#truly. i can barely function as an adult. she can wait until i have more energy to deal with the low empathy selfishness she exudes

[foli-vora]

there she goes

A/N: Soft boi has arrived! Literally only watched his episodes of the Mentalist because Patrick Jane, quite frankly, annoys/bores the absolute shit out of me.

Pairing: Marcus Pike/f!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: none that I can see but please let me know if you think something should be added!

+++

Standing in line at your favourite little café, you watch the rain pelt against the glass panels of the shop with disdain, cursing the bright sunny morning that tricked you into leaving your umbrella and jacket at home. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when you woke and left for work this morning, and now it seemed like the dark grey clouds delivering the onslaught of rain stretched from horizon to horizon with no signs of a break any time soon. Typical, you thought to yourself. Like your day hadn’t been bad enough already.

Your landlord had dropped the bomb of a rent increase, your car had a flat, you had missed the bus and had to take a cab, your desk chair decided to die – leaving you practically on the floor trying to answer calls and use your computer and the office printer refused to print anything, no matter how many times you called it a piece of junk and kicked it. Suffice to say, you were more than ready for a strong hit of caffeine.

You’re dragged out of your inner grumbling when a finger gently taps your shoulder and you whirl to face the tapper immediately, sharp words of irritation dying on your tongue the second you meet their gaze.

Brown eyes, you notice instantly. Soft, soulful brown eyes. He was… nice. Understatement. He was gorgeous, with neatly trimmed facial hair and windswept dark hair falling just above his eyes.

He gestures towards the counter with a polite half smile, “Uh, you’re next.”

You blink in confusion before glancing at the young girl behind the register, seemingly waiting for you to step forward and order, and quickly apologise to them both. She smiles, making quick work of your regular order and then you’re stepping aside, throwing another apology towards the stranger before finding a seat and sitting with a deep exhale.

The rain comes down harder because of course it does. You mentally add embarrassing yourself in front of the first decent looking guy you’ve seen in a while to your list with a quiet groan. Melting back into the chair, you take a moment to fully bask in your somewhat dry clothes and shoes before inevitably having to end up running through the torrential downpour back to the office.

A to-go cup is placed gently in front of you, your name scrawled across the side, and you blink dumbly at it before following up along the arm until you’re looking at the man from the line. He’s smiling again, his own coffee in hand and the other now buried in his pants pocket.

“Someone’s away with the fairies today.” He notes light-heartedly, and then gestures over his shoulder. “They called your name – I hope it’s okay that I bought it over.”

You blink again, and only when his brow quirks ever so slightly do you snap out of your reverie. 

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m not usually this spacey.”

His face softens, lips quirking into a sympathetic smile. “Bad day?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You reply dryly, eyeing the rain as you stand. “Thanks for bringing my coffee over. It probably would’ve been stone cold by the time I came back to Earth.”

You’re rewarded with a deep chuckle and it sends a little flutter through your chest. You made the pretty stranger laugh – not a total loss of a day, after all.

“I could try and make it better, if you want.”

You raise a brow, smiling shyly. “Oh yeah?”

He nods with a small smile, “Yeah.” He looks over his shoulders and shrugs lightly. “I could get you a slice of banana bread, a muffin, maybe… a gingerbread man? He has mini marshmallows as buttons.” His voice is light, playful, and when his grin widens, you find yourself unable to resist returning it.

You hum in thought, “Sounds like you’re a big fan.”

He chuckles, looking down as he nods. “Yeah look, I may eat colourfully decorated marshmallow buttoned gingerbread men more than a fully functioning adult of my age should.” He admits, grinning as you chuckle. “We could grab a table... maybe talk for a bit?” He watches you check your watch, hope growing in his chest at the thought of getting to know the pretty distracted stranger a little better over coffee.

“As tempting as that sounds, my break is almost over and I’m pushing it for time.” His face falls a little and you mirror his disappointment, briefly wondering if your boss would let you off if you tell her all about the pretty stranger at the coffee shop. “Thank you for the offer, though…”

“Marcus,” he smiles, shaking your hand firmly. The encasing warmth of his hand is enough to send a thrill through you, and your heart flutters in nervous excitement. The feeling doubles as he murmurs your name, pointing to your cup before you could ask how he knows.

You duck your head, smiling warmly at him before turning to the door and bracing for the wet chill that’s about to take hold. A warm hand softly pulls your arm back, and you turn back to him in question. He’s looking at your empty hands with a frown.

“Don’t you have an umbrella? Or a jacket at least?” Marcus asks, frown deepening when you shake your head.

“No, it was sunny when I left this morning – bad day.” You explain, a smile still tugging at your lips despite the downpour bombarding the street. There was something about this kind and pretty stranger that had you unable to stop smiling, and your cheeks were starting to pay the price with a lingering ache.

“Well, you can’t go out there without one, here – have mine.” He reaches past you and grabs the dripping umbrella propped up by the door, holding it out to you expectantly.

You recoil instantly, “What? No!”

“Please. It’s bad out there!”

As if to cement his argument, a snap of thunder crackles overhead, the rain increasing, and you cringe instantly.

Still, you shake your head and push his hand away, “I can’t take your umbrella! What about you?”

“I drove here – my car’s around the corner. Please, take it.”

You weigh up your options, not wanting to leave the handsome stranger with nothing to keep himself dry, but ultimately, it’s his pleading puppy eyes that completely win you over and then you’re reaching out, taking the umbrella softly and desperately trying to get a hold of your rapid heartbeat.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

He shrugs, an easy grin stretching his features and your eyes fall to glance over it appreciatively. He had a damn good smile. “Don’t mention it.”

“My knight in shining suit.” You coo, chuckling at the flush of faint pink that washes across his cheeks. “I can’t tell you how much this has turned my day around.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” And he truly is.

You linger a moment longer, grinning as he turns slightly bashful under your heavy scrutiny. “It was really nice to meet you, Marcus.”

He beams, “You, too.”

With a small wave, you disappear into the rain and Marcus sighs softly, watching you go with a small flicker of regret at the missed opportunity. Umbrella and your number next time, Pike, he scolds himself solemnly.

His nose curls as he watches the rain for a moment and then sighs deeply, reaching for the lapel of his jacket. He pulls it over his head and briefly thinks about his car, still parked in the nice and dry parking garage back at the bureau. He’s not at all sorry for telling you a little white lie to get you to take his umbrella, you needed something in this weather and it was his absolute pleasure to provide. Knight in shining suit. It had him smiling to himself the entire run back to the office, despite the downpour that had him saturated in the first two minutes.

He keeps an eye out over the next few days, intentionally going for lunch at the same time as that rainy day in hopes he’d see you again. Every day, he was left walking back with a feeling of disappointment, but not letting it crush his hope for the next day.

It’s not until over a week later when he’s standing in line, the café busier than usual, when he hears a familiar voice pipe up from behind him.

“I’ve heard the gingerbread men here are pretty good.”

You’re already smiling when he turns to face you, a grin of his own creasing his cheeks.

“I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.” He admits, nodding when you tilt your head with a curious oh? “Just making sure you’re not holding up any more lines – people need their coffee, after all. Can’t be waiting around all day.” He teases, laughing when you softly shove him playfully.

Shaking your head, you step up next to him and lean in to his side, “So guess what?”

He chuckles softly to himself, looking at you expectantly. “What?”

“I took a long lunch. Well, actually, I’ve been taking long lunches all week hoping to see you.” You admit, somewhat shyly. Were you coming on too strong? You hope not. It’s only been a week and you had missed him like you had known him longer than five minutes. You weren’t sure whether to be slightly concerned that a literal stranger had you so caught up in a whirl or thrilled that you had finally met someone who seemed genuinely decent.

He smiles softly, relieved that this little thing between you both wasn’t one sided. “I’ve been hoping to see you, too. I actually –”

“Hey, move it along!”

You startle, turning to frown at the irritated man behind you when Marcus chuckles and offers a small apology over his shoulder, before reaching for your hand and gently pulling you the short distance to the counter to order. You barely take notice of him and the barista talking, instead focusing on your hand now wrapped up in his, his thumb rubbing softly across your knuckles, and how it’s making your body thrum with electricity. You smile to yourself, eyes flicking back up to his face to find him looking at you expectantly, brow firmly raised with a small smirk.

You blink. “What?”

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part Twelve

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of drug use, fluff, smidge of angst? Length: 1.7k Notes: Managed to whip up this bad boy during a quiet moment today and should probably make y’all wait for it but I don’t really do posting schedules (as you’ve noticed) so enjoy. Not beta’d, not proof read, I’ll die on this messy hill.

Series Masterlist

Surprisingly, life didn't change too much after that night. Frankie continued to run his acreage and oversee the making of this year's cider. With some encouragement and support from you, he was starting to expand the business and already had a few pubs in the closest city clamouring to have his product on tap.

Meanwhile, the improvements on the house were nearing an end, for the indoors list anyways. The first thing Frankie had helped you do was to install your new soaker tub, immediately followed by christening it by making soft, slow love to you inside of it.

There hadn't even been any water, your impatience to be close to each other wouldn't allow for that. You had just stripped out of your coveralls, convenient work-wear for people who fucked like rabbits you had to admit, and sat in his lap with your arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands guiding your hips in a slow rocking motion, breathing each other's air as your open mouths hovered in a not-quite kiss, only breaking eye contact when you threw your head back as you came.

Autumn passed quickly and Winter had gripped Vermont, cloaking the countryside in a heavy blanket of white. Christmas was a cozy affair, you and Frankie had been asked to join Jacquie and Mark in their family's merriment. It had stirred something inside of you, watching a functional family laugh, sing, argue, eat, and love with such abandon. 

It was everything you'd dreamt, initially, for your future with Brad. Now? Now you were starting to picture that future with Frankie's face as the patriarch, you just haven't built up the nerve to broach the subject yet. 

You'd started working at the bakery, enjoying the early mornings surrounded by rising dough and sculling back coffees with the adorable older ladies who ran the place. You'd also begun doing the books for Morales Acres and Catfish Brewery. Frankie was a veritable genius but he claimed he had no patience for keeping receipts and tracking numbers.

You had a sneaking suspicion he was playing dumb in an effort to give you more time together but you really didn't mind. Your break-of-dawn mornings at the bakery had you tired, but after a full day of renovating or bookkeeping, you were downright exhausted and ready for bed by eight pm. This, mixed with Frankie monitoring the brewing, bottling, and distribution of his cider and networking at bars and pubs throughout the state meant the two of you rarely saw each other.

All of your hard work in your own house had made you a popular friend to call when someone needed decorating advice, or a helping hand once they realized they couldn't tile their kitchen backsplash solo. You never charged for your time, although payment had initially been offered until work had got around that you preferred a good meal and conversation over money. I mean, sure, you could use the cash but it just didn't seem right. And you loved helping people and making deeper connections with the town you now truly felt you belonged in.

Tuesday evenings had become an unofficial date night for the two of you. The bakery was closed on Wednesdays and bar owners tended to be less interested in business halfway through the week, something to do with the rush of the previous weekend having worn off and the worry of setting up for another one starting to grow.

This meant you could stay up late, enjoy a proper homemade dinner, maybe even watch a movie or share a bottle of wine while soaking in your big ass tub. It usually ended as a sleepover, your house being the preferred location; Frankie's loft was perfectly fine but it did lack a certain homey appeal.

This pattern, this life, that you'd created for yourself was making you happier than you'd ever been in your entire life. You weren't one hundred percent content, not yet anyway, but the path to getting there was on a direct trajectory. You still wanted to finish your college degree, maybe switch it over to horticulture. Building a greenhouse and selling flowers was still a pipe dream but something your heart truly longed for, something that Frankie was constantly encouraging you to do.

"Look, hun," he had called out to you a few weeks ago while supposedly researching the new line of bottles. "There's an auction next county over and they have all this confiscated stuff from a grow op that got busted!"

"What?" You'd made a face and laughed at the absurdity of it all. "What on earth would you use from a pot farm?"

He just gave you a salacious wink as an answer.

Frankie had been open about his past drug abuse and while some recovering addicts may want all mention of it banned from a conversation, Frankie found levity in treating the topic like any other person would.

It had taken you a couple of hours to realize why he'd brought up the auction. It had hit you with a jolt, knowing that he’d remembered your rambling from on top of the Ferris wheel. You didn't realize he'd been listening when you'd told him about your idea of taking over the flower stand at the market once the current couple retired.

Your heart had swelled and there was a concerted effort to prevent the sudden onset of tears from running down your face. God, you loved this man, maybe one of these days you should tell him...

This particular routine was working well for the two of you. It gave each of you your own space to relax, destress, enjoy the shitty tv shows you were too embarrassed to watch in front of another living person. It also forced the two of you to take your relationship slowly, communication being a constant learning curve. You were both really good and telling each other when you needed time alone, when you were feeling stressed or sad. You each had learned the tells for when the other was angry or just hungry, if it was hormones or if there was something that was actually pissing you off.

The thing you each seemed to struggle with was expressing the softer side of the relationship. Neither of you appeared to have the Words of Affirmation love language skill, yet you both craved to hear it. You showed how much you cared for Frankie with your acts of service; helping him with the boring side of the business, baking, deep cleaning the loft, even scrubbing out the massive fermenter in the Catfish Cider warehouse.

Frankie, on the other hand, showed his love through physical touch. At first, you had assumed it was a staking-his-claim kind of thing but then you noticed how he'd do it all the time. A hand on your lower back while walking, caressing your hand with his thumb when driving in the truck, carding his fingers through your hair while you watched tv.

This week's date night found you at his place, relaxing in the loft after a busy workday. You were making dinner while he 'helped' by sneaking bites of the prepped ingredients, arm slung around you with a hand in your back pocket.

"What're you looking for?" He asked, taking advantage of your distracted searching through his cupboards to sneak a few more pinches of grated cheese.

"A can opener!" You replied, exasperation raising your voice an octave. "I could have sworn I saw a white one around here somewhere..."

“No, pretty sure that one's yours. I don't think I have one?"

"Frankie," you deadpanned "how did you survive as a bachelor without canned food?"

"I ate a lot of take-out?" He looked indignant at your laughter, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Can you stop judging me long enough to eat some burritos?"

Smoothing his playful scowl with a kiss, you sat down at the counter and enjoyed your first meal together of the week.

An idea was formulating in the back of your mind, though, and you barely tasted anything. As the evening progressed, the idea grew and you were liking it more and more. The final straw was you not having a toothbrush in his bathroom anymore, having forgotten that it had fallen off the counter and into the trashcan the last time you'd spent the night.

Using his, with a strange mixture of distaste and nonchalance, before making your way over to the bed, you began to plan how the conversation could go:

Hey Frankie, so you know how I have a big house all to myself? Yeah... And it had everything we need in it? Yeah... And there's more than enough room for two adults to store all of their things? Yeah... And I wouldn't have to use your toothbrush ever again? Yea- wait what? I think you should move in with me.

It wasn't very romantic but it was the most likely, considering your dynamic. Just as you were crawling into bed and snuggling under the arm he'd raised to allow you to get closer, his cell phone rang.

"Hello? - This is he. - Yeah, biological. - Oh god, when?"

The immediate change in his tone from questioning to horrified caught your attention, sitting up to face him you grabbed his free hand, silently letting him know you were there for support.

His eyes were out of focus and a panicked expression was slowly morphing his face as the conversation went on, but he gave your hand a squeeze back in acknowledgement.

"Yes, in Vermont. Do you have my address? - Okay, good, good...okay - When? - I'll have something ready. Umm... does she... does she remember me? - Oh. Okay, thank you."

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Frankie sat staring into nothingness for what felt like hours. His side of the conversation and the way he was reacting had you rattled. You could guess as to what was happening but weren't sure if now was the right time to pry.

"Babe? Is, is everything okay?"

Silence.

Gripping his hand tighter and rubbing his back you sat with him for a few more minutes before trying again. You didn’t want to push him but your heart was constricting in your chest from nervousness and concern for him.

"Can I get you anything? What do you need?"

His hand was now completely dead in yours; eventually, he turned his head towards you, eyes never fully focusing, and shook his head.

"I- she- fuck... I think you should go.”

Part Thirteen

#Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x Fem!Reader #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Catfish Morales x Fem!Reader #Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales x you

[therealjordan23]

So, a recent question people have been asking me is whether Scrooge deserves to be called dad.

Fuck no.

Scrooge McDuck doesn't deserve an ounce of title "dad", especially when he's competing against characters like Drake, and more importantly, Donald. These 2 characters have proved to be more of a dad than Scrooge will ever be.

In the beginning of the series, we see Donald already taking on more responsibility as a parent than Della and Scrooge combined. Donald actively believed that their adventuring days have come to an end, as there is a brand new adventure waiting for them, which are Huey, Dewey, and Louie. When he caught wind of Della’s desire to go up into space, while 3 boys were on the way, he told her not to.

Scrooge clearly didn't understand how severe the situation was, he didn't have that parental instinct. He played the, 'fun uncle' role, and it never went beyond that, even though he was the guardian of Donald and Della from a young age, along with HDL. This is what tempted him to build the rocket in the first place.

You can be someone's "biological parent", but it doesn't necessarily mean that you're their "parent". Personally speaking, my dad wasn't around when I was a kid, and I never considered him to be my parent, until he stepped up and actively took on that role. And even in the show, that's Della’s whole arc! In Season 2, Louie doesn't consider her to be his "mom", until she stepped up to become a proper parent. More on this later, though.

Scrooge didn't actively do anything to earn the title, "dad", he truly didn't. And that's the difference between him and Della, she actually put in the effort.

This is why Beakley has earned the title of a parent.

This is why Donald has earned the title of a parent.

This is why Della herself, (even though I have made it clear multiple times that she's not my favourite, sorry Delly) has earned the title of a parent.

This is why Drake has earned the title of a parent.

Frank himself has made it clear several times that Donald is considered to be Huey, Dewey, and Louie's dad, even though he's not their biological father, but that's the point. It's through Donald's actions that we see that, "Okay, he's a dad, he's earned it."

Donald sacrificed so much to become a parent: he sacrificed a lavish life at a mansion so he could get away from the man who effectively took away their mother, he gave up what would've been his prime time to get his life going: if Donald and Della are canonically 36 in the series, and Della has been gone for 10 years by the time the pilot aired, it would mean Donald was at least 26 years old when he took the boys. Please note that it was confirmed that Donald's been living in the manor since he was at least 12-13 (I'm basing this off of seeing him in Last Christmas, I could be wrong).

So we have a fresh 26 year old, who has left his place of comfort and financial stability since he was 12 or 13. He has given up the lifestyle he was used to. And as if that doesn't sound bad on its own, he had 3 kids to raise, because he believes that their mother is dead.

26 shouldn't be when you scramble to find a home, find a job, and on top of that, raise 3 kids! 26 should be a time where you're just starting to figure things out, slowly easing into ideas like marriage, a full time job, and then maybe having kids. (These aren't my personal beliefs, I literally Googled what 26 year olds should be doing, and this came up)

**obviously I don't speak for everyone, there are certain factors that affect these 'common beliefs' at what you should be doing at a certain age**

Anyway. I have barely listed what Donald has done for these boys who haven't even been born yet. Donald has done so much more at the age of 26, than Scrooge has done in his 153 years. So, I can say with full confidence, he has earned the title Dad.

And then there's Scrooge.

It's truly insulting: when you see what truly makes a parent a parent, compared with the 30 seconds of Webby calling Scrooge dad? It completely brushes aside Donald's efforts of being a parent.

He didn't earn it. He never did anything to earn that title. @moonstoneflowers, @l-thefriendlyghost, and @dellyduck said it best: the overprotectiveness we see once it's revealed that he was Webby's 'father'? It's disgusting that he acted like that after he knew that Webby was his 'daughter'. He didn't care about Huey, Dewey, and Louie, or Della and Donald. He only did that because he felt obligated to be Webby's 'dad'.

"When you look at someone through rose-coloured glasses, all the red flags just look like flags."

—Wanda Pierce to BoJack Horseman

This quote totally applies to Scrooge. I mean, his name is literally Scrooge, he's designed to be a generally unlikable character and person. We see traits and toxic behavior that we brushed aside until now: when the show has ended, and we're forced to analyze it.

A great example of this is in Timephoon, where we can actively see where Scrooge and Della finally show their true colours. It's at the end, where the family is reunited, and Louie gives his half-ass apology.

Scrooge is completely okay with the fact that Louie almost destroyed space.

"I'm sure you've learned… something."

—Scrooge McDuck to Louie Duck in Timephoon!

You are the adult in the situation sir. I'm not even counting Launchpad as an adult here, he is a literal manchild. And even though Beakley is just as much to be blamed here, she spent the episode convincing Della to be a little stricter and discipline her kids better. She knew where to cross the line, and the only reason that Beakley agreed to forgive Louie was because she assumed Della wasn't taking it seriously.

"No… not this time."

—Della Duck to Louie Duck in Timephoon

I’ve had my problems with this, but even I can confidentally tell you that this marked the moment where Della Duck earned the title of a parent, while Scrooge was clearly about to forgive Louie for a literal crime he committed, and was really about to let Louie go off scot free.

And I personally find that alarming. If us adults didn't catch these red flags the second we watched the show itself, what about the kids? You know, the actual demographic it's aimed towards?

Another issue that I'm happy @moonstoneflowers brought up was the fact that Frank said Webby had to "earn" her place in the family?

i-

She is a child, sir. She shouldn't have that mindset at the age of 10-12. A person who should have to earn their place in the family is an adult like Della. She went out for a joyride in space, but she actively regretted that decision, and immediately sought out to fix things with her family and kids. She changed for the better.

Scrooge? He makes things so that they revolve around him, and makes it so that he doesn't have to change for anyone. He makes things work in his favour.

The sad part that @dellyduck brought up is that Donald, and let's be real, 99% of his problems exist because of Scrooge, is the one who has to deal with them! He isn't a fucking mop! He isn't here to clean up your shit! This man is the only functional parent, and Scrooge uses that to his advantage by shoving all of his problems onto Donald.

He didn't deserve his ending, goddammit. Scrooge McDuck will never be considered a father. He can be biologically related to Webby, sure, but please don't strip away what truly makes a parent a parent, and apply it to someone who has never made an effort to change to become a proper guardian.

#ducktales #scrooge mcduck #webby vanderquack #timephoon #bentina beakley #della duck #donald duck #drake mallard #frank angones #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #the last adventure #spoilers? #it's been a good 3 weeks #i think we're good

[lightsaberupmybutt]

A Friendly Massage (2) - Luke Skywalker x FemReader

part one is here!

This imagine is over 5000, this imagine is over 5000 words, this imagine is over 5000 words. i don't know why this is so long, i just wanted to write a quick little part two and its 5000 words of tension and smut and I'm not even sorry, you did this to yourselves.

warnings: SMUT was a tiny slice of oral (male receiving ) on the side, enjoy.

Day to day life carried on as it always had after your run in with Luke the other night, however you knew something had shifted.

 And he certainly felt it too. Your usual good mornings and friendly waves in passing were met with stuttered, awkward greetings and a gaping lack of eye contact. It was obvious that something had to be said to resolve the growing tension between the two of you, but you'd be damed if you were the one to address the elephant in the room. Besides, it was HIS rather large, excitable elephant that had causes the issue in the first place. 

So you waited, biding your time and convincing yourself that on some level this refusal to acknowledge your lust was actually just subliminal jedi training. patience is important right? that seemed to be something Yoda would approve of? abstinence? Although he probably wouldn't be proud of your solo late night escapades that were fuelled by fantasies of what the Blonde Jedi would have done to you if he had just had a smidge more confidence; how he would have looked underneath you while you rode him, unraveling with your every bounce, lips parted whispering your name repeatedly like its the only word he had ever been taught. You wondered if he even liked being ridden, or was he the more dominant of the two of you ? you doubted it, as much as he showed great strength and leadership in the training hall, Skywalker didn't give off the sexual prowess of someone who was largely well experienced, it made sense that he wouldn't be left with much time for bedding girls around you know, saving the whole entire planet from his own fathers borderline demonic regime. 

Truly, though, you had never felt like he wouldn't know what he was doing. Especially after that massage he had given you, even if it was a tad brief. Like knew how to use his hands, even if one of them was mechanical. You found yourself wondering if he used them differently, if he happened to have more dexterity in one set of fingers than the other, how that would feel if those fingers where being put to use inside of your tight - 

“Y/N? have you been listening to a word I've just said” 

Youre whipped out of your thoughts by an all too familiar voice as you vainly attempt to stop your cheeks from turning pink in front of your fellow Padwan’s. You stumble to find you words while simultaneously praying Luke hasn't decided to use his weird mind reading ability in the last 10 minutes of your brain wander or so.

“Sorry sir” is all you can offer, as you truly have not the faintest of ideas of what he was just talking about. You don't miss the way luke stiffens when you use the term of authority toward him, a trick you normally would not exploit however unluckily for him, he caught you completely of guard. He lets out an exaggerated sigh before he returns to pacing,

“You can all return to your activities” He dismisses you all, and you scurry to the door with the others before he adds, 

“not you, Y\N”

ah shit. 

He waits until everyone has exited and the door has shut behind then before he turns to you,

“Whats up with you lately?” his teaching voice is gone, he's back to exasperated friend luke, 

You chortle on a gasp of air as you shoot him an accusatory look, taking a few steps closer to him with your finger outstretched like a weapon, 

“whats up with ‘me’?” you mock, showing your finger towards yourself, before dramatically turning it back on him, moving even closer. 

“What the fuck is up with you Luke? your the one who's being weird with me, don't pull some uno reverse card on the last few days”

You can see the lost puppy dog look in his eyes, as he tries to scramble together some sort of reply, 

“and don't fucking lie to me” you add, closing the space between you so that you're now jabbing him in the chest with your pointer finger. 

“i er, .. i don't know what you're talking about Y/N” god, even the way he says your name is hot, you feel feat rising again in areas it shouldn't but you push it away, your pride not wanting him to get the best of you even if your body would quite happily will it.

“Liar” you spit at him with such venom it surprises even yourself, accompanied with another jab to the chest, this one maybe a little harder than the ones before. 

“ouch” he mumbles, trapping the accusing finger in one palm and rubbing his chest with the other, the dramatics causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Hey, don't do that!” he fires back, you can tell he's trying to sound stern but its not really all to effect when he's still rubbing out the pain from your finger jab.

“do what?” 

“roll your eyes at me! I'm your senior” he puffs his chest, but his eyes still are full of surprise at your sudden outburst.

 “really? are you now luke?” you push him, his hand still wrapped around yours, sending sparks through you arm.

“yes, i am” His voice is breathy, his breath splaying down onto your face as he speaks. You suddenly realise just how close you have managed to get to him, previously too lost in the moment. Your body is all but pressed against his, head tilted down ever so slightly so that he can be on the same eye level as you. There isn't much difference in your height, but right now he feels like he's towering over you. 

Its rare that you see this side of Luke, normally so soft and docile towards you. The tension of this argument and sheer stress that has been building inside of him since your incident is starting to bubble over the surface as he's trapped so close to you now. You can tell he's surveying you, begging you to make the next move though fear he will say something he might regret. 

But maybe that is what you want from him, after all the last happy accident between the two of you has been the image you have gotten off to for the last four nights. 

“prove it then” 

“prove what?” Luke looks confused, suddenly drawing back a little like he'd completely lost the trail of your conversation, head tilted to the side like a bewildered golden retriever, 

“prove that you're my senior” you whisper back, almost not wanting him to hear it. You can tell by the way his light sapphire eyes gaze over he does though, as he watches you pull away and leave the training room, door slamming behind you.

 You slip past two bodies as you rush back to your dorm, your confidence leaking and the implications of what you just challenged beginning to set in. Hans and Leia both follow their gaze after you, the two having witnessed the end portion of yours and Lukes confirmation through the viewing window while waiting for the princess’s twin to finish for lunch. Leia turned to Hans, eyes narrowed,

“you don't think they might actually….” she trails off,

 “bang? oh definitely” Hans answers, still looking at the shaken remnants of Luke Skywalker, who liked like he may have lost all brain function capacity. 

It had been ten hours and forty five minutes since you'd left look in your dust in the training room, not that anyone was counting. And you had concluded two facts while on your bed in that time; 

Luke clearly didn't feel the same way you felt for him; you had left him with basically an invitation to come and take you and he was a no show.

to avoid facing the death by embarrassment you would inevitably suffer you will be spending the remainder of your sorry life inside the confines of this very dorm. it seemed the adult thing to do. 

You muffled a yawn, the sun had long past retired, and from your place on your bed you could just make out the two moons and multiple consolations now decorating the dark blue night.  

Lifting your arms above you head in a stretch, you caught a whiff of sweat and instantly sighed; as much as you had been willing to enjoy never moving from you bed until either starvation or dehydration took you out of your misery, you did happen to stink like garbage. 

You scuffled off the bed and out of your cloak and training pants, that had been left on from hours ago, making a mental note that at least you'd wouldn't have to worry about washing them if you never saw look again. You shimmied out of you knickers and unhooked your bra, throwing them onto the floor to join the rest of your discarded outfit before wandering over to your bathroom and turning on the shower, untangling your hair the best you can while the water warms. 

When you finally stepped under the water you let out a hiss at the feeling of the heat against your skin, basking in the feeling of droplets on your now bare body. You let your hand roam, starting at your chest and finding a path down past your belly button and hips, your skin trembling as your hand drifted over the area between your thighs. 

You let out another hiss, your fingers finding their way between your folds, teasing yourself. You enjoyed the tension loss for all but a moment before flashes of luke pressed against you in the training room earlier flew back into your brain; how hot his skin had been against yours and how his scent had been so strong in his sweat after the hours of sparring multiple Padawan’s. You moaned, half in frustration with yourself for ruining your moment and the other half in want. 

He's even spoiling your shower time now, what a dick. 

You snatched your soap bar from the shelf and scrubbed viciously, not allowing  yourself the enjoyment of a relaxing shower due to your own self betrayal. You ran some through your locks, cursing whichever part of your brain was telling the rest that this would feel a million times better if it was the Jedis hands in place of your own.

Once you had finished mentally punishing yourself, you turned off the water and stood there for a minute contemplating the likelyhood of a bang to the head removing your memory of todays events. 

After all, it would be so simple, a little slip in the shower and poof! Sure, Luke would remember it all, but would he really have the guts to say anything to you about it? surely he wouldn't want to risk your recovery from a very accidental definitely not self inflicted head injury now would he? However, if your preexisting luck was anything to go off, you'd probably forget everything but the sexual tension you had for your master.

Cowardly, you stepped out safely, making sure not to fall, and wrap yourself in a soft towel, leaving your hair to drip down onto your shoulders. You step out of your bathroom, not noticing the shadow that had formed in the corner of your room until they cleared their throat, causing you to just back in sheer terror, going over on your ankle and nearly dropping your towel all together. 

 “Sorry i er..”

“Luke? what the Fuck are you doing” You gasp out, staring blindly into the darkness as the shape shuffles on their feet awkwardly, 

Luke moves closer, the small amount of light left from outside casting across his soft face and mop of hair.

“I didn't mean to scare you” is all he can offer, 

“And what part of you hiding in my room while i showered would not come across as scary?” You shot back, more dazed than angry. You knew what him being here meant, but him hiding in the most light depraved corner of your room while you tried not to masturbate to images in your head of him in your shower was never part of the fantasy.

“i didn't realise you'd be showering this late” He replied, as if that answered the question as to why he was hiding in your room so late at night at all. 

You strained your eyes trying to peer at him, and he seemed to notice, taking another few steps forward into the moonlight. Maker did he look good, under the stars his skin glowed and his hair caught copper and silver highlights that made your knees weak. His soft features were taunt and there was mischief in his eyes, a familiar sight but in the situation at present it made heat grow in your lower stomach. 

Something told you he could see it in your face too, whatever he was looking for, because he kept on moving in on you, like a predator after their pray, You weren't used to seeing Luke all wound up like this, the only other time being the last time he was in your room, but the situation was different this time. There was an open air of lust and anticipation flowing around the two of you, you could only compare it to what the force had felt like the few times you'd managed to master it. It was like something spiritual was drawing you two closer, your body was working on autopilot, moving without your conscious command. He had closed the gap between you by now, but he didn't make a move to touch you or even say any more than he already had, simply staring down at you. When you realised he really wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, you stepped up to the mark for him,

“Why are you here Luke” It wasn't really a question, you knew what you had said to him earlier, the words that you had been replaying over and over in your head ever since. 

“Because..” He trailed off, as if he was trying to find the right way of wording his thoughts, you took this as a chance to push him a little further, no matter how nervous you both were right now, you knew him well enough over the last year to learn how to fire him up, and right now a pent up Luke was exactly what you wanted. You knew you were playing with fire, but you doubted if he did react, it would be in a way you wouldn't enjoy. Quite frankly, the boy could pick you up and throw you out of your own bedroom window right now and you'd still probably be horny enough to find some form of sexual gratification from the experience  

You saw his brow raise and his eyes flash before you heard his word, 

“To show you what i want from you, Padawan” He smirked around the term, causing you to let out a small, nervous laugh. 

“And what is it that you want from me, Master?” You hardly finish the word before his arms have snaked around your back and you're being lifted from the ground, letting out a squeal of surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist for support. He plopped you down on the bed, still situated between your legs, pulling a hand out on either side of your shoulders so that he could stare down at you. 

“Thats not an answer luke” you quipped back, quite impressed at your ability to still functionally produce coherent words. He leaned down, his lips on your ear, 

“oh, i think it is, Y/N” he breathed, letting out a boyish laugh before he could stop himself, almost giving you the chance to shoot another sarcastic comment his way, but as his lips touch the skin below your ear and start to plant wet hungry kisses there, the words dissolve into a soft moan. 

His head shoots up and you see the look of concern in his eyes, confirming that maybe Luke isn't the most sexually experienced person on this planet. The sweetness in his reaction makes you weak, but you have lost the ability to reply with words, so you communicate through grabbing either side of his soft face and planting a hungry kiss on his lips. 

For a moment you catch him off guard, frozen under you lips, and you worry that maybe you have somehow misread this situation entirely. Maybe he was just fooling around with you, maybe he wants serious?

But all that concern is dissipated by his lips finding rhythm against yours, equally as passionately. Okay, so maybe he isn't the best at reading you tell tale lust signs, but oh maker can he kiss. The movement of his lips alone is enough to cause severer wetness to pool between your thighs, your spin raising off the bed as far as it can to push your body against his clothed one. You're amazed your towel has lasted this long, especially after the near miss before, but now you find yourself wishing it hadn’t. Conscious of Luke being as respectful as it is, you also know that if you wait for him to remove it you may have melted away before he sees you; so you move a hand from his face to the tie at the top of your chest and pull it open, the towel cascading around you and leaving your front bare.

You had a feeling that Luke was a little too caught up in the moment to realise, so you gently slid you hand around one of his, waiting until he shifted his weight onto his other arm before you lowered it to you chest, letting it cup your breast. Lukes eyes shot open as he let out a gasp, lips opening just enough for you to tease your tongue against his bottom lip. His hand moved instinctively to squeeze, his thumb brushing gently over your already erect nipple. You shivered and moaned in response, but this time Luke knew this meant he was doing something right, so he repeated his actions.

 You had to give it to him, he was a fast learner.

 Your hand moved in an attempt to untie his cloak, but the action was proving difficult while Lukes mouth was on yours and his hand roaming your body, causing you to become inpatient.

“Take it off” You managed to get out between kisses, 

You expected him to challenge your direct order, but he merely sat up and untied the cloak, slipping it from himself and removing his undershirt too. You watched as the moonlight danced upon his skin, his toned chest, years of Jedi training had certainly served his body well. This wasn't the first time you'd seen Luke topless, but it was the first time you hadn't had to hide the fact that you were really looking. Realising how long you had been staring you met his eyes again,  half expected to see him smirking down at you, but he was just as lost in your body as you were his;

“You - You're Beautiful” He stumbled under his breath, you weren't sure if you were even supposed to hear it, but it made your cheeks burn either way. Before he could say anything else, you lifted your back up from the bed and pushed your body flush against his, planting kisses on his neck, eliciting a moan from the Jedi in response. You left little purple marks peppered in the wake of you lips, something you knew he may not be too pleased about in the morning, but you figured you might as well get away with as much claiming of him you could in the heat of the moment. He quivered underneath you, from this angle you could feel his ever-growing, now comically familiar, budge, his body naturally thrusting into yours, causing a beautiful friction against your heat. Luke was lost in the pleasure, and has seemingly temporarily forgotten he had hands, so you grabbed ahold of on and pushed it down to the bottom of your stomach, lifting your core from his so he could access it. Luke met your eyes again, this time you could tell him was clueless, his cheeks glowing a deep scarlet.

“I erm” You didn't let him finish, you'd figured Luke was a little inexperienced but not to this level. The massive reverse in roles made you feel a little powerful; suddenly you were the experienced one and he was your understudy. Maybe he should be calling you master? You made a mental note to remember that fact for tomorrow when the joke might go down better than in the middle of sex, 

“Just rub around here” you told him, while guiding his hand to your bundle of nerves, making sure to show him the correct pressure you wanted, and then your lips were back on his. 

Luke was slow at first, and it took him a while to actually bring his fingertips between your folds, however once he did he seemed to find the exact spot you wanted him in. Whether it the pressure of his cool finger tips or the fact that he had been unintentionally teasing the area so long, you released a borderline animalistic high pitched moan, lurching forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt him chuckle against your neck, repeating his action and causing you to squeal again, 

“well then” He murmured into your ear, a cheeky air to his voice, causing you to groan knowingly - you'd certainly be mocked for that vicious reaction afterwards. 

You wanted to smack the smirk from his lips, but instead you lowered one of you hands between your bodies, resting it on Lukes now fully erect but concealed member. He paused momentarily, before letting out his own moan as you started to palm him through his loose trousers. There was dampness under your hand, a mix of your slick heat and his own leaking member, but it only spurred you on more. 

Lukes actions had become increasingly sloppy, his hand slipping lower and lower until one of his digits unintentionally bumped against your opening, causing you to jump in his arm and whine against his ear. Luke took this as a sign to dip the tip of the finger into you, testing to make sure this wasn't the wrong move, when you hum in response he slips the rest in up to his knuckle. The action makes you tremble, and you're panting and whispering jibberish into his ear. He removes the finger and then puts in back in slowly, still unsure. Its torture, literal torture. You start moving your lower body against his hand, riding it. You're not sure what makes him do it, maybe just a reflex, but luke bends his finger ever so slightly just at the right point of entrance and hits your inner sweet spot, causing your tummy to do a flip and move wetness to peek from your core. His other hand finds your clit again, without you having to instruct him this time, and the mix of both actions causes your eyes to roll back into your head and you to let out a quieter but still prominent squeal. Luke laughs again, 

“Calm down little one” He teases, confidence dripping from his ever word. 

Maybe its the temptation to remove his smugness again, or maybe you're just turned on so much by this cocky side of Skywalker you've previously not seen enough of, but you instantly reach your hand under his waistband and inside his boxers, finding his length and stroking it directly with your hand. 

He instantly spasms under you, almost bucking you off him, and you thank god you're near enough to your headboard to catch yourself before he does. 

“sorry” he mumbles, steadying you with one hand, his other still inside your heat. 

“Shhh, its okay” you reassure him, before gently removing his hand from your heat and pushing him back a bit, causing him to look at you with confusion. 

“I just want to see it properly” You tell him, working on his waistband again. 

“You already have” he groans, clearly getting some secondhand embarrassment  from his previous accidental boner experience, but lowering his pants and boxers none the less, his manhood springing out. 

he hisses slightly as it meets the cool air of the room, his head rolling back ever so slightly - and you don't think you've ever seen a sight so sinful and glorious in your life. 

You lower your head down towards it but he catches your forehead against his palm before you can meet your goal, 

“erm? excuse me”

“youre excused ?” you reply, looking up at him from your position almost at his manhood, 

“what are you doing?”

“Oh luke i think you know fine well” You dip your tongue out between your lips, and it just reaches the very tip of his head, catching a little of what he's leaked there. Luke lets out a throaty moan in response, and you take advantage of his distraction, moving out from under his hand and licking his full length, from the base to the very tip. The sounds Luke makes in response are enough to almost make you tip over your own edge, but you try to suppress your own want long enough to put him all in your mouth and do a slow bob. He bucks into your mouth, unintentionally hitting the back of your throat and causing you to almost gag, the process causing him to mutter profanities that you never thought you would hear from the golden boy of the rebellion. 

You only get in a few slow bobs before his hand returns to your head, but this time he doesn't push you away, so you continue to move your mouth around his length which his fingers get lost in your hair. You cant fit all of him in your mouth comfortably, and your mind starts to wonder to what is inevitably the next step, your heat reminding you of just how much you want him down there, fucking you senseless into your own bed while the rest of the ship sleeps (hopefully)  unaware of your actions. 

Suddenly Luke is tugging your hair, pulling you up from him so that he slips out of your mouth with an audible plop. You take a chance to actually look at him, surprised at just how unravelled he looks, sweat causing his locks to stick to his forehead in erratic patterns, his eyes the darkest shade of blue you've ever seen. 

“whats wrong?” You ask him, your voice a little more course than you expected, 

“ Im going to come” He tells you truthfully, embarrassment visible on his face. You want to giggle at his innocent response, but you also don't want him to feel even worse than he clearly does, so you suppress it and keep your eyes on his, 

“Well come then “ you answer obliviously, still not truly understanding the route of his embarrassment. Sure, this wasn't exactly the worlds longest performance, but you'd seen much worse from people with much more experience - and at least Luke had actually managed to get you wet. 

I want to but “ He stopped, turning away in frustration and drifting off at the very last minute, you waited for him to finish, reaching for his hand and rubbing your thumb against it, attempting to reassure him enough to let you continue. 

“I want to fuck you” The way he says the words, like he knows he shouldn’t, makes it the most sinful line you've ever heard from anyone. You feel like he's just hit you with a sledgehammer, your core pulsing in response. 

He still wont look at you, so you simply lean back into  your bed, opening your legs, all prior shyness being pushed to the back of your mind by the raging lust that his words had fuelled. 

“Fuck me then” You instruct him, and oh boy, he does. 

head whipping around, Luke crawls back over you, eyes burning holes into yours as he meets your face, you bend your knees and grab his member with your hand, making sure to run it along your slit, gathering your wetness in its wake, before placing the tip at its rightful home, against your opening. Luke looks like he might burst, but you place a gentle kiss on his lips before guiding your body up to meet him, his tip entering you and stretching you out. You gasp at the feeling, Luke taking this as his cue to slow insert the rest of himself, filling you fully and causing you to clench around him on impact. Both of you are moaning now, maybe a little louder than appropriate for such a communal ship, but neither of you could find it in yourselves to care at this moment in time.

Luke was big, for sure. You remembered back to just before and internally cursed yourself for not making sure he used more than one finger one you; you were definitely no virgin but it had been a while since you'd been with anyone, and nobody had ever come near the size you were dealing with now. As luke started moving, the sensation of slight discomfort faded, and you were being overrides with a new force. You could feel every inch of him inside you, and partnered with his breathy moans of your name and his increasingly wild expressions, you could feel the coil of lust inside you beginning to build again. Maker, this was so good - surely things this good shouldn't be allowed for sinners like you. 

Lukes movements got sloppy all to fast, you could tell he was fighting his high as long as possible

You were overpowered with the need to give him release, slipping one hand into his hair and the other to his cheek, 

“Come for me, master” Your words caused his eyes to flash open, and his whole body to convulse, he didn't take much telling; you felt warmth leak into you as Luke let out a final throaty moan and his head flopped into your chest. 

You lay there for a while, stroking the stray locks of hair from his face as both your breathing returned to a somewhat normal level, him still inside you as you started to leak out over the covers. You'd probably be bothered about that tomorrow, like the clothes unwashed on the floor and the sound complaints from the people either side of your dorm. But for now, nothing could bother you. 

As you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep, Luke felt for the first time in years that nothing outside of this ship was worth any of his mind, he had all he needed here in this bed with you.

#luke skywalker #Luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker smut #Star Wars #Star Wars imagine #Star Wars preference #Star Wars headcannon #the mandolarian

[wrathandgreed]

Idea: Barbatos professing his love for you the first time. Take it however you want with angst or fluff 😘

Surprises

GN!MC x Barbatos (fluff)

Word count: 6.5k

Author Note: Somehow, this took on a life of its own, and now I’m in love with Barbatos.

You wonder, briefly, if this is how Cinderella felt.

Everyone assumes that Cinderella spent the ball floating on air, waltzing gracefully with the prince, impressing everyone with her beauty and charm.

Did anyone ever think that maybe, just maybe, Cinderella felt completely out of place? That huge ball gown, skirts wide enough to knock food off tables. The high heels, so much harder to walk in than bare feet. And everyone looking at her, always eyes watching her.

Maybe she found her true love, sure, but maybe she really just wanted to dash off to the kitchen, where things felt familiar and safe.

As you stand in Diavolo’s heavily decorated ballroom, a smile plastered on your face, pity for Cinderella runs through your head. Couture might look good, but it was constricting. You didn’t dare eat or drink - nothing washes out of this fabric. Also, trying to undo the whole outfit just to pee was NOT going to happen. The ballroom was sweltering hot and you were sweating under your clothes.

To be fair, it hadn’t been all bad, especially not in the beginning. Stepping into Diavolo’s castle was like stepping into a fairy tale. Millions of tiny lights floated all around, little wisps that barely illuminated anything but lent a bewitching aura to every room. The edges of the ballroom were lined with tables full of Barbatos’ cooking and baking. You smile as you passed a tray of cookies you had helped him make yesterday; maybe when the ball was over and you no longer had to worry about your party clothes, you’d steal one.

The music had been fun - instrumental and easy to dance to, and boy had you danced! Every one of the brothers had, at one time, claimed your hand and spun you around the dance floor. Lucifer had waltzed and twirled you expertly, covering the entire dance floor in one song. Satan, somehow, was better - perhaps because he cared more about dancing with you than showing off that he was dancing with you. Mammon fumbled more than anything else but, except for bumping into other demons a few times, his feet were pretty sure. And once he gave up on trying to replicate the fancy moves of Lucifer and Satan, the two of you just whirled around the dance floor with absolutely no concern for your safety or anyone else’s.

Asmo refused to let you go for almost half an hour while he showed off moves the two of you had practiced together. Belphie and Beel pulled you into a strange three-person dance with a lot of hand-holding and ducking under each other’s arms until all three of you were howling with laughter and had to excuse yourself into the hallway.

And in the hallway, you even managed to lure Levi into a little swaying slow dance in the corner. It felt a little like an 8th grade formal, but his eyes shone when you put your head on his shoulder, so everything was good.

The brothers had passed you from hand to hand, protecting you and dancing, laughing, talking, flirting. When you thought no one was looking, you snuck out your phone and took selfies with them, for the scrapbook you were making of your time here.

But like Cinderella’s coach, you felt like you turned into a pumpkin around midnight. It was now a few hours past and your patience and enjoyment were wearing thin. You thought longingly of the room Lord Diavolo had given you here for the night, but Diavolo himself had vanished and demonic etiquette dictates that you not leave without thanking him personally, and perhaps indulging the Demon Prince himself in a dance.

Your feet ache at the idea of another turn around the floor.

“MC, darling, don’t move! There’s someone I want to see, but I’ll be back in just a second,” Asmo whispers in your ear before slipping off into the crowd.

Surprised, you look around and realize none of the brothers are moving to replace him at your side. Lucifer had disappeared with Diavolo, muttering something about paperwork. Mammon and a few lesser demons are playing cards in a game room across the hall. Levi - well, there was no keeping Levi at a formal function full of people for any length of time. Beel was….. yes, Beel was over there by the food tables, and Belphie was probably napping on a couch in the hallway.

You realize you can’t see Barbatos anywhere, either. Through it all, you’d catch glimpses of him, refilling food and clearing away glasses. Once, he caught your eye and gave you his gentlest, friendliest smile. A few hours later, he happened to be in exactly the right place to catch you as you and Mammon tripped over another demon’s tail while trying to waltz.

You would have welcomed his presence, but for the moment you were alone.

Wonderfully, gratefully, blessedly alone.

You gather the extra material of your outfit and in your head you see Cinderella hiking her ball gown to her knees to book down the stairs. Trying to remain unseen, you carefully open the terrace doors and slip out onto the balcony.

The crisp air outside slaps you in the face and you almost whimper in relief. Without stopping to think, you lean your back against the now-closed terrace doors and yank off your shoes.

A noise off to your left startles you, has you whipping your head to the side and clutching your shoes to your chest. If you have to put your shoes back on, you’re going to cry.

But it’s Barbatos.

He’s humming lightly along with the music inside as he passes by more slim banquet tables, gathering empty wine glasses onto a silver tray for washing. His hair catches the moonlight and for a moment you’re bewitched by him, by his gentle demeanor and quick efficiency.

It had been that demeanor and efficiency which allowed you to become friendly in the first place.

Devil’s sake, why are these stupid meetings always so long?!

You hadn’t been in the Devildom long, but somehow you’d had to sit through like seven Council meetings already. And this one was going on forever, but  you weren’t allowed in the room because it was a SECRET meeting and you’re not a Council Member.

And you’re also not allowed to just walk home because you could get eaten by a lesser demon.

So instead, you’re sitting on the floor in the hallway outside the council room. Trying to get comfortable and read your book, but your feet keep going numb any time you settle into a reading position. In a minute you’re going to just say hell with dignity and lay flat-out on the floor, tent your book over your face, and take a nap. You’re getting more and more annoyed when - 

“That certainly does not look comfortable, MC.”

You glance up from your book, and there’s Diavolo’s butler. His name had something to do with islands. Barbatos? Bora Bora? Aruba sounded wrong. You’d spoken to him a few times, but barely knew him at all so, as far as you’re concerned, he’s part of the problem. Right now, every demon is part of the problem.

“It’s not comfortable,” you return tartly. “But I’m stuck here until this meeting is over, since I’m not even allowed to walk back to the damn House on my own.”

The butler’s face clouds over, but all he does is excuse himself and enter the council room. For a second, you worry that you offended him with your rudeness, but then you decide you don’t care. He’s a demon. If he deals with this lot regularly, rudeness shouldn’t be something that bothers him all that much.

You settle into another position - back against the wall, legs straight out in front of you. It’ll relieve the pins and needles in your feet, but you just know your ass will be numb in twenty minutes….and suddenly Barbatos/Bora Bora is back in front of you, bent over at the hips and with an extended hand to help you rise. When you just gape at him, he smiles that small self-contained smile of his. 

“I’ve spoken with Lucifer, and I have leave to walk you back to the House myself, so long as I remain with you until one of them returns.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have way more interesting things to do than babysit me.”

His smile widens, his eyes sparkle just a little at your polite refusal. He doesn’t wait for the little lamb to stand on their own and, instead, grasps your hand with both of his and pulls you to your feet. 

“I insist. I have all the time in the world, after all.” 

Your own smile twists, just a little. You had no idea what he meant by that at the time, and it’s still a little creepy to think about.

The butler did, indeed, walk you back to the House of Lamentation. And he did, indeed, refuse to leave you alone once there. Every suggestion and argument you raised - because, really, you’re an adult and you can stay alone in a damn house - was met with that smile, that patience, and that absolutely immutable stubborn will.

But, hey, after passing on the information that one of the brothers would grab dinner from Hell’s Kitchen and bring it home, Barbatos insisted that the two of you make dessert.

You knew what he was doing. You’re not stupid. You’d barely been in the Devildom two weeks, and you knew no one trusted you on your own yet. You were to remain, both under guard and guarded against, until trust could be established.

And it fascinated you to watch Barbatos work. It wasn’t exactly a punishment to sit in the warm kitchen and watch a master doing his thing. Initially, he had insisted you help, but…..

“You are truly hopeless, aren’t you? And I thought the rumors of Solomon’s cooking were alarming.”

“Yeah, well, cooking’s boring.” When Barbatos shoots you a look, you shrug, refusing to back down. “If you like doing it, cool, works for you. I don’t. It’s just…. it’s FOOD. You spend two hours making it, and everyone will eat it in under fifteen minutes. Less if Beel is around.”

“I find it soothing,” the butler returns, amusement evident in his voice.

“Awesome for you. That’s not a dig, really, it’s great that you enjoy it. I like to knit; everyone has something. But I can’t do any of this stuff in the first place, and DEFINITELY not in silence. It’s too distracting.”

“And what music do you listen to when working?”

“Oh, uh, not music. Audiobooks.” You FEEL yourself blushing. “I’m a Lit major. Well, I was. I’ve probably been thrown out of college for non-attendance at this point.”

Barbatos smiles as his hands move effortlessly through the ingredients. “I believe Lord Diavolo has ensured that your education will continue as you desire after this year is over.” He hesitates just a moment, then continues, “I believe Satan has mentioned audiobooks in the past, but he has to go to the human world to get them. They are what they sound like?”

You hitch yourself up on a high kitchen stool. “Yeah, exactly. A recording of someone reading a book out loud. Usually it’s more of a dramatic reading, sometimes like a play with a bunch of people taking different parts. Not a Devildom thing, huh?”

“No, but I shall bring the idea up to Lord Diavolo. Perhaps we could interest more demons in the Royal Library this way. Humans enjoy them?”

“Until we had stuff like radio and TV, most entertainment was someone reading to the family while everyone did their own thing. They’re not as big now, but yeah, some humans like them.”

Hands still clutching your book from earlier, you watch Barbatos in silence for a few minutes, then blurt out before you can stop yourself, “Maybe you might like it? I feel bad that you’re doing all the cooking and I’m just sitting here.”

A brief expression - it might have been surprise - flits across the otherwise placid face before Barbatos murmurs an assent. And, a little nervously, you open your book and start over, reading aloud from the first page.

Of course, you had less than an hour of quiet time with Barbatos before the brothers brought their chaos home. Enough time for the cake to be in the oven and for the butler to make you a cup of tea to soothe your voice. But it was nowhere near enough time to enjoy the book, and the company. 

A few days later, an incoming text from your DDD surprised you.

ButlerBarb: MC, it is Barbatos. Might I request a favor?

MC: You need a taste-tester? I’m sure anything you’re making works, but I’m absolutely willing to sacrifice my life for some more of that cake.

ButlerBarb: I am flattered! And you are always welcome to sample my food. 

MC: Awesome. So what’s this favor?

ButlerBarb: I have been mulling over the book we shared the other night. I don’t like to start things and not finish them. Might I borrow the book when you are done with it? 

MC: Of course! I’m almost done myself, so I can get it to you soon.

ButlerBarb: I must warn you, I have little spare time for reading. It might take me some time to return it.

MC: That’s not a problem! 

MC: Actually…..why don’t I come by and read some more to you while you cook or whatever?

MC: You could get more of the story at a time and I’d have someone to discuss the book with.

MC: I miss having smart conversations about books. Satan’s probably my only option and he seems to think I’m really sus right now. Literary criticism doesn’t seem to rank high on anyone else’s list around here.

ButlerBarb: And what makes you think it’s high on mine?

ButlerBarb: Forgive me, I forget how curt jokes can look over text. I am uncertain what “sus” means, but I would like to listen to and discuss the book with you. Perhaps tomorrow, after your classes? Lucifer and Lord Diavolo have a meeting and I doubt Lucifer would object to walking you over.

ButlerBarb: And perhaps you could taste-test some pastries for me. I would never want to serve anything substandard, after all.**

And that had been that. As time went on and you began to trust the denizens of the House of Lamentation, to laugh and joke and flirt with them, you also made sure you spent a few afternoons a week reading to Barbatos and debating story arcs, narrative choices, and character motivations. You also discussed these things with Satan now, but Satan was more like one of your professors - he had very definite opinions, and they were usually the old, staid opinions that every professor over the age of 50 had. Truthfully, it was fun trying to inject queer theory, feminist theory, and all sorts of modern interpretations into the discussion. Anything to shake him up a little. He absorbed them and found them interesting, but he was more comfortable with interpretations that had centuries of influence.

Barbatos was different.

Barbatos wanted to know what you thought. He was curious about the human interpretation of the events of the novel, the human understanding of character. You weren’t sure if he was interested on his own behalf or Diavolo’s, but his questions made you think about your own opinions and thoughts of the novel - of storytelling in general - in ways you hadn’t before.

He would then contrast your opinion/human opinion with a general demon opinion, and then his opinion. And when he offered his own opinions…..hoo, boy, you would have paid good money to see him argue down some of your more uptight professors. He was a little scary, sometimes, and he often made you remember, sharply, that demons definitely had their own morals and values.

Like when he defended Iago and his jealous meddling in Othello’s life. (“If Othello had any strength of mind at all, he never would have fallen for it. It was a good test for him - a man in charge of armies should not allow himself to be undone by a single jealous rival.”)

Like his absolute judgement on most of the characters in Sense and Sensibility. (“Frankly, Willoughby would wind up being tortured for a few millennia for his deceit and vanity, the greedy branch of the Dashwood family - well, there is a very interesting way of dealing with the greedy down here….”)

Like his amusement in Medea’s vengeance. (“A strong woman who refuses to allow herself to be cowed or tamed. Oh, damned for sure, but an admirable woman nonetheless.”)

You loved the discussion and debate. He stretched your mind in ways you had never considered.  But what you loved more was how relaxed Barbatos become.

Inch by inch, he loosened up. When the food was cooking or the bread was rising, he began to sit with you at the kitchen island. Initially, he would sit ramrod-straight, his hands often cutting vegetables or decorating pie crusts. After a few more weeks, he would sit and listen to you read with his head resting on one hand, absently plucking grapes from their stem with the other. Eventually he simply stood, leaning on the table next to you as you discussed the latest chapter over a cup of tea. Watching the slow, cautious relaxation in his posture was almost as interesting to you as his literary opinions.

Discussions of literature became discussions of life. Of choices, and the consequences of them. You learned far more about his powers as he detailed one choice in one life and the ramifications across multiple timelines.

His matter-of-fact discussions on time, the nature of reality, and the links between them tortured you and kept you up at night. For the first time, you truly abandoned fiction in favor of books of science. And still you knew you’d never really get it.

But that brought up new topics - what other consequences might there be for the actions taken in the books you’d read together?

You remember one fascinating night, after dinner at Diavolo’s, you sat with Barbatos in the kitchen as he cleaned up. Instead of reading to him, you were both throwing out ideas about other potential action-consequence links from Middlemarch, a book neither of you had really enjoyed. The suggestions got more and more ludicrous, helped along by a bottle of wine left over from dinner, until you saw something you never thought you would ever see.

Barbatos was laughing.

Not snickering, not giving his small amused smile, not even his occasional sarcastic smirk. But full-on, eyes-sparkling, belly-laughing. Almost, but not quite, hooting with it. It was the kind of laughter you can’t really stop, the kind that becomes contagious. You start chuckling with him, then laughing yourself, and now you’re both laughing simply because you’re already laughing.

He tried, very hard, to stop when Lucifer entered the kitchen with some request or another. He stood quietly, hand over his abdomen as usual, but you could see his body quivering as he held in his laughter. He tried to ask what Lucifer wanted, but every syllable threatened a chuckle so he remained silent. Lucifer looked at the scene, both you and Barbatos struggling to appear calm, eyes and faces shiny with laughter, and he started to lecture you on taking up Barbatos’ time.

Without thinking about it (also kind of drunk, so there’s that) you leaned over to Barbatos, put your hand on his shoulder, and sing-songed in a stage-whisper, “Uh-oh. Daddy’s mad.”

And Barbatos broke. Both of you were gone again, laughing so hard that the only reason you were standing is that you were holding each other up.

You assume that Lucifer went and tattled to Diavolo, covering it up by “apologizing” for how you monopolize Barbatos’ time, but all that came of it was an open invitation from the Demon Prince to come over to the castle whenever you wanted, as Barbatos could use some more laughter in his life.

And so you did.

The more time you spent there, the more you realized not just how important Barbatos was to the running of the castle (and, thus, the Devildom), but also how nice he could be. He always had your favorite treat or tea on hand. You started accompanying him on many of his chores. In fact, you saved the best discussions for when you were both out of the kitchen. Nothing made weeding the garden or polishing the silver go quicker than a bright and easy discussion. 

One of your favorite times with him was riding the train to the market. He insisted on turning the tables and reading to you. It was one of the only times where no one could expect him to have other chores to do, so he read instead. 

Maybe because of how generous Barbatos always was with his time, you started bringing little things with you. Some cut flowers from the House’s garden. A single box of rare tea that you know Barbatos said was out of stock (of course, it wouldn’t occur to him to ask Levi to track it down online). And once, browsing a used bookstore with Satan, you found an ancient recipe book that you couldn’t wait to bring to the castle.

Each of your little gifts had been received with surprise, then a smile that seemed really genuine. The flowers had been arranged in a pretty glass vase and placed by the kitchen window seat, the tea immediately prepared for you both, and the recipe book declared a wonderful find — apparently, it had a recipe for Newt-Spiced Devilbread that he had never seen before.

You had beamed with pride over his pleasure in the book, and been touched when a small package containing Devilbread (modified, according to the note, for human tastes) was found on your desk in the House a few days later.

Everything about him made you feel appreciated. Which is why you were so happy to see him there, otherwise alone on a balcony.

Of all the people at the ball, it was the upright, too-correct butler that you weren’t afraid to have see you in bare feet. He’d seen you covered in dirt, covered in flour, and, on one occasion when he’d dropped by the house unexpectedly, in ratty pajamas and toe-spacers with a face mask on. That one was Asmo’s fault.

You want him to see you now. You want him to turn around and see you, to have a moment, any kind of moment, while you were dressed in couture at a ball. You want to be the reason he genuinely smiles, the reason he laughs. 

I mean, look at him! Decked out in demon form like the rest. But instead of being scary or intimidating, his demon form was….comfortable. It suited him, far more than the human-look. While his clothes still looked butler-ish, something about the ruffles and falling folds looked like a modern Victorian-style suit. It fit his fussiness without being uptight.

That was it. His demon form was still “correct” in the way a butler was correct, but it wasn’t stuffy or uptight, the way the normal butler outfit was.

You’d been around demons so long that wings, tails, and horns looked absolutely normal instead of strange. The delicate crown of black-bone horns, instead of looking demonic, looked like a regal frame for his face.

Something about him being buttoned-up from head to toe made you want to jump on top of him.

Okay, so you had a crush. No way were you going to ruin one of the best and most equal friendships you’d ever had by making a move on a thousands-year-old demon for fuck’s sake.

Even if just watching the surety of his hands made you weak sometimes. But you could handle it. It was fine. You were fine.

While you were watching him oh-so-efficiently stack glasses (you would be drooling right now, if you weren’t dehydrated from avoiding drinks in this outfit), he finally glances up and notices you.

“Ah, MC,” he says, and you take heart in his obvious pleasure in seeing you. “Taking a break?”

“It’s a little hot in there. And a little crowded.”

“And you tire of them following and leading you around,” Barbatos finishes with complete understanding. “If that is the case, come over here a moment where there are no windows; everyone can see you through those glass doors. It is only a matter of time before one of them comes looking for you.”

You get a split-second image of being railed against the wall there, just inches away from the glass doors, but stifle it instantly. “Sure,” is all you say as you walk over as casually as you can. “Want some help with the wine glass collection?”

The look he shoots you is amused and his voice is (you think you hope) full of affection. “As you are dangerous around glass at the best of times, and we don’t want broken glass and wine while you are both barefoot and in that outfit, I believe I’ll carry on on my own.”

An awkward silence fills the air. At least, it feels awkward on your end. The two of you had been silent together any number of times, but for some reason you can’t stand the silence right now. Just for something to say, you gesture at a small tray with assorted cookies.

“How did the pomegranate-jam alfajors turn out?”

“Excellent, and I thank you again for helping me make them. Would you like one?”

“Barbatos, we both know I did nothing more than hand you the jam and read another Sherlock Holmes story. Besides, I can’t risk this,” and you gesture to your clothes.

A mischievous look - not the first you’ve seen on his face - comes into Barbatos’ eyes. “Well, we must protect your sartorial savoir-faire. But we also can’t have you perishing from hunger, can we?”

He picks up a cookie and closes in on you. He’s not tall, not really, but he always seems tall when he stands so close to you. He holds the cookie at your mouth and cups the other hand under it, to catch crumbs.

“I can feed myself,” you mutter sullenly, ignoring the tingling of your body as his proximity. You don’t know why you’re resisting, he’s popped tidbits of all sorts of food into your mouth as you’ve cooked together in these past months. But this isn’t his well-lit kitchen, and it doesn’t feel like an innocent moment.

Barbatos merely lifts his brows a little, his smile widening imperceptibly. With a sigh, you take a bite of the cookie. “Happy?”

He brushes his thumb over your lips, dislodging a few loose crumbs. You know you’ve stopped breathing. “There.”

His face is so close to yours; you can feel his breath against your skin and see the swirling melding colors in his eyes. He still has his fingers on your face and you’re so close, so close….

You wait a moment. Every book you’ve ever read says that after a gesture like that, there’s a surprise kiss. It’s such a fairytale moment. But Barbatos just pops the other half of the cookie in his own mouth and turns away, returning to his work.

Confused, let down, you drift to the balcony railing to look out over the grounds. The last thing you want is for him to be able to read your face in the dim light. In fact, right now, you’re just wishing you were alone again. Now you’re in constricting clothing, barefoot, hungry, thirsty, somehow both warm AND cold, exhausted, and, thanks to that misleading cookie moment, bordering on depressed.

You glance at Barbatos quickly, but he’s just working as always. He’s always hard to read, and the flickering lights here make it even harder, but something about his face looks wrong. He’s not smiling. If anything, he looks - you want to say frustrated. Or angry. At what? At you?

“Barbatos?” You ask quietly. “Are you ok?”

He looks up sharply and you see another first. His hand fumbles on the glass he’s holding and it tumbles to the ground, shattering. You turn to help him gather the pieces and - 

“Stop,” he snaps out, and for the first time since you’ve known him he actually sounds mad at you. A moment later the wine glass is back on the table, whole and unbroken.

A few breaths, and his face softens. “I apologize. I had to be sharp or you might have kept moving and hurt yourself. Or have you forgotten your feet?”

You glance down at your bare feet, your shoes forgotten on the ground a few feet away. You were just about to walk over broken glass to get to him. Symbolic, much? 

“Barbatos….are you mad at me?”

“No, MC.” Why did his voice have to be so kind? It’s almost worse. “I’m angry with myself. A mistake I made earlier. You would think, with my knowledge of time, that finding a good moment….. But never mind.”

“Is it something I can help you with?”

He stays still a moment, as if thinking about it. “Perhaps. But it still requires the right moment, and I must find it myself first.”

“One of those demon things? A thousand years from now, maybe?” You’re trying to joke and you know it’s going to fall flat, but the uncomfortableness of this moment is getting to you.

“Oh, not that long. Soon, I’m sure.” His normal voice and face are back, and you envy his equanimity. 

You nod at his pronouncement. You’re never going to argue with him about time, that’s just a losing battle. There’s also no way to get something out of him if he doesn’t want to talk about it. If he needs your help, you hope you’re friends enough that he’ll ask. Instead, you just turn back to the garden view. 

The silence stretches out, and you wonder why Barbatos is still out here. The glasses are on the tray. The cookies and cakes have been refreshed. And now that you feel awkward, uncomfortable, and rejected, the desire to be alone is even stronger.

“MC, now it is my turn,” you hear from behind you. “Are you ok?”

You just nod. Time to evade. “Tired. It’s a late night for me. It’s beautiful here though,” you continue bravely, trying to get back on the right foot. “I love the gardens around here. I kind of wish I could see them in sunlight, though.”

A short laugh from Barbatos. “As that is unlikely to happen, I’ll have to show you around the grounds the next time there is a full moon and a cloudless night. There are many areas that are fully lit. Be prepared for a walk, though, the grounds are extensive.”

“Do you ever get used to it?” you ask suddenly. You’d only half been listening, instead you were thinking about the depth of the grounds, the amount of space here.

“Get used to what?”

“This,” you say, sweeping your arm to encompass everything around you. “This place, the castle, the grounds, this…..this luxury and beauty and, and grandeur.”

A moment passes and you feel him step up to the balcony railing on your left. The crispness of the air seems to fade as the demon comes to stand close to you. You want to step away, but you’re afraid he would misinterpret the movement, and maybe even be hurt. Quietly, as if revealing something, he says, “I have, I think, gotten used to it. Mostly. What’s the human expression? Not seeing the forest for the trees? It is difficult to see beauty and grandeur when you’re the one responsible for keeping it polished and clean. The number of details, the sheer magnitude of things to do…..it keeps your eyes focused only on what’s in front of you.”

But now his eyes rove over the grounds, taking in the garden and its sparkling lights, the endless expanse of sky and stars. His smile was, as always, slight, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. “Sometimes, though, when someone reminds me….it is a wonderful thing to allow myself to be swept away by it all again. It is beautiful. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

There was a moment of silence  - and it felt like comfortable silence again - as the two of you survey the garden, so dark that the glittering fairy lights become almost indistinguishable from the night sky itself.

“But then,” Barbatos says, so softly his voice was almost a whisper, “you constantly remind me to look at things in new ways. And when you do, I always find something beautiful or interesting. Often both.”

His gloved hand reaches out and covers yours, where you had it on the balcony railing. You straighten and turn your eyes to him - the two of you had touched before, but never so deliberately. His hands over yours as he attempted to help you roll out pastry dough, holding each other up while laughing, and even an ill-advised flour war that would have been manageable had Diavolo not stepped into the kitchen and insisted on joining. For a moment, the pressure on your hand subsides, and you imagine you’ll simply have to power through the new awkwardness with a joke, but instead you find your hand suddenly clasped even more tightly in his.

“I can see everything, if I choose. The past, the present, the future. Any past, present, or future. So how is it that you always surprise me?”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He turns you suddenly and for one of the first times you truly read surprise on his face. “Don’t apologize!” It comes out stern and sharp and his voice immediately softens. “It has been….centuries, I think, since I was surprised at all. And I have never met someone by whom I was so constantly surprised. I….appreciate it.”

There’s something in his eyes, and you try desperately not to read too much into it. You’ve been disappointed once tonight already. Your own heart will break if you’re wrong. So you smile and joke instead. “Really? Lord Diavolo surprises me almost every day. They all do.”

Another smile. “The Young Master is impulsive, that is true. But I have served him for millennia. I have known all of them for thousands of years. And while I cannot predict everything they will do, even the strangest choices are no longer surprising.”

“So maybe I’m only surprising because you don’t know me well yet. Because I’m new here, or because I’m human.”

“I have known a lot of humans.” His gaze holds yours steadily and that word - bewitching - comes back to you again. “MC, you came here against your will and the first thing you did is begin to heal those brothers in there. Heal their wounds and heal their bonds. Who could have predicted that? How is that not surprising?”

“But that’s just - I mean - I just wanted to help?”

“It is help they needed. I hear from the Young Master that Mammon is passing most of his classes, albeit barely. Satan doesn’t rage as he did. Leviathan attended a party, and stayed for almost two hours!” A chuckle escapes him. “You have improved their lives immeasurably.”

“Yeah, well -“

“You have also improved my life. Immeasurably.”

The first instinct is denial, to brush it off. Laugh it off. But his dark eyes are still holding yours and you realize, belatedly, that at some point he captured both of your hands in his. This isn’t a moment to brush off. So if he’s being serious and honest, so will you. You drop your eyes, though, because serious and honest also makes you awkward and hesitant.

“And you’ve improved mine. More than I can say.”

He takes a breath, and a small step forward. “I think….the most surprising thing about you is how I feel. I have lived longer than I can truly count, and I had thought I had seen and experienced and felt everything. But I had never loved - until you. I had never even known that I hadn’t loved. And I hadn’t ever feared how empty my life would feel without it. It was truly a surprise to realize how little I knew myself.”  One of his hands leaves its hold on yours and you feel the soft leather of his gloves as his fingers wrap gently around your chin. A tiny bit of pressure, and he lifts your head so you can look eye to eye again. “Do you think, MC, you could come to love me in return?”

His face is calm, his eyes steady on yours. So calm and steady, just like his voice, that you could almost think you were just discussing the weather. If it were anyone else, you would suspect a prank. But - and it’s a strange thing to notice - his tail is swishing, just a little. If you’ve learned anything about living with demons, it’s that their wings and tails express what their faces don’t. And that little back-and-forth swish, at least in Satan or Levi, would be agitation, uncertainty. 

You feel a ghost of a smile cross your face. “Don’t you already know my answer, Mr. Time Travel?”

“I didn’t look. That would be cheating. Besides….I’d rather you surprise me.”

And so you lean forward and up, Cinderella in borrowed finery, barefoot at the ball, and kiss your prince softly on the lips. 

“I fell in love with you a long time ago,” you murmur as you pull back just a little. “And it didn’t surprise me at all.” You look into his eyes, dark and sparkling like the garden. “Is this the moment you needed to find?”

He only smiles and leans down to kiss you again, and you feel his hands on the small of your back, pulling you closer. You’re pretty sure you feel the end of his tail wrap around one of your ankles, but you’re more interested in pressing against his chest, kissing him while the music from the ball fades from your hearing and the dirty wine glasses sit forgotten on their tray.

Suddenly, a sound makes you jump. Fireworks, the traditional end to a Devildom ball, erupt over the garden and  lake. The demons inside the ballroom come out to watch them, jostling against you and Barbatos. You find yourself carefully, subtly guarded from them by his body. And instead of slipping off into the crowd as he normally would, Barbatos turns you to watch the fireworks, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

You realize, awestruck, after a moment of the display, that the fireworks, all of them, were variations on your favorite colors combined with Barbatos’ signature teal. Tilting your head slightly, you see him smile that little smile as he meets your eyes.

“Surprise,” he murmurs into your ear, and presses a soft kiss against your hair before resting his head against yours to watch the show.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me fluff #my fic #obey me fic #obey me fanfic

[sarahjtv]

BNHA Chapter 309 Spoiler Thoughts: Izuku and Inko Midoriya, and Some More Things Along The Way

The chapter leaks are here again!  Thanks to all the people on Twitter and here on Tumblr for providing us with scans and translations.  This chapter helps explain some things that a lot of us were wondering about.  Sadly, there’s still no Bakugo, or Shoto, or any other UA kids really; they’re only in flashbacks.  But, we do get to see what All Might and the Top 3 Heroes (Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist) are up to, so that’s something.  Anyway, remember to take what I say with a grain of salt until the official translations come out on Sunday:

The chapter starts a few minutes after Deku beat Muscular.  He’s flying through the air taking an unconscious Muscular tied up in his Black Whip.  The other Ketsubusu Academy students from the Lisence Exam see him too.  Thankfully the stubborn civilians from 2 chapters ago are willing to help Yo Shindo recover in exchange for not listening moving to the school shelters.  Also, Shindo’s barely conscious, but he does actually remember Deku.  He’s just not the same Deku as before.  Not much for me to say here except that I wonder if Shindo’s going to help spread the word about Deku’s actions.  Not just to his classmates, but I wonder if the words’ going to get out to the news and UA.  Actually, word might not even get that far since Shindo was only one of the few people in that exam that really even interacted with Deku...

Deku hands Muscular over to the police for them to take care off.  He also makes sure to cover himself up in Smokescreen to hide his identity.  So, Deku really is working in the shadows here.  It is best that the public doesn’t know what Deku is doing so that the LoV don’t track him down.  My man’s really going down the Batman route.  Oh, I also have to admire Deku’s smartphone here kept in this steel case.  I was going to say it’s a burner phone, but burner phones break easily for a reason and this one clearly doesn’t.  Maybe it’s a special one that can’t be tracked down.    

And we finally get to see All Might again!  He is actively working with Deku instead of just not knowing where his protege is.  He’s wearing casual clothes (jacket, jeans, sunglasses, the works) when he meets up with Deku in an alleyway.  I’m honestly glad that All Might is still supervising Deku.  I mean, Deku on his own would’ve been badass, but when you’re going up against people like AFO and Shigaraki, you’re going to need some help.  Especially when laying low.  Even with supervision, I still think Deku counts as a vigilante b/c I don’t think his license works if he’s not at UA.  I will believe this unless proven otherwise.  

It’s explained that the “wrapping” on Deku’s arms are actually gauntlets called “Mid-Gauntlets”, which are what are helping hold Deku’s arms together.  And they are VERY similar to the gauntlets that Melissa Shield from Two Heroes gave Deku.  Deku even says that All Might ordered them from the USA before travel restrictions were put in place.  I know that it’s only implied, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Deku’s new gauntlets were made by Melissa.  Even if you want to doubt it, at this point, Two Heroes (and by extension Heroes Rising and probably the upcoming 3rd movie, World Heroes Mission) are canon.  Honestly, I’m cool with it.  I liked Melissa and I’m glad her presence is still around (she was even in a Team-Up Mission chapter with Hatsume).  I do wonder if we’re ever going to see her in the main story.  It would be nice to see Melissa again.

The gauntlets are test samples and are used to enhance endurance.  All Might says that they can’t withstand 100% of OFA yet.  Which means that Deku actually beat Muscular with less than 100% unlike their first fight where Deku had to use over 100% just to knock him out.  So, does this mean that, say, Deku’s current 45% is stronger than his 100+% back in the Forest Camp?  Or maybe it was just the combo of moves and strategy rather then Deku just punching his way through things.

Small detail, but All Might’s phone goes off with that “I AM HERE” ringtone we heard before and Deku comments that this particular one is from All Might’s Silver Age TV Special!  It’s such a small thing, but I love that Deku still has that All Might fanboy in him despite everything 💚!  Somethings truly never change.

And back to the Top 3: Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist!  Endeavor and Best Jeanist are teaming up to kick a villain’s ass while Hawks is talking to All Might on the phone.  It looks like Hawks got a few costume changes particularly his visor/glasses which look more boxy than they did before if that makes sense.  Oh, and they’re also helping All Might work with Deku.  Makes sense since all three vowed to help take down Dabi earlier and Shigaraki and AFO definitely extend from that.

Deku’s Danger Sense is going off, so he’s probably going to check out any danger he can find in case it’s the LoV.  I do wonder if that harms Deku still.  It was said that it felt like a stabbing in his head and it must’ve been bad enough for the 4th OFA Holder to live in the forest away from society.  Man, I really hope our boy is ok (I know he’s not really, let me have this).

But yeah, Hawks (still wingless, but with a nice little undercut btw😳) explains that Deku's afraid of dragging other people in his battles like All Might.  Hawks also goes on to say that it’s best to take the initiative in taking down AFO and Shigaraki rather than waiting for them to appear all powered up.  He also wants All Might to keep supporting him despite the difficult position he’s in (remember that All Might’s technically Qurikless again and can’t really fight on his own).  It makes sense for them to go after the Villains again while they can.  If Deku fought Shigaraki while Shigaraki was at full strength, Deku would lose easily.  Even at 75%, Shigaraki was able to kill and injure A LOT of people, and Deku was lucky to even make it out there alive.  They need to find Shigaraki SOON!  

Flashback to Central Hospital before Deku jumped UA ship!  Recover Girl and Central Hospital’s high-tech were responsible for many of the patience recovering quickly and being discarged.  Deku was just there a little longer than the others.  So, we can assume that all our UA kids and some notable heroes made it out alive after being treated.  Still don’t know what happened to some people like Tamaki and Fat Gum tho 😭.  

All Might and Deku’s mom, Inko (thank god she’s ok), are by Deku’s bedside as his casts are taken off.  Deku’s doctor (who looks like Super Mario/Luigi; the whole Super Mario crew must run this damn place.  Where’s Bowser and Princess Peach) explains that despite his former warnings about his ligaments, Deku’s limbs are still functioning because he’s not the same as he was before.  So, before, Deku’s injuries were like his limbs were exploding from the inside, but this time those “explosions” were able to escape his body.  Also his Black Whip cast helped keep Deku’s arm in tact so that he wouldn’t pulverize himself.  His ligimates are still degrading too, so Deku still has to be careful.  I think he might have a few more small scars too, but that could just be shadows or muscle lining from Horikoshi’s pen-work.  

Ok, honestly, I’m not sure how this logically works...  I’m no medical professional, but I assume this means that Deku’s built his body up so much that it’s naturally able to withstand more damage than before and that’s why he’s more durable.  But, I don’t know how Deku was able to let the “explosions” escape this time.  I get the reverse; I get how he got injured before, but I don’t get this.  Was it the Black Whip brace he made for himself?  I honestly don’t really understand this.  Maybe the official translations will clear this up.  Or Horikoshi will in a Tweet or Volume Extra.

And Inko is finally informed of OFA thank the gods!  She was in the top of my list of “People who should really, really know OFA and what’s going on with Deku because I swear...”.  She’s clearly shaken up as anyone would be, but I’m glad she at least knows what’s going on with her son.  Yes, she’s still worried, but at least she can stop guessing why all this is happening.  

Deku announces the reason why he won’t go back to UA and it’s basically that Shigaraki can sense where Deku is and he doesn’t want to see anyone else close to him get hurt and/or die.  So, basically what I thought would be the reason.  Absolutely no surprise there.  But, going after Shigaraki and AFO first was originally Deku’s idea, so that’s something new.  Kid’s bold.

And this broke my heart 💔!  Inko insists that Deku stay with her to stay safe, but Deku knows what he has to do.  So, he thanks his mom, thanks her for making him happy, and tells her that he’ll be ok and that he’ll come back home with a somber smile on his face.  We see a flashback to Little Deku and Inko too when they were happier.  Bro, I don’t even know what to say.  I am in tears just writing this 😭  I’ll just post these two panels so y’all can cry with me.  I will never recover from this.  I’m fucking devastated.  You better come home, Deku: 

*sniffs* All Might remembers what he said to Inko.  He remembers how he said that he will protect Deku with his life.  All Might encourages Deku to go and he says that he’ll go with him with tears in his eyes.  He asks the Top 3 to help with this mission (finding Dabi) as their own mission coincides with Deku’s (finding Shigaraki and AFO).  I’m so glad all these adults are staying by Deku’s side throughout this.  It’s good to know that Deku still has support, though I wish it were from some of his friends too.  Maybe one day.

Deku goes to see Grand Torino in his hospital room to talk to him about OFA.  He mentions his friend and 7th Holder Nana Shimura.  Torino thinks he was responsible for killing Shigaraki (he really wasn’t let's be real).  He also tells Deku that Deku shouldn’t be so persistent in saving Shigaraki as killing can sometimes lead to salvation. Ok, few things:

1. I am surprised Grand Tarino is still alive.  I mean, we don’t know what happened to him after this talk, but at least he got to hear from Deku again.  It’s kind of nice to know that Tarino willingly passed down his cape to Deku too instead of Deku just taking it after his death.  Also, I’ve been watching some of Jujutsu Kaisen like everyone else has and this give me some Yuji & his grandfather vibes to it.  Knowing what happens there and that JJK’s magaka is good friends with Horikoshi, I have a sinking feeling I know what happened after this talk...

2. Deku looks so much older here.  Like, it’s not that cute, innocent baby face we knew at the beginning.  I don’t even know what it is exactly (maybe the eyes), but he just looks more mature here.  Also, his uniform some buttons down looks really good on him, I’m sorry but I need to mention that too 💚.

3. “Killing is a means towards salvation”.  Oh, boy...  I mean, I get it.  Some people just can’t be saved or captured in hopes of rehabilitation/redemption.  Sometimes killing people is necessary to save others.  But, Deku is not a killer.  He will try to save Shigaraki no matter what.  That was established again last chapter.   He tried to save Muscular for god’s sake.  But, I am curious if Gran Tarino’s words are going to hold any weight in the final fight. Like, will Deku have to kill Shigaraki?  What will that do to Deku as a person?  I’m really curious if Horikoshi is going to make Deku do this.

And finally, there’s a page showing off the Top 3, Deku, and All Might team up with the resolve to beat the LoV.  I am really interested to see where this goes.  Deku is working with the big Pro Heroes instead of his classmates/friends.  This hasn’t really happened before.  I also wonder if Shoto and Bakugo know what Deku’s doing then.  Because Shoto’s going to help Endeavor and his family find Dabi.  Endeavor’s activley helping Deku.  Also, Endeavor and Best Jeanist are both Bakugo’s mentors.  All Might too actually.  Look, maybe I’m making excuses to see my Origin Trio together again, but I do have to wonder if Shoto and Bakugo are involved somehow.

Welp, that’s it.  This chapter was a rollercoaster!  I was excited, I was confused, I was worried, I cried my eyes out at one point because THOSE TWO PANELS I CANNOT 💔😭!  I’m honestly just waiting for Horokishi to drop some major time-skip on us at some point.  I don’t want him to, but I won’t be entirely surprised if he does.  The end of this chapter is a good place to end if Horikoshi wants to segway into something else like, oh IDK, THE UA KIDS LET ME SEE THEM AGAIN HORIKOSHI PLS I’M BEGGING 💸  

Me @ Horikoshi almost every week:

#My Hero Academia Spoilers #Boku No Hero Academia Spoilers #MHA Spoilers #BNHA Spoilers #BNHA 309 #Izuku Midoriya #Inko Midoriya #All Might #Hawks #Endeavor #Best Jeanist #Melissa Shield #bro my heart #my heart hurts #I will never recover from this #right in the meow meow #I'm devastated #Everything hurts #those panels are seared into my soul #I need to call my fam now #You better come home Deku #Don't you dare break your mother's heart again #MHA 309 #Kohei Horikoshi #thoughts #my thoughts #my post #spoiler thoughts

[wizardingworld-imagines]

Love - Sirius Black

Pairing - Young!Sirius Black x fem!Reader

Requested? - Yes, by Anon 

Word Count - 1.6k

Warnings - A few swear words? James is a bit mean,  

A/N - Thank you for your request! I had a lot of fun writing this

At the end of sixth year was when Sirius had fallen in love with Y/N. And not just some sort of silly crush, or love that doesn’t mean anything. He was properly in love. He had never felt this way about anyone before. His reputation as a womaniser precedes him, everywhere he went he was constantly judged for his prior actions when he was younger and dumber. However, in Sirius’ mind, there would be no other. No next girl he could move on to once he was done with Y/N. Y/N was the one, he was sure of it. 

Sirius had barely seen Y/N over summer, him and James had been so focused on what mischief they could get up to in their final year at Hogwarts. He made sure that he saw Y/N a handful of times, they went on a few dates throughout the break to various places, but this was the first time they could be around each other for a prolonged period of time. 

To the surprise of most of the school, Y/N and Sirius arrived at the annual sorting ceremony/welcome back feast together. Most people had assumed that Sirius and Y/N has broken up, due to his track record with women, however when they entered the great hall they were holding hands, a demonstration of their stable relationship. In preparation for the new year, girls had already started lining themselves up for Sirius’ affection, yet then they learnt they wasted their time. He wasn’t interested. They glared daggers at Y/N, for living a life they could only wish they had. 

~~~~~~~

It was coming up to the end of September. Outside of class hours, James, or any of the other marauders for that matter, had barely seen Sirius in the past month. He had been spending all his free time with Y/N, sneaking out late at night and arriving back in his bed in the early hours of the morning while the other boys slept. Obviously he was glad to be around his friends again, he just wanted to spend as much time as he could with Y/N. He was well and truly smitten, there was no denying that. 

James couldn’t help but feel some sort of jealousy. Like he was losing his best friend to Y/N. This was ridiculous, of course, but James could be attention seeking and missed Sirius. They had spent so much time together over summer due to Sirius living with him, that he almost forgot that Sirius had other people in his life that he cared about. He wouldn’t have minded so much, it just seemed that Sirius was so preoccupied with Y/N that he was abandoning his friends, he was abandoning him. 

Sirius and Y/N were by the black lake having a picnic when James approached the lovers. Y/N had her head in Sirius’ lap, while he stroked her hair softly. Idle chatter between them lost in the mid autumn breeze. The approaching footsteps, made apparent by the crunching of the red leaves, caused Y/N to sit up in surprise. 

‘Hi Sirius, Y/N, it’s good to see you both’ James said, irritation blatantly appearing on his features. His tone of voice was harsh, not too much to cause alarm, but it was hardly subtle either. 

‘James, we’re sort of in the middle of something, can we talk later?’ Sirius asked, looking up at his best friend.

‘No, Sirius. No we can’t. None of us have barely seen you in the past month, you’re sneaking off and spending all your time with Y/N. It’s like you’ve forgotten we exist, since you’ve had her.’ James stated, his eyes staring into Y/N’s soul on his final few words. Y/N became incredibly uncomfortable, tensions rising around the three of them. Sirius shot James a look of disapproval, begging him not to get Y/N involved. James, understanding what Sirius meant through his actions, decided to ignore him. He was so jealous, so full of anger that his best friend had been ripped away from him.

Looking at Y/N again, these words fell from James’ mouth before he could even comprehend what he was saying. ‘When are you going to get sick and tired of her Sirius? We’re all waiting for you to leave her. If she’s anything like the others then she’s just one of your whores who you don’t care for, right?’ 

Before Y/N could even understand what was said, Sirius had punched James in the face. ‘Don’t you dare speak to her like that, now piss off, we’re busy’ he said, grabbing Y/N by the wrist and pulling her away, leaving James on the grass, stunned at the whole ordeal.

~~~~~~~

When James arrived in the Gryffindor common room, a small amount of blood coming from his probably fractured nose, he looked around for any sign of the marauders. He noticed Remus sitting in a chair by the fire reading a book. Sirius was nowhere to be seen, and Peter was probably sleeping in his room. With no choice but to talk to Remus, James approached him apprehensively, hoping he was unaware of the entire situation. Unfortunately for James, he was not. Sirius had already come by the common room to talk to Remus about the entire ordeal, hoping he could talk some sense into James.  

Remus closed his book, the sound of the pages fluttering together as they were firmly shut. He looked up at James, disappointment evident on his features. 

‘Do you know how utterly imbecilic you are?’ He asked, his voice sharp and displeased. James looked down, embarrassment upon his face, as if he were being scolded by his parents for misbehaving. Remus continued, ‘Not only do you have the audacity to confront Sirius about his whereabouts, but you also insult his girlfriend’ Remus stood up, coming face to face with James. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, probably not being so wrapped up in your own self entitled existence, but Sirius is in love with her. He stopped drinking heavily and relying on cigarettes to get him through the day. All because of her’

James felt so stupid. How had he not noticed? Sure, he realised Sirius was a lot less reliant on alcohol and cigarettes to function, but it never occurred to him to wonder what inspired him to make this change. 

‘I know he’s not been around as much as you’d like him to be, but he was so worried about you not liking Y/N that he decided it would be easier to keep their romantic endeavours separate to our friendship with him’ 

James let out a deep breath. Everything made sense. Merlin, he was an idiot. He gave a quick thanks to Remus and headed out, attempting to find Sirius and Y/N.

~~~~~~

Once they noticed James picking himself up and walking back to the castle, Y/N and Sirius returned to their spot by the lake. Sirius noticed how troubled Y/N was by the whole situation, so he decided the best thing to do was pull her in for a hug. 

‘I’m sorry for what he said, it really isn’t true. It’ll all be ok, my love. I promise’ Sirius whispered into her ear, feeling tears stain his shirt. He closed his eyes, resting his chin on Y/N’s head, the lovers falling into a steady rhythm, breaths synchronised. 

They lay there in each other’s arms, until a figure loomed over them, blocking out the sunlight. Sirius opened his eyes to be met with the image of the last person he wanted to see right now.

‘James. What do you want?’ He grumbled, understandably annoyed. 

‘I wanted to apologise for what I said. I didn’t mean it and i’m sorry. I guess I was just jealous of not seeing you Sirius, and I shouldn’t have taken that out on the both of you. I can clearly see how happy the two of you are and I wish I could take back what I said’ He mumbled out, taking a seat next to the couple on the fresh grass.

Y/N nodded her head, a small squeak of ‘I forgive you’ coming out of her mouth. 

‘You do?’ James asked, his curiosity peaking.

Y/N mumbled something which sounded like a yes, which caused James to sigh out of relief. 

‘Good, because i’d quite like to get to know you Y/N. I hope we can put this behind us and become friends one day’

As the afternoon progressed into the evening, the three sat together under the glaring sun, learning more about each other. Y/N and James discovered they got along far more than Sirius could have hoped for. He was a little intimidated by how well they got on, both of them deep in conversation about the best way to prank someone. But he was grateful that they did get along. 

~~~~~~~

When Harry was born, there was only one choice in James and Lily’s minds of who should be the godparents. It was obvious. Sirius and Y/N had been there throughout every major moment of their adult life so far. They were there at the wedding, as the best man and maid of honour, it was only fitting they were now the godparents of his first born. They trusted the couple with their life, it only made sense they did the same with their son. If there ever came a time in the future  where something happened to James and Lily, they knew Harry would be safe with Sirius and Y/N. 

#sirius black imagines #sirius black x reader #harry potter imagines #hp imagines #sirius black imagine

[lukealvezhimboextraordinaire]

14 for Hyreth please!

sorry for the delay!

i am setting this in my newton squad universe because i can.

hyreth + “Ah, your feet are ice-cold!”

Hyacinth mumbled a quiet curse under her breath. There were plenty of things that interested her but learning to do complicated hairstyles wasn’t one of them. Messy buns and high ponytails had always been her go-to hairdo, it was easy enough, got the job done, and looked good on her. In a way, it was also practical. If her nieces were to learn she could braid hair in ten different ways, she would never again be able to sit at the adults' table at family gatherings ever again. And she loved her nieces, dearly, but she would rather help them climb trees than spend hours sitting on the floor tangling locks of hair together.

But Gareth St. Clair was a man proud of his hair. It was just as much a part of who he was as was his sense of humor or his good-natured personality. He loved to tend to it, braid it, and try different styles. And since he loved Hyacinth, he wanted to make her part of one of the things he kept closer to his heart.

And how was she supposed to refuse his request to just relax and let him run his hands through her hair, applying coconut scented oils to it while softly sharing stories about his mother and how she used to do the same to him when he was a kid. Even with her back turned to him, she could hear the nostalgic smile in his voice. Gareth hardly ever spoke about his late mother but when he did there was so much longing in his eyes that it made her heart swell in a way she wasn’t sure was healthy. Hyacinth knew well the hurt of losing a parent before you even had the chance to form significant memories with them. The only difference was that she had nothing that truly belonged to her to remember her own father. She had stolen pieces and bits of the stories her siblings and mother shared with her in order to craft her own memories with a man she would never come to meet. In her mind, Edmund had been the one to teach her to ride a bike with encouraging words, never letting go until she was confident enough to try on her own. He had attended all her school functions, always early to get a seat on the front row, where she could easily see him from the stage. In the made-up images of him she had conjured in her mind, he was always smiling, always a serene expression on his face that made her feel safe. Hyacinth had never learned how to swim but in her mind, Edmund had been the one to teach her.

It was different for Gareth, she knew. He had known his mother, loved her, and lost her. And, for better or for worse, that was a flavor of pain Hyacinth was quite familiar with too. Maybe that was the reason she enjoyed the rare times when he narrated tales of his childhood so much. He was sharing a precious secret with her, yes, but it was something else too. He was baring his soul to her, showing the most vulnerable parts of himself. That was trust in its most primal form. And knowing he had chosen to expose himself to her out of all people made her warm and fuzzy inside.

Hyacinth had never been particularly fond of having people touch her hair but it was different when the fingers entangled in her dark locks belonged to Gareth. She quite enjoyed the soft chills that the action sent down her spine. And that had to be one of the scariest things in the whole world.

There, sitting on the floor of his living room, with her back pressed against Gareth's chest, each of his legs secured at her sides while he hummed contently behind her, the realization hit Hyacinth like lightning hits a tree during an enraged thunderstorm; suddenly, completely, devastatingly, leaving nothing but destruction and chaos behind. Right now, right there, what they had; it was happiness. And she didn’t want to let go of it. She wanted Gareth in her life for as long as he would have her because… because she was in love with him. She didn’t just love him, she was in love with him. It had only taken something as ridiculous as thinking about her dad to make her finally realize what she had known for a long time. Maybe there were more similarities between her and her siblings that she cared to admit. What a horrific thought.

“Everything okay?” The gentle, mild concerned voice of her boyfriend brought her back to reality. Hyacinth turned to look at him over her shoulder, nodding with a soft smile. The concern in his eyes didn’t seem to vanish but he made no further comments. She was grateful for it.

“Time for the student to become the master. Move aside, peasant.” When her body spun around to exchange positions, her feet that had been fighting a silent battle against the chilly evening air, brushed against his thighs. He leaped, let out a surprised yelp, and retracted his legs so fast Hyacinth lost balance and ended up falling face down against his chest.

“Ah, your feet are ice-cold!” It was a protest but it sounded more like an accusation as if somehow Hyacinth had orchestrated the whole thing and had been patiently waiting for the perfect time to make her move. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was not that far off. It was definitely the kind of thing she would come up with. He knew her well, way too well.

Rather than feeling ashamed, she placed a sweet kiss on his nose and smirked down at him. It was that special smile she seemed to have reserved for him and for him alone. “Maybe you should warm them up, huh?”

Gareth’s brow curved, amusement overtaking his whole face. So she wanted to play. He could do that. His hands brushed against her thighs, slowly moving down her legs until they reached her ankles. He stopped to look at her then, his eyes burning into hers as he leaned in to place a kiss on her parted lips that took her breath away. He was so close she could still taste his breath. And then, he pushed himself back and centered his attention on her cold feet. Both hands closed around one of her small feet, rubbing and rubbing at a fast pace almost as if he was trying to start a fire. The motion tingled her, making soft giggles escape her lips. Hyacinth tried to free herself from his grasp but he was firm and refused to let her go.

“Stop!” The word was hard to understand as it was said in between fits of laughter. “Stop! Come on!”

Gareth grinned, shaking his head. At this point, his hands had abandoned her feet and were focused on tickling her sides. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please?” She was tossing, desperately trying to get away from him. Laugh filled the air around them.

He shook his head again. And Hyacinth finally understood.

“I love you!” She exclaimed breathlessly.

He froze in place. The room grew quiet. It was not the magic word he had been looking for, no. But it was one million times better.

“You don’t know how long I have waited to hear you say that.”

#gareth st clair #hyacinth x gareth #hyacinth bridgerton #hyreth #bridgerton prompts #mine #fics

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Five (Zuko x Reader)

Part Four

Word Count: 3,300

Author’s Note: I was up until 4am finishing this on Thursday night, and honestly, the way my single brain cell was barely functioning at that point, I’m surprised this even got done, let alone that it got done relatively well. We’re also getting super close to 1,000 followers, so if you like this series or any of my other works, PLEASE subscribe! I’ve got some fun stuff planned once we get there that I’m really excited to start planning! 

~ Muerta

Despite their rocky beginning, your first few weeks as Lady of the Fire Nation go surprisingly well. After your conflict with Advisor Lin, everyone begins to treat you with newfound respect - even Zuko. Your first breakfast together was the last time he advised any of your aids to be moderate or keep their distance from you, instead encouraging them to speak to you as directly as they would him, openly reproving them when they treat you as if you aren't capable of grasping everything they face you with; of course, you very much feel like you aren't, remaining stoic during morning briefings in the dining room while inwardly panicking, hearing everything but only able to decipher about half of it. You’re lucky you’re still shadowing the Firelord, learning your place and duties; once you’re sent out on your own, you have a feeling you’ll drown before you even get the chance to tread water. 

Protective as he is, Sokka arranges to stay in the palace until you’re completely settled, stating that it’s his duty as the chief ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe; you know that the real reason is because he’s worried to death about you, trying his hardest to keep up the tough, unflappable big brother act for nobody's sake but his own. Toph also decides to extend her trip, quite concerned herself but mostly using the political tension as an excuse to catch up with you, Zuko, and Iroh - you don't mind, since having her around is an endless comfort to you, and you often invite her to sleep in your room so you can pretend that you’re just two friends enjoying normal young adult lives. 

Each day spent in Firelady prep school is a new lesson in what exactly the role means, and you’re quickly finding that it’s much more than observing any of the first ladies of the Water Tribe could have ever prepared you for. They were considered accessories to their chiefs, appearing beside their husbands mostly for aesthetics and only truly serving the purpose of giving birth to sons to take his place; as the Firelord’s wife, you’re seen as an extension of him, and he an extension of you. Your people view you as the monarch and matriarch of a massive, powerful clan, and expect you to live and act in sync with one another for the betterment of your children, both literal and metaphorical. Nation comes before everything, any action that could suggest intentions otherwise criticized with the utmost scrutiny; disgrace is all too easy, while honor seems near impossible. 

You have tea with Zuko every night before bed; the more you learn about the culture of his upbringing, the more you empathize with his younger self. 

“I understand now why you were so angry,” you admit to him one night. “They make you feel as if just being human were a mistake. I'm already frustrated - I can't imagine what seventeen years of it was like.”

Zuko hums, his face taking on a wistful, somber expression. 

“That's what my father did to me,” he explains. “Everything was wrong, even if it was what felt natural.” 

He takes your hand in his, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he gazes off in thought. 

“We can change that, though,” he tells you. “Things already feel better with you here.” 

For a country that just ended a century long war in which they were the main aggressor, you would think that your advisors would put more energy into matters of diplomatic affairs than your image. 

“I'm just uncertain what a choice like this could make the nation feel,” Advisor Yong says. “We’re already walking a very delicate line.”

You stand in one of the palace’s many meeting parlors with Zuko, Advisors Yong and Sung, Sokka, Iroh, and the royal seamstress, pouring over multiple yards of fabric she's brought for the robes that will immortalize you in your wedding portrait. For the past forty-five minutes, you've been debating whether you should be pictured wearing Fire Nation or Water Tribe clothes - the proceedings have been dismal at best. 

“The representation of our tribe is important to our people,” Sokka replies to Advisor Yong. “We’ve been small for decades, and mostly because of the Fire Nation - she should wear a traditional dress.” 

“But certain people in our nation are still very put off by the idea of a foreign queen,” Advisor Yong argues. “A man was already killed over the matter; embracing it so fully could spark anger and endanger her and the Firelord even more.” 

In the time you've spent with Advisor Yong, she's grown to be your favorite of anyone within the royal council. Her small stature and plump, motherly features make her seem gentle and subdued, but her kindness only runs so deep; when faced with confrontation, she's like an angry bull - fierce, but in a way that's so swift and graceful, you barely notice her goring into you until she's shredded you to pieces. She's been one of your most supportive council members as well, guiding you in matters of proper Fire Nation etiquette and culture and sticking her neck out farther than could possibly be expected to keep you safe. You can see Sokka getting irritable, but you know she speaks with a voice that only has your best interests in mind. 

“Perhaps we should consider the external perception,” Advisor Sung suggests. His soft spoken manner is a welcome reprieve from the increasing bitterness in Yong and Sokka’s tones. “Yes, it's quite important that the Southern Tribe is recognized, and doing so will present a compassionate image of our nation. On the other hand, however, having our lord and lady in different traditional dress could suggest division; picturing them as the same would imply a more unified pair.” 

“Maybe we should put Zuko in a Water Tribe outfit,” you suggest flatly. “Make it look like we’re pushing you guys around for a change.” 

Zuko snickers beside you, raising a hand to his mouth to (ineffectively) stifle the sound under the guise of a cough. The rest of the room is deathly silent, its occupants either oblivious to your sarcasm or deeply unamused by it. 

“I believe what our lady is trying to convey,” Iroh chimes in, “is that we have hardly taken her own thoughts into consideration. After all, it is her marriage and her people she must represent.” 

“Okay, so what do you think?” Sokka prods, turning to you. “Do you want to wear Fire Nation clothes or Water Tribe ones?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes to the mixture of red and blue fabric sprawled out before you. 

“Honestly? I don't know,” you confess. “There are too many issues with either choice. I think we need more time to gauge how people react to me just being here before we decide.” 

“My lady, I understand,” Advisor Yong says, “but as cautious as we have to be, we can't be too hesitant; you can’t possibly hope to bear children in a few months’ time if we can't come to a decision on something like this in a timely manner.”  

You and Zuko both jolt, instinctively backing away from one another.

“Children will come much later,” Zuko sputters, his cheeks turning the same shade as his robes. “Right now we have to focus on getting the people of our nations to agree with each other.” 

“And children are an important part of doing so,” Advisor Yong explains. “They’ll serve to physically embody the union of the two nations; the sooner you become pregnant, my lady, the quicker we may resolve the issue.” 

“I’m not going to bring a baby into this world just to be a political pawn,” you snap, a bit more harshly than you intend to. “That wouldn’t be fair and I couldn’t do that to my kid.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Zuko glance at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You want to reach for him but restrain yourself, feeling strange about showing him any sort of intimacy with an audience. 

“We need to decide what will be done about this portrait before we decide what will be done about heirs,” Iroh agrees. “We should give our lady more time to think on the matter. Could we spare another day?” 

Advisors Yong and Sung look to one another, Advisor Sung nodding his compliance. Advisor Yong also concedes, her tone almost apologetic when she speaks. 

“Another day will be just fine,” she says. “We’ll leave the final decision to you and your husband, my lady. Have Rina bring your instructions to the seamstress when you’re ready.” 

Your stomach flutters manically when you hear the words “your husband”. Advisor Yong has never referred to him as such, only ever calling him “the Firelord”; somehow, coming from her, the title feels much more significant than just the result of an arranged marriage. 

You flop down in the grass beside Zuko, burying your face in the sleeves of your robe. He chuckles, tossing another apple peel to the turtle ducks in the courtyard pond. 

“At least they’re being nice,” he consoles you. “Advisor Yong called me a coward in front of the whole council when I told her I wasn’t sure about getting married. She was right, but it’s hard getting your ass handed to you by someone who looks like a sweet little grandmother.” 

You sigh, rolling over onto your back and tilting your head to look up at him. He gives you a faint, assuring smile, which you can’t help but return. 

“I totally understand why you snapped when we were kids,” you tell him. “I’ve been here less than a month and I already want to go apeshit. Did you know that one of our advisors told me to take my betrothal necklace off the other day? The slimy little bastard waited until you left the room to do it, too! He told me it made me look less like a ‘naturalized Fire Nation woman’, and I told him that anyone who expected me to look like one was either stupid or delusional. And what, we need to have kids right way for the sake of political leverage? That’s horrible! What kind of monster brings a child into the world just to use them their whole life??” 

You draw back when you notice Zuko’s fallen expression. You’ve sat up by this point, and your near-screaming has scared the turtle ducks to the other side of the pond. You feel your heart drop into your gut, wishing you could take the words back. 

“Oh, Zuko,” you breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” 

Zuko shakes his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep, measured breath. You watch his chest rise and fall, his shoulders loosening as he exhales. When he opens his eyes again, he meets yours, the knot between his brows unraveling. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know. My father was a monster. And my mother… she just did what she was told. I never realized how much she sacrificed for me until she was gone.” 

You inch closer to him, warily reaching for his hand. He takes it, lacing his fingers with yours and gently tugging you to sit beside him, reclining against the trunk of an ancient maple tree. He leans into you, clutching your hand tightly. 

“Sometimes I wish the worst thing he did to me was use me,” he laments. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have done such awful things to the people who loved me.” 

“Zuko,” you whisper, tightly squeezing his hand, “you’re not your father. Just the fact that you asked me to marry you proves that. You didn’t choose your family based on who would make you powerful. You chose me because you love my siblings, and they love you, and that’s exactly why I agreed to be with you. I never met your father, but I know for a fact that he never knew love like you do; he wouldn’t allow himself to because he thought it was weakness. But you’re so much stronger than he is, and could ever be, because Katara and Sokka, Aang and Toph, and Iroh - all of us are here with you. You allow yourself to show weakness in loving us, which is the bravest thing you could ever do. You are nothing like Ozai.” 

To your surprise, Zuko smirks at you; the corners of his eyes glimmer with the buds of tears, however, and the rest of his features don’t rise to match the expression on his lips. 

“No wonder Uncle likes you so much,” he says. “You sound just like him.” 

You scoff, punching him in the shoulder. He laughs, playfully tossing you over his lap and pinching the soft sides of your stomach, an area he discovered was sensitive by accident one day whilst he was walking you through the palace; you giggle hysterically, trying in vain to fend off the attack. He retreats after a little while, sighing as he cradles you in his arms - your head presses to his chest while his chin rests atop your head, hugging you tightly in a way he hasn’t done before. You wrap yourself around him, arms latching about his waist to hold him just as closely. 

“I won’t let them pressure us,” he assures you. “We’re family, and we have to take care of each other. That’s all I ever want to do for you.” 

You nestle into him, curling your body closer to his while your arms squeeze at his sides. He kisses the crest of your head, a rare display of affection he’s only done a handful of times - it makes you realize that even when you were teenagers, and Sokka started to make serious suggestions about keeping his promise of marrying you after Hakoda left you in his care, he never once made you feel as safe as Zuko does. 

“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything with my invitation,” Iroh greets you when you arrive at his chambers. 

Before your nightly pot of tea with Zuko, a messenger came to your quarters telling you that Iroh wished to see you; when you asked why, the messenger told you that the general wanted to teach you to play Pai Sho. You looked to Zuko quizzically, wondering what was so important about knowing how to play a board game that you needed to be summoned so late in the evening, and he sent you off, assuring you that, knowing Iroh, it was worth taking up the offer. 

“Just Zuko’s tea,” you tell him, “which, if it weren't for his company, I think I'd bail on every night.” 

Iroh chuckles, leading you inside and lowering you onto a cushion on one end of a large Pai Sho table; he takes the other seat, smiling good-naturedly at you. 

“Unfortunately, my nephew has never quite taken to the art of tea brewing,” he says, “no matter how many times I've tried to teach him; I take comfort in the fact that he's much better with a sword than I am, instead.” 

You grin, watching as the old man spreads a set of tiles across the game board. 

“Do you know of the significance of Pai Sho within the royal families of the Fire Nation?” he asks; you shake your head in response. 

“It is traditionally learned as a way of teaching our young leaders to rule with strategy,” he explains. “It is meant to teach a balance between inner passions and outward logic, as well as how to observe one’s peers; those who practice Pai Sho diligently know how to pinpoint an opponent’s weaknesses while understanding and controlling their own, keeping others from using their shortcomings against them.

“Each tile has a meaning,” he continues, “and represents a different positive or negative attribute. They may only move in certain ways, but can change their effect on the game based on how the player chooses to use them within each environment. For example…” 

Iroh goes on to explain each tile and its movements to you, walking you through each element of the game and practicing different tiles with you until you can actually place them in a somewhat skilled way. When you're comfortable, he plays a simple game with you, aiding you in which possibilities cause which consequences and pointing out ways you can better defend your side of the board. You play five games with him in total, never winning but trying as if you stood a chance against such a skilled player as him. 

When you lose the last game, Iroh removes the last tile you played and replaces it with the white lotus - you quirk your brow, wondering why that would be the better move. 

“I thought the white lotus was a weak tile,” you question him. “Why put it up against something as strong as the flame tile?” 

“There are no weak tiles in Pai Sho,” Iroh instructs you, “only ones that are often overlooked. Sometimes we must look at things from a different perspective, you see; manipulate the odds by doing something unorthodox and unexpected. If your opponent cannot anticipate your actions, they cannot overcome you.” 

Iroh removes the white lotus from the board, taking your hand within his and placing it in your open palm. He folds your fingers over it, closing your hand between both of his. 

“Keep this with you,” he says. “It may help you someday.” 

“But won't your board be incomplete?” you ask. 

Iroh chuckles, giving you a mischievous wink that makes you feel almost as if the man is in some way omniscient. 

“I have plenty of others,” he assures you. “It will do much more good in your hands.” 

The next day, you accompany Rina to the seamstress’s workshop, wanting to give her the instructions for your portrait dress yourself. When you tell her this, Rina is clearly confused - she gently attempts to explain to you that it isn’t necessary, that she’s supposed to handle these sorts of things for you, but once you reveal what you have in mind, she shifts completely. 

“The council is going to hate that,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea. I can take you to the seamstress, come with me.” 

When you relay your plans to the seamstress, she’s also shocked - her eyes widen, and she physically backs away from you as if even considering following your orders will get her executed for treason. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It isn’t what the Firelady would typically do…” 

“And I’m not a typical Firelady,” you reply, your tone bright and straightforward. “I’ve been asked to do what will create compromise, and this is the best compromise I can think of; I’m simply doing what I’m meant to.” 

The seamstress agrees, but only after you give her your vow that she won’t take any of the blame should the idea backfire (you're in charge, after all, so what can anyone do? She’s just following orders.)

In white fabric, she makes a set of robes for Zuko and a dress for you, each including elements crafted in Fire Nation and Water Tribe tradition. She then takes each set to its own vat of hot water, adding blue dye to one and red dye to the other - she places the pieces in, looking nervously up at you as you approach the twin cauldrons.

“I just want to make one last adjustment,” you tell her. 

Before she can respond, you take a bucket of blue dye and a bucket of red and tip each one into the opposite vat. The garments swirl as if caught in the midst of a tempestuous storm, the dye bleeding into the pristine fabric until it stains a shade of vivid, furious purple. 

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[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Thirteen- Variation One

(Prevoius chapter here)

(Discord Here)

This chapter was originally an RP with @ablackswansweet, and there are two versions- one from both character’s POV. I have Swan’s permission to post this.

Zane warily eyes the young adult who enters alongside Martha. Does she intend to hurt him to force him to do something?

“What do you want?” He questions, hating the resignation in his tone.

He really has begun to give up.

The blond seems oddly excited, considering the circumstances. It looks as though he’s barely containing himself as he comes up to Zane.

He leans into the nindroid’s personal space, studying him closely in a way that once again makes him feel like a studied lab rat.

"I want to learn how you work." The blond smiles deviously. He then grabs Zane’s face and moves it around to inspect it from different angles, and Zane tries to cover up his winces of pain as some of his exposed sensors are touched.

The blond takes a few notes in a notebook before returning to Martha’s side, still with an evil expression.

Zane tries to hide his sigh of relief when the teen leaves. It had taken a lot of impulse control to stop himself from attempting to bite the blond- being manhandled in such a way is a very unpleasant feeling.

“Haven’t you done that enough?” He protests, shifting in his bonds to the best of his ability. “With everything you’ve done to me, I doubt that any competent mechanic would need any more research.”

He glares at the two while he speaks, wishing he still had his faceplate- if only to better emphasize his look of displeasure.

The young man laughs a little, seemingly more to himself than to anyone around him. Yet once again, there’s still an almost cruel aura around him that puts Zane on edge.

"Thing is, Original, I'm not exactly a mechanic. I'm just really, really interested by your wires and gears. And how well they respond to… Certains stimuli," he says.

The teen takes a few more notes before looking to Martha, seeming to wait for approval. She gives it with a nod.

Zane doesn’t quite grasp what is happening until wires are hooked up to him, the blond still seeming to almost shake in his excitement.

He then steps in front of the control panel and looks back to Martha.

Zane feels a wave of unease take over him. Something about this situation is concerning him, and it’s more than the fact that they likely plan to hurt him.

They haven’t given any orders. They haven’t asked any questions. And yet it seems that they plan to hurt him anyway.

They claim that this is training, but at this particular moment, it seems as though this shaping up to be more torture than an attempt at teaching.

“To begin with, my name is Zane, not Original. Second, if you are so interested in ‘wires and gears’ perhaps a robotics course would be a more healthy outlet for you.”

He’s well aware that his words will make no difference, but he attempts to convince the teen to leave him alone anyway.

After a few moments, he adds, “Why are you doing this? I can assure you that I have never meant to cause harm on any innocents.” He glances over at Martha on the last words, noting her displeased expression.

“You can begin whenever you like.” She tells the blond, who hums in response.

"Hey, Original?" He calls out, waiting until Zane looks at him to continue. "You talk a lot."

The young man then pushes a button, and Zane finds himself squirming in his bonds at the uncomfortable feeling. This is far from the worst they have done or can do, but it is still not a pleasant feeling.

He watches as the blond writes something else down, and starts to try and reason with the teen, trying to convince him to stop. He even uses proper manners, but it still seems to have no effect.

When his requests to stop are left ignored, Zane decides to take a new track.

“I suppose I am talking a lot,” he admits, “but not nearly as much as an old friend of mine. Jay couldn’t stay quiet if his life depended on it.”

While starting up a friendly conversation might seem illogical, Zane hopes that it will perhaps give him some insight on the one hurting him. Information about the blond may give him an opportunity to convince him to stop- and perhaps small talk will help him prove that he is seintent.

"Heh, yeah. I had a guy like that in one of my foster homes." The blond smirks, seemingly at the way Zane is surprised. "Didn't end well for him either. No one like a constant source of useless noise, don't you agree?"

Zane isn’t quite sure why he finds him so humorous, but he chooses not to dwell on it, instead trying to find an appropriate response to the words.

"How is your old friend doing now?" The blond smirks as he turns up the voltage, staring Zane dead in the eyes.

Zane struggles to keep a hold of himself, gritting his teeth and trying to maintain the conversation.

And endless source of constant noise? That could be a way to describe it, but Zane has always been fond of Jay’s rambling.

“I haven’t seen him in a while- I’ve been a little…” He glances down at his chains, wincing. “... tied up.”

At this point, it’s likely that the blond has a game of his own if he’s still choosing to continue the small talk- and the large smirk on his face confirms it.

He pauses a moment before continuing. “I don’t think I caught your name, either. What do you go by?”

The blond wears a faux-surprised expression for a moment before answering. "My name's Kyle. He/him, I guess. But I don't think you're going to need to know that."

He returns to slowly upping the charge of the voltage, seeming to reveal in the uncomfortableness that he’s causing.

"Tell me about your other old friends.” Kyle still doesn’t look away. “You said you were dating, right ? How's it like ?" That menacing smile doesn’t fade, and while Zane isn’t quite sure where he’s going with this, surely playing along for the moment couldn’t hurt.

He forces any sign of pain down, attempting to keep up a polite and friendly facade even as the pain increases.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kyle.” He lies. “I don’t recall mentioning that I was in an active relationship, but I suppose that the background research you must’ve done would cover that.”

It is obvious that they know about his boyfriends- how else would they have known to show him what they did in the sensory manipulation?

The pain is still increasing, and it’s becoming harder and harder to pretend as though he’s not hurt.

His breathing has begun to grow heavy, and he’s sure that there are flickers of winces being shown, but he still does his best to maintain his friendly appearance.

"Yeah, I read your file before coming here. Big fan, by the way." Kyle still wears a cruel smile, but it starts to turn more menacing, an evil nature with more purpose. "Wonder how they feel about your self-sacrificing nature," he snarls.

But then he pauses, gritting his teeth. He seems to be trying to keep a hold on himself, but Zane isn’t quite sure what could have triggered it.

Unless… is it possible that his self destruct could have harmed more the way it did Martha?

Zane doesn’t have time to dwell on the thoughts, as he’s suddenly blasted with electricity, and he’s forced to bite back a cry of pain.

Thankfully, it’s only high for a few moments before Kyle lowers it, allowing Zane to regain his composure with a relieved sigh.

Kyle redirects the conversation again. "So, your old friends ?"

Zane decides to instead address the major concern of what may be a part of Kyle’s hostility.

“When I was fighting the Golden Master, I meant no harm to any innocent people. I was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. I… I understand that in some ways, I have failed this function, but I do my best to help those in need.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Keep calm. He can’t let the pain overtake him- he’s begun to sense that that’s what Kyle wants.

He debates saying more, but chooses to remain silent, waiting for a hopefully diplomatic response.

Kyle sighs and gives him a sharp glare that confirms Zane’s hypothesis. It was likely that his sacrifice had-

He’s cut off from his thoughts by a spike of electricity, and it takes quite a bit of willpower to prevent himself from shouting out at the pain.

Unfortunately, it appears that his pained reaction pleases Kyle, who is now smiling again.

"You didn't answer my question, Original. How was life with your… Boyfriends ? Kai Smith, Jay Walker and Cole Brookstone, yeah ?" He smiles as he emphasises the last names, a menacing threat behind his words.

Zane feels everything in his body go rigid, and with his concentration now centered on the others, he knows that he is having more acute reactions to the pain.

He hates the small whimper that escapes him, but he ignores it in favor of speaking, addressing the underlying threat of his words.

“You do not touch them.” He snarls. “If you hurt them, I swear on the First Spinjitzu Master that I will hunt you down to the ends of the-“ Zane finds himself cut off with a cry of pain as the voltage is jammed up.

"Calm down. I didn't even actually threaten them yet," The blond mutters to himself. Thankfully, it’s not long before he lowers the voltage, and when he does Zane is able to breathe again.

But his panic is still running high. He had all but directly said that-

"If I wanted to truly use them as hostages, I'd tell you I know which shop they go to every two weeks to buy supplies and food, which is the one at the end of the main avenue."

The voltage begins to increase, and Zane wants to be listening, but he can only just make out his words, in too much pain to think straight.

"I'd tell you we have live feed of them almost every day and everywhere they go."

Zane hates the loud screams escaping him, but he can’t even focus on them, all of his attention forcefully grabbed by the pain and the threats, the way he threatens the ones he loves-

"Or… I'd tell you how one of them already got arrested once, and how easy it is to transfer prisoners or fake an accident."

Zane can feel the way his body is reaching the maximum limits of what it can handle, he can’t handle much more of this, this will kill him, he can’t possibly-

When the power is shut off, Zane finds himself sobbing, thankful that it’s gone, the pain is gone, but he still has fear running through him, fear of what could possibly happen to the ones he loves.

Kyle walks up to him, and Zane hates the fact that he flinches, and he hates even more the smile the teen wears when he does.

"Don't you dare threaten me or her ever again. Remember who holds the power here," the blond mutters in his ear before going back over to Martha, checking his notebook.

Zane doesn’t have it in him to be ashamed of how much he had screamed when the voltage was on maximum power- or at least, what had felt like it.

He wants to retort, to tell the boy that will protect his boyfriends to the death, to tell him that he is more than a machine, to tell him that he will threaten him again if he has to.

But he can’t find the words. He’s too tired to come up with proper sentences.

The part of him that spends too much time with Kai urges him to tell the teen a string of insulting curse words, but Zane ignores it.

When the two leave the room, Zane doesn’t even bother saying a farewell.

What’s the point in it, anyway?

#the rights of a nindroid #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago zangst #psychological torture #torture #trauma

[jiangchengrights]

i wake to you at dawn

also available on ao3

“Alright, I get it,” Wei Ying mumbles to herself from where she lays, half of her face shoved into the pillow beneath her head, the other half just barely illuminated by the screen on her phone, “This dog is friends with that other dog now. Whoop de-fucking-do.”

Usually, these soft animal videos on Instagram don’t annoy her that much, even when they are about dogs, but she’s seen this specific post about fourteen times tonight. She can recite by memory the posts that come after it (a celebrity laying out in the sun, the tagline only the sunflower emoji, followed by one of Wen Qing, looking stern but fond as her lap is completely covered by both Wei Ying and Wen Ning, the tagline for that being ‘Reluctant jie’, and so on and so on) because she’s been frenetically refreshing all of her social media apps in order; she now knows the current lineup of instagram posts and tweets in her feed and has seen every godforsaken not-actually-that-interesting story of all of her friends (which isn’t fair to them, really, considering all of the important ones are here trapped in this same hotel as Wei Ying).

“Oh my god,” Jiang Cheng grumbles from the other side of the room where he lays on his bed (because of course he’s a part of her bridal party. Kind of. He’s walking her down the aisle tomorrow which, okay, makes him technically not a part of her party but she wasn’t about to let him skate free the night before her wedding)(or any of her bridal functions)(not that she needed to worry: he’d taken all planning rights away from her for her bridal shower and bachelorette party, he’d only tolerated the help of shijie) and throws his extra pillow at her, “If I have to hear that fucking dog video one more time, I swear to god, I’ll break your kneecaps. Do you hear me? I’ll have to drag you down the aisle tomorrow because you won’t be able to walk.”

“I thought you liked dogs, Shidi,” she replies, shifting ever-so-slightly so that she can squint at him past her phone.

“Wei Wuxian-”

“A-Cheng, A-Ying,” Shijie hums soothingly, from the other side of the room, “Please rest, for me. Your Shijie needs sleep too.”

“And if you don’t,” Wen Qing pipes up, “I know other ways to make you shut up.”

“Okay, okay,” Wei Ying whines, locking her phone with an audible click and resting it on the pillow next to her head, “I’ll try to sleep. For Shijie.”

Wei Ying does not sleep. She tries, she really does. Turns off all the lights and all the sounds and everything shiny that could keep her just engaged enough to stay awake. She tries to listen to the steadying breathes of her bridal party around her; Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang lay on the bed to her left, Shijie and Wen Qing to her right, Wen Ning passed out on the floor (he’d been invited, truly, to sleep in the empty spot next to her, only he’d fallen asleep long before everyone else and moving him to an actual bed proved to be very difficult when all the adults in the room were half (three fourths) wine drunk and giggling, so they’d just put a pillow under his head and wrapped him in their softest blankets and left it at that). She practices all the meditation tricks Lan Zhan had taught her; tries to calm her mind and her breathing and her heart.

It doesn’t work.

God, she wishes to herself, regardless of however illogical it may be, I wish Lan Zhan was in my bridal party.

With a sigh, she spends some time reflecting. She’s made so many bad decisions in her life, ones that have resulted in no less than three broken arms (sorry A-Cheng), many school detentions, almost getting expelled from university, a car accident that had left Shijie with seatbelt burns and a black eye from the airbag and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, had left Lan Zhan, who’d been sitting prim and proper in the back seat, with scars that still lingered across the expanse of her back in the shape of all of Wei Ying’s nightmares. She’d chosen to hide away after that for three years in a different city with different hair and a different smile on her face and pretend like she didn’t feel a bone crushing loneliness in her entire being every time she thought of her Shijie, and didi, and her Lan Zhan who wasn’t really hers anymore, and that fact that in her self imposed exile she would never seen any of them again. That was, until Lan Zhan found her and dragged her back home and made her whole again.

Wei Ying was always whole, Lan Zhan would say, has said, I just helped Wei Ying find a way back. Will always bring Wei Ying back.

But with all that behind her and mostly wrapped up, this, tonight, right here, feels like her worst idea yet. She’d been so confident too! Had fought every naysayer, including Lan Zhan herself, with a cocky smile and a wave of her hand.

Brides shouldn't see each other the night before the wedding! She had laughed, and then laughed harder when Lan Zhan’s fingers had tightened where they dug into her hip, Besides, we’re not one of those couples! We can handle one night apart!

And she had been right, for the most part. Of course she missed Lan Zhan, but a night spent apart, having fun with her little family, all of them basking in the shared excitement of her impending nuptials. What she hadn’t anticipated was trying to sleep without Lan Zhan beside her, not when she’s this nervous, hadn’t thought about how deeply she would miss Lan Zhan’s warm weight behind her, her steadying arm firm around her waist, holding Wei Ying together like she did every night. She feels the absence with every shift of her hips that press backwards into nothing, every time she throws an arm out to rest on an empty pillow and the fact that there are no warm, soft, calves to ruthlessly shove her cold toes against.

By the time she picks up her phone again, everyone in the room is peacefully asleep and the  clock on her bedside table blinks 2:36, proud and red and rude, if you ask Wei Ying. She gives up on sleep and starts mentally calculating exactly how much concealer she’ll need to cover the bags under her eyes. After all, she wants to look her absolute best for Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who is so steady and warm and beautiful, Lan Zhan who could open her mouth wide and eat Wei Ying’s entire heart in one bite but doesn’t, instead offering her own heart up on a silver platter for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying opens their messages on her phone, reads through the last few, laughs at the pictures she’d sent earlier in the night of Nie Mingjue, eyes half lidded with alcohol, laying messy kisses to the side of Xichen-ge’s face, who seemed to be accepting them with grace and only slightly tinged red ears. She taps her fingers on the screen, starting a message, lan zhan i can’t slee-

She doubles back, erasing it, deciding she doesn’t need to be whiny the night before their wedding, when Lan Zhan is surely asleep anyways. Again she starts, good early morning, lan zhan! i can’t wait to see you in your-

Too much, that is utterly too much. i love you, she types, hesitates with her thumb over the send button. What if the sound of her phone wakes Lan Zhan up? What if then Lan Zhan can’t fall back asleep? What if Lan Zhan tosses and turns all night and ends up with a headache, overtired on their wedding day of all times? What if this texts absolutely ruins everythi-

Her phone sounds, the little swooping noise it makes when she receives a new message on the thread she’s already looking at. She looks down and finds a link from Lan Zhan to a video of baby bunnies playing together with a message that says, When we return from our honeymoon, I think it is time we get another bunny. Possibly two.

And well. Her decision is made for her really. If Lan Zhan is awake, laying in her own bed in a room on the other side of the hotel, fighting off insomniatic boredom with bunny videos, there’s no way Wei Ying can stay here and allow them both to suffer.

She finds herself glad that Wen Ning is on the floor, though it looks a tad uncomfortable, because she’s able to slip out of bed with ease, bare feet silent on the carpeted floor. The only thing she grabs is her phone, not even bothering to try to find her shoes in the colossal mess that is her dark bridal room, littered with take out and bottles and stripped off clothing. Her nose crinkles, amused, when she thinks of the look of reprove she’ll surely get from Lan Zhan when she realizes Wei Ying walked around barefoot.

She manages to zigzag her way to the door without stepping on anything or making any noise, a feat she will congratulate herself on later. The door opens slowly, making the barest hint of noise as yellow hotel-hallway light floods the entrance to the room. Wei Ying pumps her fist, gloating at being able to sneak out without a single one of her party-poopers (read: caring family) waking up to ruin it for her and make her climb back into her own bed.

That is, until she catches Nie Huaisang’s eyes, watching her from where he lays next to Jiang Cheng. The most dangerous opponent, really, because with one shove of his arm he’d have Jiang Cheng up and yelling, alarming the whole room before she’d even make it to the elevator. She’s not sure she knows the layout of the hotel well enough to make it safely inside Lan Zhan’s room before one of them caught her.

Silent, slow, she moves one finger up to place over her lips, keeping eye contact with Nie Huaisang the whole time. She pleads with him from across the room, imploring him to be cool. He blinks, once, twice, slow like a cat in the sun, and then closes his eyes a third time for good and raises one, slow, thumbs up to her.

Her sigh of relief is the last noise in the room before she shuts the door and power walks to the elevator at the end of the hallway. She is going to buy him the biggest fruit basket. She dances by herself once inside the elevator, suddenly feeling cold and exposed in her red silk sleep tank and shorts, goosebumps prickling her arms and thighs. If only Lan Zhan’s room wasn’t so stupidly far away.

Of course her room has to be far away! Jiang Cheng had yelled when Wei Ying whined about it, the second you start drinking all you want to do is sit in her lap! You’re lucky I’m letting her party stay in the same hotel as yours!

And well, he hadn’t been wrong, per say, she thinks to herself as she tiptoes off the elevator and down the maze-like hall to get to Lan Zhan’s room. She still didn’t appreciate the distance though. She quietly tap taps on the door with one hand, pressing send on a text with the other that reads, lan zhan let me in lan ZHAN!!!

The door opens before her hand has even fallen back to her side. And there is her Lan Zhan, in soft cloud print pajamas pants and a white t-shirt, hair drawn up into a neat bun, eyes tired but awake.

“Wei Ying,” she says, the smile in her voice all Wei Ying needs to know about her welcome. She slides closer, wrapping her arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, grinning when she feels the others arms sneak around her waist.

“Mmm, Lan Zhan,” she hums against Lan Zhan’s neck, moving up to her tiptoes so she can nuzzle her nose against the corner of Lan Zhan’s jaw, “I’m tired, let’s go to bed.”

“I thought I was not supposed to see the bride the night before the wedding,” Lan Zhan replies, but she’s already inching backwards into the room, dragging Wei Ying along with her.

“Who ever said that?” Wei Ying asks, knowing full well she was the one who said that, a smile on her face when she lets Lan Zhan drop her into bed.

“Besides,” she says, once Lan Zhan is settled beside her, reaching one hand up to pet the side of Lan Zhan’s face, thumb rubbing gentle circles across the expanse of Lan Zhan’s cheekbone, “Does it count if there’s two brides? I don’t think so, we cancel each other out, see? If anything we have to do the opposite, you know, we have to see each other extra hard tonight.”

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan hums, her lips pulling up ever so slightly on one side as she leans in to rest her forehead against Wei Ying’s, legs tangling together, one hand sliding underneath Wei Ying’s shirt to spread warm and wide and firm in the valley between her shoulder blades, “Is that so?”

“Yes, tonight we have to,” Wei Ying nods, finally allowing her eyes to close as she presses further into Lan Zhan’s embrace, sleep finally weighing on her shoulders. She lets her head drop down, lips brushing against Lan Zhan’s collarbone, breathing her words right into Lan Zhan’s chest, “And every night too. I’ll tack that on for free, Lan Zhan, every night.”

“Yes, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs against her hair and melts under Wei Ying’s nimble fingers, relaxed at once with the promise of forever, “Every night.”

“I love you,” Wei Ying whispers, one final thing, around a yawn and finally, finally settles for the night. She almost misses Lan Zhan’s whispered reply, I love you too.

But she doesn’t. She never wants to miss a single thing Lan Zhan has to say.

Coda:

For all of fifteen seconds, the world is warm and bright and everything good when Wei Ying wakes up. Toned legs tangle with her own and a soft hand pets her hair away from her face, gentle and comforting again and again. She herself is pressed messily against Lan Zhan’s chest, quite possibly, embarrassingly, drooling ever so slightly. She does not have time to register this, however, before the banging starts.

“Wei Wuxian, I know you’re in there!” comes a belt from the other side of the door, that has her shooting up in an awkward half sitting position, splayed on one-fourth on the bed and three-fourths in Lan Zhan’s lap. Lan Zhan’s hands act as a steadying force, one on her hip, the other on her back, as she blinks deliriously around the room.

Nie Mingjue seems to be in a similar position, probably blinking off a hangover and propelling up from his sleeping position, glaring around the room like he might find the source of their disturbance somewhere inside. Jin Zixuan, on the other hand, groans loud and long, pressing his pillow over his ears.

“I see you are up,” Lan Xichen smiles from the little table where he sits, drinking his cup of tea peacefully, unperturbed by the pounding on their door, “I hope you rested well.”

“I did, thank you Xichen-ge,” Wei Ying tries to laugh around the blush high in her cheeks, only now really registering the fact that Lan Zhan was also sharing a room and not, in fact, alone just waiting for Wei Ying to traipse her way in.

But when she looks down at the woman laying beside her, she sees none of her own embarrassment reflected there, only a fond smile and a soft hand reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ears. Huh, she thinks, revising her earlier thoughts, maybe not alone but definitely waiting for me.

“Wei Wuxian!” comes again from outside the door, though this time it just has her laughing, pushing into Lan Zhan’s hands like a cat.

“When did you get here?” Nie Mingjue asks, rubbing at his eyes. But he stands and stumbles his way over to Xichen and the tea and doesn’t seem particularly hard pressed for an answer, so Wei Ying ignores it.

“Hi, we’re getting married today,” she says instead, meeting Lan Zhan’s smile with her own.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums while the banging on the door stops. Finally, Wei Ying sighs, leaning down to press her lips against Lan Zhan’s, chaste because they are still in front of Lan Zhan’s brother and her brother in law. She’s still there when the door pops open, revealing a quietly furious Wen Qing.

“Wei Wuxian,” she seethes, taking calculated steps closer, “You were supposed to stay in your bed.”

“I did!” Wei Ying says, smiling wide to prove her innocence, “Lan Zhan is my bed!”

“I am going to-” Jiang Cheng barges through, leaving no one to hold the door open; it swings heavily back straight towards Jiang Yanli.

Before Wei Ying can even shout a disgruntled hey! Jin Zixuan, who was already on his way to the door, catches it with his hand and leads Jiang Yanli inside with a gentle hand and a soft smile that makes Wei Ying want to puke.

But Yanli-jie smiles back, big and happy and unashamed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Hello, husband.”

“Good morning, A-Li,” he says back, wistful and dopey as he leads her inside with a soft hand on the small of her back. Right in that moment, Wei Ying decides maybe she doesn’t hate him. For now.

“Sorry, Shijie,” Jiang Cheng responds, automatic when he looks back but Jiang Yanli waves him off with a forgiving smile.

“I know it wasn’t on purpose A-Cheng.”

The commotion leaves Wei Ying relaxed in a way she should have known better than to be, because all too soon she is being hoisted away from her warm spot on the bed and dragged out of the room.

“You promised, Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing snaps, but Wei Ying can already hear the forgiveness in her voice, the amusement. Wei Ying lets herself be dragged along, barefoot again, back to her own room. And then because honestly she’s a little on the edge of too-excited and too-in love she shouts over her shoulder:

“I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, Wife!” and maintains vision of the room just long enough for Lan Zhan, who’d pushed herself into an upright position, turn red and drop back down into the bed with a gasp, like all of the air had been knocked out of her.

Wei Ying’s cackles are only rivaled by the quiet, but pleased chuckles from Lan Xichen.

“Do you have to be such an annoyingly sweet couple every single day?” Wen Qing huffs, letting go of her (fake, Wei Ying is pretty sure) anger entirely, sliding her arm up so they can lock elbows, walking arm and arm back to Wei Ying’s room.

Wei Ying thinks of Lan Zhan, warm around her and ever inviting, even if it was 2AM, even if Wei Ying looked like a ragamuffin, even if, even if, and smiles wide, cheesy, deliriously with all the right decisions she’s made in this life and says, “Yes.”

#wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #lan xichen #wen qing #wen ning #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin zixuan #my writing #my fics #jiangchengrights

[yoonjinkooked]

Daddy Day Care | Chapter 4

pairing; jungkook/female OC

genre; fluff, romcom, smutty in the future, Dad!Jungkook rating; explicit (IN FUTURE CHAPTERS ONLY, not yet) words; this chapter 5001 (lol), total so far (18.547) Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3

— synopsis; Jeongguk is your average 25-year-old - job, work, friends - everything regular. Except, he has a 5 year old daughter. And he’s single. Until a “princess” waltzes into his life.

warnings for this chapter: You still very much want to have Jungkook’s children. Cursing & Banter. Traces of Jinslut. JK is hopeless. You’re going to want to punch and hug him at the same time. Unable-to-flirt and struggle-to-adult Jungkook. A/N: PLEASE have mercy on me if there are any mistakes, English has been kicking my ass lately. Hope you enjoy. Sorry it took me this long. Let me know what you think, my ask is always open <3

It took no less than 10 minutes for me to see and understand why Eunmi is as whipped for Gayoon as she is. See, when you’re five, adults seem so cool, so serious, so grown up. Parents are parents, even if they are cool, they are simply not cool enough. If there is an adult in the mix that is old enough for it to be WOW to a five year old and also doesn’t have the responsibility of being the parent – jackpot.

Eunmi was acting like she and Gayoon are attached by the hip and Gayoon just played along with it. Even when Eunmi wanted to show her every single toy she has, even when she took her by the hand and dragged her away to show her every possible corner of the apartment. What would normally at some point become annoying to anyone, even me as her father, Gayoon took like a champ and not only played along, but actually seem interested. Hell, she even asked Eunmi questions.

She’s a natural and I can see why she’s Eunmi’s favorite teacher. I’m also suddenly very glad Yuki insisted that we pay an insane tuition for Eunmi to go to a private kindergarten.

And the little one did not hold back – she clung onto Gayoon like a koala. So much so that I got a heavy case of second hand embarrassment with how clingy she was being. I’m just glad she’s five – no matter what she does, ‘she’s five’ is always an excuse to get us out of any mess.

Two hours from the moment we stepped into the apartment and one impromptu tea party with stuffed animals, Eunmi managed to doze off, despite the excitement she had been feeling the entire day. Her words were dragged and her eyelids were barely open but she still refused to nap – until her head fell down onto Gayoon’s lap, her lips open and eyes shut.

“Let me help you with that,” I smile at Gayoon, keeping my voice low and my hands gentle as I pick Eunmi up, very careful not to move her around in my arms too much. She normally sleeps like a log but I can’t risk it – if she wakes up not only will she be cranky but she will probably refuse to sleep again. Not that it would do her much good, seeing as her eyes simply refused to stay open.

“Wait, let me help you,” Gayoon whispers as she gets up from the couch, walking in front of me to open the door of Eunmi’s room for me to walk through. I put Eunmi down on the bad, smiling when I notice her signature nose scrunch – for a second, I freeze, scared that she will wake but it turns out to be a false alarm. Very gently, I tuck her in and put her favorite teddy bear underneath her arm. Gayoon closes the door after me, smiling at Eunmi. “She is beyond cute.”

“I know,” I smile stupidly, unable to ignore the urge to gush about how adorable Eunmi actually is. “She is a little cutie but she already has a temper,” I add.

“No,” she laughs and shakes her head as we make our way back to the couch. “I don’t think she does. I suppose she can be a bit tricky but you have no idea how bad the other kids can be,” she tells me, giving me a pointed look as she reaches for her cup of hot chocolate – hot chocolate she had to help me with because I nearly burnt it. “There’s a reason Eunmi is one of my favorites.”

“Is she good to others?” I ask, making Gayoon look at me in confusion. “I mean, I’ve never heard anything about her fighting with other kids but… is it really like that or do teachers just say that to make parents relax and don’t ask stupid questions?”

“Oh boy,” she chuckles, smiling at me. Yeah, that’s the kind of smile that makes me swallow a lump when it’s directed at me. “It’s really like that. We wouldn’t lie, at least I wouldn’t. It’s important for parents to know what their kid is actually like, even if that means that they sometimes hear something they’d rather not know of. You have no reason to worry, though. Eunmi is a proper sweetheart and she’s nice to everyone. She’s also not a pushover, so don’t worry – she would hold her ground if need be.”

“Good,” I breathe a sigh of relief. “You’d think that after five years, I’d be sure of myself and of what I’m doing but most days… I swear I’m more like a headless chicken than a fully functioning adult,” I admit.

“Oh come on, we all have our headless chicken moments,” she reassures me, a smile still plastered on her face. “She’s your only child, it’s not like you have experience of raising one. I’d say both you and her mother are doing a good job. Both in general and in your circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” I ask, noticing that she suddenly looks uncomfortable. She’s looking away and her face is the face of someone who said something they shouldn’t have said. “If you’re referring to us being young, we’re well aware of that,” I laugh.

“It’s not that,” she shakes her head. “You’re young, of course you know that. But it’s one thing to have a teacher of your daughter point it out in a way that might sound condescending, even though it isn’t.”

“Don’t worry, I truly didn’t take it that way,” I tell her. And I mean it. “I was just confused as to which circumstance you’re referring to, us being young or separated, because both are quite specific circumstances and both are very much true.”

“Age can mean something, in my opinion, but it’s definitely not a rule,” she tells me. “Like I’ve said before, we can all be headless chickens every now and then. And as for the two of you being separated, I will let you know that my mother raised Jimin and myself all on her own, since Jimin was three and I a baby. So yeah, circumstances be damned.”

“That’s quite impressive,” I nod. I never knew that Mrs. Park was a single mom but then again, I had no clue Jimin was her son either, and I just recently saw Gayoon for the first time, so I probably shouldn’t be surprised how little I know about Mrs. Park’s family tree. “You’re one of the few people that actually don’t appear all judgy and mighty. I’ve gotten used to it by now – half the parents of Eunmi’s classmates look at me like I’m a high schooler or something.”

“Jeongguk… more often than not, you or Eunmi’s mother pick her up from kindergarten before other parents do. You both pick her up early to try and spend more time with her. Some of those kids stay in the kindergarten until five, six PM. I understand that many of those parents have jobs and obligations but so do you. And yet you still do it. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much about what they think.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are just a nice person?” I ask.

Fuck, verbal diarrhea. Why did I say that? It is true, I’m not denying that but why did I say it? I could have just said thank you or something like that. Well, at least I didn’t say that she’s the nicest person on the planet – it could have been worse.

“I’m not gonna lie, I have heard it before,” she laughs. “But it’s always a good thing to hear. And you seem pretty nice too.”

“Even with a daughter that clings onto you like a koala?” Jesus Christ, Jeon Jeongguk, shut the fuck up!

“Well, if you don’t mind me being honest, she’s the best part,” I laugh at her comment. She’s not wrong – Eunmi is the best part of me. She’s the best thing I’ve ever done and pretty much the only thing in my life I am genuinely and completely proud of. If someone thinks she’s the best thing about me, I’ll gladly take it.

“I’m sorry we kidnapped you for the whole of Christmas Day,” I tell her, feeling guilt rise again. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t expecting to stay at our place for three hours and counting. “I’m sorry if we ruined some plans for you. I’m an idiot who forgets his wallet everywhere he goes and Eunmi didn’t want to let go of you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she shakes her head, smiling with that adorable, small smile that makes me swoon and want to punch something at the same time. “I was literally working back at the kindergarten. We had a family lunch and we all went our separate ways. The only plan I had was Netflix and food. I got cake, Super Mario and a tea party, so I would say the day was quite fruitful.”

“Would you like to add some wine into the mix too? Eunmi seemed pretty knocked out, we can be adults until she wakes up?” I suggested.

Perfect, you fucking fucktard idiot person! You are literally asking your daughter’s kindergarten teacher to get drunk with you in your apartment while your daughter is sleeping in the next room. Are you absolutely out of your mind? She’ll run and probably get Eunmi expelled or something.

“That sounds like a great idea,” she surprisingly agrees. “I’ll just call Jimin to let him know he should take a taxi when he leaves for home so that he can drive me and my car back home.”

“Perfect.”

  For a usually quiet person, I realize that I am surprisingly chatty with her. In the little I’ve known Gayoon, she always seemed like a good listener. She would listen carefully, nodding along and looking directly at you, asking you questions when you pause for a breath. We had red wine and talked just about anything and everything until Eunmi woke up. Before we ended up playing Super Mario, we talked about her, about how difficult it is to raise kids, how difficult it is to work with kids, how I never thought I’d end up being an office worker and how Gayoon was positive she would end up opening a bakery.

Hours passed in good fun and before we knew it, it was Eunmi’s bedtime and of course, my daughter had to backstab me and refuse my offer to read her a story and saying she’d rather have Gayoon read it for her. I got a pat on the back from Gayoon, probably because I looked and felt like a kicked puppy, before she agreed to read her a story.

I was leaned on the door, listening to the two of them talk about princess and mermaids, because not a single page could go by without Eunmi asking both related and unrelated questions.

The teacher in Gayoon was present – well, either that or the fact that she actually does seem like a genuinely good person. She clicked with Eunmi so well, I could feel my heart swell.

I have only ever seen Yuki acting this way with her. Perhaps Byulyi and Hyejin, occasionally, but never anyone else. She… she seemed almost motherly. After having random girls run from me because I’m a father, run from me as if I am the plague itself, it’s quite shocking to see someone not doing the same thing. Of course, the context is different – Gayoon hasn’t shown a particular interest to get into my pants, nor have I shown interest to get into hers, at least I don’t think so. The context is different but it still feels so damn nice to see someone being so good with Eunmi.

I don’t move from my place until Gayoon does, moving gently to tuck Eunmi in and smiling up at me as I turn off the lights and make my way back to the living room. She closes the door carefully, quietly and smiles at me again. “I hope this wasn’t too much – I just can’t say no to her.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” I shake my head immediately. “Thank you. Thank you for doing that. Whenever she’s not with Yuki, I feel as if I’m not… you know, doing it well.”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re much better at this than I am. Being a teacher and nice to kids is nothing more than my job – this is the role of your lifetime and you’re playing it perfectly, from what I’ve seen so far.”

“It’s almost sickening how nice you are.”

She bursts into laughter, quickly covering her mouth, not wanting to wake the little one up. I was wrong when I thought her smile is the most charming thing about her – now that I heard genuine, surprised and uncontrolled laughter, even if for a second, I know this one takes the cake.

For someone her age, our age, she sure does have a childlike laughter. And I’m pretty sure I’m staring at her now. Good work, Don Juan! How very smooth of you!

“I’m not that nice,” she shakes her head. “But I do have to say that… Oh!” she hurries to answer her phone, pulling it out of her pocket in the speed of light before the ringtone manages to wake Eunmi up. I even manage to recognize the ringtone. I pull the song out from the old, forgotten, punk brain of mine – The Ramones, ‘She talks to rainbows’. Of all the songs I expected to hear coming from her phone, this was not the one. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be down,” she ends the call. “Jimin’s waiting for me.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, thank you for bringing me my wallet. And staying with us. And playing with Eunmi. And talking to me. And reading her a story. Yeah, thank you for everything, I guess.”

Nice work, Romeo. Smooth talker, that’s what you are. Smooth fucking criminal.

“Stop thanking me,” she laughs as she moves towards the hallway, grabbing her purse and jacket from where I hanged them earlier. “I had fun. It’s safe to say we’re friends now – and friends do spend time with each other and their kids. And they give each other cake and bring each other lost wallets, so stop thanking me so much.”

“In that case, thank you for a lovely day.”

Okay, that actually was smooth.

“Hmm,” she narrows her eyes at me. “I’ll take that one.”

Before I could say anything or think about the position of my hands, she hugs me. I am completely frozen for a moment, before I realize that I have less than a second to react before she pulls away and this turns more awkward than it already is. So I hug her back, tapping her shoulder with my hand. She smiles as she pulls away and my face is probably nothing more than a painful grimace.

“I’ll see you around,” she smiles. “If you ever need a babysitter, you know my number.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I chuckle. “Merry Christmas Gayoon.”

“Merry Christmas Jeongguk.”

I stand at the door as she walks down the hallway, waving like a complete idiot even though she doesn’t turn around – I’m waving and she doesn’t even see it. I shake my head, snapping out of it and closing the door before she has a chance to see me standing here like a complete idiot.

I close the door, lock it and bang my head on it, hard enough for it to be painful, faint enough to keep Eunmi asleep and Gayoon unaware.

I think I’m in the beginning stage of having a crush on my daughter’s kindergarten teacher.

  “Could you at least try to pretend like you’re having a good time?”

The problem is, I did. For a good half hour, I looked like the very gif of The Office’s Michael Scoot gritting his teeth and looking as awkward as possible. For half an hour I did my very best to look as if I am having the time of my life.

The truth is, I don’t remember the last time I felt as uncomfortable as I do now. Seokjin insisted that I should not be alone on New Year’s Eve, which is exactly why I ended up following him to what he called the hottest club in town. Him and six of his best mates, most of whom I’ve known for years, but in passing, as I never really wanted to be a part of their sausage fest. Which is exactly what I am now.

Seven men and me, as bored and as uncomfortable as I could possibly be.

They come here with a goal – get drunk and get laid. And I just want to be home, in my sweatpants, eating ramen and playing Super Mario or finally catching up with Black Mirror. Literally, every possible scenario that includes me staying at home is better than the current situation.

My brain is one generic EDM song away from turning into pudding and my stomach is one fruity drink away from giving up on everything. I’m a stay-at-home, beer-drinking kind of guy. This is not my place.

So, to answer Seokjin’s question – no, I can no longer even try to pretend like I’m having a good time.

“I’m sorry,” I sigh, watching him shake his head in disappointment. While I know he’s joking, I also know that my mood is affecting his and the last thing I want to do is ruin his night – New Year’s Eve, of all nights. I don’t want to be that person, I hate to be that person but I can’t fight it. “It’s just not my scene.”

“You always adapted before. This isn’t your first rodeo,” he tells me and honestly, he’s right. I used to go out with him before and while it was never my favorite thing to do, I could handle it.

“I don’t know, I think I just have too much on my mind,” I yell, in order to overpower the bass.

“You’re thinking about your girl?” Seokjin yells back at me.

“No,” I shake my head. “I mean, I always think about her but it’s the way it is – I had her for Christmas, Yuki has her for New Year’s Eve. It’s the fairest deal possible.”

“I’m not talking about Eunmi,” Seokjin laughs. “I’m talking about her teacher. You know, the girl you’re crushing on?”

I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to tell Seokjin about it. I guess I expected advice, seeing as he’s my big brother and a ladies man extraordinaire. Instead of a good, solid piece of advice or even a rude wakeup call while reminding me that she is my daughter’s teacher, I just got laughed at. I called him the same night Gayoon left my apartment, and since then, not a day has passed without him mentioning it in a way that could appear humorous to anyone but me.

“Seokjin, I’ve told you, I am not crushing on her.”

“No, you just like her,” he corrects me and leans over to yell directly into my ear. “Look, you are making questionable choices because you can’t even remember the last time you had anything with any woman. You’re over Yuki and you’re not ready for commitment again but you need to get yourself out there and do something because crushing on your daughter’s teacher is not a common storyline. Find someone else to crush on before you and your ex need to change your daughter’s kindergarten!”

God, he’s right. Yuki will kill me if we have to change Eunmi’s kindergarten and judging by the way Eunmi seems to be attached to her friends and even Gayoon herself, she’d kill me to. I’d rather wait for her teenage years before I hear the first “I hate you” from her.

“Or, if you’re really hung up on her, ask her out,” Seokjin completely changes his story. “Just pick a side. Either grow a pair or take your pick,” he waves his hand around, as if he’s showing me all that the club has to offer. Outside the sausage fest we are in, the club really is full of girls our age, most of them in a pack with other girls, very probably looking for a hook up, the same way all of Seokjin’s friends know that if all goes according to plan, not a single one of them will be going home alone.

It’s like watching National Geographic or something. Two packs of opposite genders eyeing each other from different sides of the club, picking their pray and getting all hyped up before they strike. Words of encouragement shared, pats on the shoulders, a few giggles here and there and the plan is set in motion. Of course, not all is a hunting field – there are packs that are here just to have fun. I can see a group of laughing and dancing people who are…

“Holy shit, that’s her!” I all but yell, pointing to the dance floor.

“Her who?” Seokjin looks around.

“Gayoon, Eunmi’s teacher.”

For a second, I am sure that I am imagining things but as I watch her throw her head back while laughing, I am positive that it is Gayoon – it’s just not the Gayoon I saw a few days ago. This Gayoon has fairly shorter and curly hair – she had pretty long hair the other day. And this Gayoon is definitely not wearing the casual clothes Gayoon from the other day was wearing – unless a tight, black dress can count as casual. I’m a guy – what do I know?

“Wait, which girl are you talking about?” Seokjin asks as he leans into me, wanting a better view.

“Shoulder length hair, black dress.”

“Holy shit!” he yells and for a second, I forget we’re in a night club and my blood freezes, thinking that Gayoon must have heard him. “That’s Eunmi’s teacher?! No wonder you’re dying to live out a teacher kink!”

“She’s not MY teacher, you idiot!” I smack him on the shoulder, making him laugh out loud. I’m not laughing – this is becoming too much. “It’s not like that.”

“Looking at her, it should be like that,” Seokjin comments.

“You don’t get it,” I shake my head – of course Seokjin would not get it. He’s been in love once and after that particular train wreck, he hasn’t bothered looking for anything other than easy sex. “Yeah, she’s pretty and yeah she’s hot but she’s actually nice and friendly and most importantly, good with Eunmi.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Seokjin shakes his head.

“Yeah, because I can’t develop a proper interest into someone after like… a few hours spent with them! Just as I don’t want to have a one night stand with my daughter’s teacher! Of course I don’t know what I want – I might not even want anything and am just confused! I don’t know what I want and it would be very weird if I did!” I yell over the music.

“Well, I think she knows what she wants,” he nods his head and when I look back to Gayoon, I can see what he means – she’s definitely closer to one of the guys in her group than she was just seconds ago. They are dancing together, they’re bodies almost completely pressed together, his hands on her hips as they sway together, much too slow for the beat that’s threatening to make my brain explode.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Go there! Say hi! Talk to her! Dance with her! Get to her before he does!” he tries to push me away from our booth but I stay frozen, shaking my head.

“Nah, I just told you. I don’t know what I want and judging by that,” I wave my hand to her and the guy she is dancing with. “It’s a bit too late anyways.”

I have no right to sulk, I know that very well. Not once did Gayoon show any signs of being interested in me in any way other than a teacher-parent one, perhaps a friendly one too. She did not flirt, she did not say anything that would make me wonder if it has a double meaning and let’s not forget about the crushed mistletoe. Not to mention that I haven’t done anything either – of course I didn’t, I just think I might kind of like her.

I have no right to sulk at the sight of her expressing interest in another man and even though I try to fight it, I know I end up pouting, sitting in the booth and glaring towards them, sipping on the shitty cocktail Seokjin insisted on buying for me.

“You’re a complete idiot,” is Seokjin’s conclusion he reaches while looking at me in disappointment.

“Maybe I am.”

  15 minutes after the clock strikes midnight and the whole club drunkenly yells New Year’s greetings – that’s the time limit I’ve given myself. Long enough to not seem rude, just enough to not lose my mind.

“You’re actually leaving?” Seokjin once again looks disappointed. As bad as I feel, he had it coming. He knew I was not going to enjoy myself, he knew this is not my scene in any way. As bad as I feel for leaving him, one – I know he won’t miss me and 2 – he should be the one to feel bad for dragging me out to begin with.

“I handled it for as long as I could. Happy New Year, brother,” I pat him on the back and make my way through the ocean of bodies, towards the exit. I don’t look back, not to Seokjin, not to Gayoon.

I made a point of not looking her way for as long as I have been in the club – staring at her just seemed a bit too creepy, especially given that she was obviously pretty close to hooking up with the guy she was dancing with. It felt creepy, wrong and uncomfortable – so I decided to simply not look her way while I was there. I doubt she saw me but if she did, she made no move to approach me.

Outside, the weather and the atmosphere is hellish – snow started falling again and I obviously wasn’t the only one with the thoughts of leaving early – one by one, groups of people were getting into lined up taxis, while others were waiting for the next ones to drive by. Imagining the price I’ll have to pay for the drive back home on New Year’s Eve felt like a punch to the gut.

“Jeongguk?!”

Oh crap.

I want to hide, I really do. Maybe it would be believable if I don’t respond? It’s pretty crowded, I think I can play it off as if I hadn’t heard her. “Jeongguk!” her voice is raised now, as she is obviously certain that she’s not imagining things. I can’t hide.

I turn around, pretending to look confused and I see her walking my way, still in that short sleeved dress, looking as if she’s freezing her butt of, but still smiling at me. She even has blue highlights in her hair. I don’t know what happened to Gayoon from the other day.

“Oh! Hi! Hey! Happy New Year!” I sound like an idiot to myself but really, what else can I do?

“Happy New Year!” she beams up at me as she stops a few feet away. “Were you here the whole night?”

“Yeah, my brother dragged me out,” I roll my eyes. “I am escaping now. You’re leaving too?” I ask, noticing that the guy she was dancing with doesn’t seem to be around.

“No, not yet – I’m here with Jimin and a group of our friends, I can’t leave without them,” she explains. “I just thought I needed a bit of fresh air, after one too many tequila shots,” she adds, although she doesn’t appear to be drunk at all. “In hindsight, stupid idea – it’s freezing.”

“What happened to… No, never mind,” I stop myself at the last moment.

“What happened to what?”

“No, nothing.”

“Jeongguk, don’t be that person,” she laughs. “I hate it when people do that. Spill it.”

“What happened to cold never bothering you anyway?” I utter my lame joke, watching as she frowns in confusion – it takes her a moment to realize what exactly I’m referring to but when she finally connects the dots, she seems equally amused and pissed.

“I hate you,” she tries to sound serious but I can tell she’s fighting off a smile.

“You set yourself up for that one,” I laugh. We might not be friends now, hell, we might not even be friends in the future, but after our meeting, I am forever entitled to make Frozen jokes on her expense.

“The price I pay,” she sighs before smiling again. “Anyways, I’d better go inside before I turn into Olaf,” it’s a bad joke but I still laugh – that’s what she’s making me do now. I’m laughing at fairly stupid jokes. This isn’t good. “I’ll see you around. Happy New Year Jeongguk.”

“Happy New Year Gayoon,” I smile, waving at her once before she wobbles back inside the club, still trying to keep herself warm with her arms wrapped around her body – she’s right, it was stupid to go outside in this weather without a jacket. I should have offered her mine.

On the drive back to my place, I stare through the window and watch all the drunk, well-dressed people stumbling around, laughing, hugging one another. I watch and wonder when that stopped being me. I wonder if even I miss that being me.

The only conclusion I could come up with is that maybe Seokjin was right after all. Maybe I am a complete idiot.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook series #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #dadjk #bts parents #single dad jungkook #bts #bts fic #bts jungkook #jungkook fic #bangtan #bangtan smut #jjk #jjk fic #bts jjk

[bigfootwrites]

Danse Macabre: Adventures of Mr Mulder and Dr Scully (3/ )

AO3 link because I no longer have the Tumblr links. 

This is dark (as a fic) so it might not be everyone’s cup of tea which is cool. Also, if you’re not Mulder and Scully I’m going to have creative freedom with you.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface let me know if you want to be tagged.

- - - 

WHY CHILDREN? 

“I want access to Duane Barry!”

Skinner’s head lifts to the door, an interviewee spins in his chair.

An interview is taking place. An interview Mulder has seemed to have interrupted.

But Mulder does not care. He challenges Skinner, silently demanding his access to the man be granted.

“Excuse us,” Skinner says to his interviewee. A hand his placed on Mulder’s arm, forcefully leading him out of the office.

“Why have I been denied access to Duane Barry?” Mulder asks.

Skinner shakes his head. “An order was sent down from the top,” the other man says. “It was out of my control.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Mulder blazes. “I was just meant to find out when I got there.” His voice rises, catching the attention of a few other detectives close by.

Skinner quietens his voice when he speaks.

“I intended on telling you earlier but then I got stuck with this.” He gestures towards his office to where the interviewee sits inside.

Mulder looks that way, seeming to understand that Skinner wasn’t the one to be angry with here and nods.

“Is there anything you can do about it?” He asks. “You asked me on this case, after all.”

Skinner shakes his head.

“I heard they wanted to keep this to police business.”

Police business, Mulder thinks. Keep it to police business so they can wrap it up and chuck it away.

Skinner sighs and Mulder knows his time is up yet before they go their separate ways, Skinner calls to him.

“I’ll see if I can fix this, Mulder.”

Mulder nods, though he doesn’t get his hopes up.

.:.:.:.:.:.

A body beneath the sheets. Medical instruments perfectly laid out in a line on a tray. Mulder eyes the knife-looking one, picks it up, plays with it, cuts his finger, and drops it onto the floor in response.

He sucks his finger into his mouth.

What made him come here, he is unsure.

“Do you not have work to do, Mr Mulder?” She’s asking upon seeing him sitting there.

As she nears, he notices the cut she was sporting on her lip a few days ago has all but healed. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look like it hurts to smile anymore.

“That would depend upon your definition of what my work is,” he says. “I’ve been denied access to Duane Barry so I can’t do that.” One of her eyebrows quirks up in question but he doesn’t answer it. “If you mean my other work…Yes, I love walking around a mental institution stopping little children from bashing their heads against a wall because Mommy dearest didn’t tell them they loved them when they went to bed every night.”

It’s cynical to say that of a place he should be proud of. He helps children get better, bloom into functioning adults who learned how to hide their flaws. Yes, he should be very proud of himself.

It’s the anger, he tells himself. He’s just angry.

Scully doesn’t comment on his little outburst, she just looks down towards his finger that was still in pain and now aching.

“You’re bleeding,” she says.

Yes, he is, thank you for noticing.

Mulder holds his bloodied and dripping finger up.

“Do you have anything?” he asks.

Scully spies the cause of his wound on the floor.

After picking it up, she walks to a cupboard taking out some pieces of cloth. She returns, reaching for his hand and bringing it towards her.

“Did your mother never tell you not to play with sharp objects?” she asks as she applies pressure to the wound.

Mulder watches his finger.

“My mother never told me she loved me,” he answers with too much blasé. “I might have been referencing myself earlier on.”

A flit of a smile appears across her face. She moves onto wrapping his finger up.

“You are very strange, Mr Mulder.”

Mulder smiles, looking up at her as she finally ties the cloth securely around his finger. He likes her. He likes her a lot.

“Can I take you to lunch, Dr Scully?”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s dressed in black even on such a hot day as this, like she’s always in mourning.

And Mulder supposes somebody who cuts into people for a living would be.

Her auburn hair is tied back into a bun, a hat sits nicely atop her head. She sits with her back up straight, eats daintily from the food on her plate, acts very much like a woman of high standing.

Acts.

Mulder knows that’s not the case.

Middle class is too high for her. Slums? No, that was too low. Slightly higher up. If she ran around bare foot it was of her own choosing.

Her grandfather was Irish, maybe even her father if her accent was anything to go by but she was very much born in New York. Not the city, outside of it. The smaller towns. With guidance, she was killing chickens at the ripe age of seven. By nine she was Chief Chicken Killer, ringing their necks and cutting them up herself. Later, she would do this for a living- the cutting at least. To feed her family. To help serve justice. All for the greater good.

And she’s beaten at home for it.

Mulder didn’t need a gift to know that.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m not doing anything,” he answers calmly with a sip of his tea.

“Stop it,” she demands.

“Stop what?” he asks.

A sigh.

“Ask me.”

He is confused.

“Ask you?”

“Ask me the question you’ve been dying to ask me.”

She’s lost him.

“I don’t know what that question is,” he says placing down his tea. Truly.

Another sigh. She looks out of the window. If it were dark, she would see her own reflection. She frowns, a shadow passing across her face.

“You pity me,” she says.

“I certainly do not,” Mulder says with a shake of his head. “You are more than capable.”

She looks at him, trying to suss him out.

“So why did you ask me for lunch?”

He shrugs.

“I think you’re an interesting person.”

“You don’t know me.”

Mulder grins.

“Let’s see…You’re name is Dana Katherine Scully. You trained as a doctor and you are a pathologist for the New York City Police Department. You talk to dead bodies like they’re still alive and then proceed to cut into them. I would say that makes you interesting.”

That eyebrow rises again. This time, curious.

“Is that all?” she asks as if she’s waiting for something else.

“What do you mean?”

She laughs as if he’s playing, quietly, so people don’t hear her.

“You’re not as unknown as you think you are, Mr Mulder.”

Mulder swallows, feeling nervous.

.:.:.:.:.:.

This part of ‘lunch’ was completely spontaneous.

Neither of them have any important matters to attend to and besides, Mulder was enjoying her company.

It turns out she isn’t so unknown either. People seem to look at them as they walk through the street, gawking and muttering to whoever is closest to them. Gossiping, Mulder remembers it’s called. He wants to get inside their heads, find out what’s so interesting about the pair.

Scully walks with her head held high, uncaring for the stares, it’s almost like she doesn’t notice them.

They catch a cab the rest of the way, shielding them from any more whispers or stares.

Mulder keeps their destination a secret for reasons unknown to even himself until the tall, iron gates appear before them, words written: Golden Heights Psychiatric Hospital for Children.

“Your asylum?” Scully asks, both intrigued and confused as to why she’s been brought here.

“The best children’s asylum in the country, I’ve heard.”

It earns him a smile from her and he helps her from the carriage.

“So why have you brought me here?” Scully asks as Mulder unlocks the gate.

“I don’t really know myself.” The gate unlocks and he allows her to enter first, holding it open so she can walk through, closing and locking it behind him. “It’s been a while. I wanted to check if things were still running smoothly.”

Scully nods and they make their way up the path towards the hospital. Four storeys tall it stands. It was wide, too, the end unseeable from their vantage point currently.

It was one of the biggest hospitals in the city, a house that once belonged to some fancy man who’s name Mulder doesn’t care to remember. It’s his now. For better or for worse.

As they near the building, it’s residents begin to appear. All children as the establishment would suggest, all of different ages. Mulder takes in children from the ages of five to seventeen. They leave, soon after they turn eighteen and rarely does Mulder ever hear from them again.

They play. Running around after a ball, playing with skipping ropes or hopscotch. They look normal. Mulder wants them to feel normal.

“Live patients,” Scully is saying, looking at the children as they pass.

“Makes a change to dead ones?”

She looks at him.

“You can’t cut their brains open and peer inside.”

Mulder shakes his head. “No, you cannot.”

He spies a staff member exiting out into the yard. He can get what he came for and they can go again.

“Excuse me,” he says to Scully and wanders over to his employee.

Dana is left in the yard. She glances around at all the children who play, unsure what to do with herself.

As her eyes scan the area, she sees a little girl about seven sat on her own. She’s playing with something, a boardgame maybe.

“Hello,” Dana says to the girl. Why she wandered over to this one, she’s not sure. There was something about her, her short strawberry blonde hair or the way she sat alone, playing by herself whilst the other children played with each other.

“I’m Dana,” Dana continues. “What are you playing?” She wonders around to stand in front of the girl.

Before her is a checkerboard. The little girl moves a red piece, there’s nobody around to move the black.

Dana finds herself kneeling before the girl.

“Do you need someone to play with?” she asks.

The girl shakes her head. “I have someone to play with,” she proclaims.

“Who?”

The little girl’s eyes move towards an empty space next to Dana, before moving back to lock onto Dana again.

“Elizabeth,” says the girl.

Dana smiles. “Do you play with Elizabeth a lot?”

But the little girl is frowning.

“She doesn’t like it when you say her name.”

An uneasiness overcomes Dana, her smile falters, and she shifts her legs beneath her.

“Right. Sorry.” The smile is back. “Do you and your friend play together often?”

But the girl isn’t listening. She’s looking to where ‘Elizabeth’ is sitting, her face looking conflicted.

Wanting to help the child, Dana asks, “What’s wrong?”

The girl swallows and licks her lips, her eyes drifting over to Dana’s.

“Elizabeth said I have to hurt you.”

Dana’s blood goes cold.

.:.:.:.:.:.

A few patients causing trouble here and there but, for the most part, the hospital was functioning well.

Mulder thanks the staff member and his eyes drift over to where he left Scully. She’s gone from the place they were standing but not too far. He finds her sitting on the grass, talking to a girl.

His blood goes cold when he realises who that girl is.

Keeping his cool, Mulder strides towards them, his stomach coiling and heart beating fast.

He reaches the pair in no time, just in time, a gently taps the small girl on her shoulder.

“Emily,” Mulder says and the girl turns towards him. “I think it’s time you should go in now.”

Emily nods, picking up her checkerboard. She’s about to run inside when Mulder stops her.

“Take Elizabeth with you.”

“Come on, Elizabeth,” says Emily before disappearing off.

Mulder looks to Scully still sitting on the ground, looking shaken. He holds out his hand, helping her up.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She smooths the grass stains from her skirt.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

Mulder shakes his head. “No, Emily is very deceiving.”

He guides them over to a nearby bench and they sit, watching the other children play.

“Before Emily was brought here,” Mulder begins. “She had been found as the only surviving member of her family. They had all been killed except her.” He hears Scully suck in a breath. “They never told me the specifics but when Emily was asked to tell the police what had happened, she told them that her friend Elizabeth had killed them all.” He glances a look at Scully, she’s listening intently, her fingers laced together and fidgeting. “It was realised quickly that ‘Elizabeth’ didn’t exist. Emily had killed them. And so Emily was brought to me.”

There’s no sound from Scully and Mulder has to physically check she is still there.

“How…” Scully starts. “How old was she?”

“She was five.”

A breath is released. “Poor girl,” says Scully.

It surprised Mulder but perhaps it shouldn’t have.

“You’re the first to have that reaction.” He reaches over and squeezes her hand before looking back out to the yard. “Not all the children are like Emily. Most are brought to me because they have behavioural problems or they begin acting out sexual tendencies too early. Some cry too often or don’t cry at all. It depends on the parent.” He looks back at her to find she’s still listening. He shrugs. “Not every child is an Emily yet some people seem to think they are.”

Sometimes it made Mulder sad to think of all the children who had been brought to him, that if they just had different parents, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Why children?” Scully is asking. “Why do you specialise in children?”

He smiles. “For the same reason I believe in aliens and UFOs.”

Scully, rightly, is confused.

But that was a story for another time.

Mulder stands, holding out his hand again.

“Let me take you home,” he says and Scully is reaching for his hand immediately.

“Please.”

Together, they walk back towards the gate, as the whistle sounds, and all the children run back inside.

#danse macabre #danse macabre 3 #dark shit #i write

[johnny-and-dora]

kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dancefloor

46. “i caught the bouquet” requested by the loml sara @macperalta!!! used a harry styles lyric just for you bb 💐💕

read on ao3 -

Jake wouldn’t call himself a domestic god, per-say.

He supposes that his best efforts to haphazardly fold laundry qualify him for at least a bronze in the boyfriend category, although he anxiously suspects he’s somehow done it wrong. The silverware that he’s laid out all fancy and the pizza he’s shoved in the oven in anticipation of Amy’s arrival should score him some hefty bonus points, though. And the fact that he even attempted to vacuum earlier means he must be eligible for some sort of domesticity award at least.

(The celebratory domestic bagel he ate afterwards may have resulted in him getting crumbs all over the carpet again, but it’s the thought that really counts.)

So maybe he’s not quite god-level yet – really, he’s only doing the bare minimum of what’s expected of a functioning adult/good boyfriend/super sexy roommate. But he’s kept their apartment relatively clean in Amy’s two-day absence. He even remembered to use coasters and where she keeps the fabric softener. In short, he is the champion of total domestic bliss.

Jake grins as he pours two glasses of red wine and fist pumps at not spilling a drop on Amy’s favourite fancy tablecloth, knowing that she’ll be home in a matter of minutes and find a nice, non-takeout candlelit dinner waiting for her. He steps back to admire his handiwork – there’s even a full salad bowl, which he has no intention of eating from – and smiles, content. He’s totally marriage material.

As if on cue, he hears Amy’s key in the lock. She barely has time to kick off her shoes before he’s practically tackling her, revelling in the sweet sound and feel of her laugh buzzing against her lips as she melts into his embrace.

“Hey, babe.” She says sweetly, a knowing and loving glint in her eye. “Did you miss me?”

“Maybe a little.” Amy rolls her eyes, but then her gaze leaves his and lands on their dining room table, just visible over his shoulder. When they unfurl from each other her expression has gone all soft and he can’t help but feel some scattered embers of pride start to flicker and spark, putting his nerves at ease.

(After all this time, he still worries about being too much sometimes – but any fear or doubt usually crumbles when he looks to her and realises he must be doing something right.)

“What’s all this?”

“Dinner.” He says, a little shy, rocking back and forwards on his heels slightly. “I thought you deserved something nice after the drive from Jersey.”

“Oh, this is perfect.” She leans up on the balls of her feet to kiss him – for all his love of her sensible work boots and her strappy heels, he’d hide them all to spend more time savouring their height difference. “Thank you, Jake.”

“It’s no big deal. How was the wedding?” He asks as they move to the kitchen and he hands her a glass of wine. She hums in content, leaning back against the counter.

“It was beautiful. Almost beautiful enough to distract me from my entire extended family asking probing questions about my love life.” She teases, reaching out to playfully poke his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Jake says gingerly, feeling a sting of disappointment at the thought of leaving her at the latest Santiago wedding without a date. He had actually really been looking forward to meeting the rest of Amy’s brothers and a whole swarm of other relatives, but an ill-timed new lead and a crucial stakeout had put a wrench in that plan at the last minute.

“It’s not your fault, babe. You know I would have cancelled if it had been me. Besides, I showed them some cute pictures of us and that shut them up. My aunt thinks you’re adorable.”

“Oh, well I’ll have to give her a call.”

“I also…might have…caught the bouquet.” She says sheepishly, her gaze hooded and apprehensive. It takes a second for his brain to hurry up and realise what that means, and his heart does a funny thing where it trips up on itself. Sort of like mentally slipping on a banana peel.

The whole weird who’s getting married next thing. Which isn’t a problem, actually – if anything it works in his favour, because the plan absolutely is for them to get married. He would propose here and now if he’d found the right ring yet (Gina has been unsurprisingly unhelpful in all four of the jewellery places they’ve visited so far) and if he didn’t have the beginnings of a really dope proposal plan that he really wants to pull off.

“Oh, really?” He has this irrational fear that his voice might have jumped up two octaves, but thankfully it remains even enough, yet still making it very clear that he’s trying to remain as casual as possible.

“Yep. In front of my entire extended family. Who then proceeded to give me embarrassing knowing looks for the rest of the evening.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Oh, it was the best.”

They share a grin, but it’s still hanging in the air. Amy’s still looking at him in that shy, uncertain way, as if she doesn’t already know that she’s the love of his life, and that absolutely won’t do at all.

“Well, you know what that means.”

“…I do?”

“Yep. You better get the binder started now.” His heart is in his mouth as he’s saying it, because it’s not a proposal but it’s a hey I’d love to get married someday soon and that’s only slightly less terrifying. He feels like he should be holding some flowers at least, or else anything else but a dishcloth.

But he’s smiling, smiling, and then her eyes get this glowing shiny quality as she smiles back that just really makes Jake want to kiss her, so he does. And it doesn’t feel scary at all, giving some voice to the visions he’s had of Amy with a ring on her finger he’s been having since late April.

It just makes him feel even more like the champion of domestic bliss when he’s crowding her up against the kitchen island he thoroughly dusted earlier and he knows he wants this forever.

“I may or may not have possibly made some vague wedding-related outlines on the flight home.”

“That’s so hot.”

The oven timer goes off before they can get into any specifics, which is good because the whole of Brooklyn can probably hear Amy’s stomach growling, and because he’s about two seconds away from keeling over with joy if they talk about their hypothetical wedding any longer.

It’s not like he ever really doubted that the feeling wasn’t mutual. But knowing that Amy’s thought about it, that she has a vague outline somewhere just as he has a few plans and ideas hastily typed at 3am on his phone, knowing that she wants to be married to him someday – it’s a warmth, a security, a rare kind of love that he can’t quite put into words.

It doesn’t come up again for the rest of the evening. Instead, they clink their wine glasses together and dance while they do the dishes and make-out on the couch until it’s time for bed. Amy laughs while Jake regales tales of Charles bringing an actual portable cheeseboard to their stakeout, and Jake listens as she fills him in on the latest scandalous Santiago family gossip, gasping in the all the right places.

It’s not until he’s staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to crash over him that he even remembers the subject coming up – quietly, tentatively, he listens out in the quiet, still darkness of their bedroom to see if Amy’s still awake.

“Hey, Ames?”

“Mmm?”

“You…you know that I’m all in, right? Like this is it, for me. You and me. I mean you probably already knew that, I just wanted to double-check because of what we talked about before, and I thought-“

“I do know.” She says softly, a soothing balm to his thundering heart. “And you should know that it’s the same for me.”

“Cool.” He says, a little breathless, easily overwhelmed. “I love you. And hey, I promise not to miss our wedding for a stupid stakeout with Charles and his obscure cheeses.”

“That’s all I ask.” She says mock-seriously, shifting closer to him as he laughs and knows that he is truly home whenever she is beside him.

That night, Jake falls asleep with a smile on his face, content with knowing that he may not be a domestic god, but Amy still wants to marry him, so that’s got to count for something.

He’s always valued her opinion more than anyone else’s anyway.

#b99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #brooklyn 99 #happy anniversary to these nerds #god i love them #shut up sian #my writing

[kenzieam]

About Last Night - Chapter Two

@jewels2876  @moonbeambucky  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123  @iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt  @badassbaker  @pinknerdpanda  @oliviastan17 @mizzzpink​

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Rating: M

Warnings: Language, general nuttiness, smut, major angst, drama

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FEEDBACK IS LIFE, Y’ALL!

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Lev wakes up the morning after a wild night at the Compound and realizes she hasn’t spent the night alone. The fact that the man unconscious beside her is her most trusted teammate is besides the point, he’s also her best friend and

NOW WHAT THE FUCK DOES SHE DO???

*********************************************************************

Okay, this chapter is just shameless angst and self-pity, mixed in with a healthy dose of Lev’s incredible stupidity and my absolute favourite... cliffhangers.

You’ve been warned....

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Too late, sugar. He’s found someone else.

No. NO.

And there’s nothing you can do about it, her mind sneered.

A cold rush went through Lev and it was all she could do to not leap from the table and run.

She was becoming her mother.

She was letting love cloud her mind, dictate her actions.

No. She wouldn’t give in, she was stronger than that, baptized by the blood of the damned, literally.

If asked later how she managed to stay seated at the table and remain semi-functional, Lev wouldn’t be able to say. She’d become talented in hiding her emotions, stonewalling the therapist her father briefly tried sending her to, and disguising the true depths of her rage and sorrow as she grew from a teenager to hot-headed adult, but even she couldn’t kid herself into thinking she was successfully acting tonight.

Conversation continued without her, for if anyone noticed her discomfiture, they kindly chose to ignore it, not bringing up the fact that every single person at the table, with the exception of Bucky, Lev and Lilly, had fully expected and had in reality placed bets with each other on when their two friends would finally wake up to the attraction between them, knowing that something had gone down after the party, but not what.

Bucky’s new woman was questioned relentlessly, the guise friendly inquiry, covert ‘what the fuck, man?’ glances sent Bucky’s way whenever her attention was diverted with answering and he glowered back defiantly, refusing, with the exception of one scorching glance, loaded with too many emotions to sort out, to look at Lev.

And she felt her skin tingle every time he touched Lilly, rested his arm on her shoulders, brushed her cheek or tucked some of her long blonde hair behind her ear. If he was acting he was doing a hell of a job, there seemed to be a genuine draw between them, especially in the way Lilly would gaze at him, like he’d hung the fucking moon and, as soon as it was polite, Lev excused herself, the few bites of dessert she’d managed to choke down sour in her stomach.

Why the hell was she so upset? SHE’D WANTED THIS! SHE’D WANTED TO MAINTAIN DISTANCE, but not like this, anything but this.

And she hadn’t truly wanted distance, not really, not in the deepest parts of her heart. Once the static had cleared in her head, she’d heard the message loud and clear. Love was dangerous, love was terrifying and made fools of us all, but she would have been safe with Bucky. He wouldn’t have hurt her; he wouldn’t have let her fall. He wouldn’t have passed off lust as love and then thrown her away, driving her to insanity in the form of hysterical suicide.

He would have treasured her the way she always secretly wished to be and, at the first offering of that, she’d slashed with razor claws, wounding him perhaps permanently.

She wished for more Mead, but there was none and she instead spent the night cross-legged on the floor of her quarters, headphones secured to her ears, blasting her most angry and rage-filled death metal playlists, hoping to drown out the tears.

She shouldn’t have left her room the next morning, she wasn’t fucking hungry anyway. But she had, and the punishment had been swift and severe. Giggles preceded her arrival in the kitchen and, if she’d been listening instead of continuing to stew, she would have recognized the deep answering chuckles.

There had only been a few times in Lev’s life when she could honestly say she was breathless with shock. The first had been with her mother, slipping and sliding in her lifeblood as the woman screamed and slashed even more at her shredded forearms; the second had been when Lev had awoke disoriented under blinding lights, agony like hellfire crawling through her veins, a multitude of strange, lab-coat wearing men standing dispassionately above her, the sudden and cold realization that she’d been taken and changed, that her issues had blinded her to life’s bigger dangers and she’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, selected by HYDRA for an experimental program due to her lack of family and the extremely large chip on her shoulder and she was never going to be the same.

The third was when she had been discovered by accident and rescued by the team, half-mad in that underground bunker; her shadowy surroundings suddenly lit up and blinding her like the sun, fevered confusion and disorientation, dangerous-looking strangers all around her, their grunts of pain and surprise when she fought their hands, struggled to understand a language she’d not heard in so long. Fear and animal instinct to defend had taken over, her enhanced body too much for all but Steve and Bucky to restrain and her first real memories of freedom from that hellish cell where she’d languished, cold and slowly going insane had been of strong arms, gentle hands stroking her face and tangled hair, masculine spice and a deep, soothing voice, speaking words she no longer recognized but in a tone that calmed her nonetheless.

The forth, and final time was now, when she turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead, like she’d been slapped by the very hand that was currently caressing Lilly’s breast through her half-buttoned shirt, a shirt Lev recognized instantly, even in her shock, as the one she’d bought Bucky months ago because she’d loved how it matched his eyes. Lilly was gasping and mewling, their bodies moving in a sensual, unmistakable rhythm, Bucky’s eyes flaring with heat as they rolled upwards when her lips, hidden by her face tucked into his throat, nibbled in return for his touch and it was devastatingly obvious what they’d spent the night doing, what Lev had probably unintentionally spared herself from hearing all through the dark hours by keeping her headphones on.

What they were still doing.

Lev could smell it on them and there was no way two bodies could twine so close together if they weren’t already connected in the most visceral and primal way possible. His hand fell from Lilly’s breast, but only to drop to her hip, curling around the curve and pulling her closer still, lifting her thigh to hook around his. His eyes raised finally to Lev’s, banked lust making them look like a beast’s eyes, and his jaw clenched, teeth baring as he growled harshly. Lilly moaned as he turned his head to bite at her throat, eyes staying locked on Lev’s almost defiantly, returning the nips with an intensity that made Lilly’s hips roll against his, made her cling even tighter to his body and ratcheting up the sexual heat that was already so thick between them. Seeing Lev seemed to push him to move harder and faster, as if with each heavy thrust of his hips he was snarling at her ‘like what you see? This could have been you.’

Bucky was fucking her against the counter, her ass smacking the edge while he glared coldly over her shoulder, eyes locked with Lev’s, each heavy grunt as he thrust further driving the nail deeper into her heart and something inside her, something that cracked as she’d watched her mother die and had only continued to yawn wider with each successive hit in her life, shattered completely.

*************************************************************************************   “So, you’re volunteering to take this mission? The one I haven’t been able to bribe, cajole or threaten anyone else to take on?” Tony raised a brow at Lev, half his attention still directed to a tablet in his hand, feet resting on the edge of his desk, chair tilted back.

“Yes.” Lev waited until Stark reluctantly pulled his eyes from the screen and focussed fully on her. Understanding softened the quizzical lines on his forehead.

“You know, kid… what Barnes is doing, bringing that new girl around-”

“Doesn’t matter, he can fuck whomever he wants.”

“Yeah, but after that party we all figured you two would finally-”

“You know… that shit would have been a little more helpful before all of this. I didn’t realize Bucky felt that way, I didn’t realize I felt that way.”

“Is that why you pushed him away? According to Cap you broke his heart.”

Lev flinched. “I didn’t push him away, okay? I was scared shitless and thought we should stay friends.”

“A man doesn’t look at someone the way Barnes looked at you, if they just want to stay friends.”

And the hits just kept coming. “Again, might have been a little more helpful to me before.”

“Why were you so scared?” Tony changed subjects, tilting his head. “I mean, the Manchurian Candidate isn’t my cup of tea, but he’s never hurt you, even when you were trying so hard to kill all of us in that bunker; if anything, he’d be like a pain in the ass puppy, always loyal and trying to get in your lap.” Understanding dawned. “This have something to do with your parents? You told me their divorce was ugly.”

And then some.

“Nah, their divorce was the standard train wreck, it was what came after; when the guy left her, she uh…. Well, she didn’t take it well.”

Tony arched a brow, waiting patiently and Lev was so tired of holding the weight of her burdened past by herself she gave in and opened her figurative vein.

“When uh…. When the new guy took off, she…. I found her after school one day, blood everywhere and the razor still in her hands. I was trying everything I could to stop the bleeding, to stop her, but all she wanted to do was keep cutting and keep screaming into the phone at the guy, over and over again, ‘is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?’. She… she died in my arms, her last words for him, still yelling at him. I’m not even sure if she knew I was there.”

Tony stared, stunned silent, which was quite a feat for him, and Lev swallowed uncomfortably. She’d not told anyone the whole story, not even her dad or the therapist and she felt her adrenaline beginning to rise as the spectres from her past rattled their chains and threatened to break free again.

“Shit… Lev. You need to talk to someone about that-”

“I need to go on this mission.”

“You need help.”

“The mission.” Lev repeated stubbornly. “Just the mission, Tony, okay? If my mother’s suicide taught me anything, it’s that love is the most dangerous fucking thing out there and if I hadn’t learned it then I sure as fuck did when Bucky showed up with that fucking supermodel. That’s all the help I need. Let me get out of here, clear my head and still be fucking useful as I do it. Please?”

Tony gazed at her, such pain and sympathy in his eyes that Lev was forced to look away, chew hard on her lip to keep from breaking down.

“Okay,” he finally murmured. “I’ll send you out on this one but we’re in on this together, you and me, got it?”

Lev squinted at him, not understanding.

“I’m not going to tell anyone else, but you and I are going to talk, regularly, while you’re out there. I’m keeping an eye on you, kid and when you get back… you gotta talk to someone trained in this, okay? That’s not anything anyone should have to carry alone.”

Lev snorted, trying to disguise how touched she was with more sarcasm. “I’m not carrying it alone; it can haunt your nightmares now too.”

A faint smile, but Tony’s eyes stayed troubled.

“Okay,” Lev conceded. “Now can I go?”

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah, I got everything set up, if you’re ready now, let’s go.”

“I’m ready now.”

***********************************************************************************       Lev exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to doodle on the notebook in front of her and closed her eyes until the itch passed, then opened them again, squinting as she peered through the scope mounted in front of her.

Forty-three days now of reconnaissance, observation, stakeout…. Boring.

Although it had been in the back of Lev’s mind as the reason why no one else wanted to take this mission, meaning Tony had been about a day away from volun-telling someone they were going, it hadn’t truly hit her until now how epically draining this was.

She had nothing but time now, to think, to analyze and consider.

The communication was iffy, limited, hence the need for someone to stay here and watch the comings and goings of the suspected HYDRA affiliate; setting up remote surveillance simply wasn’t possible, nor feasible to complete the set-up of without drawing suspicion. And rotating teams wasn’t ideal either, so Lev was stuck here, admittedly exactly where she’d asked to be, and she was getting a lot of thinking done.

She had been wrong to push Bucky away, that thought was clear as crystal now after weeks of distilling in her mind while she observed and noted each movement of her quarry.

Even if she’d genuinely wanted to simply stay friends with him, wrong, she had gone about that completely ass-backwards too. There had been happiness in his eyes that morning, the smile on his face hopeful, and she’d squashed it like a bug, squashed his heart like a bug, according to Steve; no wonder he’d returned her pain so cruelly, so harshly. He’d been open and vulnerable in front of her, thinking they’d turned some corner in their relationship, holding out his heart to her that morning and she’d clumsily slapped it to the floor, stomped on with her curt announcement that the magic that had passed between them the night before was a mistake.

God, did she wish she could go back in time.

She’d slap her past self silly in that bathroom, grab her shoulders and order her to not be so fucking stupid and scared, to be the fucking hero she played at being and take that leap of faith, knowing Bucky had already taken the leap and was waiting to catch her on the other side.

It’s too late now, her inner voice whispered.

“Shut up.” She hissed back.

9:32 am – subject takes out the garbage…

************************************************************************************     “So, how’s it going?” Tony asked from the monitor, head tilted to the side. The connection wasn’t the greatest, static crawling across the screen and pulling at his outline, but his voice came through clearly enough.

“I’m bored.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Dude, why do you think everyone else passed?”

“I know, I know, it’s just…”

“Too much time to think?” Tony offered quietly.

Lev exhaled heavily. “Yeah.”

“I know all about that.” Tony continued softly. Usually at this point he would lead Lev into talking about her issues, not start baring his own demons.

“You too?” Understanding hit her like a truck. “Wait, your parents too, right? I forgot about that.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t walk in on my mother having a psychotic break, but they’re both gone.”

“And Bucky…” she couldn’t finish, shocked that she’d managed to put away this detail and forget it for so long.

“No, The Winter Soldier.” Tony clarified. “I’ve made my peace with that, HYDRA killed my parents, not that lovesick sap I see dragging his sorry ass around the compound all day.”

“Wait, what? Dragging his ass around? He’s got Lilly now.”

“Not anymore. Not sure what happened, but she left a couple weeks ago… not long after you took off, actually.”

“Huh.” Lev pondered this, her confusion deepening. What the hell did that mean? Was it just no fun fucking his girlfriend anymore without Lev standing there watching? “And you just decided to mention it now?”

Tony smiled faintly. “Today’s the first time you’ve even mentioned his name too, kid.”

“Touché…. Wait, you just needed me to stay here and finish the job!”

“Why? Would hearing about Lilly leaving make you want to come back and talk to the guy?” Tony challenged evenly; brow raised.

Shit… it did, didn’t it? That’s exactly what she was steamed about, wasting her time here instead of falling on her knees in front of Bucky and begging for his forgiveness. Still, she hated to let Tony know he was right, he could be such an arrogant prick sometimes. “So. What if it did?”

Tony snorted again, chuckling. “You two, Jesus Christ… Still, I’d appreciate if you could stay a bit longer out there.”

“You owe me, Stark.”

“I do? You volunteered, and now you’re trying to bail? Tough, kid.”

Lev stuck out her tongue, chafing mildly at this responsible adult nonsense.

“Brat,” Tony commented mildly. “Another week, Lev. Please?”

“It’s good to hear you say please.”

“It’ll be even better if you stay there like I asked and then come back and talk to that therapist I set up for you.”

Lev clenched her teeth, debating her response. Knee-jerk told her snarl and tell Tony off, to mind his own business, she’d made all sorts of progress just talking with him, but a deeper part of her knew it was time, she needed to confront and drain this wound, she couldn’t let it’s poison taint her life any further. “Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t sound so damn happy. I’m paying top dollar to keep the best grief counselor on the East Coast on retainer.”

“Thanks.” Lev injected true appreciation in her tone and his expression softened.

“Brat.” He repeated fondly. “I gotta go, talk to you in a couple of days, alright?”

“Yeah,” Lev replied softly, offering a real smile.

*************************************************************************************    Lev tried not to hurry, jostle the pack on her back and maybe make too much noise. Nobody was following her, that much she was sure of, but she’d managed over fifty days of surveillance without being discovered and didn’t want to disrupt her streak. Nearing two months in a depressing tenement in a dying Eastern European town had been all sorts of boring, staring out through faded old curtains to the building across the narrow alley, but she’d managed and now it was time to go home. Tony was waiting, with a quinjet, at a site a dozen miles out and Lev was eager to see the man again.

He’d passed on her messages to the team, for Lev had left so furtively and quickly that she hadn’t told anyone else, not even Steve, and he’d relayed their messages back due to the constraints in their communications, but she was eager to see Stark, hell, anyone, in the flesh again. There was only so many games of Solitaire you could play on a dingy tabletop as you kept one eye on the window and Lev had discovered that limit long ago.

But… Bucky.

She still hadn’t spoken to him.

She’d not told him she was leaving; hell, he probably hadn’t even pulled out of Lilly yet by the time she was heading for the jet and there’d been no message from him in the ones Stark had relayed, not that Lev had expected any.

He probably hoped she didn’t come back, and a part of Lev was tempted. But no, she was a part of the Avengers, whether he liked it or not, and she could function as a member of said team even if she no longer had any meaningful contact with the Winter Soldier again. She’d have to figure out a new strategy for when her nightmares tore her from sleep and there would be no more Bucky to save her, as well as what she was going to do now when his nightmares echoed down the halls and she wanted to run to comfort him, but that could be solved easily enough. She could switch floors, sleep with earplugs or just plain gut it out, go cold turkey until the impulses faded, until Steve or Sam or, most likely, nobody’s presence took the place of comfort and support when their mutual nightmares grew to be too much in the dark.

But she’d miss the softness of his voice in the dark as her heart raced, miss the gentle way his hand would stroke across her forehead, thumb rubbing at her cheekbone; his bright, earnest eyes locked on hers as he talked her down, helped her match her gasping breaths to his steady ones.

She’d miss the way he’d cling to her when he was trapped in his own hells. The faint tremble in his massive frame that would start to cease, begin to relax as soon as he sensed her touch, the way his arms would band around her and hold her close, his body wrapped around hers like a shield but his face buried in her neck like a child’s while he grounded himself again. The way he’d murmur her name over and over again like a mantra, soothing himself back to sleep or, more likely, to the faint drowsy, dreamy, pillow talk stage, laying next to each other for hours as night died, talking about everything and anything that seemed too fragile to hold up and not shrivel under day’s harsh glare.

How had she thrown all that away? How had she not seen what everyone else apparently had? Actual physical love and sex had been about the last boundary they’d had, they’d been intimate and close in every other way possible and yet Lev had deluded herself into thinking, no… into telling herself stubbornly, that it was only friendship, that the way she’d sometimes catch Bucky gazing at her were nothing, only projections of the way she sometimes would watch him.

What a fucking idiot.

Christ, she was going to take a hellacious long bath when she got back to the Compound and compose a doozy of an apology to match her depths of remorse.

She glanced at her GPS, saw the jet was mere dozens of feet away now, in a clearing so well hidden she, even so close, still couldn’t see and picked up her pace. Hopefully, Tony brought some of those Cow Tales caramels she was such a whore for like she’d asked.

Pushing through the last break of trees, Lev paused, just admiring for a moment the stark (tee hee) splendour of the sleek jet amidst the woods. With a muted hiss, the ramp descended, and Lev turned her attention to the pilot.

“Tony-” her voice died in her throat.

#bucky #bucky barne #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #au bucky #au bucky barnes #au bucky barnes fanfiction #au bucky barnes fanfic #au bucky barnes angst #bucky and lev #bucky and levi #bucky barnes drama #bucky barnes romance #bucky the morning after #bucky mixed signals

[merskrat]

I’m literally living in such a state of anticipation just waiting to see what is going to come of this situation with my dad. He asked me to reach out to my brother, who is 16, and made it sound like everyone in the family has ignored him and that’s the reason he doesn’t want to visit us anymore. That didn’t really ring true to me, because I know that once my grandmother had to physically take his tablet away from him and force him to come out of his room just to get him to interact with the family just the smallest amount. I talked to my cousin, who I would trust with my life, about it and what he said basically boiled down to “I have been trying to befriend him for literal years, but he is so rude and so uninterested in doing anything other than playing games on his tablet that I gave up a long time ago.” I guess once my grandfather asked him if he wanted to help him feed the birds and my brother was like “why would I want to do that?” I emailed my dad because I didn’t want to get emotional about this over the phone, and told him about how blatantly disrespectful my brother is to all of us and how confused I was that he had been raised so differently than me—allowed to completely isolate himself by staring at a screen all day when I wasn’t even allowed to have a gameboy and was allowed about three hours of computer time a week. My brother has never been made to leave his (very narrow) comfort zone like I was. I performed musically, took sailing lessons, horseback riding lessons, etc. I was not given the option to back out of these activities even if I had wanted to, and I am a better person for not being allowed to isolate myself in my room reading books.

This made me delve into my stepmother and her emotional abuse, how I feel that she has turned my brother against our family because that is what she tried to do with me when I was a kid. I remember finally getting really upset about what she was saying about my grandparents and her response was that she “should have known I wasn’t mature enough for adult conversations.” A LOT of repressed memories are coming to the surface. How she said that my sister was going to be a trophy wife when she grew up...she was five. How she got so angry when I threw up during Sunday school once, even though it was in the bathroom, and I cleaned it up and went back to she wouldn’t miss the service. How when I asked her, in tears, for help with my OCD and she called me a hypochondriac and a liar and told me to go to my room. I guess the reason she “knew” I was lying is because once I complained about chest pain and when a doctor listened to my heart and said nothing was wrong they just...never followed up. Now I recognize that I was having chest pain from anxiety. I told my dad about how my basic needs were not being met when he was away during the week working. My stepmother never gave me lunch money, and if she did it was never more than a dollar left on the table, and I wasn’t allowed to wake her up in the morning under any circumstances. My friends had to buy me food and generally took turns getting me lunch, until the principal caught on and asked me if everything was ok at home. I lied to cover for her because I knew that I would be in trouble if the school called. She adopted me when I was ten, but would only be in my life for three more years after that. Everything was fine between us the summer after eighth grade and I happily went to the island to stay with my grandparents for the summer and to see my friends. My dad went back up for the weekend like he always did, and found that my stepmom had taken her car, the cats, all of her stuff, and my infant brother half way across the country to Minnesota. So he went, trying to save his marriage, and I stayed, honestly happy to be left behind and not having to be the new kid two years in a row. She completely cut off contact with me.

I also told my dad about the blog post I found later that year, written by her and read by many people in the community in which I lived, about how difficult it was for her to have a mentally ill daughter. I find it really interesting that my brother is so mentally ill that he can barely function, but she has not taken to the Internet to make his mental illnesses known to his community and to try to garner sympathy. I asked him to please imagine for a second how that made me feel to find that and read it.

It seemed incredibly obvious to everyone in our family that once she had her own biological child that she didn’t feel the need to continue to have a relationship with the adopted one, and even maybe that she manipulated the situation to make sure that it would just be the three of them from that point on. My brother was only a year old when she took off, and she left less than a week after I went to the island. As a child I didn’t want to say this out loud to anyone. I didn’t want to risk sounding jealous, insecure, immature, etc. But as an adult I don’t mind saying it, because that’s what happened. It honestly just shows how truly manipulated my thoughts were, to the point that I didn’t even want to acknowledge the reality of the situation, for fear of it being spun to make *me* look bad/more mentally ill.

He has said that both of them are waiting for me to make the first move in reestablishing a relationship. He said that my brother doesn’t want to switch rooms in their house because of the mural I painted on his wall. I reminded him that she has always been the one who established whether or not a relationship existed. At the end of what basically ended up being a manifesto of all of the ways she had torn our family apart, I said that I might be willing to reestablish contact with her if she started to take accountability and go to therapy. I also said that I would try to reach out to my brother but that it might be difficult for us to have a connection because he is almost an adult, is set in his habits, and if I’m right, she has been filling his head with awful things about our family like she did with me when I was a child, the only difference being that he has been under her influence for much longer and that she actually was able to isolate him from us, and use emotional incest to manipulate him into believing whatever she wanted him to believe (I did not use that term in the email to my dad because I know it would immediately make him, or anyone really, defensive because of how disgusting it sounds.)

My dad couldn’t email me back from his tablet but texted me what basically amounted to “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better parent. You have given me a lot to think about.” I have never felt so awful and so validated at the same time. He probably went back to their house from the island (where he works) last night, and I’m just wondering what is going to happen, if she is going to manage to manipulate her way out of any responsibility once again. My grandmother warned me not to criticize my brother if I cared about my relationship with my dad. I really felt all of this needed to be said though. My dad is away from his son during the week, so god only knows what she says and does during all that time that he is away. When he used to bring my brother to the island, he would bring him during the week and go to work, so he has no idea of how my brother interacts/doesn’t interact with us. I don’t know, I don’t know how she could spin any of this to make herself look good.

I told him, “I want you to be happy,” and he responded “I’m happy that you’re doing so well.” Idk, that kind of just broke my heart because it sounds like he just feels that happiness is off the table for him at this point. Every time we talk he’s like “I wanted to go do x but your mother and brother don’t want to, so we’re not.” And it just makes me sad af because I remember how much fun we used to have going to Maine, the Renaissance fair, tours of caverns, the beach, etc, and his wife and child would rather stare at a screen than go do something fun with him. Like we didn’t have a ton of money growing up and I’m sure they still don’t, but what money my dad did make he spent on experiences for us as a family.

So yeah...just waiting to see what’s gonna happen now.

#personal