, sprinkling the last of the oregano over the pot of sauce. “We don’t get the flashy sparks and all that, so we had to develop our own magic.”

“Hm…” Beel regarded the pot with curiosity. “Is that why your cooking is so good?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” they laughed, swatting at his hand as he slowly approached the pot. “You aren’t sneaky, Beel.”

“Can I just have a taste?”

“Your ‘taste’ is drinking the whole pot like it’s soup.” they rolled their eyes. “I haven’t even started cooking it yet! It’s cold!”

Beel pouted, looking every bit the kicked puppy. “But I want to taste your magic.”

“You can taste my magic when dinner’s ready.”

Belphegor: On nights when he couldn’t sleep, Belphie usually ended up with the human.

Sometimes it was just him wiggling his way into their bed and cuddling with them until he felt sleepy. But tonight, it looks like they were sharing a case of insomnia.

So that was how he ended up sitting on the human’s floor with his hand in their lap as they studied it like it was a textbook.

“So? What do the squiggly lines of destiny tell you about me?”

“That you’re a little bitch.” they shot back, running their thumb over the center of his palm. “You have a lot of crosses on your heart line.”

“Which means?”

“You’re emotionally fucked up.”

Belphie snorted. “I could have told you that one.”

“You’re the one who came in here and wanted to see some human magic, I don’t want to hear any complaining.” they let go of his hand. “The only reason I’m breaking out the salt and candles is to banish your demonic ass from my room.”

“You know that only works on lesser demons.”

“Anything will work as banishment if I throw it hard enough.”

Diavolo: This...felt kind of pointless, honestly.

They knew it was mainly because of Diavolo’s obsession with human culture. But doing a Tarot reading for the Crown Prince of Hell seemed like a waste of everyone’s time.

Well, regardless, a summons from Diavolo was not to be ignored, so they had dutifully gathered up their cards and made their way to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

“You know,” they began hesitantly. “If you want to know the future, you have a time-manipulating butler right there.”

Barbatos, ever watchfully, chuckled and inclined his head. “My Lord is fascinated by human methods of divination.”

“It’s true,” Diavolo nodded. “Tarot especially has always piqued my interest, but very rarely do I have time to indulge with the other witches who visit the Devildom.”

....Oh, they really couldn’t say no to the hopeful gleam in his eye. A man that large had no right to look that cute.

“Alright,” they handed him the deck of cards. It looked hilariously small in his hands. “Go ahead and shuffle them.”

“Oh, I get to do it?”

“If you want,” they shrugged. “I usually have whoever is being read for do the shuffling, so the deck can get a feel for their energy. Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

“No, this is exciting!” He really did look like he was having fun. “How many should I draw?”

“Just one, and we can go from there.”

With a focus that might have been a bit too intense, Diavolo began shuffling. He handled the deck carefully, which made them happy. So many people were rough with the cards, and they were always worried they were going to get ruined.

“Alright.” Diavolo laid a card face down on the table between them. “Would you like to do the honors?”

He was being dramatic, but they couldn’t help but play along. What was the harm in a little bit of fun? They flipped the card face up and let out a startled chuckle.

The Devil.

“Did you do that on purpose?” they asked, laughter dripping from their voice.

“No, honest!” Diavolo was laughing too. “What does the Devil card mean?”

“It means my deck has a sense of humor.”

[dirt-cup-draco]

Tethered- Fred x Reader

‘Don’t ever scare me like that again’ kiss with Fred where he lives (I’ve been crying about it lately) xoxo @starofthedawn

Your chest was tied up in knots, eyes burning and bile rising in your throat. The dust that permeated the air felt like gravel in your airways and you couldn’t help the wet cough that slipped past cracked lips. Even as you blinked away the tears that were running out, the world remained blurry and unfocused. 

After all, how could anything make sense when Fred was face down on the cobblestone. Pieces of the castle you two had called home burying him. 

“Lost in my eyes again, Y/N?” Fred asked, a playful tilt to his mouth. You were in the library, head buried in a book and not at all gazing into Fred’s honeyed eyes. You must’ve not heard him come in so when you looked up and saw him you couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in your chest. 

You liked the way his lips were pulled up by an invisible thread as you finally took notice of him.  It wasn’t quite a smile, but a familiar expression that you held dear to your heart. It was understated, especially for Fred Weasley, but the expression was one of his most sincere. 

“Can’t help the fact you’ve got dreamy eyes, George,” 

“Sod off,” Fred said with no real venom, sitting in the chair beside yours and kicking his feet up onto the table. He was lucky Madam Pince didn’t often come to this corner of the library, otherwise she’d have his head.

You stuck your tongue out at him, even daring to toss a quill at his head- but before you could he caught your hand and held on tight. Your bright grin wavered at the edges but that joy was still blooming in your chest. Suffocation was a sure thing. 

“Everything okay, Freddie?” Voice soft, slow. You understood sometimes he just needed a hand to hold and you wouldn’t let yourself believe it was more than that. What it was, was Fred trusting you and needing you as a friend and that was more than enough. 

He nodded, his eyelids heavy and his demeanor sluggish. He almost seemed like a sleepy cat but you could see the way his shoulders dipped as you posed your question. 

Fred squeezed your hand as he sank down into his chair, knees now drawn to his chest in a protective ball. “Course I am, nothing could ever be wrong when I’ve got you to tether me to what’s good,” 

--

Your knees buckled as you stumbled the last foot to where Fred lay. Unmoving, broken, probably not breathing- You shook your head wildly even as the tears burned and your brain ached. Just like every other wizard, every other soldier at Hogwarts today, you had your fair share of injuries but you felt the pain dull to nothing; Your vision tunneled to the familiar hand that stuck out from the rubble, the feather soft shock of red hair that was visible under all the grey, lifeless stone. 

With a flick of your hand, some of the rubble broke loose and found themselves discarded on the burned and torn up grass ten feet from you. The panic pounding at your ribcage was only eased by the determination you felt to get Fred out of there, alive. There was no other option. 

Waves would stand still without the moon, plants would dry up without water, and you would cease to be anything but a shell without Fred Weasley. 

--

It had been an honest mistake at the time, George had tugged you away after class one day to an empty corridor and nearly begged you to ask Fred and put the both of you out of your “self sabotaging misery”. Problem was, all Katie Bell saw was George whisking you away somewhere private a week before the ball was to commence, both of you dateless. 

By the time you had both gone to the great hall for lunch, your group of friends were deep into speculations. 

“Going to the ball with Y/N then?” Fred fixed George with a look you couldn’t quite decipher but the shock of him thinking such a thing had you missing that usual twitch of his eye when he was aggravated. 

George whipped his head to you in confusion but it went unnoticed when Lee said, “Great! Of course you two got dates before me,” gesturing wildly to the twins. 

All of the confusion had your head spinning but hearing that Fred had a date to the ball made you steady again, the lead pit in your stomach anchoring you. Anyone would be a fool to not want to go with Fred. 

“You’ve got a date?” You said a bit too loudly, eyes narrowed at Fred. 

“Asked Angie,” 

“Yeah, two minutes ago,” She snorted. “Guess he didn’t want George to beat him by too much of a landslide,”  

George let out a too-loud laugh and tossed his arm back over your shoulders. “Take that Lee, we got two of the hottest girls in school to be our dates,” 

“Go with me instead and I’ll buy you as many sugar quills as your heart desires, Y/N” Lee bargained and George swatted him on the back of a head with a faux glare. 

You couldn’t help but snort at Lee’s antics, looking at George with gratitude. You could tell he was trying to talk you up, keep your heart from falling too far. However, his efforts couldn’t completely ease the ache in your chest. You were tethered to Fred and you didn’t think anything could change that. 

--

You’d done your best to completely immobilize Fred when most of the rubble was removed, only some of the smaller chunks of wall now littered over his legs and back. The immobulus charm had to be enough to keep him stable. If he was still alive. 

It was the uncertainty that kept you going in this moment. If there was even a slim chance Fred could be alive, you would do all you could to save him. You refused to lose him and that was that. You wished you could see his chest moving, or any sign of life but he was still too buried and the dust that settled over the battlefield made your eyes unfocused. 

Even though the final battle had ended an hour or more ago, how long had it been since you’d found Fred?, you were shut off from any of the joy that the win could have brought you. If Fred wasn’t going to be there to celebrate then how could you? 

“We’ve got to fix up the shop a-and get butterbeers,” You sniffled, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you worked your way through the rubble. You kept speaking as if holding Fred to his promises would bring him over the threshold and into your waiting arms. 

“You’ve got to give me that birthday present you’ve been bragging about for months, and you’ve got to help me prank Lee for singeing my favorite sweater with one of your fireworks,”

And on and on you went, all of the promises Fred had ever made you falling from your lips as you pulled the last of the rubble from his body. One of his legs and all of the fingers on his right hand were bent at grotesque angles. There was a line of blood that started somewhere behind his hairline and trailed down his temple, dripping off of his jaw and onto the ruins he had nearly become a permanent part of. 

You wouldn’t permit your legs to shake as you stood, the sun being further down in the sky than you remembered. The wave of your wand was light and methodical even as every step towards help weighed you down. 

Time passed you without you taking note, the sun sank beneath the horizon and you stumbled your way through the dark. Eventually, you were taken off guard by the light of someone’s wand. Time caught up to you then as you stared with bleary eyes, trying to recognize the face before you but having a hard time sorting anything in your over exhausted brain. 

“Help him,” Was all you had energy for, before darkness took over. 

--

“...understand how she did it,” 

“...miracle, really,” 

“Poor girl must’ve....” 

Conversations floated around your head as you lay cemented underneath the sheets that you had been securely wrapped in. You wanted nothing more than to swat them away like pesky flies, the voices weren’t loud but to you it was as if someone had put a speaker in the empty space of your skull and turned the volume up as high as it could go. Everything ached. 

“Am I dead?” You croaked, eyelids still too heavy to even attempt opening. 

Immediately, a woman nearly screamed and a cacophony of other voices rose up- both familiar and not. 

“You look like you wish you were,” Someone joked to your left and your eyes snapped open so quickly you became dizzy. You felt frozen in place as honey eyes swept over you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Despite being covered from the chin down you felt as if you were being looked through. A shiver ran down your spine and it was followed by a deep ache that had you groaning despite the emotions bubbling up within you. 

“Damn you Fred,” Was all you had to say before everyone else around you was clearing out. For a split second you felt guilt when you realized your parents as well as the Weasleys had come to stand beside you as you healed. 

“I’ve come back from the brink of death and that’s what you have to say to me?” He teased but his voice was torn to shreds and you had the terrible image in your mind of him screaming for help until he lost consciousness. The blood drained from your face. 

Fred seemed to take notice as he shuffled out of his bed that was right next to yours. He paused at the edge, fumbling for the crutches that were at his bedside. It felt like years the time it took for him to fall into the chair nearest you, his hand stretching for yours. 

You moved pathetically against the sheets but in your weakened state you couldn’t grasp his hand. “Freddie,” You croaked, eyes filling with tears in frustration. You’d thought him dead and now you couldn’t even move a damn blanket to touch him, to make sure this wasn’t a dream. 

“I’m here,” He reassured, moving the sheets on your side gently until your hand was free and you could tangle your fingers with his non-broken hand. 

“How?” 

“I’ve been telling you for years now, you’re my tether. Just when I thought I was going to cross over, I heard you. All the promises we made, and all the chaos we have yet to make, all the things I haven’t said,” Fred’s bottom lip trembled as he brushed his thumb over your scabbed knuckles. You were faintly aware of a needle in your forearm, attached to an IV but all that mattered was the warmth you felt from Fred. 

“You could break them all and I’d still be counting my lucky stars that you’re here,” You cried, falling into a coughing fit. Fred was quick to press a still cold glass of water into your hands and help you sit up even from his place on his chair. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” He promised, hand remaining at the back of your neck as he settled you against your pillows. That genuine not-smile was back and you chewed on your lip to keep from crying again. You still weren’t sure he was here so any reminder that it was really him had you at a breaking point. 

“Can you make me one more promise then?” You caught his gaze but found you couldn’t hold it, the intensity making your stomach swoop and your heart pound against your rattled ribcage. 

Fred had yet to move, his hand steady behind you and his face close. Your noses were nearly touching as he said, “Anything.” 

“Don’t scare me like that ever again,” 

You chanced one more look at him, eyes wide and pleading. You were going to make him promise on everything in him but the rest of your words were lost when you stumbled over the loud adoration in his eyes. As if on autopilot, you removed your hand from his to brush your fingertips against a gash on his cheek. 

“Never again,” He whispered, frozen in place. He didn’t dare move when you let your movements wander over his lips, taking your time before you let your hand fall against the junction of where his shoulder met his neck. Beneath the collar of the hospital gown you could see garish bruising that only served as another reminder you’d almost lost him. 

That was enough to remind you that there was much unsaid between you and the man you loved. You could feel his shaky breath, his hand squeezing yours just enough that you felt the reassuring pressure. When you took your third look at those eyes, you knew. 

You moved at the same time, in tune to one another in a way you always have been. It was with a sigh that your lips met, frightened and curious and wonderful. You were careful of his head would as you played with the hair at the back of his neck and he made sure not to move you anymore than tilting your head to slot your lips against his at a better angle. 

Fred pulled away when his smile dared to take over his face but you couldn’t complain about the loss when you could feel his pulse beating strongly against your fingers, his chest moving steadily with life. 

“I’m just as tied to you as you are to me,” You laughed softly, in disbelief. 

Fred looked surprised for all but a second before he was placing his lips against yours, cautious but deliriously happy. 

Waves swayed with the moon, plants flourished with water, and you were never far from Fred Weasley. Each were tethered to their counterpart and nothing could change it. 

[atinydise]

Follow the rules (Part 2)

❦ Genre: Angst / Fluff / Suggestive.

❦ Pairing: Seonghwa.

❦ Word count: 1K.

❦ Requested: Don't ever believe me again when I say I'm posting something "soon" 💀Part 1

❦ Tags: @scuzmunkie, @butterfliesinthenightsky 🦋

Once again, you stared at your reflection in the dirty mirror of the theater.

You fixed your hair, removed the tiny stain of lipstick on your teeth, and shamelessly opened another button of your dress.

“You can do it, girl!” You motivated yourself. “It’s just a date! You are a pro for dates.”

It’s been 10 minutes that you were trying to spot something wrong with your outfit or just yourself.

This guy that you met at a party, invited you to several dates before, but for this one, you felt a little bit more stressed or insecure.

He was so good to you. Always funny, complimenting you when you doubt your own beauty because of these stupid “beauty standards” or always available when you need to talk.

You were diving into your thoughts, daydreaming about how this date could end when you receive a text from him asking if you were okay.

Not losing another second, you walked out of the restroom.

“Oh Y/N, are you okay? You were there for a while.” He asked, visibly worried for you.

“Yeah, there were just a few girls before me.” You lied. “Let’s go?”

He nodded and smiled.

“But first, do you want a snack or a drink?” He offered, already taking out his wallet.

“Wait, I'm paying.” You put your hand on his. “You paid for the restaurant yest-”

“Popcorn and a cold drink such as iced tea?” He asked, knowing exactly what you want.

Understanding that he would probably not give up and pay for your snacks, you simply nodded.

“Thank you again.”

“Wait for me here!” He said before running to the shop.

Seeing someone devoted to you made you happy and thankful.

“What could happen Y/N? It’s probably going to be a good date too.” You tried to reassure yourself, fixing your dress one last time.

“Y/N?”

You instinctively looked at the person next to you.

It took a few seconds to realize that the worst thing that could happen, was just there: Seonghwa.

You hated the way with simple eye contact, he made you doubt your entire existence.

Even if Seonghwa changed a bit during this last month, he was still this handsome man he used to be.

His hair was dyed in black and a bit curlier than before. He was probably working out a lot more because his figure was a tiny bit more massive.

The way his eyes were piercing and staring at your soul, gave you this warm feeling that only he can give you.

“Y/N?” He repeated.

You raised a brow to show him that he has your attention, but that you wouldn’t say anything.

“It’s been a while.”

The thought of shouting ‘you dumb or what’ or punching him right in the face, came to your mind for 2 seconds, but you decided to play it cool.

“Yeah.” You simply replied.

Seonghwa was taken aback because of these short and cold replies. You were the only one talkative among both of you.

“Hm… are we cool? Or?”

“Cool?” You repeated. “What do you mean?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

This situation was so strange to you that you pinched your hand discreetly, to be sure that you were not daydreaming or hallucinating.

“Y/N.” He called you once again.

You managed to keep your composure but hearing your name from his mouth made your knees weak a little bit more.

“Do you remember that we are not talking or seeing each other anymore?”

Seonghwa scratched the back of his head, searching for a possible excuse or explanation.

“You made it clear the last time we saw each other.” You continued. “So you don’t need to come and check after me as you care.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t Y/N me.”

“That’s your name?” He raised a brow.

“Yeah, then don’t call me.” You gulped, realizing how dumb this was.

“Y/- I mean… Can we just talk about what happened? I know what I said was bad.”

“Bad?”

“Yes.”

“I would say painful, cold, uncomfortable, hard, unpleasant-”

“Okay okay, I got it.” He stopped you.

“No, I think you didn’t.” You started, clenching your fist to not yell at him for everything he did to you. “You literally throw me like a toy. Okay, we knew our deal, just sex, but you could have been a little- NO. A LOT nicer when you rejected me.”

“I freaked out.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Can we talk about this later? I really want to see you again.”

That was one of the things you were redoubting.

After a month, the moment you finally start to turn the page and focus again on your happiness, Seonghwa comes back.

You hated yourself for already knowing that you would run to him without any effort.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You turned back and stared at Seungyeon. He looked so cute with these 2 big packs of popcorn and the drinks hanging between his fingers.

“Ah, you there.” You smiled.

Seonghwa stared at both of you, trying to know the exact situation or relationship you had with this man.

“Hello. I’m Seungyeon.” He politely bowed.

Your ex-friend and benefits didn’t even blink. He stayed there, only staring at him.

“Well… we should go. The movie is about to start soon.” You grabbed Seungyeon by the arm, making sure to help him with the drinks.

“And what about my request?” Asked Seonghwa, before you could leave.

You sighed. He wouldn’t give up so easily. He would even sit next to you during the movie for sure.

“Can you take our seats? I need to talk to him for a minute.” You simply explained, embarrassed that this situation happens during your date.

“Sure, text me if you have a problem.”

You understand well that he was bothered by you staying with a man that clearly has his effect on you. But for the sake of this date, you needed to make things clear with Seonghwa.

When Seungyeon disappeared from your eyesight, you confronted him.

“What’s your problem?”

“And who’s this guy?”

“And why are you asking as you care about who I’m dating?” You crossed your arms on your chest.

“Because you are mine.” He sighed in frustration.

“What the hell Park Seonghwa.”

“I’m the only one who is supposed to touch you.” He added.

You rolled your eyes at this comment. Of course, he was only thinking about sex.

“Well sorry, but other people don't see me as a vulgar piece of meat like you do.” You started. “Seungyeon is curious about how my day went and not about which position we are doing at night.”

“Do you sleep with him?” He stepped closer to you.

“This is none of your business.”

Seonghwa was frustrated. He ran his hand in his hair and growled something that you didn’t understand.

“So, for your request. It’s no. You told me that I’ve shouldn’t f-”

“Does he satisfy you well?”

You blink twice at this sudden question.

“I told you it’s n-”

“Does he fuck you better than me?”

He was stepping closer to you at every question. Your heart raced and your lips went dry in a second.

“Does he make these things that you love the most in bed?”

“You are being inappropriate.”

“I bet you never told him your little secrets. Like how you like to be choked. Did you tell him?”

The proximity, his perfume, or just his presence made you get a tone of flashbacks.

These times you met, how he treated you well or how he completely made you forget your own name.

“You are mine. And I don’t want anybody to touch you.” He whispered, resting his forehead on yours.

This contact made you close your eyes so you could enjoy his presence once again.

“Just ditch him…”

You shook your head, “I can’t. He’s nice to me.”

“And I am too.” He kissed your cheek.

“He’s giving me what I want.” You gently rested your palm on his torso, trying to push him a bit.

“I can give it to you too.” He slowly went to kiss your neck, your weak spot. “All night long.”

His offer was interesting, of course. But you remembered that after this “night” he wouldn’t text you or ask how your day went as Seungyeon does.

"No." You pushed him stronger this time and stepped back. “I don’t want to be a friend with benefits anymore. I just want to be a girlfriend.”

Your heart was beating so fast in your chest that you thought it would explode the next minute. Maybe it would be the time where Seonghwa would change the status of your relationship or simply disappear as he usually does.

“I just want to be special to someone and not only because I slept with them.” You added, not liking the silence that settled.

“If you want me to be yours and not only in your bed at night then say it now. Otherwise, there’s a movie which is waiting for me.”

His lips parted for a second then closed right after.

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

You pushed his hand away from your forearm.

“Excuse me, but I have a movie to see.”

You exchanged one last stare together, then you left to join Seungyeon.

The more you walked away from him, the more you felt your heart clenching in your chest.

When the door closed behind you, you brushed off the tear which was sliding on your cheek.

“Ah you there,” smiled Seungyeon when he saw you.

“Yeah sorry. Did I miss something?”

“Nop, only ads.”

“Good.” You sat down, blinking a few times to suppress the tears.

“Are you okay?” He asked, still worried for you.

You nodded, biting your tongue.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You whispered, taking a deep breath to forget this conversation.

When the room dimmed in the dark, you remembered that your phone wasn’t mute.

Just when you were about to turn it off, you received a text from Seonghwa.

[“Let’s finish our conversation.”]

You noticed that he didn’t write “tonight” like he usually does.

“It’s starting.” Whispered Seungyeon, when he saw you still on your phone.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” You apologized for not being focused.

[“K.] You replied before turning it off.

You felt bad for agreeing to meet Seonghwa while you were sitting next to someone who probably likes you.

“What I am doing...” you whispered to yourself.

[shycoconutt]

I Found My Light (Kakashi x Reader)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

A/n: Sound the alarms! It’s my first ever writing post! I’ve had this written for a while tbh, and I feel like I’m ready to start getting into this.

Summary: A late-night walk turns into a rekindled friendship.

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: fem!reader, SFW (but might not be later lol)

You opened your eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time tonight. Staring at the white ceiling, you sighed. Sleep seemed to evade you recently, a side effect of the recent dreariness of your life. You found yourself living the same days over and over again. Because of this, the line between day and night started to fade.

The moon was full tonight, you noticed as it shined brightly through your open window. It was the perfect temperature out, warm but chilly enough to feel comfortable wrapped in your blankets. You love listening to the occasional sounds that occurred outside, the noise of leaves rustling in the wind being your favorite.

Your gaze left the moon and landed back on your ceiling. Why is something as simple as sleeping so hard? Gods, all you wanted was an escape. With a huff, you pushed the covers off of you and sat up from your lying position. Trying to force yourself to sleep would do more harm than good right now.

You make your way to your dresser and pull out your favorite pair of black joggers. You love them because they are tight on your ankles, loose on your legs, and have a cinched band at the waist. They are perfect for any lazy day. You slip them on over your underwear, you never go to bed with pants on, and exchange your sleep shirt for a cropped black hoodie made from the same soft, elastic material as your pants.

You turn to face your large standing mirror in the corner of the room to assess your appearance. The all-black look was your favorite, especially since it will help you blend into the night. Your hair was a mess, so you decided to put it up in a loose bun on the top of your head and pull out some strands to frame your face. It felt good to not look so polished and put together. Your jonin uniform was not the most comfortable piece of clothing, especially with the way it hit your figure.

You walked out of your bedroom and across the kitchen to the front door of your apartment. One foot after the other, you slide into your sandals and grab the key to your apartment hanging on the hook next to you. With that, you leave your apartment and head out into the night.

You walked the streets of Konoha at a gingerly pace. It was probably around 3 a.m. at this point, and there wasn’t a single soul on the street with you. You make your way past the line of shops on the main street, including your favorite bakery where you'd treat yourself to a lemon square after coming back from a long mission. You thought about that lemon square a lot when you were out risking your life, embarrassingly enough.

A couple of turns later and you found yourself heading towards your favorite place in all of Konoha, a little area of woods towards the perimeter that contained this amazing koi pond. Although it was nighttime and the fish wouldn’t be as active, you still want to check to see if you can watch any. To your surprise, your favorite koi, who you nicknamed “Nishi'', was out and swimming around by himself. You sit criss-cross in the grass and watch as he glides through the calm water, almost putting you in trance. Nishi didn’t look or act like the others; He was black with white, almost silver-looking spots and he was less frantic in nature. You sway from side to side as you watch him, thinking to yourself about how you would like to be more like Nishi.

“You look cute watching the koi.” You heard a soft, yet unwavering voice declare behind you.

“Holy sh-” You almost jump out of your pants at the unexpected presence. Surprised, you quickly turn your head around to see who’s voice that could possibly be. To your disbelief, there lies a figure perched up by a tree a couple yards away from you. Their feet were crossed, legs extended, one hand in the pocket of their pants, the other holding up what looks like a copy of Icha-Icha, head turned towards you, and wild hair moving with each passing breeze. How did I not notice him?

“Oh I’m sorry (y/n), I didn’t mean to startle you. I figured you knew I was here because you walked right past me.” He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head and let out a small chuckle. “Guess I should have made my presence known right away.”

Still in disbelief, you get up and slowly make your way towards the figure, stepping into the shadow of the tree to see him more clearly. As you approached you immediately recognized the silver-haired jonin.

“Kakashi?” You say confused. “What are you doing out here? It’s late.”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He states, closing his book and setting it down next to him on the grass. He looked different. He looked… quite hot actually. The jonin uniform you usually saw him in was traded for a pair of comfortable-looking grey sweatpants and a tight, black tank top that connected to his mask. He wasn’t wearing his headband either, just keeping his left sharingan eye shut in a permanent wink. As you observed him, you couldn’t help but notice that he was doing the same to you.

“I suppose you're right.” You smirk and let out a small chuckle. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured that if I was up I should take a walk around the village to clear my head. This is my favorite spot, so I guess I just naturally ended up here.” You exclaimed, still standing in front of him.

“It looks like you and I are having the same issue,” he states plainly, “I came out here a little while ago after tossing in my bed for an hour. I hate trying to force myself to sleep; It’s a battle I never seem to win.” His eyes averted your gaze and moved to his now empty hands in his lap. You couldn’t help but notice a hint of pain in his voice and it tugged at your heartstrings.

You know about the things Kakashi has been through, as it was pretty common knowledge to all jonin in your mutual age group. You were pretty close with his friends, Gai, Kurenai, and Asuma, but Kakashi always seemed to keep everyone at an arm’s length. He also was an Anbu for ten years, which didn’t help the disconnect either. Fortunately, he was relieved from his Anbu position a couple weeks ago, and gradually you have been seeing him a bit more here and there. Though, this is the first time you are able to have a conversation with him in what seems like forever.

“Well,” you sighed, “I guess we have lost the battle together. We must be pretty shitty jonin.” You stated flatly.

Kakashi squinted his eyes and you both laughed. You couldn’t help but take a mental picture of his face at this moment. You really enjoy seeing him happy, as it makes you happy too.

You can’t kid yourself, having a chance to talk with Kakashi alone feels like such a treat. Little genin (y/n) would be ecstatic right now. Of course you had a crush on him back then, who didn’t?

“You’ve always had a natural talent for connecting with people,” Kakashi mused, “I haven’t talked to you since we were teenagers, and here I am laughing with you like we’re long-time friends.”

You could feel your eyebrows furrow at that statement. Yeah sure, you weren’t at his apartment every week for Sunday brunch, but you did have a history.

“Kakashi,” you started, “You are my long-time friend. Just because we drifted apart doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. To be honest, I was relieved when I found out you were no longer going to be a member of the Anbu. It wasn’t good for you.” You stepped closer and sat down next to him, leaning back on the tree stump. The grass felt cool under you, sending a small shiver up your body.

“I suppose you’re right,” Kakashi stated, quoting your words from earlier. “It amazes me that none of you gave up on me. I feel like I am undeserving of everyone’s effort.” You were baffled by his honesty; Kakashi wasn’t known to be much of an open book. It upsets you so much that he feels this way as you couldn’t imagine not caring about him or any of your other comrades in the village. The faces of your closest friends flashed through your mind and you grimaced at the thought of losing them.

Not knowing if you should, you felt compelled to reach over and hold Kakashi’s hand in yours. It's cold compared to the warmth spreading from your fingertips. Hmm, I wonder how long he has been out here. Giving his hand a small squeeze, you look at him in his onyx eye. “Trust me, Kakashi. You are deserving. You are deserving of a great life and people who care about you. I know the world may seem dark, but I promise that a light is always glowing. No matter how small or dim, it’s there.”

You stare at each other in silence for a moment before he changes the position of his hand and intertwines his fingers in yours. The change was small, but it ignites a feeling in your stomach you couldn’t describe. Slowly, you felt your cheeks flush and you turned your face to look towards the sky in hopes he wouldn’t notice. You knew this action was him telling you that he accepts your words, and thanks you for them.

You spent the next hour sitting under the tree together, you looking up at the stars and him looking at you. Your intertwined hands fell between your bodies, resting on the cool grass. You felt him start to graze the back of your hand with his thumb, sending a tingling sensation up your arm. It felt so good to be touched by him, even in such an innocent manner.

A strong breeze ran through the air and hit you suddenly. You began to shiver at the quick change in temperature, realizing that you should have dressed warmer if you were going to be out this long. Yet, you couldn’t have anticipated the situation you are currently in.

“Are you cold?” Kakashi questioned with a hint of concern.

“Yeah a little bit,” you answered honestly, “but I don’t want to go back home. I’m not really tired yet.” Truthfully, you didn’t want this little moment of shared bliss to end. You started to feel like you found your escape, and you refused to be torn away from it so soon.

“Neither do I,” he confessed, “Come here.” He released his hand from yours and slid his position higher up on the side of the tree. He then spread his legs and patted the ground in between, inviting you to sit.

You felt your face get hot again, as the position he was offering you was a very intimate gesture. There was absolutely no way you could refuse his offer. One, because you were freezing and, two, young (y/n) would never forgive you.

You got up and sat down carefully between his thighs, leaning until your back met his chest. He then wrapped both of his arms around you, one around your shoulders and the other around your waist with his hand resting on your stomach. The outsides of your legs met the insides of his and you felt an immediate warmth there. Lastly, your head tilted back and rested upon his left shoulder, with his face nuzzled against your temple. You both fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, no part of you feeling any discomfort against his strong body. Engulfed in his smell and warmth, for the first time in a while you felt completely relaxed.

“Thank you, Kakashi.” You looked up at him with a warm smile.

“Anytime.” He breathed, voice muffled by your hair. You wondered if he truly meant that. I mean, after all, this is the first time you have interacted in a while. Yet, the connection you felt towards him was unquestionable.

Does he feel the way I feel?

“Hey,” you began, “are you tired at all?”

He flexed his arms and held you closer to his chest. “Not really,” he answered, “I’m enjoying this moment too much to be tired.” You smiled, and there was a pause.

“Isn’t this odd?” you questioned again.

“What? You and I snuggled under a tree in a random corner of the village alone at 4 a.m. after we haven’t interacted with each other in years?” he questioned sarcastically, “Not at all.”

“Kakashi!,” you laughed, gently nudging your elbow into his ribs as he laughed along with you.

“Yeah it’s a little odd,” he answered honestly, “but I’m not going to question it. I found my light, and now I’m enjoying it.” He nuzzled his face into your hair and breathed deeply.

Completely and utterly relaxed, you let yourself succumb to the heaviness of your eyelids. Truthfully, this has felt like the longest day in the world and you are happy to end it this way. The sound of Kakashi’s breathing and the rise and fall of his chest acted as your personal sleep machine. It’s priceless.

Before you completely drift off, you swear you could feel the soft, pillowiness of Kakashi’s lips graze the skin of your temple, a soft hum escaping from them.

“Goodnight, (y/n)”

~~~

Queue Hilary Duff’s “What Dreams Are Made Of”. This kind of feels like the beginning of something. Should I continue? Idk if my writing is even good. If you read this, PLEASE let me know if you have any feedback. Again, this is my first story and I would greatly appreciate any feedback, advice, suggestions, etc.! I can’t believe I’m uploading, ah! - Klara

[katnissmellarkkk]

Elllow! Today’s bookcomb consists of Peeta being protective of Katniss. Could have been much more implied moments but here’s some explicit ones 🤗

-

But it’s too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

I’m helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta’s face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side.

“What are you still doing here?” he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he’s been dipped in dew. “Are you mad?” He’s prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. “Get up! Get up!” I rise, but he’s still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. “Run!” he screams. “Run!”

-

I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death.

Sick and disoriented, I’m able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.

-

I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. “No,” he says. “You’re not risking your life for me.”

“Who said I was?” I say.

“So, you’re not going?” he asks.

“Of course, I’m not going. Give me some credit.”

-

Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!”

“I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says.

“You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg,” I say.

“Then I’ll drag myself,” says Peeta. “You go and I’m going, too.”

-

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.

-

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence.

“What?” I say, trying to force my way back up.

“Go home, Katniss! I’ll be there in a minute, I swear!” he says.

-

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

-

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob . . . that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.

-

“Peeta’s argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you,” says Haymitch.

I knew it. In this way, Peeta’s not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel.

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know,” Haymitch says.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say brusquely. “No question, he’s the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Haymitch sighs. “Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name’s drawn at the reaping, it won’t matter. He’ll just volunteer to take my place.”

-

The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

-

“And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it. . .”

“If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say.

“It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta.

-

I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me seem more in control. “I’ll take the lead,” I announce.

Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. “No, let her do it.”

-

No one’s thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far,” I promise Peeta.

“I’ll go, too,” he says.

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can,” I tell him. I don’t add, “And you can’t come because you’re too loud.” But it’s implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. “I won’t be long.”

-

Nothing. I find nothing. Not so much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently.

-

While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta’s arms, still too shaken to move.

-

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o’clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.

“I want to go with them as a guard,” Peeta says immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I know he’s less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.

-

I’m so light-headed I’ll black out in a matter of minutes. I’ve got to get away from this tree and —

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

-

Caesar leans in to him a little. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive.”

“That was it. Clear and simple.” Peeta’s fingers trace the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair.

-

A hush has fallen over the room, and I can feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it’s really like in the arena before.

Peeta goes on. “So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss.”

-

“When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena . . . blew out.”

“Katniss blew it out, Peeta,” says Caesar. “You’ve seen the footage.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire,” Peeta snaps back.

-

Peeta’s on his feet, leaning in to Caesar’s face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer’s chair. “Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?” He’s yelling now. “She didn’t know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!”

Caesar places his hand on Peeta’s chest in a gesture that’s both self-protective and conciliatory. “Okay, Peeta, I believe you.”

-

Gale’s expression darkens. “Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire’s clearly President Snow’s idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta’s mouth.”

I’m afraid of Gale’s answer, but I ask anyway. “Why do you think he said it?”

“He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He’d put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there’s still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right.” I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. “Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.”

To keep me alive? And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren’t killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we’ll both be allowed to live — if I play it right — to watch the Games go on. . . .

-

Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that I’m taping propos for the districts.

“They’re using her, obviously,” says Peeta. “To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what’s going on in the war. What’s at stake.”

-

He asks Peeta if, given tonight’s demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

-

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

-

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

hi I’m here to review the Clementine comic. it’s not good.

Does this even need an introduction? You know why I’ve gathered you all here today. You know the comic exists, and you probably know that it’s not great and we’re all upset about it. 

Myself included. I am not okay. At all. 

Skybound could’ve literally spit in my face and I’d come out feeling better than I did reading this comic, because this comic is an insult to the original Telltale games and Clementine as a character. 

This comic is a fancy fanfic. Glorified fanfiction. It’s not canon, and Skybound and Tillie can pretend that it is, but it’s not. Bold of them to assume we’d just accept this from people who didn’t work on the original games and never wrote for Clementine before, and based on this comic alone, any chance of us taking it seriously is gone. 

I’m gonna go through every single page, every panel, of this comic and give you my review. So I guess if you’re worried about spoilers [though at this point why would you?] then be warned, spoilers for the entire comic ahead. 

I also wanna add that I have nothing against Tillie Walden. I know a lot of dingdongs are harassing her on insta over this comic and that’s not okay. You telling her how much you hate her isn’t going to change anything. If anything, you keep being assholes to her and she’s just gonna block everything out, even things simply critiquing her work in hopes that it helps her improve. 

You’re allowed to be upset about the comic and share your feelings about it, but don’t take it out on the actual human being like that. Besides, like I’ve said before, if Tillie wasn’t gonna make the comic, Skybound would’ve found someone else to do. This was coming no matter what because Skybound wants that coin. 

That being said, I’m not going to hold back my opinions on this comic. Skybound and Tillie made this comic, they put it out there and asked for money for it, therefore I’m allowed to explain why it’s garbage as well as ponder over the questionable intent and whether or not Tillie actually has played these games. Y’know, it’s like how I have nothing against Kent, but sometimes he says things I disagree with and well, y’know how it goes. 

Alright, this is gonna be long, so let’s go--

The first few shots we get are of the school, two people sleeping, and Clementine’s empty bed. Nothing super note-worthy, we have no idea who is sleeping in the beds, it’s just there to establish that it’s early and everyone’s still asleep. 

The drawing of the school looks fine? Not super accurate, but I can give it a pass since it’s a few years later, I assume. What I can’t give a pass is how you managed to already mess up on the first page of your comic. 

Because..... why are you implying that Clementine’s room is upstairs? First of all, seems kinda dumb to put Clem, who has only one leg and has to walk with crutches, upstairs. Also, if you’ve played TFS and paid any attention to where her room is actually located [the dorms] then you’d know there isn’t any stairs leading to their floor. It’s the side building next to the admin building, you walk through the door, go down the hall, take a left and their dorm is right there sooo..... 

Oh right, it’s probably done this way so that we can have such a suspenseful moment where Clementine is sneaking out while the others are asleep and her foot makes a creeeeeeakk that could wake everyone up, thwarting her plans of abandoning everyone quietly so she doesn’t have to deal with any consequences. 

Because yeah, Clementine is sneaking out with all of her supplies because apparently, she’s been planning an escape from this place for a while. 

And just look at how gosh darn happy she is about it. You can’t see or hear me, but know that I’m laughing. Don’t worry, I will talk about her abandoning everyone later.

But first, I have a gripe with Clementine's design in this comic. It doesn’t look like her. This art of her right here is the most accurate we get throughout all 12 pages, and it’s the best looking, too. 

Moving on, she slams the door shut while this walker changes faces and hair between panels, so that’s cool. I will say, I like the idea of the Ericson crew putting spikes on the door. That’s fun. 

Though Clementine slamming the door shut while trying to sneak out seems counter productive but it fits with the theme this comic has of inconsistency, so it works. 

Next we have Clementine going to what I believe is the fishing shack by the river, and she’s going through some things that she’s stashed away, telling us that she’s been planning this escape for a while. 

Oh good, she has a map. Well at least now she won’t get lost out there in the woods while she makes her escape... also that last panel with her profile.... why does it look so funny? Like this page of the comic doesn’t look too bad, but there is something off putting about her eye there and how she has zero expression. 

And it turns out that rustle was a walker, and Clementine is super inconvenienced by this and gives us our first piece of witty dialogue.

Yeah you dumb walker, can’t you see Clementine is busy running away from home and abandoning all of her loved ones without a single goodbye so she doesn’t have to witness the consequences of her selfish actions?? Gosh, so rude.

Just a heads up, the dialogue in this comic is stilted, emotionless, and bland. The words have no flow, no charm, and never feel like they should be coming out of Clementine’s mouth. Then again, the upcoming graphic novels this is tied to are for young adult/middle graders so I guess we have to dumb everything down so their baby brains can process it. 

.....Why does her face look like that? Also, interesting that she decided to move her ponytail to the other side of her head.... which is a thing that happens throughout this comic, her hair will randomly change sides. 

I believe it’s a metaphor for her changing and inconsistent personality. 

So yeah, Clementine is just making off with the supplies she gathered [I’m sure Ericson doesn’t need ‘em anyway] and she’s just so gosh darn annoyed at all these small inconveniences bothering her.... because it’s just too early for this. 

.....Again, why does her face look like that?

I’m sorry, like I get it, Tillie’s style is supposed to be purposely messy yet minimal but it doesn’t work. When you do a comic in a more messy style, usually it has charm and heart put into it. Effort goes into the messy look, and when things are minimal, that usually means more clean, yeah? So you put them together and just..... that is nothing resembling Clementine’s face. 

Can we just--

Look at canon Clementine’s face. Look at the way her eyebrows are shapes, how wide her eyes are with her eye lashes. The dirt on her skin, the lines-- there is so much personality in her features. It doesn’t matter if she’s wearing a neutral expression or she’s expressing anger or joy or sorrow or whatever. 

Now, is it fair to compare a model of Clem from the games to the Clem in this comic? Well, I assume that if Tillie is doing this comic, she would use references from the game to ensure that Clementine is recognizable, especially now that she’s no longer wearing her signature hat. 

So why does she look like this? Why do I look at these drawings of her face and see nothing but a pair of eyes, a nose, and a mouth? You might as well draw me a simple smiley face. And I get that it’s a comic, and it’s a lot of work to draw the same character over and over again and you gotta cut corners somewhere, but maybe put some effort into the close up shots of her face so that we can actually see it’s her? 

Other fan artists have made comics in their styles that shine bright with Clementine’s personality, so what happened here? 

Anyway, surprise..... it’s not a walker annoying Clementine. 

........Why does AJ look like that??? I’m sorry, I hate to do the same thing I just did but--

Just because you put Clementine’s hat on AJ that doesn’t automatically make it him. I just.... wow. This feels like there wasn’t a single reference involved, like if someone gave Tillie a basic description of AJ and she just did this. 

But appearances aside, what is AJ saying? He says that he knew it, that Clementine’s leaving and I cannot stand this dialogue. It’s unnatural. Again, I know you wanna dumb it down for all of us because I guess we dumb.... but this conversation does not feel natural. 

“I knew it. You’re leaving.” “AJ....” “I’m coming.”

Even if you changed it to, “I’m coming with you.” it would sound more natural. Hell, he doesn’t even question WHY she’s leaving, he just stands there like “I’m coming” like??? I’m sorry, have you ever heard a single word this murder baby has said? I assume you have because I assume you actually played TFS, right? Soooo.... what happened here?

.....whY DO THEIR FACES LOOK LIEK THAT KSAJDLKJAS:LKDJLKASJD:L--

So now we’re getting into it.... into the bullshit. 

Clementine tells AJ to go back to the school, and AJ says that she wasn’t even going to say goodbye..... and then more bad dialogue that sound unnatural when you try to fucking read it. 

First off.... AJ’s reaction to Clementine attempting to leave is barely anything. Again, I hate to keep questioning if you actually played TFS, but AJ would throw a fucking fit if he caught Clementine out here ALONE like this, attempting to leave. 

And then he says “Like last time? You were going to come back?” this sentence makes my brain hurt. I just.... “Like last time, right? You’re coming back?” UGH

Wow, I feel nothing. 

I’m sitting here watching these two imposters with fucked up faces who are supposed to be Clementine and AJ and I feel nothing. 

I’m not even going to comment on the faces anymore. You can see it. You know. 

So yeah... AJ tells her the #1 rule, and reminds her that she promised.

Y’know.... she promised that she would never leave him again? Remember? At the McCarroll ranch? That flashback that was in TFS? The one you would watch if you played the game? 

Why is she looking straight at me when she should be looking at AJ as she says this? Is this Clementine’s way of telling me she’s sorry for what a shitty direction this is taking? I wouldn’t know because her face isn’t doing anything. Just because you draw a couple of tears that doesn’t mean I’m feeling the emotional heartbreak you’re attempting to convey. 

I don’t have enough middle fingers for this.

Well, my hat’s off to you. Ya did it. Ya fucked up everything single part of Clementine’s character in the span of two pages, I’m almost impressed. 

First off, the baby thing is weird. Why is she calling him that? She’s never called him that, which you should know.

Second, she’s not happy and that’s why she’s leaving. Clementine isn’t happy, and AJ can’t make her happy. Ericson can’t make her happy. So she’s going to go out on the road to.... what, be unhappy by herself? 

I’m sorry, but apparently we need a few reminders here of who Clementine is, because this isn’t her. 

This is Clementine. 

Clementine fought for years to find a home, something she hasn’t had since she was an eight-year-old girl before the apocalypse. The motor-inn wasn’t a home, the cabin wasn’t home, the ski-lodge, Howe’s, Wellington, Richmond, Prescott, none of them were home. 

She struggled for years, dealing with trauma after trauma while out on the road. She went from group to group, watching people she cared about die and she was powerless to do anything about it. Whenever she let her guard down and become comfortable, it bit in her in the ass and left her heartbroken.

She was there when AJ was born. She grew close to Rebecca while she was pregnant, she let herself do that even after everything she went through with Christa. Clementine had a bond with AJ even before he was born, and after Rebecca died, she did what she could to keep him safe, despite play choice. 

She cried when she thought AJ died and when she found him in that car again. She swore to protect him, to raise him right and love him. All they had was each other. 

And when she joined the new frontier and AJ got sick, she risked everything to save him and she was devastated when they took him away from her. When she found out he was alive, she is willing to go as far as helping Lingard overdose [INJECTING HIM HERSELF IF SHE HAS TO] to figure out his location. She did shitty things to find him, she killed people at McCarroll Ranch to find him again. 

Clementine raised him and he is her family, do you understand that? She went to hell and back for him, she taught him how to protect himself, and even though she made mistakes she sacrificed everything for him. She promised him that they would have a home of their own one day, she talked about how much she wished for a world where she didn’t have to worry about fighting and killing and AJ could just be a happy kid. 

She fought for Ericson, she watched her friends die or become mutilated by someone from her past. She allowed herself to be vulnerable enough to pursue a romantic relationship with Louis or Violet because she felt safe with them, felt safe at Ericson because it’s their home now. 

And when Clementine was bit, she thought she was going to die but she still fought to make sure AJ would be safe and happy without her and it was heartbreaking. She’s dying and the only thing she cares about is AJ. Not herself, not what’s going to happen to her after she dies or turns... no, she tries to make AJ smile again, she makes sure he remembers the rules, and she tells him that she loves him. 

Then he cuts off her leg, and she survives. AJ saved her fucking life, and she got to wake up at home and live to see her family again. She got to push AJ on a tire swing, she got to eat a hot meal and laugh with her friends, she got to make plans with her lover/best friend for what’s next for Ericson, and she got to talk to AJ and tell him the truth... and she asked him if she did a good job, and he’s honest with her right back. 

Hell, she tells him to keep her hat. Her iconic hat. The one thing she has left of her father, possibly her more cherished item. She lets him keep it. 

The last time we see Clementine, she’s happy. She’s sitting on the steps by herself, staring at her family with such fondness in her eyes and a smile on her face because she finally did it. She finally found a home where she can breathe. She has a bed to sleep in, she has AJ with her, she has a boyfriend/girlfriend who loves her and who she loves back, she has friends she can rely on. 

Clementine smiles, and lets out a small laugh. 

She doesn’t have to run anymore. 

And now you have the balls to tell me that AJ and Ericson don’t make Clementine happy anymore. 

She abandons everything to go back out on the road again, and that’s proof enough for me that you don’t understand a damn thing about Clementine or her journey. 

“ I don't even know the person I'm talking about... It's like all we have in common is the same name.” 

....Anyway.

Wow, Clementine found a car and kept is stashed. How lazy and convenient for this bullshit plot. 

And this is the part where I have to tell this comic to fuck off. 

What, you think if you throw in an incredibly inaccurate flashback next to a current pair of hugging Clem and AJ that I’ll feel anything but anger? That flashback is a slap to the face. It’s snowing, but the only time we’ve seen snow is in S2 when AJ was a literal new born, so why is he that big? Is that supposed to be from ANF because that ALSO doesn’t look like that AJ, and that’s not the outfit Clementine had on... AND there was no snow. This is cheap and meaningless. 

Any fan of the series who has played through the games could tell you this. 

So.... AJ runs into the woods and then we get this garbage.

This comic is awful. It misses the point of everything TFS, and the rest of the series, stood for. There is no heart here. I feel no happiness in reading it, and I don’t detect any passion behind it. It’s a lifeless comic that retcons everything in order to throw AJ away and start fresh with a new adventure for Clementine that makes no sense because the cow isn’t profitable unless it’s milked. 

This isn’t canon, and it won’t ever be canon, and honestly? At this point, I have no faith in the graphic novel trilogy. It will take a lot to do a turn around from this, and I don’t even know if that’s possible. 

Again, to reiterate, I don’t have anything personal against Tillie Walden herself. She’s just doing her job, and from what I’ve seen of her as a person, she seems like a sweetheart. I don’t want anyone giving her shit because I think the comic isn’t good or that you agree with me. All of my anger is directed at the comic itself, her work, not specifically her.... and a little bit at Skybound, because they’re the reason this is even a thing in the first place. 

So yeah.... there ya have it. 

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Mon 14 June ‘21

Louis Tomlinson Cooks is here!! Yeah it’s 100% for sure as delightful to watch Louis make himself a sandwich as you might have hoped, but how was his cooking? Well I’ll let Louis rate himself-- “I’m not gonna lie not that appetizing is it, I mean look at it,” he says when it comes time to taste his creation, plus, “chopping peeling slicing not great to be fair- everything else I’m all right” (he’s… not wrong, even aside from the peeler issues has this man ever held a knife??) but- “it probably tastes nice though as I said it’s not about presentation for me… [munches cutely]... it’s actually pretty banging, that’s actually quite nice!” Success! Maybe it’s cause he knows the secret to faking good cooking- “as you can see I don’t have a lot of cooking ability so the more butter the better,” I mean the experts can tell you, that’s advanced stuff right there! #Louis-aChild! Substituting mustard and ketchup for coleslaw is a bit of a bold move, but in a belated attempt to convince the kiddos to eat some healthy veg even though he won’t he does bravely try the cucumber strips despite being “not really a man for cucumber” and makes a pained attempt to be positive- “bit of crunch.” Oh and speaking of crunch I’m relieved to have learned that the waffle is NOT a waffle, it’s a crispy waffle shaped bit of potato; a much more reasonable fish sandwich addition than the American version of a potato waffle! Full Time Meals polled to see what people think of Louis cooking; the two choices are “it was amazing” and “the best,” THEY GET IT. My kind of Louis poll! Helen Seamons rated him a “10/10 for effort and entertainment”, Masterchef acknowledged Louis as one of their own, and Marcus Rashford keeps it simple- “my guy” with a lil heart. YEAH, SAME.

Harry showed up in Italy, where he was papped in Venice being driven around (with PA Luis) on a boat (as you do, in Venice). He’s in a cool embroidered Bode shirt and shades and fancy hair, looking good. He’s seen carrying his suitcase, taking photos, and resting his head on his arms looking like a model. One might think, since we just saw the My Policeman cast and crew on set celebrating the wrap of the shoot, that they were done filming and Harry was off to do something different, but nope, he’s there to film! The book has key scenes in Venice that folks had been wondering about the filming of, and David Dawson is also being boated around Venice for the paps, so, it seems that was just for the wrap of the *UK* filming, which makes sense I guess since it would mostly be different crew I imagine, and perhaps some of the main cast are done as well.

Liam’s NFT sale is happening tomorrow! If you’re confused and want more info, I’M NOT GONNA HELP THAT MUCH… uh but I mean you can check out Liam’s youtube video explaining though I would guess that won’t help much (even Liam thinks so; “there’s probably websites that explain a lot better than me” he admits). There is a roundup now posted of what’s on offer for the buyers of the NFTs but I’m gonna be really honest with you, I’m more confused now than I was before. It’s clear that there are only SIX LONELY BUG NFTs right? They for sure said that I believe. But the packages for each different piece (token bundles) seem to me like they’re available to multiple buyers? Like maybe you don’t get the NFT but multiple top bidders on each get the extras? Like they can’t be selling multiple copies of the NFT... can they?! Isn’t the WHOLE POINT that only one person gets to own it? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW I AM SORRY. What I think I understand to be true: the six NFT buyers get to go to “a once-in-a-lifetime immersive dining experience at Resorts World Las Vegas” (this is the dinner with Liam and “a selection of crypto leaders from around the world” which takes place on display inside a giant glass box) and also “a bespoke commemorative presentation box containing the world’s leading holographic display... with audio... and a custom made Lonely Bug commemorative coin,” and “a unique QR code directing the owner to a special ‘Director’s Cut’ edit of the short digital film ‘Making Of Lonely Bug Collection’ which features unreleased footage from the day of the drop showing the creators' reactions when the winning bids came in” (I mean YEAH I would think it’s unreleased it literally hasn’t happened?) But then there are really a lot of other extras including tickets with Meet & Greet access to any Liam Payne headline show around the world, admission to pool and cinema parties in Vegas with Liam, signed art, non-Liam extras (I will literally bid to NOT have 20 minute phone calls with those crypto entrepreneurs PLEASE… but that’s just me), and access to an online party hosted by Liam; I really get the impression many of these, especially the last one, are just crypto tokens that are for sale that aren’t linked to the main Lonely Bug NFTs and many more than 6 people can buy them but a lot of the extras I’m not clear on which it is. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll understand better WE WILL SEE.

Liam also dropped by the discord last night to say some hellos (after a “long long day”) and that he “bought a piece of NFT art of myself tonight I’m going to give it as a prize Monday night so someone can own a piece of art that was owned by me” (an even less tangible bragging point than simply owning an NFT wow that’s an achievement) and the most important update- “I want a French Bulldog”! Oh and he said “that’s like one I did myself” in his fanart channel to a pic of a tiny crocheted illustration of Louis and Harry holding up a rainbow flag. Didya Liam?? (...Liam is crocheting??) Anyway I recognize who it’s supposed to be because it’s based on a familiar piece of fanart, but Liam definitely might NOT realize it’s meant to be someone specific, and tbh I’m more <eyeballs> at him saying that at the rainbow flag crocheted thing than at it being shippy.

Our Song acoustic version is out this Friday!! And Niall talked about NH3 some in an interview today; “I’m in the studio most days, it feels really good. I’m kinda in the latter stages of it and then I’ll go get a band together and go in and record the whole thing. I’ve just kind of been writing for the past 9 or 10 months and really enjoying it” and “It sounds like a complete album. God knows when it’s coming out because I’d like to be able to get around the world to see all the fans as well” and “It’s different. It sounds a lot more grown up. I’m 27 so it’s about time. I really wanted to kinda cement a sound. The singles I’ve released previously have all been kinda different sounds. I would like to have my ballad sound & like a cemented uptempo sound.” He and Anne Marie also talked about one of the other songs they wrote together saying, “It’s kind of like a, how do you describe it- guitar driven meets Tom Petty meets Katy Perry meets…” but say “We haven’t really decided if we are putting it out yet, the conversations are kinda happening... but it’s completely different (from Our Song).”

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 22: Petrichor and Bibliosmia (Library/books)

AO3

Prev

Marinette frowned at the rain outside of her window. She had wanted to go to the botanical gardens with Harley and Ivy today. But with the rain, both women decided it would be better to just reschedule. They didn’t want her to get sick. Which, to be fair, was sweet. But still upsetting because she really wanted to go to the gardens. She’d planned on using the plants as inspiration to make something for Ivy.

“Tikki, I’m bored.” She says, looking at her smallest friend. Tikki just looks at her.

“You’ve been stuck inside because of the weather before, Marinette. Why don’t you design?” Tikki suggests. Marinette huffs, flopping back down onto the cushioned window seat.

“But there’s nothing inspiring in my room, Tikki.” She mumbles, before shooting back up. “Do you think any of the boys are here?” She asks.

“Only one way to find out!” Tikki says with a smile, obviously relieved to have avoided any more whining from Marinette. She jumps up, throwing one of Dick’s old hoodies on over her t-shirt. She’d always gotten cold easily, and becoming the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous didn’t help. That, and the manor was cold on a good day- it would probably be freezing with how bad the weather was. She slides down the banister, knowing her Dad was at work and couldn’t yell at her.

“Miss Marinette, if you insist on behaving like your brothers, I will have to resort to treating you like your brothers.” Alfred says with raised eyebrows. But she can sense the smile wanting to break through. She just grins apologetically.

“Sorry, Alfred.” She says. “Speaking of my brothers, are any of them here right now?” She asks. If they’re not, she could probably convince Alfred to bake something with her. As long as she promises not to slide down the banister again.

“I believe Master Jason is in the library. Masters Dick and Damian are in the gym and Master Tim is at Wayne Enterprises with your father.” He says and she hums, thinking. She could go do some training with Dick and Damian, or she could go sit and sketch in the library with Jason.

“Thanks Alfred!” She says, giving him a wide smile before turning and walking down one of the many halls. She glances in open doors as she walks. Despite having lived here for nearly a month, she still got lost going anywhere other than her room, the dining room, the kitchen, and the Batcave. They were kind of the places she’d gone the most. She could also easily find her dad’s study and the main sitting room, most of the time. But the library wasn’t really a place she’d spent a lot of time in. And while she loved Dick and Damian, she also knew that they hadn’t gotten time to hang out just the two of them in a while. She’d talked to Dick before, about how when their dad was missing, he was basically Damian’s father. She knew that bonds like that didn’t just go away, knew that neither boy wanted it to. So she figured she’d just annoy Jay instead of barging in on the others’ bonding time.

Finally finding the library, she grins. Pushing the cracked door open a little more, she moves into the room, jaw dropping. The floor to ceiling bookshelves were packed. There were huge overstuffed couches, and the large windows had window seats attached- perfect little reading nooks. Quickly making a mental note to come to the library more, she starts to search for Jay. She knew he had to be in here. Alfred is never wrong. She grins when she spots him, sitting in what looked like an insanely uncomfortable position, but one she knew from experience was the best.

“Whatchya reading?” She asks, walking over and getting comfortable on the couch next to him.

“<i>Pride and Prejudice<i>.” He says, continuing reading for a moment before putting a little scrap of paper in the book and shutting it. “What’s up, Pixie Pop?” He asks, looking at her with a grin. Marinette sighs dramatically and moves so that she’s upside down on the couch.

“It’s raining. And I was supposed to go to the gardens with Ivy and Harley but they canceled because of my ‘health’ and they were ‘concerned’.” She says with a pout.

“And you decided the library was the best place to curb your boredom? No offense kid, but you don’t seem like the type to read.” He says and she huffs.

“I like books! It’s just-” She pauses, remembering the way Lila had teased her for it back in Paris. Her classmates hadn’t joined in, not really. They’d just agreed that she was a little odd.

“You okay, Pix?” Jason asks, his earlier grin replaced with a slightly concerned look. Marinette winces and nods.

“Yeah it’s- I can read. I swear I can. But when I’m looking at a book, or an article or anything with a lot of text, it gets hard to pick out the pieces. Things just kind of swirl together and then I can’t decode it and I get frustrated and just stop reading. It sucks, ‘cause I do like books. I listen to audiobooks while doing commissions.” She rambles, stopping and turning red. Though that may be from hanging upside down on the couch. Sighing, she sits up and shrugs. “Sorry I’m so weird.” She says. Jason’s face morphs into a scowl.

“Just ‘cause you learn differently doesn’t mean you’re weird, kid. Just means you’ve got your own style. Don’t let any of those little shits you go to school with tell you differently.” He says, reaching out and ruffling her hair. She smiles at him, a genuine happy smile. She was so relieved that he didn’t think she was weird. Or stupid. Lila had thrown that word around. That one hurt. Marinette prided herself on her quick thinking and cleverness. And her grades. They were some of the best in the class! So for Lila to call her stupid…

“Pixie.” Jason says, drawing the nickname out in a sing-song voice. She looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “You were zoned out, kid. So, was there something ya wanna do?” He asks. Marinette glances down at the book in his hand and frowns.

“I don’t wanna keep you from reading. I can just sit in here with you. I’ll probably end up grabbing my sketchbook.” She says. Jason waves in a ‘no big deal’ motion.

“I’ve read this book a million times.” He reassures her. She glances at the cover again, realizing it’s not one she’s really heard much about before.

“What’s it about?” She asks. “I’ve never read it.” Jay’s face morphs into a huge grin.

“You said you like listening to books, right?” He asks. She nods. “Well, then settle in because I’m going to read to you.” He says proudly with a grin.

“Oh, you really don’t-” She tries to say. She didn’t want to make him read to her. That was not-

“Oh but I want to.” He says, effectively cutting off her mental ramble before she can complete her meltdown. “Listen Pix, this is one of my favorite books. If you go listen to some dumb audio book, you won’t get my commentary. Trust me, this is the best way for you to read the book.” He says and she snorts, shaking her head lightly.

“Okay, Jay, let’s read a book.”

---

Finally arriving home after being stuck at the office, Bruce sets off to find his daughter. Since his apology a few days ago, he’d attempted to make an effort to check in on her and see how she was doing. He tried to also do the same with the boys, but they had all given him odd looks, so he didn’t continue. He checks her room, the Batcave, the sitting room- nothing. He finally decides to check the kitchen. If he had to guess, she’d be there baking with Alfred. He walks in and sees Alfred, but no Marinette.

“Good evening, Alfred. Have you seen Marinette?” Bruce asks, silently hoping she hadn’t left the planet again.

“I believe she’s in the library with Master Jason.” Alfred says and Bruce blinks in surprise. He’d never seen her read a book before, while Jason always had a book on him. He supposed it could be a hobby of hers that he just hasn’t noticed. Or, she could have just followed Jason. Which seems more likely. The two of them were all but attached at the hip ever since the Gala. It was surprising, but at the same time welcoming. Thanking Alfred quickly, he walks towards the library. He’d just say hi and leave. No need to make them stop reading if they were having fun. Gently pushing open the library door he walks in and pauses at the sight. Marinette had wrapped herself in a blanket and was almost sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward with an intense look of concentration on her face. Jason had his legs swung over the arm of the couch and was reading out loud. Immediately recognizing the book as Jason’s favorite, Bruce slowly leaves the library, careful not to let the door slam. He’d have the chance to talk to Marinette later, but for now, he’d let the two continue reading in peace.

Next

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