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sansxfuckyou · 8 months

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Fight fire with fire

Summary: Kyle is Kennys soulmate, the only problem with that is they both fall under the same ranking- it goes anywhere and everywhere but where Kenny expected when Kyle realizes it.

Warnings: Omegaverse, the talk, panic, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: *hits post button with the strength of a day old rat* day six woohoo. school is fucking me up big time, but i did draw something semi-artistic in advance so no fic tomorrow. hope ya'll enjoy this one, if you do maybe consider dropping a reblog or checking the ao3 port

It started in grade eight, right around the time many would present with their ranking. Alpha, Beta, or Omega, and there were always a few who fit the gray areas in between without scientifically accepted terminology. In grade eight, when you would would wake up and know that something is different. You'd wake up, walk downstairs and all eyes would be on you as they take in the new, still-forming scent and figure it out.

And then you'd go to school and the teachers would take a small blood sample around your scent gland and put it in a machine. They were always kind enough to keep it quiet around your rank, something for you to boast instead. They'd hand you a slip of paper after class and send you off to return the next day with the information.

In South Park, things are a little bit different, you have to figure it out on your own.

"Ha! I bet Kyles gonna end up an Omega," Cartman snickered to as the aforementioned redhead walked into the class.

He looked completely calm and collected, and Cartman didn't like that. He sat down at his desk and simply ignored Cartman instead of antagonizing. Three years ago he gladly would've thrown words and fists with him but he's mature now. He's presented now and he plans full well on holding that over his friends heads because he hit the moment first. (Unless Stan, Kenny, or Cartman also presented in the dead of night like Kyle did)

Stan picked up the slight difference first, "Did you get your rank last night dude?"

Kyle nodded, "I had to take a two hour shower to wash off the residual scent man, I would recommend against presenting."

"So what are you Kyle? An Omega?" Cartman teased in a singsong voice.

"Yeah man, what are you?" Kenny chimed in with, leaning over his desk a bit.

"An Alpha," Kyle answered with, grinning smugly.

And Cartman burst out laughing in disbelief.

"You're joking! You have to be, you can't be an Alpha! You're obviously an Omega!" Cartman exclaimed, still laughing all the while. He shut up the second Kyle had him pressed against his desk, hands pinned behind his back and the corner of the desk jutting into his thigh. He gave a weak wheeze of a laugh, "Idiot," Then he kicked and it hurt (a lot) but Kyle didn't falter.

"I can't be an Alpha, right? Then prove it, give me a command," Kyle snarled out, venom clear as day on his voice, "Everyone knows Omegas crumble even under unranked fuckers like yourself."

Cartman just laughed as best he could, "Fuck off Kyle," The edge required for a command wasn't present.

Kenny placed a hand on Kyle shoulder, "Dude, let go of Cartman."

Kyle glared at him, digging his nails into Cartmans wrists.

"Let him go," Kenny demanded and Kyle heeled like a dog whether he liked it or not. His grip on Cartmans wrists came undone in a second and he stepped back.

"Fine," He spat the word, "Tell him not to be an asshole and I won't do it again."

Stan simply stared, "Maybe you are an Omega dude."

"What?" Kyle turned around so fast it could give him whiplash as the word burst from his mouth.

"You just followed Kennys order like a pet dog," Stan said calmly, aware that Kyle wouldn't hurt him or pin him.

Kyle paused briefly, "And? He's my friend, I was just taking his advice."

"Don't be so insecure, we won't make fun of you if you're an Omega," Stan said, it only stoked the fire in the pit of Kyles stomach more.

"It'd be a good balance to have one Omega in the group, more than two Alphas would lead to self-destruction," Kenny explained and Kyles glare was sharp as an axe.

"What makes you so sure anyone else in this group is gonna be an Alpha? Let alone two?" Kyle questioned, watching with rapt intrigue as Kenny rubbed his wrists together.

Scent glands, he was exfoliating them to release more pheromones- but he had no pheromones. Or really weak ones, he still hadn't presented and the scent of a rankless person would do nothing to calm down Kyle. Or whip him into a frenzy, whatever their purpose they wouldn't work.

Kenny grabbed Kyle and pressed his inner wrist against his nose, the second strongest scent gland on the body held just under his nostrils. He tried to lessen his breathing as Kenny held his wrist to Kyles nose, it was incredibly awkward. Kyle simply scowled and held his breath.

"Just breathe," Kenny said, letting go of the back of Kyles head, "I'm not chloroforming you with my wrists."

Kyle took a deep breath, the heady scent that Kenny held hit him impossibly hard. He coughed a little bit as he staggered back at the oak and cherry scent (there was alcohol but that was just his homes scent rubbing off on him). It burned his nostrils just a bit but in a good way, if felt almost right and he swears the scents all meld into one reminiscent of a wine he snuck at Stans house

"Fuck man, that's pungent," Kyle said, still trying to get it out of his lungs.

"I was presenting when I woke up this morning, took a long ass shower and hoped to god my parka would cover the scent," Kenny explained, "Apparently it did."

"Kennys an Alpha too? What a fucking world," Cartman muttered out as he pulled out his desk chair and sat down.

Kyle gives a hum of amusement, "That means you and Stan are gonna be our Omegas at the end of it all."

"What makes you think I'll be an Omega?!" Cartman snapped.

"It'd be funny," Stan answered with bluntly.

"Super funny," Kenny chimed in with.

Cartman paused, heat coiling under his skin uncomfortably, "What about our soulmarks?! We still gotta wait for those!"

"Don't worry Cartman, until you get your mark I'll help you with your heats," Kenny taunted in a sickeningly sweet voice.

"Shut up!" Cartman snapped.

Kyle leans forward with a bemused hum, "No, you shut up," He holds a commanding edge to his tone and Cartman obeys it, keeping his mouth shut.

"Man I wish I presented," Stan managed wistfully, "Being an Alpha looks like fun."

"It is," Kenny and Kyle said in near unison.

-/-/-/-

Both Kyle and Kenny were brought aside in class, led down the same brightly lit hall, and left standing in front of a door. They didn't dare turn back with their teacher standing over them imposingly. Instead they looked around to find Cartman and Stan being led into two separate rooms. It was all oddly suspicious, and somewhat worrying, but in the same breath all too familiar in the worst way possible.

"Is this sex ed?" Kenny asked bluntly, tugging together the pieces in his head.

He got no response.

"So that's a yes," He got a little bit quieter.

"Gross," Kyle said, shuddering at the notions alone of listening to a teacher drone on about sex once more. Last time this happened their teacher barely knew how the basics of straight sex worked, even without putting ranks into consideration.

"Dude, it'll be fine, there aren't a lot of Alphas this year, mostly Deltas and Betas," Kenny said, placing a reassuring hand on Kyles shoulder, "Besides, you and I both know I'll correct anything they get wrong."

Kyle gave a weak laugh as he pushed open the door, "Totally."

Inside the near empty room sat two others from when they were young, the rest of the desks vacant. Wendy Testaburger and Tweek Tweak sitting up front and idly chatting as the brightness of the projectors light illuminated the dark room. It took a second before Kyle and Kenny made their way in, taking a seat beside Wendy.

"Where's everyone else?" Kyle asked in a hushed tone.

Wendy shrugged, "They probably knew what day it was and skipped on purpose."

"That explains why half the class was fucking gone," Kenny said, "Everyone knew the teachers don't know the difference between a heat and a rut am I right?"

"Totally," Tweek agreed, nodding his head as he spoke.

Kyle glanced haphazardly around the room, "Do you know when the teachers coming?"

"No clue," Wendy said, "How do you think Cartmans doing?"

Kenny hummed, as though deep in thought, "If their teacher is on time then I'd say he's just about to learn he can get pregnant."

"For real?" Tweak asked.

"Listen closely," Kenny said.

And is though it were on cue, a muffled scream of horror originating from Cartman could be heard coming from across the hall. Then a door opening and being slammed shut followed by heavy footsteps.

"Like I said," Kenny stated smugly.

"Christ how much do you know about sex?" Kyle asked.

"More than expected, I was talking about all sorts of weird shit way back in grade school man, you should know I know my stuff," Kenny said, a sly smirk held on his face.

"If the teacher messes up too much you'll pull us aside and correct them, right?" Wendy asked, tone far too serious to dare interpret as joking.

Kenny nodded, "Of course Wendy, least I can do for you and your future Omegas sake."

"Could be Beta," Kyle said, drawing out the A as he spoke.

Wendy nodded, "Yeah Kenny, our soul marks still haven't shown up."

"They won't for another t-t-three years! What are we gonna do during ruts?" Tweek questioned, his usual somewhat erratic self showing through.

"We'll ask the teacher," Kenny said nonchalantly as the door creaked open and a teacher walked in.

She turned on the slideshow before making her way to the front of the class. She cleared her throat before speaking, "Not a lot of Alphas this year?"

"Theres a few more than us but they got sick," Kyle said.

"That sucks, you four know what you're here for?" She asked, holding up the remote for the slideshow and turning it to more a comfortable blue tone, few words lay on the slide.

Everyone nodded before answering in a monotonous tone, "Sex ed."

"Correct, today we'll be talking about pre-rut slash pre-heat etiquette," The teacher said as calmly as she could, Kenny held up his hand, "Yes, you in the orange?"

"Will we bring up what to do before our soulmarks show up?" Kenny asked as innocently as he could muster despite having quite a few ideas.

The teacher nodded, "Yes, but for now let's do my curriculum for day one."

A twist of terror formed in the pit of everyones stomach at the notions of this merely being 'day one' of who knows how many. One hour of The Talk way back in grade four was enough to give Wendy nightmares and Kyle nausea, multiple days? It could very well kill them.

"So, if you want to mate, and potentially breed, your soulmate you have to discuss it with them before their pre-heat and your own pre-rut," The teacher said, voice cutting through the tension and making it worse, "Bring it up however you'd like to do so, but I'd suggest having it on paper, for legal reasons."

Everyone stayed quiet.

"Now, once you've made an arrangement you simply wait for their next heat or your next rut, for best effects wait until you've synced up. If your Omega is female than she'll be able to conceive when she isn't in heat if you're in a rut, if your Omega is male you have to wait till he's in heat. When their pre-heat begins they'll nest and do what they usually do," The teacher explained, Kenny already knew it. She flipped to the next slide. "It's up to you to notice and get consent once more before the heat begins or else it's considered illegal."

"It is?" Kenny asked without raising his hand, "Cause I've heard that South Park is making the idiot move to lift that law, making it unpunishable if previous agreements were made before pre-rut slash heat

"Illegal or not it'd still be considered rape and heavily punishable, especially if they conceive," The teacher said sternly, "Do not do anything without full consent, even if it's to a Beta cause they can still get pregnant, understood?"

Kenny nodded, "Please, continue."

"Alright now, I'm sure all of you have underwent a rut at least once already, correct?" The teacher asked.

Everyone reluctantly nodded, a twist of discomfort at disclosing the information despite the fact it was a normal. They all knew it was part of the education but fessing up to a normal biological function in front of a crowd was awkward.

"Pre-ruts are a little bit different than pre-heats, for one, Alphas usually don't go brain dead in the same way. They usually remember to eat food and drink lots of water," She said, rambling a bit, "But, you will have to keep the doors locked so you don't end up meandering into public in an impaired state. I'm sure you've heard of the cases for people who have? Plenty of lawsuits are in order."

That was just a little bit horrifying, the notions of being so brain dead they'd just go out there and fuck the first Omega in sight regardless of soulmark. They also knew that before society was as far along as it is now that things just worked like that and soulmarks were burned off.

"Lock the doors and the windows, make sure you have enough food littered across your roaming grounds for when you fully enter your rut. Let your friends know to stay away when it happens, especially if they're a lower rank. If it's Alpha to Alpha than really only a small amount of violence will happen before scent recognition tries to kick in; you'll both live," The teacher said calmly, "Alphas usually don't nest but some do, so don't be alarmed if you end up doing so, just ask your Omega for tips."

Wendy held up her hand.

"Yes, purple?" The teacher said.

"What are roaming grounds?" Wendy asked quietly, nervously at that.

"The roaming grounds are your territory, your own personal area, for most living on their own it's their whole home, for you guys I'd say it'd merely be your room," The teacher explained, "Now, any other questions?"

Kyle raised his hand.

"Green hat?"

He bit his lip in anxiousness before speaking, "What if both you and your soulmate are Alphas?"

The teacher laughed, "That almost never happens, and when it does society usually gets rid of them one way or another."

Kyles blood turned to ice, "Oh."

"Unlike two Omegas being soulmates, or two Betas, Alphas can't reproduce," The teacher said, "And as you all know that's highly frowned upon. Even with surrogate Omegas involved an A4A couple is usually shunned unless in the case of previous soulmates dying off and bonding over that."

"Well that's horrifying," Wendy said bluntly, "Couldn't be any of us."

"Definitely not," Kenny said, "We have the benefit of the doubt."

-/-/-/-

It truly went downhill on Kyles eighteenth birthday, two months after Kennys and the day that he gets his soulmark.

Way back during Kennys eighteenth birthday it was just him and Cartman hanging out for the night, waiting for his mark to appear. Playing video games, indulging in the oddly decadent dishes Liane would offer, laughing and having a great time despite the 'unfortunate' aspect of Cartmans biology. He ended up an Omega, the only one in their quartet, mere weeks after Stan presented as a Beta. His rank didn't do shit to deter the consistent broship he's had with his friends since the earliest days of kindergarten.

Still, he was distraught when word first came out and he was forced to come to terms with it, he was just lucky that he had two Alphas who wouldn't take shit to protect him. He'd never say out loud how much he appreciated the intimidation they did for him now that his rank was out in the open. Or that he appreciated the time Stan would spend to calm him down whenever he's been whipped into a frenzy by some stupid kid. But they all got the point when he shut up just a little bit more about Kyle being Jewish and Kenny being poor and whichever of Stans problems was on the table.

"Dude, it's like, ten PM," Cartman began with a yawn as he looked at the digital clock beside his bed, "I think you might be mateless."

"Bullshit, I just gotta wait a little bit longer," Kenny said, mashing more buttons as the screen flashed bright red indicating another kill.

Cartman shrugged as he stood up, "Okay man, I'll be back."

"With cheesy puffs?" Kenny asked.

"Obviously," Cartman answered with a roll of his eyes.

He left the door open on the way out, calm colors of the small TV screen filtering into the hallway. Kenny gave a sigh as he dropped backwards onto Cartmans bed and glanced at his wrists and then his ankles. Absolutely nothing, barely a hint of that scar tissue hue that shows up before the inky black. He gave a groan of annoyance before flipping over onto his stomach, stress tingled over his body. Normally he would try to quell that stress, make sure no one could smell it on him, but he knew that Liane would be a stand-in mother for a moment if she had too.

Maybe he was mateless, his mark sure as hell isn't showing up and the clock is ticking ever closer to twelve. Life would certainly be miserable if he was a mateless Alpha, those usually never crop up. It'd just be him and whatever job he managed to get until he found an unfortunate soul to bond with. The thought alone makes his stomach twist with an uncomfortable sense of dread.

"Dude," Cartmans bluntness tugs Kenny out of his thoughts.

He rolls onto his back, "What?"

"I could smell you downstairs, you're so fucking stressed right now it's not even funny," Cartman said as he sat down next to Kenny, placing a bag of cheesy puffs on the other side of his form. He rubbed his wrists together, "You're totally gonna get your mark."

"What if I don't?" Kenny asked quietly, the comforting fuzziness that Cartmans scent brought him slowly working through his system. His scent was like pink cotton candy, an overwhelming amount of cotton candy, only offset by the hint of pine needles. It was certainly an odd scent but everyone agreed that worse ones were out there.

Cartman placed his hands on either side of Kennys head, palms planted firmly in the sheets. All Kenny could catch was the sugary sweetness of Cartmans scent, "Then I guess our FWB arrangement will become permanent even after I get my mark."

"Thanks man," Kenny said, reaching up to push aside Cartmans hand. He pulled himself up and crossed his les, "Puffs?"

Cartman gave him a handful, "Puffs," He glanced over Kennys form, eyes catching on something before lunging.

The McCormick recoiled, "Dude!?"

"Your ankle!" Cartman exclaimed as he pressed his hands on the reddening patch of flesh.

"Not funny," Kenny got out as he pushed off Cartman with ease. He looked down at his ankle and found it was scarring up with his mark, a euphoric sensation shot trough him, "Holy fuck."

"Dude this is so cool," Cartman got out as he took a bite of a cheesy puff.

Kenny stared with intent as it finally settled on it's form, hue beginning to darken. He traced the thin lines of the pattern curiously, "What symbol is it?"

"No clue," Cartman said as he reached for his phone, "But the internet might know."

He snapped a picture of the mark before putting it into image search and waiting patiently for results. He hummed a bit as it loaded up, Kenny still fixated on the mark as it came too. It was one continuous line, a small hoop with two little sticky outy bits.

"Well?" Kenny asked eagerly.

"Says here its the alchemy symbol for death," Cartman said, a small chuckle on his voice, "Fitting considering how often you die."

Kenny rolled his eyes, "Fate loves to play cruel tricks on me doesn't it?"

"Next thing you know fates gonna revoke your soulmark," Cartman said with a laugh.

Kenny lightly punched him in the shoulder, "Too soon."

And now, two months after the shot of pure ecstasy that Kenny had gotten at the sight of his mark, he's waiting patiently with a couple others for Kyles to show up. The sun is still high in the sky, what with it only be five in the afternoon and spring. He's absolutely giddy, sheer excitement emanating from every pore in his body.

"What do you think it's gonna be?" Stan asked.

Kyle shrugged, "Hopefully something unique."

"I think it's gonna be a star," Cartman said, alluding to something but trying to keep it on the down low, even he knows you only turn eighteen once.

"What if it's a skull?" Craig asked.

"Well a skull is obviously Kennys soulmark," Butters stated as though it were matter of fact.

"Yeah guys, my soulmark is definitely a skull," Kenny said as he rolled his eyes. He rubbed his ankles against each other, pushing down the cuff of his pant leg to cover the mark more. He did enjoy it, he just didn't want anyone to really know- the only reason Cartman knew is because he saw it happen.

"Everyone shut up!" Kyle snapped, he pointed to his wrist, "It's happening."

It was happening, his skin reddening just a bit to that scar tissue hue in a large patch. Then it calmed down again, defining itself just a bit more before a pitch black filled it in. It was rather simple for someone as complex as Kyle, one line, a thin line. No extra little details here and there, just an odd looking loop attached to two stems with little bits on them. It looked familiar to Cartman, like he'd seen it before even though that's stupid. There was no reason for him to have seen a copy of Kyles soulmark until now when Kyle got it.

Then realization hit him hard.

He quickly glanced up to find Kenny looking impossibly uneasy. He looked like he was about to run away or vomit, his hands stuffed in his pockets nervously.

"I have to go feed the cat," Kenny managed to get out stiffly, taking a step back.

"Dude you don't have a cat," Kyle said, raising a brow- Kenny tried to send a subtle pleading look to Cartman.

"That's cause he's feeding my cat, he's taking care of it while moms out of town," Cartman butted in with.

"You should take care of your own cat," Kyle said.

Cartman gave an offended gasp, Kenny stepped back again, "I'll have you know I take great care of kitty."

"Oh yeah?" Kyle challenged, Kenny turned around to leave, "The how come Kennys taking care of it?"

"I'll have you know homework sucks and takes a lot of my time," Cartman spat defensively.

Kenny barely got out in the chaos that was forming.

-/-/-/-

Kenny isn't sure if you can go into a pre-rut through vigorous stress alone but it certainly feels like he is. Every nerve in his body is on fire in the worst was possible and he's nesting. He distantly feels shame for cocooning himself up in the corner of his closet but he just wants to hide from society and Kyle alike.

If a person in power finds out, both him and Kyle will be culled or ran out of town because they can't bring anything to society. And if Kyle finds out he'll panic because what happens when his parents find out? He'll freak out and try to distance himself from Kenny as much as possible for safety.

Kennys stomach does flips at the notions of having Kyle leave him, leave all of them because of him. He'd rather burn off his mark and say he just never had one then fess up and ruin Kyles life. But then again putting him on a wild goose chase for a soulmark that doesn't exist anymore is just as cruel.

What is he even supposed to do?

Well, first he freezes up at the sound of his window sliding open and someone climbing in. He knows it isn't a robber because his family sure as hell can't afford anything worth stealing. Which narrows it down to three people, Cartman, Stan, or Kyle- and he's never wanted to see Cartman more in his life than right now. He pushes himself deeper into the pitiful pile of blankets and pillows he calls a nest, he tugs the drawstrings on his parka a bit tighter.

"Kenny?" Came Kyles soft voice floating across the stagnant air into Kennys ears, it lit an uneasy fire in Kennys stomach, one he wanted to snuff.

He drug himself out of his nest before stepping out, eyes landing on Kyle. Poor, vulnerable, unarmed Kyle. Someone who'd end up with a better life dead if he finds out who his soulmark matches with.

Kenny can't stop his reflex from firing until it's already begun. Kyle is pinned under him on the bed and he freezes up near entirely. Labored breathing resting heavy by his head and the quake of Kennys form above him. Grip on his wrists sweaty and weak, the scent he catches is more distress than anything else.

"Leave," It's supposed to be a demand but it comes out far too cracked.

"Kenny get off of me," Kyle commands, holding his voices edge like a knife as he watches his friend stand up and back away. His face is red and he looks distraught, hands up in surrender.

He takes a shaky breath, "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Kyle," His voice cracks as he leans against a wall, sliding down it.

Kyle stands up and brushes himself down, ignoring the racing sound of his heartbeat, "It's fine, instincts or whatever, you could've just said your pre-rut was coming on."

Kenny shakes his head, "Not, not just for that."

Kyle steps over to him, "Then why are you sorry bro.

The McCormick reaches to the cuff of his pants and tugs it up. He outstretches his leg and points to his soulmark, inky black as the day it ruined his life, "This."

Kyle stares for a moment, "Oh."

"I'm sorry," Kenny got out quietly, "I can go die in the woods if you want me too, go live a hermit life so I don't ruin yours." He draws his knees to his chest as he speaks.

Kyle sits down on his knees in front of him, "Kenny it's fine."

"It isn't, they'll ruin us Kyle, they'll throw us out and crucify us," Kenny said bluntly, trying to keep his voice even.

"No, Kenny, this is perfect," Kyle said, Kenny lifted his head a bit, "I always needed an excuse to kiss you."

"What?" Kenny managed to croak out.

"I just, thought you would find it weird cause we're both Alphas," Kyle said, bringing his hands to one of Kennys before placing their wrists together. He's hesitant to actually rub, "Scent mark?"

Kenny nodded, "Do it, please."

Kyle rubs their wrists together easily, his own scent bursting atop Kennys as they mixed a bit. Kyles scent was like like mandarin oranges and creek water, a cold and refreshing smell atop the burst of fruit. He took a deep breath, "I've sorta had a crush on you for a while."

"Feelings mutual," Kenny choked out.

Kyle placed a hand at Kennys cheek and he whined as he leaned into the touch, "No one has to know."

Kenny gave a weak laugh, "Cartman does."

"You told him?!" Kyle snapped.

"No, he was there when my mark appeared so he knows we match," Kenny explained as he placed a hand on Kyles.

"He's gonna spread so many rumors," Kyle grimaced.

"He knows better, why do you think he defended my shitty excuse?" Kenny asked with a raised brow.

"Good point," Kyle said, he placed a small kiss to Kennys forehead, "Love you bro."

"No one has to know?" Kenny asked desperately.

Kyle shook his head, "Naw, Stans pretty smart so I wouldn't be shocked if he deduced it right then and there."

Kenny nodded, "You're smarter."

Kyle gave a hum, "Thanks."

"I'm sorry for running off," Kenny said quietly.

"Dude stop saying sorry, you're not a fucking Canadian," Kyle said bluntly as he stood up and held out a hand that Kenny gladly took.

"Our childhood is built on Canadian entertainment, watch your mouth," Kenny said defensively.

"Make me," Kyle said with a smirk.

"You're lucky I'm not actually in pre-rut right now," Kenny said, a predatory grin on his face.

"Oh I look forward to it," Kyle said.

#k2week2023 #k2 south park #sp k2 #south park k2 #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #eric cartman #hes really good at being a side character #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #tw omegaverse

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magaprima · 2 years

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Okay so on this post I made here (back in freaking April 2020!!) I was talking about how Lilith is touching Adam’s ‘engagement’ ring when she calls for the Adam Creature to come in. I also talked about the whole scene a wee bit more here (from even further back in 2019!! argh!), and I will reblog both those posts in a moment for easy access. I also, rightfully so, went absolutely insane over realising (back in freaking even earlier in 2019, shortly after Part 2 had aired. Eep. So long now) Lilith wore the ring still when she crowned herself as Queen of Hell (post here) and then I went in depth about it in answer to an anon in Dec 2019 (little knowing what hell in the world was to come) here.

So with all that in mind, I’ve always been intrigued/thrown/curious about the fact when Mary finds the box of Lilith Trinkets in her house (I also did a post going into headcanons about that, especially considering the context but I’ll find that another day), there is Adam’s ring. We know it’s Adam’s, because Mary is able to read the inscribed name on it and know that it is connected to her Adam (as she holds it up, being all ‘what happened to you Adam? What happened to me?’).

So why would Lilith leave the ring in the cottage when it was so important to her that she wore it even when she was crowned Queen of Hell? It’s clearly not because she didn’t love Adam, as she names her freaking son after him. And it’s clearly not a case of when shows forget about an item entirely, as they make a featured scene of it in the cottage. Lilith puts on that ring not only as declaration of her love for Adam, but as I said in the posts I linked (and will reblog) it’s also a way of officially declaring her status/position as a grieving widow.

It could be, therefore, that she’s taken it off because she has moved out of her mourning period. Except if that was the case she would keep the ring in her chambers in Hell. She’d stop wearing it but she wouldn’t want to get rid of something that belonged to the ‘one thing she loved’ (her words, not mine, haha). She’d still want to keep it close, even perhaps keeping it on her person if she wasn’t physically wearing it.

So the fact she has put it in Mary’s cottage, a cottage that had been her own home and one she had shared with Adam and the very place she ‘proposed’ to him signifies more than simply getting rid of the ring.

Considering the way we see Lilith treated by the aristocracy in Hell when she’s Queen, when she’s Regent and when she’s back to Handmaiden, I think it’s safe to presume that the Plague Kings and their Posse of Infernal Tool Bags would have noticed the ring on her finger, and made a mockery of it. After all, we see how they view Sabrina being half-mortal as weakness, they see being a woman as a weakness, and the ring would have been a physical reminder that Lilith is a woman who is human enough to fall in love and with a mortal no less, that she has ties to the mortal realm (that place they’d really like to turn into a Tenth Circle).

I personally feel Lilith was forced to make the decision to take off the ring in order to make her position as Queen stronger. Keeping it on her still could too easily be found out, as could keeping it in her chambers (and there’s an added factor of not trusting something wouldn’t be done to it deliberately by her enemies there) which meant she had to get rid of it entirely. But, obviously unable to destroy it, she decided to put it somewhere safe.

And that’s when the feels starting hitting my headcanons; the idea that Lilith felt secure enough in that cottage that she would see it as safe place, the fact she trusts that even if Mary finds it she would not throw it away, and the fact the location itself has an emotional connection. Unable to keep the ring herself, Lilith chose to hide it in the place where her romance with Adam blossomed, the place where they agreed to get married, the place where he gave her the gift of the fetish doll and the place where they lived together. It means that even though she can longer wear a piece of their relationship, it can live on in the place where they fell in love.

And that, my witches, is yet another example of the fact Lilith is a lot more in tune with her softer, emotional side than she likes to admit or let anyone see/know.

#headcanons

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lalal-99 · 2 years

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Dad!Jisung Drabble

Inspired by this GIF of Jisung.

Word count: 1.3k

Note: I wrote this in like an hour, so please be nice. Also, this is my first drabble, so yeah.

Tumblr works on a reblog system, so please consider reblogging this post so that it can reach more people.

Warning: Mention of childbirth

Jisung had never thought there would ever be someone he'd love as much as he did you. Ever since he had first laid his eyes on you two years ago, you had been his home, his world, his everything. Even now – after having been with you longer than with anyone before you – his lips still turned into a big, toothy smile, and his heart skipped a few beats whenever he looked at you. The moment the first word came out of your mouth – a lighthearted joke leaving your lips – he was head over heels for you.

To this day, Jisung was thankful to his friend Felix, who had introduced the two of you that warm August night that would turn out to be only the beginning. You had looked so beautiful with your reddened cheeks, the warmth somehow taking over your whole being. Jisung had felt so shy around you he couldn't even talk for an hour after meeting you, overwhelmed by the liveliness flowing out of your every vein. And just like that, he was sure of his future.

That your future together would take an unexpected turn a little over a year into your relationship was obviously unplanned. You had just turned 23, Jisung was still 22, but somehow, your life took a sharp 180 from where you were headed before. Wherever that might have been. A shared apartment, maybe. Or a wedding.

As Jisung held your hand in his, tears ran down his cheeks. How couldn't they be with his girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life, screaming in agonising pain? All he wanted was to take some of the pain away so that it would be him, lying in a hospital bed, somewhere between life and death.

Frankly, Jisung hated seeing you like this, and he hated himself for putting you into that position in the first place.

He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose when he noticed them slipping off. His tears, mixed with the sweat and the rain you had run towards the hospital in, wettened his skin, though he had no head to request a towel of some sort right now. Too crucial was this moment – too much was on the line to leave your side.

Every attempt of the hospital personnel to get Jisung out of the wet clothes he was in was quickly brushed off by him. Even though the blue dress-shirt you had gifted him for his last birthday clung heavily to his skin, he didn't think about changing into a dry set of clothes. He did not want to miss even a second of this.

"Breathe, babe. You gotta hold on, just a few more minutes," Jisung whispered into your ear as you held his hand so hard, the skin was turning white. Still, he would have never thought about asking you to let go. Even though Jisung's hand hurt to a point where he thought he might lose it, he loved that somehow he was a part of this. Maybe not as big a part as you were, but at least he was involved in some way.

"I can't do it! I'm so tired," you breathed through gritted teeth, your face the shade of a ripe tomato.

"Yes, you can! You're the strongest, most powerful person I know. I believe in you!" Jisung assured you as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Just hold on a little longer."

"Okay," you agreed, sending your boyfriend a weak smile before starting to push again.

"You're doing amazing. Just one more push, and it's over. Just one more!" Hearing the doctor say those words took as much pressure away from Jisung as it put fear on him.

Sure, you were just one push away from being taken out of this misery, and Jisung felt relieved that your pain would be gone any second now. At the same time, it was just one last push until both of your lives would change forever. In no way did he feel ready for what was about to happen as he knew this would be the challenge of a lifetime. Had you just had another month or even just a week to prepare, maybe he would have felt more ready. No one had expected this day to arrive this early.

"There it is! I can see the head.."

And just like that, just by one last push through the most brutal pain known to humans, it happened. Faster than Jisung had deemed possible, the newly born human was out of you, head full of hair, as the doctor cut the umbilical cord and handed the baby over to you.

"It's a boy."

Jisung couldn't tear his eyes away from his son. He looked so sweet, almost unreal, as you held him close by your heart, tears streaming down your face.

"You did it," Jisung whispered in disbelief as he watched how naturally you were interacting with the boy. As if you were destined to be a mom. "You made a human. I can't believe it."

"No, we made a human," you corrected before Jisung pressed a loving kiss to your forehead, still so unaware of the realness of this moment. "You want to hold him?"

"I don't know. I don't want to break him," Jisung stated hesitantly.

"You won't break him," you laughed as you held your boy higher towards his dad. "Here!"

As Jisung took the boy into his arms, careful not to tilt his tiny head, he felt like he was in a dream. For almost nine months, he had waited for this moment, totally terrified of not doing a good enough job in being his boy's father. Though the second Jisung held his son in his arms, the crying stopped as though it had been merely imagination.

"Did I do that?" Jisung questioned both you and the doctor cleaning up the mess around you.

"I think so," you agreed with a heart-warming smile on your face.

"Hi," Jisung spoke to his son as a smile appeared on the baby's face. Jisung heart almost burst at the sight of his boy smiling at him. It was as though everything fell into place all at once. "I'm your dad. Can you say that? Dad?"

You couldn't help but giggle tiredly at your boyfriend's returning sense of humour. As you watched him talk to the baby, who in no way understood anything of what was happening, you were sure that this would work. Everything would be just fine, knowing that you had Jisung by your side through all of this.

"I know I don't appear all that wise, but everything I've learned, everything I experienced so far, I will show you. I will teach you how to throw a ball, I will teach you how to spit some rad fire, and I will show you just how to remind your mom of how perfect she is."

As Jisung said those words, the proudest of smiles on his face for being able to be someone's guide, someone's teacher, he looked over at you.

"I know I always say how much I love you and that I can never love anyone as much as I do you, but I was wrong. This little fella here is.."

"He's ours," you ended Jisung's sentence as he seemed to be utterly speechless. "I wanna say I'm mad at you for exchanging me like that, but how can I be when he's just so perfect?"

"He really is perfect, isn't he?"

"So perfect!"

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Handy-Man

An AU in which Din Djarin advertises himself on Craigslist as a man who can assemble your IKEA furniture for 50 bucks.

credit for idea goes to @fleetwoodmactshirt and their post which you can read here; thank you to @clown-bae-anon for tagging me in the post!! 💓

Please please reblog!

You wanted to cry.

Moving out of your childhood home was meant to be your way of asserting your independence and proving to your parents that you could make it on your own. But, as you sat in front of the collapsed television unit, surrounded by an abundance of miscellaneous screws, with broken and bleeding fingernails, you found yourself wondering if you had made a severe lapse of judgement.

Better yet, they were coming over for dinner today— and you knew your dad would give you a mouthful if he saw you hadn’t finished assembling your furniture already. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Unfortunately, you were brand new to the neighbourhood and hadn’t yet made any friends. You had no one to rely on; no one to ask for a favour. You pondered for a few moments, trying to figure out where you could find a handy man willing to work such short notice. You had no other choice than to turn to Craigslist.

There were a few potential candidates. Boba Fett; but he couldn’t be there until Tuesday. Fennec Shand; but she was extremely pricey. Then, at the very bottom of the website, you noticed a small advertisement. Only a few words.

“Din Djarin: I will assemble your IKEA furniture for 50 bucks. Will take me no more than an hour. I will bring my kid. Call me.”

And underneath, he left his number. You guessed that was the catch: that he would bring his child while he worked. You didn’t mind too terribly, besides, you were out of other options. You just hoped it wouldn’t be a sticky iPad kid who was going to snoop around your stuff and make a mess.

Grabbing your phone, you dialled his number. He answered on the first few rings, but said nothing.

“Uhm, hi,” you greeted, scratching the back of your neck as you tried to figure out how to approach the handy man. You’d never hired anyone from Craigslist before. “I have this huge TV unit from IKEA and I need it assembled before 5pm today. Would you be able to—“

“Address?” he asked, giving you the first taste of his velvety voice. After giving him your address, you were about to ask him about the child, but he cut you off. “I’ll be over in ten minutes.” Then he hung up.

He was abrupt, to say the least. You stood there, phone in hand, reflecting on your short witted conversation you’d had with the handyman. Maybe he just wasn’t sociable? It was okay though, he’d be coming over to work, not chat. You just needed him to assemble the television stand before your parents came over.

And if he was true to his advertisement, he’d get it done in no time.

Din Djarin arrived on your doorstep after seven minutes, carrying his son close to his chest. When you heard your doorbell ring out, you smoothed out your outfit, fixed your hair, and checked your appearance on the mirror hanging in the entrance-way. After all, this would technically be the first person you met in your brand new neighbourhood. And first impressions mattered.

As you swung open the front door, you announced, with a beaming smile crossing your lips, “Thank you so much for com—“

You were awe-struck. He was… breathtaking. Not like the handymen back home. He stood there, blinking his chocolate brown eyes, and nursing a child who must have been no older than two years. His hair was only a few shades darker than his eyes, short and curly, and he had a light graze of stubble donning his jaw and upper lip.

You found your gaze quickly flicking to his hands, only to check for a wedding ring. You hated how that was your first instinct but you felt a hitch in your throat when you saw just how large and thick his fingers were.

Your wild thoughts were interrupted when he cleared his throat awkwardly, and you wanted to curse at yourself how long you’d been standing there, blatantly checking him out. Your grip on the door tightened as you felt a flush of heat cross your cheeks, and you offered the handyman a weak smile.

“S— am sorry, I— hi,” you extended your arm and shook his hand. “I’m new. I mean I’m Y/N. But I’m new too. I uh—“

“I’m Din,” he introduced, cutting your flustered response short. “This is Grogu.”

His child cooed slightly and you were in awe over just how big the little one’s eyes were. You smiled and closed in on the child, offering him a small wave.

“Hi baby,” you cooed back, completely enamoured with him. Now that you were more aware of how you were acting around the handyman, you turned to focus your attention more on him. “Uh, please come in. And make yourself comfortable,” you offered, opening the front door wider and ushering both the man and his son inside. “Can I get you anything? A drink?”

“No thanks.” Din replied, setting down his toolbox and then the child.

“Grogu, are you hungry?” you asked, kneeling down to the little child. He slurped and eagerly nodded his head, causing Din to roll his eyes.

“He just had soup before we left,” Din told you.

“Kids always have big appetites,” you laughed, and finally, your comment had caused Din to break a smile. Albeit it was a small one, you still adored the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with delight.

“You have kids?” Din asked curiously, briefly glancing around your living room in search for any signs of children; but he couldn’t find any toys or printed comfort blankies laying around.

Somehow, you got the idea that he didn’t get around much (other than for work, at least). You got the idea that maybe he didn’t have many friends.

“No, but uh— I come from a big family and I used to have a babysitting job when I was a teenager. Feels like I’ve been around kids my whole life,” you admitted, wondering if you’d offered the handyman a little too much personal information. You quickly made the decision to change the subject, grabbing Grogu’s tiny hand. “Come with me Grogu, let’s see what I have in the fridge.”

Grogu selected some dinosaur shaped crackers and a juice box, sipping on it merrily as he toddled back into the living room where his father was working. You silently leaned by the door frame, admiring Din as he constructed the television stand. You’d only been gone five minutes and he’d already made so much progress.

Unable to escape the feeling, you just couldn’t ignore the flurry of butterflies that were ecstatically circling around in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t tear your gaze from the attractive handyman who was fixing up your IKEA television stand for only 50 bucks. All of this seemed too good to be true.

He could be a serial killer and you wouldn’t even know. But as you watched his bicep flex underneath his light grey sweatshirt, you considered the many ways he might kill you; and for a split second, you knew that if he decided to turn around and choke you with his strong hands, you wouldn’t be mad at all.

“You want kids one day?” he quizzed suddenly, the question causing you to jump slightly. You were so quiet, you had kind of hoped he hadn’t noticed you were just standing there, watching him work.

“Uhm, maybe. I don’t know yet,” you said, glancing down at Grogu who was just patiently sitting down on your sofa, munching at his cookies. He was so well behaved. Din must’ve been a really good dad. “Did you want kids before you had Grogu?”

You winced after asking the question, hating the way the words had left your lips. It sounded wrong; like you were asking your handyman if his son was planned or not. But thankfully, Din only laughed.

“Kind of a weird story,” He said as he tightened a screw using nothing but the strength in his left arm. “I found Grogu. Or more like, he found me.”

You pressed your lips together as you wondered what exactly that was supposed to mean.

You and Din exchanged more small talk, and you both found yourselves learning more and more menial facts about one another.

You: What’s your favourite colour?

Din: Brown. Like dirt.

You: Cats or dogs?

Din: Fish.

You: Fish?

Din: They’re nice to look at.

Despite the random quick-fire questions you both asked each other, it didn’t stop you from yearning to know more about the mysterious handyman who took his kid with him everywhere.

Din finished the job early. He always did. But he pottered around with the finished television stand simply because he just didn’t want to leave yet. He was enjoying your company so much, and you were so endearing and easy to talk to. Not to mention, you were brilliant with Grogu.

Eventually though, he stood up and dipped his hands into his jean pockets. “Uh, I’m finished. Does it look okay? I hammered the shelving unit into the wall so it looks neater. It’s more stable that way, too.”

You smiled, impressed with Din’s skillful labour. “It’s perfect,” you admired. “You’re my hero. Really.”

That tugged on Din’s heart strings. Your hero. His cheeks flushed pink and he prayed that you didn’t notice his warm blush. You reached into your purse and paid the handyman.

“Thanks again.” you said with gratitude as you saw Din and Grogu to the door. You passed Grogu some more dinosaur crackers for the journey home and he took them from you eagerly.

Din wanted to get your number so badly. In the short time you’d spent together, you had completely bewitched him, and he didn’t want this to be the last time he saw you. You had his number but… the chances that you’d call him again were slim. Unless—

“If you ever get more furniture, give me a ring,” Din offered awkwardly, shying away from the idea of asking for your number outright.

“I will Din, I promise.”

Din nodded and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay. Thanks. Um— bye then.”

“I’ll see you around Din.”

See you around. The words rang in the back of Din’s mind as he drove home as he processed your open-ended goodbye. He really did hope that he’d see you again.

———————

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rockthingsbymeg · 4 years

Text

Walk in

Pairing: Slash / Saul Hudson x reader

Info: Smut; 1316 words;

A/N: Hey guys. I know I’ve been taking a while to get fics out latele, but now that I finally took the time to make myself a schedule, I think I’ll be able to post more consistently

Slash felt downright pathetic at the moment.

But he also felt so fucking good...

He stood with his forehead pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom stall he was currently in, sweat coating it both from the show he played over an hour ago and from the pleasure he was feeling from having his own hand wrapped around his dick.

Inside his head, all that filled his thoughts was Y/N. Y/Nin her short, black, flared skirt. He doesn't think he'd ever seen a girl wear one of those to a place like the Whiskey, much less when a hard-rock band was going to perform.

But then there was Y/N. Standing on his side of the stage. A large t-shirt -probably one of his- tucked into the skirt.

Why was he so turned on by it?

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they showed Y/N's legs. Fucking beautiful legs with fucking amazing thighs that drove him mad. Or maybe it was the fact that they seemed to make her ass look even better, not that Slash believed it to be possible. Oh, how wrong he was...

In the end, it was probably a combination of both, with the cherry on top of the cake being the fact that Y/N looked fucking adorable in them.

"Fuck me..." Slash moaned, holding the base of his cock to stop himself from coming. He didn't have to hold back for anybody, but the orgasm was always better with some edging to the mix.

When the show had ended, and he had left the stage, Y/N came running to him and jumped right into his arms, bare legs wrapping securely around him while her arms wrapped around his neck, lips molding against his perfectly. He used that as a chance to feel her ass because there was no way he was missing that opportunity.

Once they broke the kiss and Y/N was back on the floor, embarrassment quickly filled her at her own behavior. They hadn't been together for that long and public displays of affection were still not her favorite thing.

And much to Slash's dismay, neither was sex. Much less in a public place.

Slash knew she was fairly inexperienced when they started dating and was fully okay with taking things as slowly as she wanted. He loved her -not that anyone knew- and was willing to wait for her.

But that got pretty damn hard when everything she did or wore seemed to turn him on like an animal in heat. He refused to believe someone could unconsciously tease another human being so much, but every time that it popped into conversation, Y/N would blush like mad and look genuinely sorry about it.

So, jerking off to the thought of her had been a very regular occurrence. Even if he was in the middle of a very crowded bar and hanging out with his band and the girl herself.

Once again, he felt really fucking pathetic. But he had needs that demanded attention, and he considered himself weak in the department of taking care of them.

The pace of his hand had slowed down, and he was using his thumb to tease the tip, mumbling a few curse words while filthy scenarios played in his head.

Y/N on his bed, naked, aside from the skirt. Her upper half was resting on the mattress, head on a pillow, mouth hanging open. Her lower half was up, ass right in front of him as he moved his cock between her folds, coating it with her wetness before sliding in with one swift move.

"Slash? You okay? " Y/N's concerned voice echoed inside the bathroom as she stood by what he assumed was the sinks.

Slash took a deep, silent breath before speaking. "Yeah. I'll go back in a second baby, promise." He bit his lower lip, trying to contain the moans caused by the incessant twitching of his dick.

Y/N was silent for a bit. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're doing." She spoke and he could feel the hesitation in her voice.

Slash said nothing. He didn't hear her come in, so there was a huge chance she heard some pretty self-explanatory noises.

"You could have asked me to help..." She said timidly. "I wouldn't mind..."

Slash's brows furrowed. "But I thought-"

"I know." She cut him off. "I was planning on... getting on with it... after we went home tonight. I even got a new lingerie set just for you..."

"Jesus fucking christ..." He moaned, cock twitching once again in his warm hand.

"Open the stall." She asked, walking to him. "If you're up for it..."

Slash opened the stall and quickly pulled her inside. "I didn't want our first time to go like this you know." He laughed, holding her waist and pulling her to him.

"I'm just going to help you out. I'm really out for hot you but don't think I'm going to fuck in here." She chuckled and despite sounding really confident, Slash could see the blush in her cheeks, even under the shit light of the bathroom.

He kissed her, slow, the way that made her melt, and it slowly broke as Y/N pulled her shirt away, leaving herself in a black, lace bra.

"Fucking perfect..." Slash leaned down and planted a kiss in the valley of her breasts.

Y/N smiled while slowly sinking down to her knees. Her lips, colored with a light shade of red, were pressing themselves across his length, tongue occasionally slipping out to help.

The sight was sinful. The black skirt was ridden up -though Slash didn't notice when she did it- and it revealed the matching set of black, lace panties. And, of course, the beautiful skin of her even more beautiful ass.

"You look so good, baby..." Slash said to her, resting his hands on her hair as a silent encouragement.

Y/N took the hint and slowly slid her mouth down his length, making sure to hold eye contact until she reached her limit. Which, to Slash's surprise and pleasure, was when her nose was pressed right against the skin of his pelvis.

"Holy fuck, baby..." He moaned, mouth agape while looking down at her.

Y/N began to move her head, taking him all the way each time and making sure to tease the veins and his tip every chance she got.

It went unspoken, but they both knew he wasn't going to last. He had already been close to the edge prior to Y/N's antics, and with the sight in front of him, it was hard to hold back.

But Y/N kept going, apparently determined to have him coming inside her mouth, and that made Slash reach his breaking point even quicker.

"Y/N- baby I'm-" Slash moaned, throwing his head against the wall he was leaning on, when he felt her mouth leave him and her hand take over.

He looked down again to find her with her lips open, tongue out, and eagerly waiting for his cum. Her hand worked wonders against him and he finally tipped over the edge.

His cum shot out of him and straight into her waiting mouth. The movements of her hand didn't stop until he groaned from the overstimulation and nothing else left him.

Y/N swallowed everything easily and got up, pulling her shirt back on with a shy smile on her lips.

Slash fixed himself before pulling her against him. "You told me you didn't have that much experience..." He kissed her cheek, starting a trail to her earlobe.

"I do with blowjobs... Not much more..." She whispered, moving her hands to his curls.

Slash hummed against her skin, sucking a hickey below her ear. "You were so fucking good... Gonna make it up to you when we get home." He groaned, hands sliding down to her ass.

"I sure hope so."

------

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, reblogs, comments and any kind of way you show me you liked this are endlessly appreciated💛

Requests are closed.

Taglist: @curly-hudson; @agroupiewhore; @littlemisscare-all; @metalheartofgold [Tell me if you wanna be added]

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all1e23 · 4 years

Text

Between the Stars [Pt.10]

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death. **Smut.** 18+ please and thanks.

A/N: This chapter has my whole Goddamn heart. I wasn’t planning on posting. I am just going to see how this goes y’all. As always my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky made sure this wasn’t trash and I adore her. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

The last month has been the hardest thirty days since Steve died and the heartache you were feeling had nothing to do with that loss.

Things between you and Bucky have been awkward since his late night confession. You didn’t know how to feel about any of this. Bucky admitting he loved you when you were kids was not something you ever saw as a possibility. Or maybe you convinced yourself it wasn’t one. Looking back now, there were moments that it was obvious. Right there in your face, shining brighter than the sun, and you chose to ignore it. Even after you married Steve, there were times you caught Bucky staring in such a way it stole your breath; he never tried to hide it, or at least he wasn’t great at hiding it. He became angry with you every time you attempted to set him up with someone, and then there was the night out, everyone had been drinking and things were said that shouldn’t have been. The jealousy you felt at the thought of Bucky finding another girl pretty enough to take her home still stings. You hadn’t realized it was jealousy until now, but it was. The anger in Bucky’s eyes that same night when he told you not everyone could be as amazing as your husband — he couldn’t be Steve.

You’ve never wanted Bucky to be Steve. Now you were wondering if he even knew that?

While the truth made everything a lot clearer, that didn’t mean that any of it made sense. If anything, things between you only became more complicated now that you knew his secrets. Bucky felt the divide as much if not more than you, and began spending more time away from the house. It started with taking his bike out for a drive that would last several hours at a time. He would come home long after you had fallen asleep and you suspected it was so he wouldn’t have to talk about all the things that needed to be said. You didn’t want to talk. You just wanted to lay with him.

Things quickly spun out from there.

More and more, his days were spent with Sam or visiting his mom. What could you say? Please stay here with me instead of visiting your mother and sister? It wasn’t like when he first came home. Not that you were anywhere close to being healed or normal or whatever everyone around you expected you to be, but you could get up and live. You didn’t need him to be the crutch that kept you breathing. You could breathe all on your own. So, you let him go without a word, hoping things would go back to normal. Or, a new normal? You didn’t want to forget everything that was shared or pretend you weren’t feeling the way you’ve been feeling these last few months. You did want Bucky; you wanted him back home with you. You know how selfish it made you, and you didn’t care.

That selfishness quickly turned into desperation. You were desperate to have him back, you tried over and over to make plans. Resorting to scheduling time with your best friend, the man who lived in your house just to get some time alone with him, but it was next to impossible. There have been more canceled plans than plans followed through the last three weeks. Bucky was avoiding you. There was no point in sugar-coating it to spare your feelings. Most nights he spent away from you were spent with Sam, and you knew that. Still, it hurt to know he simply didn’t want to be around you. When Bucky finally makes his way home, he always smells like bourbon. Those evenings you spend alone, but on the rare occasions he does come back in time to sleep with you, he sleeps facing you so you could rest your forehead against his chest or bicep.

Even those moments were few and far between lately thanks to an incident two weeks ago. Bucky stumbled into bed thinking you were asleep, and in his tipsy state, he whispered some things that will forever be etched into your memories.

“I should have chased after you—that night. I should have made sure you knew I loved you,” you could hear the disgust in his voice, and you wanted to sit up and tell him you were awake. You shouldn’t be listening to this when he never meant for you to know these secrets. “I should have told Dot to go find someone else because I belonged to you. Had since we met. Wouldn't have changed much, though. Once Steve kissed you, I could see it, it was like you woke up or somethin’. I’ve never seen you smile at anyone like that. Let alone at me.”

It was silent after that, and you thought he had fallen asleep, but then you felt him press a kiss to the side of your head, and he whispered into the dark, “Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to tell you when you’re awake.”

He didn’t know how much you knew, but it was clear just saying the words out loud pushed you further away. You hated this and wished you could take it back. You wished you never brought up that night and kept your childish notions to yourself. If only you could take it all back, change the way you felt then maybe things would be okay again.

The house was quiet when you snuck in the back door. You told Bucky this morning you would be gone all night, out with Wanda for a girl’s night so that he could have the house all to himself. That part was genuine. You had gone out, but the longer you were out, and the more time you spent away from Bucky, the more you wanted to be with him. You ended up calling it an early evening and waited in the dark until you saw Bucky head out onto the back porch with a small glass in his hand.

He hasn’t wanted to see you lately, anyway.

Steve’s hidden stash of whiskey was on the counter, and your heart hurt at the sight. You catch sight of Bucky leaning on the back porch, red dot glowing between his lips and three fingers of amber liquid floating in his glass. You quickly scurried upstairs and crept into your room, opening the door just enough to slip in because the squeak in the hinge will give you away. You heard the glass doors off the kitchen shut and a glass clinking against another, you closed your eyes and forced yourself to stay put and get ready for bed. There was nothing you could do to help him when he didn't want to see you.

Bucky trudged up the stairs, carrying his bruised and beaten heart behind him. The soft yellow light spilling into the hallway from your bedroom had him stopping. Your door cracked several inches. It wasn’t like that before. He slowly moved towards the open door enough to spot you standing in front of the long dresser on the far side of your bed by the bay window. You were slowly undoing the buttons of your shirt after shimming out of your jeans, and Bucky couldn’t move even though he knew he shouldn’t be watching you like this. You didn’t need to hear the tiny exhale he let out to know he was standing there. You could feel him. Standing there nearly naked with your grey flannel (Bucky’s shirt technically) unbuttoned and hanging open leaving your black lace bra and black cotton boyshorts on display, you should feel embarrassed or self- conscious. You didn’t. You glanced up from the floor, locking eyes with him. Neither of you says a word. Bucky slowly stepped one foot into your room, making sure it was okay before moving any further. When you make no move to throw him out or curse him for even considering this to be okay, he slowly moves across the wood floor with careful steps on bare feet.

His eyes fell to the black lace taking you in as if it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you. Bucky looked back up and met your eyes as he slowly reached out, running a thumb down the soft, thin material covering your breast. You inched forward, settling your hands on his ribs, clutching the worn navy-colored fabric of his shirt between your fingers. Bucky’s head tilted his head just enough so he could run his nose down yours, and he smiled when you tilted your chin towards him. His hands came to rest on the sides of your face, and he let his lips ghost over your skin. They hovered over your cheeks, the corners of your mouth, but never touched your lips. When your mouth fell open, lips barely parting he took his chance and tentatively pressed his lips against yours, softly letting them linger there for the longest three seconds of your life. Bucky scanned your face looking for any sign of regret the moment he pulled back, and when he found none, his lips claimed yours again this time without hesitation or uncertainty.

The kiss was gentle despite the desperate want behind it and not at all what you thought kissing Bucky would be like. He was in no rush for this to be over. His lips moved over yours, slow and delicately. He tasted like whiskey from the bottle you knew was still resting on the counter downstairs, and there was a faint smell of cigarettes lingering on his shirt. He always smoked when he was distressed and hurting, and you hated it. With the way he was gently parting your lips with his own, smoking was the last thing on your mind. You honestly didn’t know what you expected but, kissing him like this made you dizzy, and when your knees went weak from the high, Bucky kept you from falling.

His right hand fell to your back, pressing firmly into your skin as he walked you backward until you bumped into the dresser behind you, giving your shaking legs support. The lamp that sits atop the old wooden chest wobbled and fell back into the curtain, dulling the soft yellow light, leaving a more delicate peach hue to fill the room. It stayed where it fell. Neither of you daring to let go of the other. Bucky hands have yet to leave your skin, much like his lips and you wanted it to stay that way. You didn’t have a lot of experience kissing, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never reached inside and grabbed a piece of you, stealing your breath and maybe a bit of your soul.

A sweet sigh led to several short soft kisses that allowed you to catch your breath. With closed eyes, Bucky pressed one last honeyed kiss to your lips, and his forehead fell onto yours. You were trembling but not in the way you thought you would be when you found yourself here again. Bucky looked apprehensive when his eyes opened, the hand on your back pressed further into your skin, and he took a deep breath.

“We can blame it on the whiskey,” Bucky whispered, his breath warming your swollen lips.

That would be the easy thing to do. Blame all of this on the alcohol; tonight and the bonfire. You could end whatever this was before it became messier. Tell Bucky to leave, sleep in your bed for once, and wake up in the morning, pretending that Bucky didn’t just steal your heart with a simple kiss. You could do all that, and Bucky would act as if it never happened. There would be no guilt or shame he forced on you for wanting to take it all back. He would still love you the way he always has. That was the right thing to do, and that’s what you should tell him.

“I haven’t had any,” you whispered back instead.

Bucky gave you a sad smile and shrugged his shoulder. "We could still blame it on the whiskey."

There was the out if you wanted to take it. You weren’t sure if it was an out for you or him. It was hanging there in the air regardless. If only things were as simple as walking away and forgetting. You’ve been straddling the two lives, two versions of you for long enough, and you were so tired of faking it.

“I don’t want to be sad anymore, Bucky. I’m tired of being sad, and I’m so tired of pretending.”

“Pretending?” Bucky questioned. You could hear his heartbeat, you could swear it. It was hard and fast, pounding with uncertainty against his chest.

“What part of you has been pretending?”

It’s terrifying how one simple question can change everything.

“The only part of me that’s real is one tied to you.”

You were playing with fire, but you’ve always had a way of finding trouble, and Bucky’s always been fond of the kind of trouble you were made of.

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that so he let his hands say all the things he couldn’t. They brushed gingerly down your sides, lightly running down to the top of your thighs and playing along the edge of the black cotton covering you. You wanted to memorize the way his fingertips felt on your skin in case you never again get the chance to feel them. His hands were rough in the right places and soft where they needed to be. The roughened calloused thumb and forefinger and that thin line running down his middle finger through his right palm to his wrist -- an incident with a knife while they were deployed a few years ago.

He reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head, and your hands immediately found his skin trailing soft fingers over the various scars. New ones you’ve never seen and some old ones that made your skin crawl from the haunting memory. The scarred skin on his left shoulder left you with that queasy feeling. You almost lost him that time. They nearly took his arm, and you could still hear Steve’s voice in your ear, desperate and tear-filled coming down a scratchy satellite phone to tell you that Bucky may not be coming home.

Your lips brush over the scar from the bullet that ripped through his shoulder nearly taking him from you and Bucky’s breath hitched at the contact. You wished you could take that pain for him. You know how much it still bothers him, especially when it’s cold, and there are nightmares tied to the scars that won’t leave him alone. If you could, you would take those, too. You slowly pull back to find him watching you intently. There’s a long pause from you both. Did he need the assurance that you both wanted this, and it wasn’t a mistake? Did you? His breath heavy, the desperate want between you making the air thick and hard to breathe. The silence in the room was overwhelming, and it was the confirmation you both needed.

Bucky’s left hand came up to grip your hair, and he pulled you forward with a gentle demand, swiftly claiming your lips. Rough fingers push the sleeve of his flannel from your shoulders enough that it fell onto the floor on its accord. There’s a kiss to each shoulder as he nudges the straps of your bra off your shoulders, unhooking it with one hand and letting it join the pile at your feet. You briefly wonder how many times and with how many other women he's done this. How many of his one-night stands has he touched like this? The thought was quickly extinguished when you felt his lips gently land on the tip of your nose. He bumped your noses together, wearing a small smile when he kisses the corner of your mouth and presses a sweeter, softer kiss to your lips.

He’s never done this before. He was making sure you know it’s never been this way with anyone. He's never held anyone the way he's holding you now, nor does he want to.

Bucky urged you back towards the side of your bed, stopping right before the mattress could brush the back of your legs. He hesitated, glancing from the bed back to you. It was a question. Did you want to do this here? Because he would understand if you didn’t. There wasn’t much of a question in your mind despite his worry. Your fingers land on his belt, slowly undoing it and pulling it from the loops. It was okay to want this, and it was okay to want this here. Bucky wasn’t a dirty secret or something shameful you had to keep hidden.

There was nothing shameful or dirty about what you felt for Bucky.

Kicking his jeans to the side, Bucky dropped to his knees in front of you, he grasped behind your knees and pulled your legs out from under you dropping you back onto the bed. You squealed softly and Bucky’s deep chuckle followed, making you shiver. With thumbs hooked in the waist of your panties, he slowly tugged them down, kissing each ankle as your foot slipped free. The room felt hot. Maybe it was the fan spinning on low or the heat of Bucky’s shoulders under your legs. It could be how he was staring up at you with his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen and his hands sliding up to cup your ass, lifting your hips to meet his mouth.

A lecherous moan bounced off the walls and Bucky hummed against you. It didn’t take much. The first feel of his tongue and your legs were quivering around his ears. The intention was to taste you, not tease you until you were begging for release. It was easy to tell with the way he devoured you from the moment his lips were on you. He wanted to savor the sweet taste on his lips. You simply couldn’t stop your pleas for more. You couldn’t fight it. The burn from his beard on your thighs and the strokes of his tongue had you squirming. He didn’t relent until you were writhing and coming undone under him.

Bucky stood between your legs, panting, and still wearing the evidence of your orgasm glistening on his lips. You couldn’t take it another second. Leaning up onto your elbows you tangled the chain from tags around your hand, pulling him to you. The kiss is wet and frantic. Not like before. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it only spurred you on. Your hands were steady, rushed but steady, as you tugged his boxers down. Bucky’s hand lands on top of yours, slowing your movements. He needed this slow. You both did. There was a breathy, please that fell from someone’s lips. Neither of you are sure whose.

With a gentle push to his chest, you guide him to sit back against the headboard. His necklace fell back to his chest, gripping his biceps with both hands to steady yourself as you straddle his waist, and Bucky’s hands came up swiftly, gripping your hips and halting you from sinking down on him. His eyes frantically roam your skin, his thoughts were racing and you could hear every one of them as if they were your own. He’s searching for the truth in all this. Is this all something he imagined? If he takes the chance will you fall with him or is he on his own? It’s the same thought making your legs tremble. You pressed your forehead against his and took a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You can fall, Bucky. I'm right here with you.”

Something about your words made the tension he was holding dissipate and left him with an easy smile. His grip on your hips slowly loosened, the shake in his hands steadied as you pressed a kiss to his lips and you sank down on him. His head tilted back against the headboard and his mouth fell open at the feel of you clenching around him. You didn’t move for a moment, giving you both a minute to adjust. Allowing your head a chance to catch up to your heart. The hand on your waist slid around your backside, urging you to move with a gentle tap. Fingertips wandered every inch of your skin, exploring every inch of you as he watched you breathless and rocking against him.

His palm comes to rest over your heart, closing his eyes as your heart thumped against his palm letting him know this was real. You were here with him, and this was no dream.

It was quiet save for the creek of the headboard, your heavy breaths, and Bucky’s soft, guttural moans he couldn’t stop. You came apart first. The sight of your mouth hanging open, gasping for breath, and quivering in his arms pushed Bucky over the edge. He came clutching your thighs and whispering your name. It was a pretty sight.

Your bottom lip was still trembling long past the last wave when you asked if he felt the same thing you did.

“Did you fall, too?”

Bucky smiled at your question and cupped your face in his hands, kissing you sweet and sure between heavy breaths.

“Yeah, Trouble. ‘Bout fifteen years ago.”

You rest your forehead against his jaw and press a kiss to his neck—Bucky’s lips land on your shoulder, his beard tickling you enough to make you wriggle. Bucky grinned, wrapped an arm around your waist, and slipped down low enough to cover you with the sheet. There was a brief worry that you were cold, but you simply burrowed further into his chest, assured him you hadn’t felt this warm in a long time. You would both need to leave this bed and get cleaned up at some point, but for a few minutes longer, you could stay right where you were.

Bucky had every intention of soaking in this moment that was never supposed to be.

A conversation needed to be had. There would need to be explanations and assurances. None of this was planned. You hadn’t meant to fall for Bucky. He loved you in a way you didn’t fully understand. You wanted to though, if he was willing to show you. You wanted to let him love you. None of what you were feeling was intended, and it was never meant to be a replacement for what you had. He was different. It was something new—a new kind of old you never wanted to lose.

New was nice, it turned out.

Previous // Next

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #Past!Steve Rogers x reader #alternate universe #military au #TW: military death #tw: death of a spouse #tw: character death #smut

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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let him be soft (and let him be mine) p.1

Summary: After Derek pulls another self-sacrificing stunt at the culmination of their most recent case, Spencer runs out of their apartment as he desperately grapples with how it makes him feel.

or; Derek's self-sacrificing tendencies meet Spencer's abandonment issues. It gets messy before it gets better.

Tags: hurt/comfort, crying, abandonment issues, injured!derek, hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective!derek

TW: abadonment issues, allusions to grief/loss, some religious imagery (a catholic church and a priest have a small role in the plot)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.4k Total Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Emily's Edit 1 2 3

Colab Alert! Emily (@criminalmindsvibez) and I have worked together on a project based on this poem. Her edits and my fic go hand in hand, so go and check hers out! She will be posting part 2 and 3 of her edit tomorrow and Friday respectively, and I'll be posting part 2 of this fic on Friday, too!! It's been so fun to work together, so please go and reblog her beautiful edit <3

The Poem:

Please, let him be soft.

I know you made him with gunmetal bones and wolf’s teeth. I know you made him to be a warrior a soldier a hero.

But even gunmetal can warp and even wolf’s teeth can dull and I do not want to see him break the way old and worn and overused things do.

I do not want to see him go up in flames the way all heroes end up martyrs.

I know that you will tell me that the world needs him. The world needs his heart and his faith and his courage and his strength and his bones and his teeth and his blood and his voice and his– The world needs anything he will give them.

Damn the world, and damn you too. Damn anyone that ever asked anything of him, damn anyone that ever took anything from him, damn anyone that ever prayed to his name. You know that he will give them everything until there is nothing left of him but the imprint of dust where his feet once trod. You know that he will bear the world like Atlas until his shoulders collapse and his knees buckle and he is crushed by all he used to carry.

Dear God, you have already made an Atlas. You have already made an Achilles and an Icarus and a Hercules. You have already made so many heroes, and you can make another again. You can have your pick of heroes.

So please, I beg you– he is all that I have, and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more. Let him be soft, and let him be mine.

—Please, let him be happy ( j.p. )

The Fic:

Spencer offers Derek a weak smile as they sink into their seats on the jet. It’s all he can really manage, considering the emotional exhaustion the case had brought on, fatigue settling deep into his bones as he relaxes into the comfortable fabric of his chair. He keeps his eyes closed to avoid Derek’s anxious, imploring gaze for as long as possible, but he can’t help them opening on instinct as soon as the plane takes off the ground, and his stomach does its familiar vault at the increasing G forces.

“Baby?” Derek asks softly, as soon as he sees Spencer’s eyes flutter open. “What’s wrong?”

Spencer sighs, turning his head to face the evening sunset for a brief moment before looking back to his boyfriend. “I’m just tired, Der,” he lies, throwing in what he hopes is a reassuring smile to try and seal the deal.

It seems to work, some of the anxiety relaxing from his face — though, Spencer notes, the slightly pained expression remains — as he reaches across the table in between them to take Spencer’s hand. He complies, placing his hand in Derek’s and allowing himself to relish in the comfort of his warm, protective hold despite how he’s feeling.

“I’m sorry, Spence. We’ll get dinner from that Thai place and head straight to bed when we get home, yeah? You’ll feel better then.”

Spencer can’t help the flare of anger in his chest at that — so strong he has to shut his eyes tightly against it for a second. How can Derek not realise what’s wrong? How can he sit opposite him, bruised, cracked ribs and all, and not understand that everything is not at all ‘eat Thai food in bed’ okay?

He forces his eyes open again. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Derek squeezes his hand once before letting go and thankfully, finally, dropping the subject. The sunset is a pretty blend of pinks and oranges as they fly down from New Jersey towards home, but Spencer doesn’t focus on the aesthetics of the sky. Not when that awful, tiny voice keeps whispering in the back of his head: how many sunsets does Derek have left?

⭐️

It might have been a lie, but the tired excuse seems to work. Derek doesn’t try to make conversation with him on the drive to DC, instead settling for reassuring touches that Spencer finds himself pressing back into despite himself.

He dives straight for the shower once they get back to their apartment, vaguely hearing Derek on the phone placing their standard Thai order as he sheds his restrictive suit and steps into the shower, immediately relaxing as the hot water cascades down his back. All of a sudden, the weight of the case catches up to him and he lets himself cry. Afterall, his desperate, grief-filled sobs can’t be heard over the water and he can blame his sore, red eyes on the shampoo.

When his tears eventually dry up and he exits the warm bathroom into the air-conditioned apartment, Derek’s sat on the edge of their bed fiddling with his phone next to an outfit of Spencer’s favourite loungewear neatly laid out. He always does it and it always makes Spencer smile, but this time his heart just clenches painfully and he has to fight back the hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“Hey, baby,” Derek says, voice concerned at the sight of his visibly upset boyfriend. His wince as he gets off the bed to come over to Spencer is the final straw, though, and he can’t help the violent, choked sob that forces its way past his lips, his body heaving with the myriad of emotions running rampant. “Spencer?”

He ignores him as he drops his towel and hurriedly pulls on the clothes Derek set out for him, tears spilling down his cheeks one after the other, indicating no sign of slowing down anytime soon.

“Spencer? Baby?” he pleads desperately as Spencer continues to ignore him. “I know you’re tired, but this isn’t like you. Why—”

“No!” he cries, turning to face him. “It’s not like me! Because even though I feel like this after every case I’m usually so good at holding it in! But I can’t do it anymore, Derek. I can’t keep feeling like this.”

“Baby, talk to me,” Derek begs. “We can work this out, we’ll figure this out together, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

All of a sudden, it’s too much. Standing there in their bedroom facing his injured, self-sacrificing, perfect boyfriend as emotion and fear choke the life out of him is killing him, and all he can do is grab his phone, hastily pull on a pair of shoes, and run out of the apartment.

If it wasn’t for his bruised ribs — Christ, if it wasn’t for Derek being shot not four hours earlier — Spencer never would have outrun him, but as it stands, he escapes the apartment building with only Derek’s pleading cries following him.

He runs through the streets of DC, half-blind from unshed tears, until he sees a bus coming down the road, and before he can overthink it, he’s boarding, paying, and taking a seat right at the back. The streets outside blur as the bus accelerates down the street and the tears he’d been holding back since he left the apartment, spill over, joining the countless tear tracks already decorating his cheeks.

Soon he’s not seeing the vibrant streets of the Adams Morgan district anymore, his brain replaying the shoot-out that ended the case instead. They’d finally cornered their suspect in a dilapidated barn in the middle of nowhere, and Spencer had honestly thought that their attempts to talk him down were working, when he’d suddenly pointed his gun straight at JJ. Derek had easily predicted his next move and wasted no time in pushing her out the way, diving straight into the bullet’s trajectory, shot in the middle of his vest.

Hotch had taken care of the unsub and Spencer had gone straight to Derek’s side, his heart in his mouth as fear overrode rationality with ease. He’d been fine: checked out by an ambulance on site and prescribed some moderate painkillers and a few days rest until his ribs healed up, but Spencer had struggled to see it so positively.

Anger flares up in his chest again at the memory of Derek’s blatant disregard for his own well-being. JJ’s a trained and experienced agent: she could have shot the unsub before he even took the shot if Derek hadn’t pushed her aside, and even if she hadn’t, why was it better for Derek to take the bullet than JJ?

As much as he tries not to take it personally, part of him can’t really help but feel hurt. What if the bullet had missed the vest? What if Derek was really shot? He could have so easily died — in an alternate universe, Spencer is mourning the tragic loss of his boyfriend right now. Does he really not care that all this heroic self-sacrifice could leave Spencer a grieving widow one day?

He feels selfish. The world needs Derek: it needs his heart and his courage and his fierce sense of justice, it needs him to fight for the underdog, it needs him to stop at nothing to apprehend the bad guy, it needs anything he can give them.

But in this moment, Spencer doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about what the world needs. He cares about what Dr Spencer Reid, book nerd and genius prodigy of Nevada needs, and that’s his boyfriend, alive, next to him.

The bus passes a church and Spencer immediately presses the button, getting off at the next stop and retracing the road until he’s standing in front of the beautiful architecture of a Catholic Church. Peace and quiet is exactly what he needs right now, so he takes a deep breath and walks through the heavy wooden doors into the building.

The smell Spencer associates with the churches he’d visit in his childhood when William would dress them up and parade them around a church as the perfect little family for as long as Diana’s meds lasted hits him as soon as he crosses the threshold, and something about it feels comforting. He walks through the small foyer and into the main congregation hall, thankful that no service is taking place. There’s a woman in a pew at the front with her head bowed, but otherwise it’s completely empty, and it emboldens him enough to slip into the back row.

He lets himself zone out, taking in the stained glass windows and the elaborate arcades as well as the ornate statues and decorations around the nave as his mind finally drifts from the torture of his thoughts.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice asks, snapping him out of his trance. He looks over to see a priest standing just to his right, a kind look on his face.

“Uh— yes,” Spencer replies, a little flustered. “Very. An old friend of mine did a PhD in the history of church architecture years ago, but even his high praise doesn’t do it justice in person.”

“Not a regular church-goer, I take it?” the priest asks, smiling warmly.

“Not sure the church would be happy to have me,” he says drily, “on the account that I live with my boyfriend.”

The priest’s face saddens at that. “Would you mind if I sat?”

“As long as you don’t try and convert me.”

He laughs at that, taking a seat next to Spencer. “That’s not my job anyway,” he reassures him. “God takes care of that side of things.”

Spencer nods once, before looking down at his fidgeting fingers.

“What’s led a non-Christian to a Catholic Church on a random Tuesday evening, then?” the priest asks warmly.

“Oh… I’m not sure you’d want to hear about it,” Spencer says awkwardly, blushing a bit at the thought of discussing his relationship troubles with a priest.

“Try me.”

Spencer takes a deep breath. After all, he desperately wants to talk about this with someone, and who better than a completely impartial person whose opinion doesn’t matter anyway?

“I work for the FBI,” he starts, “I have done for nearly a decade now. It’s where I met my boyfriend, actually; we work for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I love the job, it’s given me pretty much everything I have, really, but… but I don’t know how much longer I can do it.” He takes a shaky breath in to try and abate the tears again, but when the priest lays a warm hand over his own, he can’t hold them back anymore.

“Derek— Derek is so strong. He’s fierce and he’s powerful and he’s a hero, and I used to be so proud of him for that, I still am, but now… all it does is scare me. Today he took a bullet for another team member, he pushed her out of the way and it landed in his own vest. He’s fine, but this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He’s run into burning buildings, driven bombs across cities to stop them from blowing up in a populated area, thrown himself into the line of fire to save others countless times, but one day… he won’t be so lucky.

“One day, it’s going to catch up to him, and he’s going to be killed by his own calling. He’s so selfless that he’s truly going to give everything to the job until it kills him… and where does that leave me?” He looks up and meets the priest’s kind, empathetic gaze for the first time, comforted by the reassurance he finds there.

“I never really had a family. My father walked out when I was ten and left me with my sick and confused mother, knowing that she couldn’t take care of me, knowing that he was leaving his child to take care of his mother for the next eight years. When I found the BAU, I found a family, and I found Derek. I love my whole team, but when it comes down to it, he’s all I really have left.

“If he stays in this job, I’m going to end up alone. There will never be another person for me, not after Derek. When people sit in this very building and pray for justice,” Spencer says tearily, “God answers that prayer with Derek Morgan. And those prayers, those pleas for mercy are going to take him away from me one day.”

The priest sits quietly for a moment, thinking, maybe praying, as he bows his head. “Child, God makes heroes for a reason. I know he’s so proud of Derek, that he cherishes all the lives he’s saved, but I also know that God cherishes Derek’s life, and yours, too. Derek sounds like the kind of person who loves with his whole heart, and I suspect that he loves you deeply. The Bible teaches us the importance of kind and honest communication, as well as the value in understanding the people you love, and I think you know that your only shot at a happy ending here is to tell Derek all that you’ve told me.”

Spencer’s always rejected the idea of telling Derek how much it breaks his heart to see him running at danger head on because he can’t think of any possible resolution they could come to — it’s not like he can simply turn off his self-sacrificing tendencies — but he doesn’t really see any other way out now.

He looks up at the priest. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m not sure I have any other choice.”

“I’ll leave you to your peace and quiet,” he says as he gets up to leave, “but please never think that God doesn’t want to know you because of your loving relationship with Derek. He loves you both so much.”

Spencer smiles, feeling a little bit lighter after getting everything off his chest. “Thank you.”

As he watches the priest walk out of the nave and into what Spencer suspects is the Sanctuary, he hears something that simultaneously warms his heart and twists his stomach in anxiety.

Derek, calling his name.

I hope you enjoyed part one of this fic - please go and check out Emily's edit here!

PART TWO

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @doctorenby @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoopc@marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #cm fic #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #moreid fluff #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #spencer reid x derek morgan #spencer reid/derek morgan #my writing #cm

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make-me-imagine · 3 years

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Weakness

This is for @gaitwae ‘s one shot event!

Required prompt: Loki knocks on your door, bringing with him a sense of urgency. Something has gone wrong. What is it? How do you handle it? Is Loki coming to you first, or are you the last resort? ((Inserted one word -“again”- to make it fit more into my dialogue))

Pairing: Loki x Gen!Neutral Reader

Triggers: None Words: 1,664

Other Event Writers: @bwemph @twhiddlestonsstuff @lucywrites02 @megthemewlingquim, @trashywritestrash

Readers Taglist: @just-the-hiddles

Marvel Taglist: @thebookbakery and @aquariuslavenderhoney

If I missed anyone who is doing this I’m sorry! I took the tags from the originals event post list :)

**Lokis POV**

Loki stared at the screen, a mixture of anger and annoyance on his face as the aggravated alien yelled at him through the screen. Just one of the many enemies Loki had made along the years.

“You have betrayed me one too many times!” the alien seethed “And you have taken from me, stolen from me, and now I think I should do the same to you!”

Loki let out a smirk, shaking his head “I assure you, there is nothing you could take from me that would hurt me”

“Oh really?” the alien sneered, his teeth showing with a dangerously confident smile.

Loki felt his heart jump slightly in his chest, surely he couldn’t have found anything to hurt him with?

“Because I heard a little rumor floating around, that you found a little friend on Midgard, one you care for rather deeply” the alien let out a chuckle.

Loki tried hard to hide the fear he felt swell in his chest. Your face crossed through his mind. Surely they didn’t know about you, they couldn’t, how could they? Did they have allies, spies, on Midgard?

Loki feigned an innocent expression, filling his voice with as much confidence as he would as he stared into the eyes of his enemy “I do not know of any rumors, but I can assure you that there is no one on Midgard I would deem worthy of my time” he lied.

The alien moved closer to the screen, his eyes boring into Loki’s “We will see about that”

Before Loki could respond, the screen went black as the transmission ended, leaving Loki alone on his ship as he stared out at the vast space before him. Only one thought crossing his mind.

He needed to get to you before they did. He needed to save you.

**Readers POV**

“What?” you asked with surprise, your heart leaping in your chest.

“You heard right” Fury said as he paced in front of you “We got word from Strange that Loki is on Earth”

You tried to process the information, “Why would he come back to Earth? And why doesn’t Stephen just trap him?”

Fury shook his head “Apparently Loki has cast some sort of spell to hide his whereabouts from Strange, and as for your other question, I have no idea. But apparently it’s got to be very important if he is risking getting captured”

You sighed as you stared at the table you were sitting at. You had feelings for Loki, no matter how much you shouldn’t, you couldn’t help it. Working with Thor off world on occasion, you found a soft spot for his troublesome brother. Though you weren’t sure how he really felt about you. There was flirting, sure, and sometimes he even seemed to care about you. But he was still hard to figure out.

Breaking from your thoughts you looked back up at Fury “Have you been able to get into contact with Thor?”

Fury shook his head “Nope. And we have no leads on where he, or where Loki is or why he’s here, so, since you know him, at least more than most of my agents, I’m going to need you to keep your eyes and ears out. If whatever he needs or wants is important, he might come to you”

You nodded your head as Fury dismissed you. As you walked down the hallway your mind was filled with curiosity and questions. Why would Loki come to Earth? What was happening?

These thoughts plagued you for the rest of the day, even as you sat at your kitchen counter, unable to focus on anything else. You weren’t sure how long you were sitting there before sudden knocking at your door made you jump in surprise.

You don’t know how, but you knew it was him. It was as if you could feel his presence. You didn’t need to ask who was there, or look through the peephole to know. It was him, you froze in your seat for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Loki knocks on your door again, bringing with him a sense of urgency. Something has gone wrong. What is it? How do you handle it? Is Loki coming to you first, or are you the last resort?

Making a decision, you rose from your seat, making your way to the door, unsure of what string of events was going to play out once you opened the door. As you did, you were almost surprised to see a look of relief cross over Loki’s face when his eyes met your own.

And you felt a weird sense of relief knowing you were right about it being him at the door. But that feeling faded quickly when your mind filled with questions.

“What are you doing here?”

Loki was startled at your greeting, no sense of surprise, as if you knew he was going to come. You must have found out he was on Earth. You must have known he would come to you.

Saying nothing he walked past you into your apartment, his eyes wondering around, noticing the small personal touches that made this your home.

“I’ve made a mistake and I am afraid you are going to be the one to pay the price” he turned and faced you after he spoke.

You hesitated for a moment after processing his words “What the hell does that mean? What have you gotten yourself into Loki?” you asked as you approached him.

He looked down at you, taking a deep breath as he tried to figure out how to word what he needed to.

“I have...enemies. Many enemies; and they found out that I had an...allegiance with someone on Earth, and I think it’s you, well it has to be you, it certainly isn’t Bruce. They threatened to come take you, to...kill you, I assume.”

“Me? What, to get back at you for something? Why would they think I was important enough to hurt you by killing me?”

Your words seemed to sting him. Of course you did not know how he felt. Besides the flirty banter, he never truly showed how much he cared for you. When he spoke next, his voice was so soft and sincere it seemed to cut right through you “Because you are important. To me. You are my weakness”

He watched you closely as you opened your mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out, surely due to the surprise of his confession. Finally you managed to mutter out a few words “But, why me?”

Loki let out a soft chuckle “How could it not be you? Besides my brother, you are the only other being in this whole universe I truly care for” he took a step closer to you, looking down into your eyes. Your breath hitched as he did this “And I need to keep you safe”

You stared into his eyes for a moment; the tension being cut-off by the sound of gruff voices from the hallway. Both yours and Loki’s heads snapped in the direction of your door. The voices outside clearly not speaking any human language.

Moving quickly to a nearby cabinet, you grabbed your hidden weapon. Loki quickly grabbed your wrist as he pulled you towards the window “It’s best we escape without being seen”

Opening the window, you both stared down, seeing the clear alleyway as you both climbed out to escape. Landing on the ground, you were taken by surprise when you were grabbed from behind.

Reacting quickly, you threw the alien away from you, with one swift motion Loki knocked it out before running past you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

“Where are we going?!”

“I have a ship hidden nearby”

After running through various alleys, you entered into a large empty lot behind some old warehouses. Seeing Loki tap something on the device around his wrist, you saw a small ship become visible in front of you.

Quickly boarding the ship you watched the city below you become smaller and smaller as you began to fly off. Loki quickly fleeing towards the sky.

“Are we leaving earth?” you asked as you stood behind him in the pilots chair.

“Yes. I know somewhere safe we can go” after setting the course he rose from his seat and turned to you. He met your eyes, he could see the apprehension in your gaze. Did you still not fully trust him?

“Fury is going to be so mad” you finally commented as you looked out at the now darkening sky as you left Earths atmosphere.

Loki smirked lightly “I’m sure he will understand”

“I’m still not sure I do” you admitted quietly with a scoff.

Loki studied you for a moment before he placed his hands on your shoulders, looking deeply into your eyes “Understand this” he hesitated for a moment “I truly care for your well being, and as much as you may not trust me, I will do my best to finish this, so that you can return home. Because I was telling the truth before, you mean more to me than I think I was willing to admit to myself.” He lifted his hand, stroking your cheek before he leaned down, pressing a soft quick kiss to your lips “I only ever want you to be safe.”

Your chest felt heavy, as you stared into his eyes “You’re wrong” you saw a flash of panic cross his face before you continued “I do trust you.” Relief crossed his face as he realized what you were saying. “And I believe you. And...I feel the same.” you admitted, feeling the weight on your chest seem to lift “And whatever you’ve gotten both of us into? I intend to help you fix.”

A smile spread slowly across Loki’s face as you spoke. Pressing a kiss to your forehead he looked back into your eyes “Let’s finish this then.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pt.32 A Hulk’s Smashing Consequences (Pt.2)

06/26/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,568

Warnings: violence, blood, pregnancy, labor, seriously...lots of violence

A/N: I’ll let this one speak for itself. Enjoy! xoxo If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work!

“Oh…” You whimper, afraid to move as you try to assess the state of your body.

“Why Queen Flowers pee?” Hulk demands, standing up and pointing at your feet.

“I-I think my waters have broken.” You whisper, straining to feel the pain that you were told would come but nothing.

“Baby come now?!” Hulk asks, his voice a little higher than it was before.

You realize he’s nervous and look up to meet his eyes. He’s shifting from one large foot to the other, hands clenched into fists as he stares at the small puddle at your feet while his movements shake the room.

Watching him chew on his large lower lip looks strange considering the barbaric look of him.

“I think so.” You nod, getting a hold of yourself to keep the massive Hulk at ease. “Hulk?”

He turns frenzied and surprisingly understanding eyes on you. He’s definitely not stupid. You weren’t sure how much of Doctor Banner’s intellect transferred over.

One thing you can see in his eyes…a sweetness you hadn’t know you would find there. Fear of what’s to come, but true concern for you in this situation.

“All I need is to change into a simpler dress.” You’re still in your evening dinner gown. Heavy thick white fabric with golden thread embroidered along every surface in a carefully patterned damask design. “And then I’ll lay down, and we’ll wait. Grandmother will be back soon and-”

Oh, no…Grandmother…

Whatever expression your face takes—fear and panic probably from the way you’re feeling—makes hulk thump towards you, stopping two feet away.

“What wrong?” He worries, voice still higher than normal as his nerves get the better of him.

“How is she going to get back into the castle?” You wonder aloud. “She’s…she went into the village to fetch supplies for when I give birth and…and now I’m giving birth and she’s not here and with all the fighting there’s no way she can get back into the castle! Hulk…”

Oh yeah, panic most definitely begins to set in. You shift closer to your bed and carefully sit yourself down as your breathing speeds up. You can feel the wet from your underdress and it’s slightly uncomfortable but nothing you care to notice now.

“Queen Flower no worry. Hulk go get witch lady.” He promises then moves for the door. “Hulk be right back.”

“No wait, Hulk don’t-!” But he’s already gone, barreling through the castle making the ceiling rain dust. “Don’t leave me alone…”

Your whimper fades into silence as your panic begins to steal your resolve to face this night with courage.

Still you feel no pain yet and you relax a little though your mind is attuned to your body more than it ever has been before. When the time comes, you’ll feel it, won’t you? You’ll know when it’s really time?

“It’s too soon.” You cry, not realizing that tears have begun to trail along your cheeks. “You’re too soon.”

Caressing your bump, you sit there for a long time. You hear Hulk’s words again, his assurance and his calling Grandmother a witch which is nothing new—most of the village folk in Bright Rise had called her so—but it’s strange to hear it tumble from Hulk’s lips as if it were true.

Other worries cross your mind. Worries that you’d spoken to Steve about in the quiet hours of cold naked mornings spent with him in bed. Whispered concerns about the possibilities of giving birth. Things that could happen. Might happen. Things that you try not to dwell on right now when Hydra is attacking the castle.

You can feel the rumbles of what feels like castle walls being smashed. Strange sputterings of whizzing magic like that of Father’s energy that propels him through the sky. You hear that strange buzzing of the red magics you’d seen through the window.

There’s thunder and you’re glad that Thor is out there to help. His power is great, and you feel better with him helping in the fight.

It’s endless, their fighting. Although you can’t see it, hearing it you could almost imagine the carnage. The blood and the sweat of your loved ones, trying to protect you. Time too feels endless. Like the night is stretching out forever and only when the sky begins to shift from black tar to starlit indigo do you realize how much time has passed.

Hulk, where are you?

When you can’t stand the waiting any longer you get up and double over as your back splits with pain.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath as you feel the shift in your belly and finally the pain begins to show.

You push through the first wave and move to the large wardrobe where you know you’ll find your clothes. It’s laid out for you at the very front, a long and white nightdress, soft linen with a ruffled and rounded neckline.

It takes what feels like forever to get the cords around your waist undone. Your skirt falls. You unclasp the bodice and let that fall away too.

Your corset is the hardest. You strain to reach the strings that hold you together and as each pull through a loop loosens its grip, you feel a wave of relief to your back.

Stopping to relish in the ability to breathe deep, you stand there, eyes shut.

As another wave of pressure hits your lower back, you grit your teeth as the pain escalates a little more and your hands are temporarily clenched into fists and immobilized to removing your clothes.

You’re almost yelling in silence, mouth open as you struggle through the pain that forces you to stoop over and cling to the door of your wardrobe.

Only after it passes do you remember that Grandmother had told you to count the seconds of your pains, but you’re so wrapped up in it, your mind has only one mission: Endure.

With shaking hands, you manage to pull away from your clothes and stand naked in your room just as the pressure builds again.

“F-five…” You say to yourself, trying to remember that it has only been five minutes is your best guess.

You can’t concentrate enough to count in your head and focus on those sweet and worrying conversations with Steve about this very moment that you’re now living.

As this pain subsides, you breathe out one shaky breath before you concentrate on moving your arms and pulling your birthing dress on.

You feel a little better in clean clothing and waddle as best you can to your bed but reach the post at the foot before you’re seized by another pain. This one is sooner.

“Four…” You guess. “Ahhh…”

You groan with agony as the pressure rips through you once more. Your hand finds and fists the heavy curtains of the canopy on your bed. The strain pulls against the post and you hear a subtle creak as you rely on it with all your might.

The pain is fading when you find your voice again, and you whimper a tearless sob as you wait for your legs to be strong again.

“Steve…” You call for him, knowing he cannot come.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve crashes painfully with a cart covered in hay. It falls to pieces around him as his body does its damage.

“Ugh…” He groans before shaking his head once to rid himself of the daze and gets to his feet.

He turns to look at his opponent, Rumlow wearing a strange black metal armor. Over his helmet is painted what looks to be a smudged white skull. He can see Rumlow’s dark angry eyes surrounded by charred flesh. A result of the attack on Bright Rise, Steve would guess.

“I didn’t do that to you, which I am most grieved about.” Steve admits to him, rubbing salt in his wounds.

“You die today.” Rumlow promises. “As does that peasant slut you call a Queen.”

Steve’s blood boils and he sees nothing but Rumlow and the death he will gladly dispense.

“You first.”

In his peripheral, though he does not focus on it, he can see a streak of silver blur behind Rumlow across to a group of Hydra guard attacking the Scarlet Witch. She manages to fend them off however and waves her brother along who runs to a lithe figure in black with bright red hair. Natasha leaps onto the shoulders of a guard, twists her hips and brings him to the ground before she unsheathes the daggers along her thighs and throws them at two more guards that had been approaching from behind. The bodies are sent reeling back with the force of her throw, blades in skulls.

Just as the bodies hit the ground, a dark metallic arm reaches down and retrieves a dagger, and sickening squelch as the blade slides through brain and bone. Dressed in a worn but tough navy leather tunic with dark metal armor welded into the fabric to protect his most vital areas, Bucky tosses her dagger back to her before allowing the momentum of his throw to turn him around and catch a leaping guard by the throat. He slams him into the ground with a deep and guttural growl.

Another leaps onto his back and he reaches back, dark hair flying in the scuffle as he grunts and throws the attacker over his head.

The attacker flies through the air and topples into a grouping of five others that suddenly explode back up into the air and in their place is Scott getting larger by the moment. He grows and grows until he’s as tall as the Southern tower and he stomps his way towards the now crumbling and smoking castle gate shaking the ground as he goes. A few of the Hydra guard attack his large feet—a weak attempt considering they cannot even penetrate the thickened hide of his boot—but Scott ignores them and reaches for his target. He grips the flaming battering ram with one hand, lifts it, and with a squeeze of his fist he crushes it easily. As he drops the splintered wood and broken metal to the ground, he finally notices the guard at his feet.

They run, but Scott’s grip is large, and he takes a handful of them before throwing them over his shoulder.

Their bodies soar through the sky, past the Southern tower where Clint nocks an arrow and sends it flying to strike the flying targets. One, two, three bodies shot down, one after the other as the fly past the tower. He misses one and it nearly soars through an open window when Hope appears almost out of thin air to punch the guard. She disappears but the guard is knocked up into the air and then back down to the ground where he falls in a crumpled heap as Hope reappears over his body only to disappear again into the mass of black that pools around a stooped form that seems to be getting overwhelmed with the amount of bodies being piled on top.

There’s a subtle rumble from the sky before it cracks open and lightning rains down to strike the center of the pile just as Thor’s booming battle cry fills the air and those touching him fall down to the ground as the lightning burns them from within.

Thor’s arm is thrust into the air as he pushes up from the ground and flies up only six feet, lightning connecting with his hammer and sizzling with charge as he moves upwards and it follows him back down as falls and slams his hammer down onto the ground sending more Hydra guard up into the air.

They are caught by a streak of red and gold as the Iron Man flies by along with another streak of white and black steel. They throw the guards they’ve caught at each other to collide painfully, before Iron Man catches two more and sends them zooming towards the castle with a blast from his hand.

A shining gleam of silver cuts through the sky as two large wings slice into one of the guards then catches the second. Samuel holds onto the struggling form until they’re nearly at the peak of the tower then he releases the body and dives back down into the fray with an impressive sweeping wind.

The body nearly hits the stone of the parapet when a distinctive whip fills the air and web is wrapped around the body’s waist and swung up into the air and released. The Spider-Man, in a bright blue and red tunic with trousers to match, swings forward as Steve goes flying back once more, a small puff of smoke left where he’d been standing.

As Steve lands, the Spider-Man plants himself behind him and catches him, helping him stand before pulling Steve’s shield off his back.

“Lose something?” He asks, tossing it to Steve.

“Thank you.” Steve says, nodding at Peter before he shakes his head. “Why are you still down here? You’re supposed to be with her Majesty.”

“Hulk is with her.” Peter assures him.

“Hulk?!” Steve gasps, ducking as a guard dives towards him. He swings up with his shield and knocks him out.

“I got sidetracked. There are so many of them.” Peter gasps, jumping easily over a knocked-out guard that rolls by his feet.

“Well, at least I know she’s safe.” Steve sighs, turning back to Rumlow who is busy fighting a few of Tony’s own personal guards while Steve recovers quickly.

“GUHRAWRRHGGG!”

The animal-like cry is familiar and all too close.

Steve, Peter, and half of those fighting turn towards the terrifying sound of an angry Hulk as he comes barreling around the corner of the castle, trampling enemies as he goes while he simultaneously grabs hold of the ones he doesn’t step on, crushing them in his massive grip or throwing them into walls and dirt.

“HULK!” Steve shouts, desperate to get his attention.

The green mass seems to hear him as he turns to look at Steve and then jumps high up taking with him two bodies, before landing only a few feet away, crushing three others and dropping the two that he holds now lifeless.

As he walks over, Steve can see that he’s dirty, hands dripping with blood and mud as if he’s been fighting for a while.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asks before Steve has the chance. “You’re supposed to be with her Majesty!”

Hulk stops, thumping his chest importantly before he points at the cart rolling in from where he’d just come.

“Hulk go get witch lady for Queen flowers.” He says, voice proud. “Queen have baby now. Queen flower peed on floor.”

All of the blood in Steve’s body rushes up to his head and he can hear nothing but Hulk’s last few words.

“Hulk…is-is Y/N in labor?!” Peter asks, voice shocked and full of worry.

“Mm.” Hulk says simply, then points to the cart where Grandmother is dismounting amongst a large violent scuffle.

Steve is numb, and for this moment at least, his mind travels back to a cold winter morning that he will never forget.

You’re nestled in his arms, naked chest pressed against his own as you rest against him. You’ve got one hand up on the back of his neck, your fingers twirling through his hair. The other is resting against his side and he’s trying not to focus on how it tickles when you move your soft fingers in little circles against his skin.

“May I ask you for something? A gift?” You say, voice clear as a bell and full of hesitation but excitement.

Steve smiles, happy that you’ve become so open with him. He can’t believe you’re actually asking him for things now.

“Whatever you want my petal, it’s yours.” He says, pulling you closer as he wraps his arm around you more tightly.

He can feel the heat of your cheek as his words have some strange effect on you. A pleasing one.

You turn to look at him, resting your chin on his chest as gently as you can.

He turns to meet your eyes, admiring the way your hair is all over the place, messier in the back from how much he’s had you on yours.

There’s a glow to your skin, a sticky goodness that gives him such pride to know that he’s spent so much time giving you the pleasure you’d so rightfully deserved. He will never finish making all of it up to you. But this is as good as it will probably get.

“Tell me.” He urges you when you don’t speak.

“Promise me that you’ll be by my side.” You tell him, voice more confident. “When our child is born, I-I know that women die from giving birth and if those are to be my last moments-”

“No.” Steve protests, stroking your arm and shoulders. “No, don’t say that my flower.”

“Please, Steve, I must say it. I need you to hear me and I need to know that you’ll do as I wish.” You sigh. “If giving birth to our son is to be the last thing I do, I would very much like to have you at my side. I love you but more importantly, I want to see him in your arms.

“I want to know that if I should be gone from his life, that you will be there for him. That he will have his father’s protection and love, forever.” You tell him desperately, voice tight and intense.

“Of course, I’ll be there for him. There is no question about my being there for our son. I will always be there for him.” Steve declares, but he knows that you won’t be satisfied with only this. “And I promise, I will be by your side when you give birth to our son.”

It’s odd, sure, for the father to be in the birthing room but if it’s your wish, Steve will fight anyone who gets in his way to be there.

“I-” Steve begins, looking around at the fighting as Hulk disappears into the battle once more.

Beside him, he can see, hear, and feel Peter blocking blows and shielding him from an interruption to his sudden frozen thoughts.

“Your Majesty?” Peter says, trying to bring him around as he incapacitates two guards with his webs. He flings them away where they crash into more Hydra then flips back towards Steve, stopping to place his hand on his King’s shoulder. “Steve…”

Steve looks at him, swallowing hard as he wars with himself to rationalize this decision.

Before he can, two more figures fight their way into their small tense circle.

“What’s the matter?” Natasha asks, red hair whipping back and forth as she blocks a sword and kicks the attack in the gut with a grunt.

Beside her Bucky takes his fist and slams it into the ground hard creating a localized tremor that unbalances a few more guards that Natasha takes out with smaller daggers from around her hip.

“Has something happen?” Bucky asks, breathing hard, skin smudged with blood and dirt.

Steve still can’t speak so Peter does. “It seems Y/N is having the Prince. Now.”

Natasha’s face whitens as she takes a step closer to them both. “What?!”

Steve meets her gaze and Natasha shakes her head.

“You must go, Steve. Go.” Natasha insists.

“What about the fight?” He hesitates, wanting to run to you but knowing that he’s needed here. What if one of them should die because he leaves? He can’t just go.

“We will make do.” She says.

“She’s right.” Peter chimes in. “Y/N needs you more than we do.”

“But-” Steve begins, already decided on giving in.

“STEVE!” Sam shouts from the top of the crumbling gate, pointing towards the Southern forest where a literal cavalry is breaking through the trees.

At the very front, sitting tall and proud with one eye obscured by a black metal mask that covers only that side of his face, Fury leads a troop of guards dressed in blue and gray armor.

There is a deafening crack as the sky splits open once more and through the inky clouds of the coming morning a streak of blinding golden light rips through. At the head of this light is a figure, body covered in a slender armor of gold, blue, and red. Through the helmet is a slit along the top through which long golden hair spills out in what looks like a mane.

The figure stops midair, seems to float there as if the action require no more effort than breathing, then with her fist leading the way, she dives down and cuts through the throng of black until she reaches Rumlow and lands with a small thud.

“Shall we dance?” She asks him, voice cool and amused. Rumlow slams his heavily armored fists together, a reverberating clang filling the air, before he launches himself at the stranger who appears to be on their side.

Steve’s chest is filled with relief as he spots the reinforcements and turns to give in to his own and Nat’s desires when he sees a glimmering blade moving too fast for him to block, aimed right at the center of Natasha’s back.

Steve blinks and when he opens his eyes, he sees Bucky with his metal hand wrapped around the tip of the blade, the back of his hand resting right up against Natasha’s back.

The fury and loathing that blackens Bucky’s eyes worry Steve for a moment that they might not have seen the last of the Winter Soldier but Bucky breaks the blade, knocks the sword from the guard’s hand, and grabs him by the throat.

“I’m going to knock your brain into the soles of your feet.” He promises before punching the man so hard he falls to the ground, motionless with a dribble of blood flowing from his ears.

As he turns to check on Natasha, he has no chance to worry as she throws her arms around him and kisses him so hard his lips turn bright red.

Bucky is quick to wrap his arms around her and crush her to his chest as he returns her affections wholeheartedly.

When she pulls away, they’re both breathing hard.

“We’re getting married tomorrow morning.” Natasha declares.

Bucky swoons and kisses her again.

Steve turns to Peter who nods, and runs with him, helping him clear a path to the nearest entry.

“Tell her we’re all with her.” Peter says, and once Steve is through, he shuts and blocks the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re nearly completely folded over, clutching your stomach and back and your legs and everything hurts, and you think you might die from this but then it passes and you’re counting in your head.

“Th-Three.” Three minutes. It should be time? Isn’t that what Grandmother said?

No. Wait longer. The pains must be so close together that you won’t be able to tell them apart. Laying down would be beset right now however, and you edge your way closer to your bed again.

You’re sweating and straining, breathing heavily, and also not breathing enough. It feels like you can’t take a breath. Every other sound that comes from your mouth is a whine or a groan or a moan as pain engulfs you once again.

You manage to sit this time, hands fisting the sheets of your bed as you grit your teeth and then remember to try and breath but it’s too much. It’s too hard. You’re sobbing by the time the pain passes, rubbing your stomach in the hopes that this is the way it should be and the pain is not a sign of some distress your baby must be in but you’re too stupid, too uneducated to know.

Most women don’t know these things right away. You attempt to console yourself, knowing that only a midwife would know. A doctor would know. A peasant turned princess turned queen would not know. It wasn’t in your studies.

Still, the feeling of helplessness takes hold and you hate yourself for not doing better.

“I’m s-so sorry.” You grieve with your little one, scared and unsure of the fate you will both suffer.

You lay yourself down as the pain subsides and it doesn’t help but you don’t want to stand so you lay there for only half a minute before the bedroom door is thrust open.

“Grandmother?” You squeak, turning to look at the door for what you hope is reinforcements but instead find all of the blood in your body turning into ice at the ashy blonde hair and the wrinkled skin and the thin and slightly parted mouth of a desperate Lord Pierce.

You sit up more quickly than you thought would be possible, eyes taking in his slightly hunched stance as he moves towards you with careful steps. His hands are wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword.

He’s sweaty, breathing just as hard as you.

You realize that he’s had to fight his way up here. There’s a cut along his cheek and another gash on his leg. Not big enough to matter but proof of the battle.

“You should have just stayed with the Asgardian in the woods.” Pierce says, voice strong and resolute. “You should have never come back. Then I wouldn’t have to kill you and that brat inside your stomach.”

You raise one hand, a plea for him to stop as you go numb to everything but his movements and your free hand searching underneath the pillows behind you as discreetly as you can manage.

“Please.” You beg. “Please…”

“You really shouldn’t have come back.” He says, almost truly sounding remorseful but really he’s only irritated that he has to get his own hands dirty.

He raises his sword and swings it down to cut off your head just as your fingers make purchase around the solid hilt of Steve’s hidden sword.

You raise the heavy thing with a strength you didn’t know you had and block Pierce’s strike with a metallic clang.

The two of you struggle for a few seconds, struggling against each other’s solid grips until finally you push yourself onto your feet and nearly scream as you muster up all the strength you can to push his sword away from you.

It frees you up and knocks him off balance but he’s recovering quickly and you know that you will not survive a battle of swords with this man so you do the only thing you can do. You reach for the pitcher of water beside your bed, chuck it at his head, and run.

You can hear him sputtering and the break of the china as you sweep from the room, moving as fast as your baby heavy body will allow. Your bare feet slap against the floor as you turn the corner and race down the hallway towards the war room, but there are two floors and six hallways between you and you’ll never make it.

Pain bites into you, compelling your feet to stop moving as you turn another corner and cling with one arm to the peach limestone of your father’s hallways. The sword drags along the floor, scraping and making noise as you groan and try to hold yourself together as you’re robbed of your breath once more.

“Bitch!” Pierce screams and his voice rounds the corner behind you.

Forgetting your pain, you push yourself forward, terrified that he will catch you. You can’t let him kill your son.

You move faster, urging your body to keep moving despite the crippling pain that threatens to bring you to your knees.

It isn’t fast enough. As you round another corner and the stairs are in sight, Pierce’s hand wraps around your hair and he pulls you back hard.

You scream, knowing that no one will come because every man is down on the grounds, fighting with the Avengers.

He manages to wrap his hand around the back of your neck, but you twist in his grip and he adjusts it so that he’s almost choking you. Drawing your sword again, you can’t swing it from this angle so you raise the hilt up as fast as you can and hit your mark.

Pierce’s nose gushes blood as he stumbles back. The chain of your necklace is wrapped around hit thumb and it rips as he falls, releasing you from his grip.

The run down the stairs is terrifying, with every step a threat to you and your prince. You nearly fall on the last two but catch yourself along the banister before you’re racing forward once more.

You turn the corner and can hear Pierce barreling along the steps. In one horrible moment, you realize that you cannot outrun him. Slipping into the first door on your right, you rush in and urge your breathing to slow as the quiet of the room makes every noise you make that much louder.

You have never been in this room before and find yourself in a room with towering shelves. Each shelf is filled with books and strange knickknacks. Statues and pieces of artwork carefully organize and lined up.

Although the silence is unbearable, you’re grateful for the winding and maze-like bends and turns of the shelves and bookcases.

As silently as you can, you weave through them, stopping only when you feel you are deep enough and go still so that you can listen.

Your heartbeat is in your ears. Your breathing is still too labored.

Was that the door?

No. You cry in silence as the pain strikes again. In your back, in your lower body, your pelvis, it’s all on fire.

You raise your hand to your mouth and bite down hard. You can feel the skin break as the pain becomes unbearable, but you cannot utter a single sound or it’s all over.

Not my baby. You grieve.

The pain begins to pass, and you realize that it has only been a minute since the last one and you have to get out of here if your child is going to survive.

With all the remaining courage in your heart mustered you turn around to sneak out once more only to feel the sting of a powerful hit on the left side of your face.

The strength of it sends you falling onto your back and you gasp, struggling to catch your breath as your bones protest the fall.

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” Pierce asks angrily.

Looking up you see the sword flying towards your stomach.

You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around it, trying to cover as much of your baby as you can before the blow lands. You hear the terrible squish of blade piercing flesh and sob once because you know you’re dead…only there’s no pain.

You hear a groan, Pierce’s groan, and urge your eyes open only to find him standing over you with a shining silver blade peeking out of the center of his gut.

Blood dribbles from his mouth onto your nightdress as the light in his eyes fades. The sword is withdrawn and with a shuddering breath, you begin to cry.

“Are you alright?!” She asks, all beauty and enviable strength in her form hugging tunic of blue and black. Her long blonde hair is gathered up on her head, swept out of the way so that she can fight without struggle.

She sheathes her sword and kneels down beside you, her hands moving along your arms as you let your head fall back, happier to see Lady Sharon Carter than you ever thought you’d be in your life.

New pain fills your body as it struggles through the shock of what just happened and the urging of your son to come into this world.

You groan and moan and Sharon’s eyes fill with panic as she realizes that you’re about to give birth.

“Oh my-” She gasps.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Another shout fills the castle halls, moving closer and closer as he no doubt follows the trail of your fearful flight.

“Here!” Sharon rises to her feet and disappears from your sight, but you hear the door open again. “Steve, she’s here! Quick!”

Despite the pain your body is in, your mind begins to fuzz over and as you lay there between two large bookcases, Pierce’s lifeless stare gazing right at you, you begin to feel numb again.

“Y/N!” Steve’s voice is closer. “Where?!”

“Here.” Sharon says, leading him to you.

You know when he has you in his sights because his voice breaks as he speaks.

“No.” He cries. “I’m here. My flower, I’m here.”

He kneels beside you and you eagerly turn to meet his gaze.

He’s got cuts along his neck and forehead.

You frown, reaching for them in clear disapproval of any injury he’s gained. Storm blue eyes filling with tears, he’s careful to touch you but places his hand over yours as you touch him.

“Steve…” You try to smile. “I-I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Stay with me, love.” He whispers, tracing the shape of your arm from wrist to shoulder and back. “Stay awake.”

Your eyes close and Steve screams. “NO!”

#king!steve x reader #medieval au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #royalty au #king!steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #buckynat #marvel au #king!steve x reader fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #arranged marriage au #pseudo princess pt32 #pseudo princess #shreddedparchment

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fanfalc-616 · 3 years

Text

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Twenty-Six

(Previous Chapter Here)

Yeah okay this took forever,,,, have fun with it! (;

Also it was too long for one post again so I’ll reblog this with the rest-

Cryptor struggles to find the solution to the latest puzzle they gave him, doing his best not to let frustration show on his face as he ignores Kyle and Martha talking in the background.

He hates this. He just… he wishes that there was some way out, some way to be free, some way to be okay again.

But there’s not. He’s stuck here, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He feels tired. So tired. Nothing even seems to make sense anymore, so his only real choice is to just… keep going. Even if the only way he can do that is to follow their orders.

Exhausted, he takes a moment’s pause from the puzzle, absent-mindedly listening in on part of the conversation going on behind him.

Martha is the one speaking. “- and when Sentry is here, we’ll be able to-“

Hold on. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Did she just- Sentry? She’s going to bring Sentry here?!

He whips around, turning to face them. “What did you just say?!” He demands, ignoring the voice screaming at him to just do what he’s told. He can’t sit there and do nothing, not while his friend is on the line!

Kyle seems to wince some, but Martha glares. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, General.” She snaps. “Do not speak out of turn again, and go back to your task.”

He completely disregards the order, only staring at the two of them. They- they’re going to bring him here?! No, no, Cryptor’s been behaving, he’s been following orders, why would they-

“General, calm down.” Kyle interrupts his train of thought. “You knew it would come to this eventually, right?”

Cryptor can only stare in sheer horror as he struggles to come to terms with the implications of what they’re saying. “I- no. No, I didn’t- I-“ He abruptly stands up, pushing the small bench he’s on backwards as the metal screeches, but he ignores the loud sound, barely even able to hear it over his racing thoughts.

“No!” He shakes his head rapidly, struggling to figure out what to say. “You- you can’t-“

“Sit down, General.” Martha orders, her expression one of annoyance.

Fear and anger take over him, leaving him trembling. “You can’t hurt him!” He shouts, trying to come up with something, anything he could do to stop this.

“General! There's nothing you can do about it!” Kyle snaps, an aura of almost unease around him. “Calm down or you'll get hurt yourself!”

Okay, there’s something going on here, usually he doesn’t get so many warnings, why would-

Oh, who cares about what’s going on with that?! Sentry is at stake here!

His words showcase his fear and anger, his voice trembling as he snarls the words out. “I- I can’t just sit here and follow orders when- when you’re going to-“

Martha’s voice is dark as she narrows her eyes at him. “That’s enough, General.” There’s a clear threat to her tone, and just that is enough to make him start shaking…

For a few moments, all he can do is stand there, fighting against the urge to cave, to do what she says, to hopefully avoid punishment-

It’s a struggle, but he manages to hold his ground. “No.” He gets out, making himself hold her gaze. “No, I can’t. It’s not.”

He forces the words out even as he feels his power source kicking into overdrive- he’d rather have it ripped out than let them do what they’ve done to him to the innocent nindroid back at Borg Tower.

Shifting on his feet, Kyle seems to want to say something- but after a moment, he minutely shakes his head, looking over at Martha- likely for instructions.

Every gear and wire inside him feels abuzz with the mechanical equivalent of adrenaline, but he can’t think of what to do or say. His mind is running so fast that he can’t catch up, leaving him only able to stand and stare as the fear floods through him.

“Take it to the training room.” Martha turns to some guards as she speaks, still seeming annoyed. “It appears it needs to relearn an old lesson.”

The words send their own kind of fear through him, the thought of a punishment leaving him shaking even more. But he does his best to shove the feeling down, letting himself be escorted back to the training room and tied down once again.

There still seems to be something off about the blond as he dismisses the guards, but in all honesty, he doesn’t have enough processing power to even try and think about what it might mean.

Kyle sighs, but it doesn’t seem to be out of annoyance. “Okay, use the usual method. Just shocks for an hour.”

Wait- what? That’s it? Well, he- he doesn’t want to be punished more, but usually he gets in more trouble for this kind of thing.

He starts to voice his confusion out loud, but the shock he gets serves as a reality check, reminding him of his situation.

He’s not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

There’s silence, for a while. Which is surprising in its own way- Kyle usually gives him a lecture about what he did wrong while he’s being punished, but this time he’s… oddly quiet.

After all this time, you’d think that Cryptor would have grown numb to the pain. With everything he’s gone through, some shocks are hardly the worst thing in the world.

But somehow, he never seems to be able to quite adjust to it. Every blast of pain is just as bad as the one before it- and sometimes worse, when they start accumulating.

Breathing deeply, he looks down at the floor, struggling to hide how much it hurts. It’s- it’s not really real, anyway. It’s just… just a digital reaction designed to warn him that his circuits might be in danger. But he’s not in any real life-threatening danger, so all it does is-

A particularly painful shock jolts him from his train of thought, and he grinds his teeth as he struggles to push the pain from his mind.

In all honesty, he’s lucky that he’s had the life he did. With all the abuse he suffered from before the facility, he had actually gotten the chance to learn how to cope with this kind of thing.

But Sentry, on the other hand…

No. No, he can’t think about that. He can’t- there’s nothing he can do at the moment, he just needs to keep breathing, needs to not think about it, needs to not imagine what Sentry’s screams would sound like, needs to not picture the way he would curl in on himself as he struggled to cope, needs to not even consider what he might look like after going through even half of what he and Zane had-

He’s pulled from his downward spiral by Kyle, the blond suddenly speaking- and loudly, at that.

“OKAY! Okay, that's enough! An hour is way too long for that small of a mistake, I- Stop!”

When the shocks die down, Cryptor still can’t figure out what’s going on. Something is going on here, but Cryptor honestly doesn’t have the energy to piece together what.

He knows that he’s shaking like a leaf, and it makes his gut churn thinking about how damn weak he is, but he doesn’t dare lift his gaze.

It takes a moment for him to remember what he’s supposed to do. Right, they finished a punishment, he- he needs to confirm that he learned from it.

“ ‘m sorry, Master.”

The words are choked out and pathetic, and just hearing his own voice like that makes him want to cringe.

For some reason, Kyle seems to look uncomfortable, almost regretful in a way. “It's okay, it's- here. Let me-“

He trails off in favor of taking off Cryptor’s restraints- and after he does, he turns away, looking at the far wall.

For a second, the door tempts him. No one is watching, it would be so easy to-

No. No, he can’t do that. He has to stay, to follow orders. He gets hurt if he doesn’t follow orders. And while this punishment wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, that just means that the next one will probably be worse.

A hand comes to clutch at where one of the chains had been pulled a little bit too tight- with the shocks, he actually hadn’t even noticed the way they were digging into his plating until now.

Once again, he remembers what he’s supposed to do. Kyle let him go- and early, at that. He’s supposed to acknowledge that.

There’s no pride left for him to ignore as he speaks. “Th- thank you, Master.”

Kyle doesn’t react, looking almost lost in thought. He brings a hand up to his face, and if Cryptor didn’t know any better, he’d say the blond was trembling.

Alright, something is definitely up here, but Cryptor isn’t going to risk getting punished again for asking. Whatever it is doesn’t seem to be causing any immediate harm, so he’d be better off leaving it alone.

With no orders or distractions, his mind begins to drift. And unfortunately, his stupid processer takes him back to Sentry.

He really, really doesn’t want him to get hurt, but no matter what he does, it won’t make a difference. They’ve proven time and time again that he’s too pathetic to stand a chance, and… it’s hopeless.

Well, he- he could try to, at the very least, minimize his suffering. There has to be something he can do for that, right?

He could try taking punishments for him, but they’d catch on pretty quick, and then they’d just start hurting Sentry to get to him more. He could do something worse after every mistake Sentry makes to make them put it in kind of perspective, but that would just prolong it.

He- he could… help them. Help them- help them break him. If Sentry’s not really there anymore, then he won’t be suffering. He-

A feeling of disgust wells up inside of him as he realizes what he was even considering. No, he can’t do that, he can’t do anything like that! He can’t help them do that to him, he- he just-

Cryptor forces himself to keep breathing, trying to get his shaking under control. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Sentry, but if push really does come to shove…

He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

There’s an almost numb feeling spreading through him, but he’s thankfully given something else to focus on when he hears Kyle’s quiet murmur.

The blond’s voice is strained, even breaking a little as he talks. “...'m sorry, Gav…”

He seems to be trying to shove the feeling down as he clears his throat, and Cryptor could almost swear that he’s near tears.

“I'll t-take you back to your locker. You'll say you- you'll say you learned your lesson if anyone asks. This is a one-time thing, okay?” His eyes narrow as he finishes, but with how he looks, he’s hardly threatening.

The words he’s saying aren’t making any sense, but Cryptor isn’t going to turn down a break when it’s offered.

“Y- yes, Master,” he nods. The confusion is eating away at his processor, but he forces himself not to show it. If he does, he’ll be dragged right back into the training room.

Kyle starts to take him back to his locker, and Cryptor keeps his gaze on the floor as they walk, trying to keep his mind away from Sentry and what might happen to him.

He’s shaking, trembling, and he shouldn’t be- showing emotion this much isn’t a good idea, but for some reason, he’s still just being taken away from the training room.

Stepping inside the small cell, he still can’t wrench his mind away. All this time, all this sacrifice to protect Sentry…

“... all of this to protect you, and it didn’t make a difference…”

Crying.

It’s something he hated before. A sign of weakness, of something that could get in the way of a task.

But now?

Cryptor wishes he was allowed to cry.

The door is abruptly slammed shut in front of him, Kyle using much more force than necessary. There’s clearly something going on with the blond…

His confusion intensifies some, but in the end, does it really matter? Kyle was right. There is nothing he can do. Sentry is going to be brought here and broken whether he likes it or not.

He can only hope that he breaks before he has to watch the one he loves do the same.

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

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

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emberfrostlovesloki · 4 years

Text

# 5 Daddy Issues

Gif credit: @undertheniall

Prompt: Daddy Issues - When the reader attacks an unsub the team doesn’t know how to react. After an awkward day in the office Spencer works up the courage to find out what is going on with the reader, and they both find out they have a similar childhood fear.

Couple: Spencer Reid/ Reader (female)

Category: Angst / Comfort

Content Warning: Hostage situation, mentions of child abuse, language

A/N: Well here I am writing angst again. I really like the way this story turned out. I wanted to thank everyone for all the interaction with my posts, it means a lot. Also, I only have a basic knowledge of rock climbing, sorry if I got some things wrong. I hope you enjoy this new addition! Like/ Reblog please.

_y/n_ = your name

_y/l/n_ = your last name

_f/s_ = face shape

_h/l_ = hair length

Link to other stories

Word Count: 5k

The current case that the BAU team was facing was related to three seemingly unrelated murders in a small town in Ohio. It wasn’t until more information had come forward that Spencer nailed down the unsub’s identity. Jason Kloch, married father of three, had killed his family's bank teller, pastor and wife’s best friend once he heard that his wife was planning on divorcing him. Jason was currently holed up in his two story house, holding his family hostage. The team had made multiple calls to try and negotiate a peaceful resolution for the innocent members of Jason’s delusions, however nothing had come from those conversations. Now the team was driving over to the house to confront the unsub face to face. The FBI had tapped the family’s phone line and found out that Jason was planning on killing his wife and children and then himself that evening. With this information the team immediately took action, thus speeding to the family residence. Once they got to the picturesque white home the team split up into smaller units. J.J., Gideon and Spencer went to look at the backyard. Hotchner, Morgan, _y/n_ and Prentiss crept inside the home. Aaron signaled for _y/n_ and Derek to take the upstairs, while he and Emily would check the downstairs and basement. _y/n_ carefully walked up the stairs, avoiding the weak spots that would squeak with their weight. _Y/n_ could hear a one sided conversation coming from the largest bedroom and pointed in that direction. The duo approached the closed door. Both agents held their guns in front of their chests. Morgan used his fingers to count down, three, two, one. At one _y/n_ kicked the door in and pointed her Colt M4 in the direction of the bed. Jason was on the bed with his wife. The unsub had a gun that he immediately pointed at his wife’s head. The woman made a terrified sound against her gag as the deranged man threatened her. _Y/n_ said, “Mr. Kloch you don’t want to do this,” as Derek joined the female agents in pointing his weapon at the unsub. Jason pulled his wife off the bed with him. He pressed the metal barrel closer to his wife’s head. He replied, “You don’t understand anything.” The unsub looked _y/n_ up and down and continued, “You look like a real treat. I bet if I had married you you wouldn’t have tried to leave me like this bitch did.” _Y/l/n_ ignored the comment and took a step closer to the unsub. Morgan then said, “Jason, I know you want to keep your family together, but by killing them you won't accomplish any of that. If you let Mary [Jason’s wife] go you can have a chance to see your children again. Jason was starting to slip out of reality and he shouted, “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do! She does it all the time.” Jason waved his gun around wildly before he put it behind Mary’s cranium again. As the man began to slide his finger further on the trigger _y/n_ had one last attempt to stop yet another murder. She said in a seductive voice, “You said I was a treat earlier. Would you like to see some more?” The unsub was clearly startled by the offer and momentarily pulled the gun away from Mary’s skull. The man focused again and said, “Yeah, if I’m gonna die today I might as well see some cute tit’s and ass before I do.”

` Morgan looked over to _y/n_ and shook his head no at her. _Y/l/n_ looked back at him with as reassuring a glance as she could muster. The female agent slipped off one side of her blazer, then switched her gun from one hand to the other. With another shake the blazer fell to the floor. _Y/n_ took a step toward Jason. She still held onto her gun with her right hand, with the left she started unbuttoning her shirt. The woman stopped at the fourth button, where her shirt intersected with her bullet proof vest. Now that the woman’s clavicle was on display she stepped even closer to the unsub. When she was about two feet away from him she asked, “Do you like it.” At this statement Jason’s hand, holding the gun started shaking violently. Once the tip of the deadly weapon was off of Mary’s head agent _y/l/n_ lunged at the man. The pile of bodies on the floor writhed in a mess of arms and legs. Morgan ran over to the group and quickly pulled Mary out of the way and helped her to the bed. While this was happening _y/n_ had kicked the gun from Jason’s hand, and was punching him on the head and chest. For a moment the man flipped over on _y/n’s_ chest and tried to overpower her. The agent quickly kneed the man in the groin and bucked her hips up causing Jason to flip onto his back. _Y/n_ gave one last strong upper cut and the man was knocked out. Seeing this fact Morgan relaxed for a moment. Aaron entered the room to see what was happening to his team. When he ascertained the situation he lowered his gun. Unfortunately _y/n_ was still hitting the body of the unconscious man. With a voice of authority Hotch said, “Agent _y/l/n_ stop. The woman had heard her supervision but continued to beat the man. Morgan quickly got up and grabbed _y/n’s_ waist and easily lifted the lithe girl off the unsub. Derek held on to her with enough strength that she couldn’t move her hands anymore. Morgan said, “I need you to calm down _y/n_. Take some deep breaths.” After a minute or two the agent relaxed in his arms, she looked up to Aaron with a sad expression. Her supervisor returned the look with one of apprehension.

Thirty minutes later, when Mary and her children had been taken to the hospital for a check up, and Jason had been cuffed and taken into custody, Spencer, and the FBI team that had helped them with the case were filling out a report on the room. In another corner of the room Aaron was having a conversation with Derek about what had happened in the room before he got there. From what Spencer could hear it didn’t sound like _y/n_ had acted like herself at all. Spencer stood up from his position on the floor and momentarily looked out the window. He could see J.J. and _y/n_ were having a conversation. Or, what looked more like an argument. J.J. was standing with her arms crossed across her chest and _y/n_ was gesturing with her hands. After another minute the media liaison shook her head and walked away from the other agent. Spencer could see _y/n_ shoulders moving up and down as if she was trying to control her breathing. Then the agent pulled her fist back and hit the side of the house sharply. Spencer flinched at the action. It looked like it must have hurt. Before the svelte agent could consider what had happened between his coworker one of the other groups FBI agent’s approached him with a form to look over and sign. In another two hours the team was on the jet back to Quantico. There was a strange tension on the plane. _Y/n_ was not her normal bubbly self. She had even refused to play Spencer at chess, one of her favorite things. Instead, the agent had put on headphones and took a seat at the back of the jet. She had her legs pulled up to her chest and had wrapped her arms around them, like a child when they were frightened. The team gave her a wide breadth, not wanting to disturb her. They didn’t really know what to do, because she had never acted this way before. They all hoped that tomorrow she would be back to normal. When the plane landed Morgan gave her a hug as they exited the aircraft. As she passed by Aaron he looked at her with a blank expression, this made the young woman shiver before she quickly moved toward her car.

The next day at headquarters when _y/n_ entered the bullpen Hotchner called her up to his office. The young agent closed the door behind her and stood in front of his desk. Aaron looked up at her and said, “Please take a seat _y/l/n_.” The agent did and placed her arms at the edge of her supervisor's desk. Hotchner tilted his head slightly and said, “You know why you’re here, right.” Upon hearing this _y/n_ hung her head and replied, “Yes Sir.” Hotch nodded and said, “Would you like to tell me what happened yesterday with Jason Kloch?” _Y/n_ kept her head down but turned her eyes to the man that she saw as a father figure and said, “I apologize that my emotions got in the way of my job yesterday. I know that it was unprofessional and unneeded.” Hotch took in the words and replied, “You not only acted unprofessionally with your outburst, but you also put yourself in unnecessary danger by approaching the unsub in the manner that you did. Unfortunately I’m going to have to ask you to take a psychiatric evaluation. Pending the results of your exam I will decide whether or not to include it in your file.” _Y/n_ nodded. She knew that her actions could get her fired, and she was grateful that he was giving her this much of a chance. Hotchner had one last question, so he looked up at her and honestly asked, “I need to know what’s happening with my team _y/n_. I’m asking you to tell me truthfully what caused your outburst yesterday? What’s going on?” The female agent sat silently for a minute, thinking about how to reply. After the uncomfortable silence she said, “The relationship you had with your father Sir, it’s the same kind of relationship I had with mine. Every time I see an unsub that’s abusing their power over innocent women and children I see my father beating the crap out of me again. I see him hitting my mom and sister, holding us hostage. Mr. Kloch made me do something I never thought I would. I’m going to have to live with that the rest of my life, Hotch.” At hearing the story Aaron pressed his lips together making them form a thin line. Hotchner knew how the girl was feeling, what it was like to face a person just like the one you were forced to live with when you were young. He got the pent up anger, and fear of becoming the same thing yourself. The supervision replied, “I understand you agent _y/l/n_. I’ve scheduled your exam for tomorrow morning. You're free to go.” _Y/n_ stood up, and as she reached the door Hotch said, “I’m sorry.” _Y/n_ gave the smallest smile, nodded and left the room. Hotch sat back down and thought, ‘I don’t think the results will be a problem. But if they are I’ll get _y/n_ the help she needs. And I’m sure as hell not letting her off the team.’

_Y/n_ had stayed quiet after her evaluation the next day. She was working through the case files on her desk when Spencer approached her. The tall agent had decided that he needed to find out what was bothering his friend. When she was acting too differently the whole team dynamic shifted to a weird nebulous area of hesitation. Spencer wasn’t doing this only for his own comfort, he was doing it because he remembered how many times other members of the team had offered to help him when he needed it. He knew that _y/n_ trusted him, in fact she would tell him loads of information, about her day, her best friend, the new film she had seen. And he loved hearing her enthusiastic conversations. When he was stressed, or having trouble sleeping he would call her and let her go on and on. Spencer also liked that she didn’t just talk to talk, the woman had a thesis and sources to back up her rants. This reminded him of himself, and he found it comforting. Their conversations had become such a staple of their working relationship that she would call him when she was stressed, and ask him to talk about his latest paper, or how the thermodynamics of the universe worked. He wanted to hear her voice again. Therefore he was standing beside her desk. _Y/n_ looked up at him and smiled. She set down the file she was examining and said, “Hey Spencer, what’s up?” Reid smiled back, he was about to make an offer that she couldn’t refuse. He replied, “I’ve been wanting to go to Earth Treks after work for a while, and since we don’t have a case I was wondering if you wanted to come with?” At hearing this _y/n’s_ eyes lit up. Earth Treks was a rock climbing gym close to the Quantico base. Spencer knew that _y/n_ had a membership and went at least three times a week after work. One time after a difficult case for him, she had dragged him to the gym to clear his head. It had been beneficial, because all he could really do was focus on his footing and handholds. He wasn’t good, but he had tried. Spencer snapped back to reality when she replied, “I’d love that Spence. I’ll meet you in the garage at five.” Reid smiled and said, “Cool, see you then.” The tall agent moved back to his desk a few feet away, relieved that his plan had worked.

Spencer met _y/n_ at the parking garage after the work day was over. She gave him a hug and he opened the passenger side door of his car for her. The sound of classical music on Spencer’s car stereo filled the silence for a few minutes before _y/n_ asked, “So, what makes you want to go climbing all of a sudden?” Reid kept his eyes on the road as he replied, “I just wanted to do something different. You know how work can be, how I can be. If I get caught up in my head I work less efficiently.” _Y/n_ giggled at his response and said, “Spencer, even if you were working at fifty perscent capacity I don’t think anyone on the team could work as quickly as you do. Excluding Penelope, because she’s also super fast, but more chaotic, and more likely to break a law to stalk an ex-boyfriend.” Reid smiled and took a second to look over to his passenger and continued the conversation saying, “Well, honestly this last case has made me a little uneasy, I’ve missed seeing and talking to you.” _Y/n_ looked over at Spencer when he finished the statement. She looked hurt for a second, and then disappointment took its place on her _f/s_ features. She knew that she had seen Spencer everyday since the case. She knew he wasn’t just talking about missing her presence, he missed the person she was before their last case. She turned her eyes away from him so she wouldn’t have to see her friend be unsure of her. It really hurt her that this whole situation was happening. She didn’t want to have to explain herself to the whole team; or more accurately, that she would have to talk to Spencer about why she was acting this way. She didn’t want to burden him more.

When the pair got to Earth Treks they got out of the car and entered the building. _Y/n_ swiped her membership card and went to the front desk to get Spencer in for free using her rewards points. As Spencer signed a release form and got his pair of shoes from the worker at the desk, _y/n_ was taking off her shoes and putting her duffle bag and tennis shoes in a cubby hole. Spencer walked up to her and started doing the same. Both agents had their workout clothes and shoes and moved past the gym space and into the bathrooms and changing areas. Both went into their respective gender’s area and changed and put on their climbing shoes. Spencer and _y/n_ came out of the changing rooms at the same time and started to walk back to the area that they needed to drop their personal belongings at when _y/n_ saw that one of the belays was open on the wall at the far end of the gym. She turned to Spencer and said, “Hey Spence, I’ll put your clothes up if you run over and grab that spot.” _Y/n_ pointed to the wall and Reid said, “Sure thing.” He handed his clothes to his friend and started toward the far wall. _Y/n_ held Spencer clothes close to her chest, feeling their warmth. She quickly snapped out of her reverie and moved to the storage space. She wanted to think about how calming being close to Spencer made her, but she knew now was not the time for those mental fantasies. She stuffed her clothing into the slot she had selected, but took the time to fold Reid’s clothes and place them next to his converse. When _y/n_ finished with her friend's clothes she grabbed her harness and ropes to belay with. When she arrived at the wall with Reid she looked at the routes open on the wall. She looked at Spencer and asked, “Do you want to go first? I can belay.” The lanky man looked up at the high wall, an appearance of apprehension on his face. _Y/n_ saw this and said, “If you look at the pink route I think you’ll be able to make it. It’s only an A 5.3 grade. I can walk you through it if you need help.” Spencer looked at the beginner climb and said, “Okay, I’ll try it, but only because I know you want to use this wall.” _Y/n_ gave a slight huff, knowing that Spencer was being honest. The more adept climber pulled the ropes down and handed Spencer the two clips to attach to his harness, while she oriented the ropes in a safe way for her to pull up her friend. Once she had done this she looked to Spencer who was still trying to attach the main safely clip to his harness. She sighed and grabbed the karabener from him and slipped it open. She then grabbed the loop on the harness that encircled Spencer’s waist. _Y/n_ tried not to think too hard about the area her hands were close to as she clipped the final safety precaution to her friend. The woman tugged up on the two ropes to ensure they were on correctly before quickly moving her hands away from his body.

Spencer’s train of thought was clearly somewhere more focused as the man put his hands and feet at the beginning of the ascent. _Y/n_ grabbed the ropes from the belay and stepped a few feet back and said, “Alright you’re good to go.” Spencer moved up the wall easily until about half way up the route. When he started getting nervous _y/n_ told him where to move his limbs that led him to the top of the wall. After Spencer had finished his climb _y/n_ found an employee of the gym to belay her while Spencer watched her complete a more difficult ascent. After another hour and a half of climbing on the tall walls and the bouldering section of the gym the agents were tired out. The friends ended up changing and heading out of the gym _y/n_ had almost forgotten the awkward circumstances they had arrived in. She asked Spencer, “Hey, would you like to go to Insomniac, it will be my treat?” Spencer smiled at the offer and said yes. Insomniac was his favorite coffee shop in D.C. It was the first place that he and _y/n_ had hung out after work. As he drove them to their next destination Spencer couldn’t stop looking at _y/n_, and her relaxed face as it leaned back against his car seat. She had her eyes closed, enjoying the smooth movements of the road moving beneath her. Spencer reminded himself that he was here to find out what was bothering his friend, nonetheless he still had a hard time letting go of the warm feeling he had in his chest.

When his car pulled into the gravel driveway of the coffee shop the two walked into the building and placed their regular orders; like they belonged there. Once _y/n_ had her matcha latte and a shot of espresso and Spencer had his coffee with a cup of sugar, the pair moved to the outside seating area. As _y/n_ teased her friend about his sugar consumption the man looked around and the twinkling lights that surrounded the patio they were seated in. Reid breathed in time with the twinkling lights until his heart rate calmed. He couldn’t really understand why his breath had been racing before. Once _y/l/n_ had taken a short respite on her conversation about the primary themes of Inception, a topic she would bring up once a month at least, always presenting a new case to why it was the best 21st century film, Spencer held up his hand. _Y/n_ looked up to him as he said, “_Y/n_ I need to know what’s going on with you. I can’t be a good friend to you if I don’t know what’s bothering you.” The pained look was back on _y/n’s_ features as she heard what he had to say. The woman quickly replied, “Do you not trust me Spencer. Does seeing me act differently make you uncomfortable, do I make you uncomfortable now!” She said it with more anger than she intended, and when the statement was out she shut her mouth quickly, angry that her emotions had so prominently made themselves known. Spencer said, “I’ll always trust you _y/n_. I’m just trying to understand what’s going on.” When Spencer said this tears started forming in _y/n’s_ tear ducts. She looked away from him and took a deep breath before turning to him. She put her hand out on the table, hoping that he would place his fingers over hers. She quickly pulled her arm back when she realized that this was an inappropriate thing to want or assume from him. He didn’t owe her physical affection, even if she wanted it. She looked down at the table and made the decision that if she didn’t let Spencer into her past she might lose him forever. She continued by saying, “My mother left me, my older brother and sister when I was seven. I always assumed she would come back and she never did. It was fine at home until my brother left for college, which my father paid for. He had assured all of us that he would help us some way once it was our turn to leave home. Well once my brother was gone my father changed his tune. When it was close for me to apply to universities my dad told me that women belonged in the home, and that I should be looking for a husband, not a degree. He started drinking. He’d come home and try and beat my sister. I stopped him.” When she said this Spencer noted how she clutched her arms over her chest in a protective gesture.

She continued with the story, “One night during a screaming match with my father he told me that he had saved up money for our college fund. But after our brother had moved out he had spent the rest of the fund on gambling and a ponzi scheme that had failed. When I turned eighteen I took my sister and ran, like my mom had years before. I worked my ass off to get where I am today. I still work my ass off because I’m paying for half of my sister’s college education.” It was at this point that the tears fell down from her face. Talking about the past reopened old wounds that she had ignored for years. Again she turned her face away from him, trying to hide her pain. Spencer felt very bad about this and he reached across the table to put his right hand over hers. He squeezed her palm, applying consistent pressure in an interval of ten seconds with a break of five seconds. He knew that it was a way to physiological calm the human body. After a few minutes the woman relaxed. Spencer said, “I’m so sorry to hear that. Your childhood doesn’t determine your current situation.” He was trying to be very logical with his approach, but when she replied, “I know that. But I don’t want you or anyone on the team throwing me a pity party. I’ve already done enough of that. But Spencer,” She looked at him squarely in the face and said, “But more importantly, yesterday with the unsub I absolutely went off on the unsub. Derek had to pull me off of him. The unsub reminded me of my dad and I lost control. Spencer what if I become just like my father? I can’t live with myself if that’s what I become.” _Y/n_ was absolutely shaking with fear. And Spencer realized that earlier, after the case and in the office and in his car, that she wasn’t afraid of anyone else, she was afraid of herself. The lithe man got up from his chair and knelt down next to her chair and pulled his arms around her neck. Her tears fell hot and large on his shoulder. The man used his right hand to rub circles into her upper back and his left to run up and down through her _h/l_ hair. He didn’t let go when she stopped sobbing, instead he said, “You know my father left me and my mom?” Spencer could hear her swallow and felt her head move up and down, saying yes. He continued, “Well after I got my third degree I tried reaching out to him. He sent me a letter telling me to fuck myself, and never speak to him again. Then a year later I got hired by the BAU. I stopped seeing my mom. I thought that I had abandoned her like he had. Once I thought about that I was doing I started writing to her daily. I remind myself that I’m not the man he was, and I never will be.” At hearing Spencer’s confession _y/n_ moved her hands to either side of Spencer’s head and pulled his face up to look at hers. When they were looking at each other he said, “You’re not the monster your father was. You’re a hundred times stronger than him because you catch people like him everyday, and you’re still happy, optimistic and lovely to be around. _Y/n_ shifted in her seat so Spencer’s waist and hips were between her legs. She placed her forehead on his and asked, “Do you ever go home and think that there’s a black shadow stalking you. Mocking everything you’ve accomplished?” Spencer had his eyes closed and was considering how her breath smelled like grass and steamed milk with the addition of coffee and replied, “For me it’s more like a black hole. Something that should have been there, but never really existed in the first place; or only existed in my head.”

The pair stayed in their current position for a moment before _y/n_ asked, “Can I kiss you Spencer? Can I understand what it feels like to be that close to you?” He nodded his head yes, He didn’t say yes verbally, more of a ‘un’ sound. _Y/n_ leaned in as he raised his chin up and their lips met in a moment of pure peace. There was no pity or shame in the past, just a secureness of the moment. After the pair had separated they shared stories and moment’s of their lives that made sense to know about each other. And with each passing word they both felt more secure in each other's arms. The next morning _y/n_ went to each member of the team and individually apologized for how she had acted over the past two days. When she saw Hotchner he said that her results from the psych eval came in. Her supervisor held up the file and dropped it in the waste basket beside his desk, giving the girl a hug after she had apologized. Morgan couldn’t ignore that she and Spencer were wearing the same clothes as they had been yesterday, and that _y/n’s_ car had stayed in the parking garage all night. Spencer and _y/n_ hadn’t done anything too indecent yet. They had just gone back to Reid’s apartment and watched Inception while they debated the theme and kissed some more. However, Derek did see the two sneak a kiss at the coffee pot in the break room. He wouldn’t bring it up in front of the whole team, instead he would corner Spencer and demand an explanation. Morgan was very happy for them and he couldn’t wait to be a third wheel on one of their dates, he was sure it would be interesting to watch.

#spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #criminal minds #cm #reader x spencer reid #reader x dr. spencer reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss #j.j.#aaron hotchner #jason gideon #i just finished S2 E15 and I am so fucked up rn #angst #comfor #one shot #fanfiction

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antihero-writings · 3 years

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The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch1)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: I’ve actually had this idea ever since the first or second time I read Chamber of Secrets. Though Tom has never been my favorite character, I found young Tom interesting, and I always thought things would have gone differently if he had come back when he was Harry’s age. I was always curious if he could have been redeemed if things had gone this way. Now, I know JK Rowling purposely wanted to create an irredeemable villain, so she wouldn’t have redeemed him even then, but I wanted to write a fic playing with that idea myself.

Despite having had this idea for a long time, I didn’t write it because I was afraid I’d bite off more than I could chew, and wouldn’t finish. But this last time I read Chamber of Secrets, I decided I’d just go for it. I’m still afraid I won’t finish, as this is the longest premise of any of my fics posted, (and I haven’t finished any of my other, shorter, long fics…) but I didn’t want that to stop me from at least trying out the idea. Even if I don’t finish it, at least I’ll have something to show for it!

All that being said, if you like this fic and do want me to continue please consider commenting, and/or reblogging. Sometimes one comment can mean the difference between me continuing, and me leaving the fic behind. It really helps to know people are interested.

Above art from the internet.

Chapter 1:

He didn’t know how fitting it was.

Tom Riddle didn’t know just how fitting it was that the first two things he sensed after waking up were the sound of crying, and the stench of blood.

He didn’t remember how much of his past—or perhaps one could call it his future—was comprised of tears, blood, muffled screaming, and the words avada kadavra! hissed in a cold, high voice that was surely not his own.

Right now, he didn’t remember much of anything at all.

Sixteen years or sixty, he remembered none of pain, the loss, or the victory.

All he knew in this moment was that world was damp and cold, it smelled like death, and someone was weeping.

That was the world to him; an ink spill on living canvas. A hole made in screaming pages.

The sound of weeping was the first thing he knew in this new life—(or this old life, made new)—it echoed and filled the place—whatever the place was—like the slow drip of water in an empty cave; tiny on its own, mistakable in a crowd, but sharp, vast, and overpowering when the world was hollow.

And the world did feel hollow.

He did not wake to a warm, dry hospital bed, a fire, and a heap of get-well cards. His family did not surround him, showering him with love and gratitude, asking what he did and did not remember, and what had happened to their sweet boy. No one held up pictures, pointing to the scenes and people within them fervently demanding remember?!, praying amnesia would leave him sooner rather than later.

Instead he woke to a place in which every sensation burned: cold searched for weaknesses in his damp cloak and slithered across his skin; the smell of blood bored into his nostrils, enough he could almost taste it; and the longer he heard the wailing it burned in his ears too.

Burned because it hurt his heart not just his ears? Because it was sad? Because it mattered, and he needed to know what was wrong?

Surely not.

Burned because it was annoying, and he wanted to shut it up. Burned because it wasn’t a nice sound to wake up to, and whoever they were ought to have more courtesy for orphan boys who just wanted to wake up in peace.

Everything burned because something about feeling, sensing anything at all, was…oddly unfamiliar. Not strange as in a new way; it was like something he once knew well that had been forgotten, left behind for a while, like nostalgia.

And if simply living was this foreign…how long had it been since he was last alive? How long had he been a ghost? And what brought him back to his body?

He opened his eyes.

Sight didn’t change the impression he had received from his other senses; mostly it just added ‘dark’ to the list of not-very-nice things the world was made of. And due to this fact, sight didn’t burn nearly as much as his other senses. Still, the world was crisper, more colorful, somehow, despite its drab nature…

He was in a chamber, a dungeon of sorts—probably underground. Stones and statues, turned brownish-green in the humid atmosphere, lined the walls. Snakes poked their heads out at him from the walls, their eyes glittering as if they’d come alive at any moment. And before him was a particularly large statue of a man.

But, as he sat up, his clothing—long, black robes, with a green patch on the chest—clinging to him uncomfortably, there were a few things sight showed him worth noting:

The first, most obvious, was the gigantic snake lying beneath the statue some ways down the chamber, its scaly green tail glistening in the low light. It was clearly dead; lying still, its belly up. There was blood where its lifeless eyes had been scratched blind, and a hole in the roof of in its gaping mouth, one of its front fangs missing. This was most likely the source of the foul smell. How long had it been dead? Couldn’t have been long, considering the other things around the room…

The second, what may have once been a book. This one was very close to himself. Its pages were ripped out of their bindings, in shreds, surrounding him like fresh snowfall. The leather cover had many holes and gashes in it, apparently made by the missing fang, which also lay beside the book, blackened ink on its tip—(but can words bleed?)—the book mutilated beyond repair. This was one of the strangest sights. It was almost as if someone—probably the person crying—blamed it for their problems and took their anger out on it, before that anger became the sorrow that resonated through the chamber now.

The third was a gleaming orange and red bird, long tail feathers unfurled on the floor, like a flame, its head held high, sitting quietly beside the mourner. It didn’t look like it didn’t belonged in such a grim place—like a rich person walking in a slum.

There was another glittering thing beside him: a silver sword with jewels encrusted in the hilt. This was likely the cause of the snake’s death, especially considering it had blood coating it.

A little way from it was a pile of raggedy brown fabric. …He couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to be.

The sixth: the source of the crying, a boy. He had unruly black hair, and his black robes—(the same robes, he noted, that he himself was wearing, or very similar)—were christened with the blood and slime of beasts—(and maybe men, he couldn’t know)—and ink. He was possessed by the demon that was tragedy; his entire form shaking, heaving, whether from sadness or rage, or both, only time, and a healthy dose of good questioning would tell.

The last thing of note, and what was most likely the source of the tears: a corpse. A girl specifically, with red hair—almost as fiery as the bird’s feathers—ashen skin, and, once again, the black robes—(must be a uniform of some sort). Perhaps they were at a school? Quite a dreary school it was, if so. She was small, apparently young.

The scene was both a lot, and not much, to go on.

Three living things—one without memory, another without peace—two dead, and four inanimate, one of the inanimate things more mauled than any of the living or dead.

His mind started to provide theories about the scene,

Theory one:

The snake had killed the girl, the boy had taken up the sword and killed it in outrage.

Made sense, but that still left the diary, the bird, and himself. As well as the pile of fabric…

He didn’t see the bird having a big role in this; his best guess was that it belonged to the boy, as it seemed loyal to him, sharing his grief, and that its role was the scratch marks on the snake’s eyes, helping the boy defeat it.

Theory two: The girl had written something in her diary the boy didn’t like, perhaps something about he himself. He had torn the diary apart, and in a jealous rage sent his pet snake after her, but regretted it after the snake went too far and killed her, and decided to kill it after all.

Theory three: Reverse of roles; the diary was the boy’s, and she had found it, and he was either mad she found it and tore it, or she had after finding something she didn’t like in it, potentially about him, and the offended party let loose the snake.

Theory four: The snake belonged to neither of them, it was by accident they happened to wake it, or stumble into its home while fighting about this diary.

But why did they find an underground chamber the best place for an argument? Did they live here? Was this a normal place for them to spend time? Like some sort of secret hideaway? Were they in hiding from something?

Four(a): Or else were they on some quest to find it—was the snake guarding treasure? Did the diary hold the map to it, and they tore it simply to keep anyone else from finding it, or else falling into the same trap?

Theory five: The diary was his own; not the boy's or the girl's. He had some relationship to one or both of them that went awry.

Five(a): The snake was his own, and he had set it loose on the girl for some reason, perhaps he was the jealous and angry party here.

Theory six: The snake didn’t kill the girl.

Six(a): She was already dead or dying before the snake even arrived. Maybe the snake's venom, or something else about this chamber, was meant to cure her and failed.

Six(b): The boy killed her. Perhaps in his aforementioned jealous rage he had took the sword to her himself, and now he regretted it.

Six(c): He himself killed her.

He sat up, blinking at the dreary universe. The boy didn’t hear him, just kept on crying. It was a very tiresome noise to hear so constantly.

He reached over and, quietly as possible, drew the diary closer. What made its disfigurement all the stranger was that every page he could see appeared blank. People didn’t usually have qualms with blank diaries—it was the words that people were so touchy about.

When he lifted up the cover, he could see beneath the gashes a name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The sight of the name sent a curious sensation through his stomach; he didn’t remember who it belonged to, but the name set a fire boiling in his gut, a bubbling, swirling, writhing fire within him. A fire that threatened to destroy everything around it too.

He looked up at the mourner. Was that his name? Or was the girl, in fact, a very petite, long-haired boy? Did the diary belong to no one present, and it was the secrets within, not the owner, that mattered? But there were no words at all, let alone any secrets…

Or…was it perhaps his own? His own name that he didn’t even remember.

Sitting here theorizing wasn’t going to get him any closer to the truth.

It didn’t seem like a good idea to disturb the boy in his grief, but he didn’t have much choice—losing your memory is an ordeal of its own, you know.

He got to his feet—this sensation too didn’t feel completely mundane to him. Everything felt nostalgic—like in some fond childhood he walked, and smelled, and saw, and heard, but as he grew up, sense left him, and he forgot what it meant to be alive. His damp clothes clung to his body, making him shiver.

His footstep broke the atmosphere; the first new sound in the stagnant place, the pieces of peace cutting through the tears. The boy gasped—the kind of raw gasp, full of dread and despair, one takes when they realize the dragon is awake.

But the dragon in this particular chamber was slain…

His slow steps filled the chamber, an ominous repetition, the ticking of a clock.

When he got close, the boy’s hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, the metal twinkling in the dim light, scraping and clattering on the stone as it moved.

“I’d stay back if I were you,” his voice was soft but solid, dangerous, wet with tears, shaking with rage, hoarse from screaming.

He stopped. He didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Hmm…What to ask? ‘Why’s that?’ ‘What happened here?’ ‘Who are you, who was she, and, while you’re at it, who am I?’

The scene was still fresh; if he touched the embers it might reignite.

“And…If you were me, what would you do?” he decided to ask. Speech, words forming on his tongue, felt odd too… but it was the sound of his voice that caught him most off guard…why? Had he been expecting to hear something different?

It was an odd question; he could tell the boy wasn’t expecting it. He paused. Then he scoffed,

“I’ll never be like you.” Then his voice grew quiet and dangerous, “But if I were in your place…I would run. As far away as I could, and as fast as I could, before I found out what the famous Harry Potter is capable of when you take something important from him.”

An even odder response.

The boy turned. One of his most defining features was the circular-rimmed, cracked glasses he wore. That, and the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was red and irritated. Seeing this scar, for some reason, made ire rise in Tom’s throat too. His glasses shielded eyes of a bright green which also heralded from a distant memory.

Bright, but dark. A green that pierced the veil of shadows, yet reflected the rest of the world. He wondered if he had ever seen such hatred in someone’s eyes before, in that past he didn’t remember. They burned as bright as the bird by his side, bright as the girl’s hair. They were bright enough to set the chamber ablaze, dark enough to enact the threats in all the room’s corners. Yet his name didn’t immediately come to mind.

Harry Potter. That was what he said his name was. Once said aloud, the name was more familiar than sensation itself; a burning scar upon his mind, never quite healed. The name was rage, and humiliation itself to him…though he couldn’t place the source of these emotions; no memories came to mind.

They were enemies.

Only two names he knew so far, and both sent the same sort of mad fury through him. Curious.

He couldn’t be more than twelve years old. Twelve years old was quite the young age to be defeating monsters, watching girls die, and to hold such hatred in one’s eyes. Very young to be so hated by he himself.

He was just a kid. Did this Harry Potter really deserve all this?

Why did they hate each other so much? Was it normal for him to hate twelve-year-old boys?

Come to think of it, how old was he himself? He sounded young, not much older than him. But he didn’t feel young.

Why did he hate him so much?

It was starting to look like Theory six(c) might be the most likely.

He didn’t take his advice. He didn’t know much about himself, but he didn’t think he was one to take people’s advice, especially not that of his enemies. In ignorant defiance he took a step forward.

“Stay back!” Harry Potter barked, as vicious as a loyal guard dog.

That same hatred he felt buzzed behind his words.

Another step.

He held up the sword.

“I’m warning you.” Tom knew the threat in his voice was very real.

Yet he came closer. Close enough to see the face of the girl.

He didn’t recognize her. Predictable, but aggravating. He had hoped that perhaps seeing her would bring him to his senses. Alas, she was just a dead girl.

He leaned in closer.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!!” the boy’s words, along with the sword, were at his throat without a second to spare.

He simply flicked his gaze to him; no sign of shock or emotion at his outburst on his features.

The world must burn for this boy too. Burn, not because of sensation itself was strange, but because what he felt was currently was too much to bear.

Hatred, horror, heartbreak…hell. It all blazed and overflowed in his eyes.

He backed up one step, then another, and kept backing away until the sword was no longer close to his skin. Harry could have easily followed him, keeping the threat alive, but it seemed staying by the girl, protecting her lifeless body was his highest priority—Why? What could he possibly do now that she was dead? Was he prone to mutilate dead girls? Was his touch repugnant enough on its own to warrant such violence?

The anger was still white-hot, but confusion was in the boys’ eyes too now.

Yes, six(c) seemed pretty likely.

So, how had he lost his memory? He himself didn’t seem hurt in the slightest physically, he didn’t even have so much as a spitting headache to tell him he’d knocked his head hard enough to lose his memory. It didn’t appear as though he and the boy had dueled, despite the indication they were opponents, and the sword in his hand. Nothing indicated how he could lose his memory, or why…or, come to think of it, why he was still alive.

If it was true he had killed her, that they were enemies, why hadn’t Harry killed him in his sleep? He surely had the chance, in the midst of all the wailing. Why didn’t he walk up to him, send that sword through him and be done with it? Why didn’t he fight him, run him through, now? Tom was clearly unarmed, and Harry was likely the one who killed the snake, clearly he had the upper hand, the power to do so. It all made too much sense.

He could tell he wanted to.

…The diary. It must be connected to everything. Would it reveal the truth of the situation, and his lost memories? Everything seemed to trace back to it. From the looks of things, it was the source of the scene…and it was the most confusing part of the scenario. If he started with it, perhaps he could get somewhere.

He sauntered back to it, crouched down and picked up the mangled cover, staring at the name, the holes where someone—presumably Harry—had stabbed it, a few blank pages hanging limply out of the binding. But why would he hurt an inanimate diary?

“Who’s Tom Riddle?” he asked.

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makeste · 4 years

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literally just a giant post of Bakugou faces.

today, 4/20 (actually it is very much still only 4/19 over here, but to heck with it, we’re getting an early start dammit), is Bakugou Katsuki’s birthday. and as someone who loves Bakugou and who also hasn’t found much worth rejoicing about in April 2020 in general, it’s important to me to celebrate the shit out of this day. but these are strange times and I am le tired, and so what my tired brain ended up arriving at was “just do a post about how much you love his stupid face.”

so these are my favorite Bakugou faces. I stopped after Kacchan vs. Deku because this post was already like 100k words (slight exaggeration) with like 40,000 faces (slight), and because this already took forever and the next 130-something chapters were only going to have about one fifth as many good faces compared to the first 120, even though there are some good ones there still to be sure. but anyway, so there are no spoilers here.

happy birthday Kacchan, and happy birthday to Kacchan’s angsty side profile with his hair covering his eyes.

why I like it: he scured.

lol but seriously. because up until this point he’s just been a complete asshole. even after he gets grabbed by sludgeman, he’s all “AS IF I’D LET THIS MUDMAN TAKE MY BODY FOR HIMSELF”, and he’s all feral-looking, and at first you’re like “eh he’ll be fine.” but then along comes this panel to serve as our narrator saying “he was not fine.” because he really is not. and on the page before this too, you can see how tired and desperate his struggles are starting to get. and absolutely no one is trying to help him. and he’s fighting, he’s straining, but he can’t. fucking. breathe.

and then this panel. and he’s just a kid. he looks so very, very young here, like this is the youngest he looks throughout the entire series except for in his flashbacks, and it’s because all the pride and bluster and anger are stripped away and he’s just a boy underneath it and he’s scared. “you looked like you needed saving.” exactly. exactly. and for Katsuki to actually ask for help is so rare. so you know that when he does ask (and he absolutely was begging for someone to come help him even though he couldn’t vocalize it. credit to Horikoshi for conveying all of that emotion in a single panel), he really, really needs it. thankfully there was one person watching who finally snapped himself out of that “a hero’s bound to come along soon” mindset that had everyone else gripped, and realized that he needed to be that hero.

why I like it: because he’s humiliated and fairly shaken up and also the most handsome he’s looked up until this point, but most of all he’s just chewing his lip and being all “god fucking dammit did fucking Deku really just save me, fuck my life, why is the universe fucking dumb.” like even after this hugely traumatizing experience, he’s incredibly resilient to the point where after he calms down, his lingering emotions are mainly just “smdh this is a new level of irritated even for me.” he is so brave and thickheaded and tough and absurdly, ridiculously petty jesus christ.

why I like it: like the old man said. his face just screams “I’m a rotten thief.”

there’s so much personality in this one expression. and then it’s juxtaposed against proto!Katsuki who I really desperately just want to punch in the face. just. my son my be a dick, but by god he’s an honest dick.

why I like it: baby?? cute baby??? mine?? my baby?!?

he’s just like. “I got it all figured out. gosh I’m so good at life.” that is the face of a child who has never encountered a single difficulty in his very young existence. everything is easy and he expects to be good at everything and he always is and he’s so, so pleased with himself. with a kid that little you really don’t want to go and shatter their dreams just yet, but maybe someone should have taken him down just a peg or two before it all got out of hand. alas. he was so cute that nobody wanted to and I can’t even blame them because he’s just that fucking cute, though.

why I like it: this is a very underrated panel which I think most people probably don’t even recall. it’s from chapter 11 just after he loses to Deku and Iida, and specifically right after Momo just completely lays into him and explains in vivid detail exactly how stupid every single one of his decisions was lmao. and it’s like he’s just had his eyes opened. he talks about her speech later, too, so it clearly had an impact.

there is no pride here at all. initially when I was reading this, I thought he was still shell-shocked. but looking back at it, and knowing what I do now about his unexpected willingness to accept criticism (something I certainly wouldn’t have expected during my first readthrough of this chapter), I think this is also a genuine “!” face as he realizes that she’s completely fucking right. YOU DONE GOOFED SON. but it’s okay because he learned from it!

also look how big his eyes are. when they get all wide like that. it’s so rare that I have to appreciate each and every time it happens. also he has no right to have such thick eyelashes. goddammit.

why I like it: because he’s strongest at his moment of weakness! because he’s upset but he learned from it! because he is such a strikingly human character with such complex emotions and there’s such a lovely mix of them on display here and that shit is my weakness! because this is when I signed the adoption papers (well, had them finalized after I initially obtained them after the “you looked like you needed saving” face in chapter 1, at least)!! because he always cries in front of Deku and doesn’t get embarrassed, but then he does get embarrassed if anyone else shows up! because his emotions around Deku are so raw and out of control! because the intensity of them is as compelling as it is confusing! but mostly because someone showing fierce determination while simultaneously showing intense vulnerability is basically the cheat code to unlocking my heart, and also the best thing anyone can ever draw in a shounen manga. thank you I’ll take infinity of them.

why I like it: because half of 1-A saw this face and instantly thought “fuck that’s hot” and then went “!! oh fuck me” but it was too late! that’s right kids. even knowing firsthand what a trashpile he can be, you’re still not immune to his charms. that confidence, though.

why I like it: the face of a boy who has just realized that holy shit, there are other people in his class. nothing gets past him. his reflexes are too fast.

why I like it: the slow motion (this is such a cool moment even if it’s at his expense lol), and the fact that this is such a weird and totally unique expression, and yet he somehow almost manages to make it look good. actually he does make it look good, let’s be real. of course, this was back when Horikoshi had more time to roll up his sleeves and really get into the art. look at all that shading goddamn.

why I like it: he cares!! he has feelings!! he has concern about someone other than him omfg whaaaaaat.

he’s so unsettled by what he just heard about Todoroki. the guy who was so strong and cool turned out to have an absolutely horrifying shounen protagonist past that he never let on about. honestly this scene is one of the reasons why I’m so strongly in favor of not interpreting Katsuki’s parents as abusive; because I just really like the character arc of him actually having a pretty good childhood, all things considered, but still having all these problems. because sometimes people actually do have everything going for them and yet they still screw up, because people are only human and sometimes you can fuck up (or be fucked up) even on easy mode! and if that happens it doesn’t mean you’re any more to blame, or more worthy of derision or scorn, or that you already had your chance so screw you, or any of that! anyway so that’s just such an interesting and relatively rare thing to explore and so I like it.

anyway. so just, the idea of him thinking of Todoroki as someone who had it made all his life, only to realize that’s not actually the case at all and that he’s actually the privileged one in comparison, just makes for a really great character-building moment. it’s a really big wake up call for him, especially given that he’s so often just wrapped up in himself and his own concerns still at this stage of the game. and it’s a moment that has a lasting impact on him and that he doesn’t forget, and it helps contribute to him starting to learn more empathy.

why I like it: my child is rabid please help.

but he’s so happy to have Ochako prove to be such an unexpectedly worthwhile opponent. she was sneaky and she nearly got him and he only just made it out by the skin of his teeth and fuck yes, that was awesome. he was really ready to throw down some more with her and it was gonna be the highlight of his fucking day. I just love seeing him acknowledge other people’s strength, because we know the value he places on being strong. so that’s a ton of respect from him, and Ochako fucking earned it, and this is just a great moment.

why I like it: just casually spittin facts and launching ships. nothing to see here move along.

why I like it: for everyone reblogging that one scene of shoujou!Bakugou from the anime over and over again, I just want to remind you all that as great as that scene is, we shouldn’t forget that in the manga he can be effortlessly handsome without even trying.

why I like it: as I said above.

why I like it: another one of the infamous “haah!?” faces. whenever he does these that one raised-eyebrow eye always goes so wide, and even though he’s trying to look like a pissed off thug it always makes him look surprisingly young instead.

also I’m not crazy for seriously wondering if Horikoshi’s art peaked all the way back in the sports festival arc though, right?? you honestly can’t find a bad panel even if you specifically go out and look for them.

why I like it: babyyyy.

I still don’t get how anyone could watch this scene and not get that he was way more upset than he was actually angry. he looks like he’s about to cry honestly.

why I like it: MY PRECIOUS SON’S ANGELIC SLEEPING FACE. all tuckered out. he’s had a hard day.

but seriously when you smooth out all of the >:O it is amazing how young he actually looks though. this one panel is shaded in such a way that you can see that he still has baby fat in his cheeks!! he’s just a little boy! HE IS A LITTLE CHILD LIKE THE REST OF THEM AND YOU MADE HIM PARTICIPATE IN THESE HUNGER GAMES AND HE KICKED ASS AND THEN GOT SAD AND YOU MADE HIM SLEEP AND CHAINED HIM TO A POST WHEN HE WOKE UP ANGRY AND TRYING TO BITE PEOPLE. anyways what a whirlwind of events huh.

why I like it: this child is literally trembling. he has been shaken to his very core. also for real though how did Jeanist even do that. anyways great internship or greatest internship.

why I like it: this is from chapter 60, right after he basically declares war on Deku and says he’ll crush him during final exams. then he turns around and is just like AND LET’S NOT FORGET THIS ASSHOLE HERE!!! and his eyes are practically bulging out and Todoroki just has his trademark “!!!” totally blank stare. this panel fully kills me guys.

why I like it: how was he THE CUTEST CHILD WHO EVER LIVED?? look at his little fists?! I can’t even deal with this???

why I like it: I actually like this one even more than the more iconic “the strongest heroes always win in the end” panel right below it, because in this panel you can more clearly see that he was crying quite a lot (he was only six!!), but it seems to me that it was more because of the unfairness of it than because he was hurt. even though he was hurt. but these jerks bumped into him and then acted like it was his fault, and it was two against one and he was much younger than them and IT’S JUST ROUGH YOU GUYS! LIFE IS HARD WHEN YOU’RE SIX! but he’s a little tough guy though so he scrubs the tears away in this very clumsy and boyish fashion because HE WON ANYWAY SO TAKE THAT! he is so little but already so determined.

why I like it: his eyes are just so intense all the time. even when it’s not an intense moment at all. also the dot shading here is so cool.

why I like it: okay so technically it’s the back of his head and not his face. but I feel like the fact that Kacchan was twitching and flinching and shaking too doesn’t get enough attention in this scene. he and Todo were both wigging out here and I love it. during the third light novel he also gets freaked out by the whole Disney Channel “we were telling a ghost story but now it seems like the story has come to life” plot that goes on at one point, just fyi. Kacchan is absolutely that kid who will refuse to watch scary movies just because “they’re dumb” and definitely NOT because he is scared, how fucking dare you sir.

why I like it: because this is the first of many scenes in this arc and the next arc in which he is freaking out but doing an excellent job of covering it up with his natural ferocity. he and Shouto have just come across one of their classmates’ arms lying in the middle of the path being chewed on by a villain in a straitjacket. his first reaction is to ask Shouto which of their classmates had been out on the path in front of them. he has immediately put two and two together, and he is immediately ready to throw hands with this dude, rules or no rules. but you can see the shading over his eyes though, and I think that -- along with the sweat visible on his face -- is a huge indicator of how horrifying this actually is to him.

why I like it: because this blank “processing...” expression that he sometimes gets when a lot of people are talking at once and he’s not really sure but he is pretty sure that he doesn’t like where this is heading, is my favorite.

why I like it: because even now it’s still ambiguous just what exactly was the prevailing emotion in these eyes and this expression, and the prevailing sentiment behind the “stay back.” I happen to think it was fear! not the same overwhelming, helpless fear as the 14-year-old who was caught up in the sludge, but a very on-edge, controlled-panic fear of a 16-year-old who’s trying to remain in control because he’s a hero in training now. and I think the “stay back” is the “stay back” of a boy who knows the look in that other boy’s eyes, and knows that it’s no use this time. it’s not protective, and it’s not hostile or defensive either. it’s just... resigned. don’t do it, Deku. that could have been the last thing he ever said to him, and it was measured and brave even through his fear and I love him so much.

why I like it: this is one which has to be viewed in juxtaposition with the panel immediately above it lol. Tomura looks like he could literally stare a man to death with those crazy eyes, and Kacchan is comparison just looks so ridiculously young and small and out of his league. but he doesn’t crack. but his eyes are super wide and even the shadows underneath them are stressed almost to their breaking point. like I’m screwed I’m screwed I’m so goddamn fucking screwed oh shit. my baby, guh. this was such a fucking scary experience though for real??

why I like it: same deal as above lol. this whole situation just keeps getting worse and worse, and here he’s just probing for more information while simultaneously trying to buy himself more time to think of a miracle plan. there really isn’t much chance of him getting out of here unscathed at this point (or at least there wouldn’t have been if the heroes hadn’t shown up), but I don’t think he’s letting himself think about that yet. but I’m sure it’s there at the back of his mind all the same.

why I like it: this is my favorite Bakugou face ever. SO MANY EMOTIONS. All Might came to save him! his hero!! he beat the bad guys (or so they think for that brief moment anyway) and it’s all okay now! he was alone but now he’s not anymore and All Might is there! and he is relieved, and he actually lets his guard down to show it for just a split second! his lip is trembling! I don’t think he even realizes for a moment, and then he does, and he immediately goes all tough guy again and the moment is gone! but while it’s there! it’s so much! I have never so badly wanted to hug a fictional character in my life.

why I like it: don’t you think this person could one day inspire thousands of others. do you see this courage in those eyes. the way he pushes past fear and panic and fatigue. don’t think, don’t doubt. just win.

why I like it: by now you have probably detected a pattern of me liking all of the Kamino faces because he was going through so many emotions that for once the walls just couldn’t keep up. he always looks so much younger when he’s not making >: faces. everything just smooths out. I also like that Horikoshi never makes his expressions symmetrical; he almost always has one eye wider than the other, eyebrows doing different things, stuff like that.

also this is when he sees All Might’s true form for the first time, and you can just see it hit him like a punch to the gut. All Might weakened; All Might weakened because of him; All Might might lose (!?!); All Might might die???? Katsuki’s entire world is falling apart in an instant, and in this moment he’s just a little boy.

why I like it: it beginsss. the angstening.

he’s not even resisting the hand guiding him. none of his usual unruliness or general aura of barely-checked rage. he just looks tired. and completely lost in his own thoughts. which as we now know were not good. I cannot fucking believe we had to wait another 25 chapters after this to finally get this kid a damn hug.

why I like it: because Bakugou Mitsuki is fulfilling my (and dating sim!Momo’s) lifelong dream of ruffling Bakugou Katsuki’s (spiky yet fluffy!!) hair. and all he can do is just chew his lip and halfheartedly glare at her all “mooooooOOOOmmm.” he doesn’t even really look pissed off here (because it’s hard to be mad when someone is talking about how worried they were about you and how relieved they are that you’re safe now, especially when that someone is your mom who isn’t normally the type to be so open about this kind of stuff at all), just begrudgingly grumpy. and I swear to god his bottom lip is made of fucking rubber the way he moves it around, just look at it.

why I like it: those eyelashes though!?!? [grabs Katsuki by the shoulders and shakes him roughly] WHY ARE YOUR EYES SO PRETTY.

why I like it: this is right after he found out he flunked the license exam, and you can see how upset he is. obviously we now know that shortly thereafter he went and had a complete meltdown. and buddy if you keep grinding your teeth like that, your dentist is also going to have a meltdown.

and yet again Horikoshi manages to strike this uncanny balance between making him look pissed off and making him look like he’s trying very, very hard not to cry. he just failed, again. it’s like the whole world is screaming at him over and over again that he’s not hero material at all.

why I like it: because he drags Deku out to the middle of nowhere and is all “I know you have All Might’s power and we’re gonna fight”, and Deku protests, and you expect Kacchan’s reaction to be just about anything other than what it actually is. this is as close to pleading as Katsuki is ever going to get. he may not be drowning in sludge but he is still desperate.

why I like it: this may be the best Katsuki that Horikoshi has ever drawn.

why I like it: super ultra mega unpopular opinion: I like this panel even more than THE PANEL!! that follows shortly after it. I am a sucker for when Horikoshi does this thing where he shows Katsuki’s face from a side profile, and his eyes are covered by his hair so you can’t see his full expression, but you know it is something vulnerable because he only ever does this when Katsuki is trying to hide his vulnerability. I could make a whole separate post just about these hair-covering-eyes faces lol. but out of all of them this is my absolute favorite. I can hear Okamoto’s voice acting in my head just looking at it.

why I like it: because it is THE PANEL. he finally broke completely; he let the walls fall away; he couldn’t hide it any longer. he’s so unbelievably torn up about this; he hates himself for it and feels like a failure; he’s lost and doesn’t have the faintest idea how to find his path again. he ended the Symbol of Peace. he was weak and wrong, and Deku was strong and right, and he can’t even hate Deku for it anymore, he just wants to understand what it is that he keeps doing wrong, why it is that he keeps failing.

why I like it: it’s, uuuuuh, angst.

lol it’s funny because at the beginning of the series, it was always Deku who was always crying at the drop of a hat. and to be fair this is still true. but Katsuki also cries way more than I would ever expect a rival character in a shounen manga to cry. and specifically he has cried every single time he’s had a dramatic and overly emotional altercation like this with Deku (and that’s three separate times now). is it because he’s always felt like he has less to hide around Deku? or because his Deku Emotions are so much more intense and volatile than his other emotions? at any rate, whatever it is, if this happens one more time (and I guarantee you it will too because A Certain Someone still hasn’t officially made an apology yet) he will officially lose all authority to ever call Deku out for being a crybaby again. meanwhile poor All Might will just be beside himself. I’m sorry dude, both of your children are just like this, you just gotta deal with it and accept their feelings.

why I like it: HE FINALLY GOT HIS HUG, BLESS.

and more hair covering his eyes! and chewing of the lip! and his head is bowed so much here, he fully allowed himself to be pulled into this hug and to accept this gesture of comfort for once in his life, just for a moment! after everything he was feeling, everything he was beating himself up over, All Might comes and tells him it’s not your fault. and there’s still so much guilt there, but he needs to hear this so badly that he accepts it all the same. meanwhile he is also CRYING AGAIN!? because this was the chapter where Horikoshi said “I am going to put all of the angst and cathartic conflict resolution into a single fight and it’s going to be the best thing ever” and it really was. do you even understand how much I love this. do you??

why I like it: OH GOSH I FORGOT ABOUT THIS, THIS IS MY OTHER FAVORITE KATSUKI HAIR-COVERING-EYES PANEL.

oh no. he’s ruffling his own spiky fluffy hair. he’s tired and he’s beat up (and whose fault is that lmao) and he’s learning all kinds of new things about himself today. he’s got basically nothing left in the tank, but for the first time in ages he has his path laid out in front of him again and he knows the way to start moving forward. he has been absolved of his guilt, the guilt which was eating a hole away inside of him. and all of a sudden he realizes -- it occurs to him -- hey, All Might finally admitted it, he really did give his power to Deku. but it’s still a secret though, isn’t it? it’s important, isn’t it? and so he tells them, hey, look, I get it, I won’t say anything, you don’t have to worry. it’s partially gratitude -- he owes so much to All Might and it’s ridiculous, that’s a fucking debt right there, and this is the least and only thing he can offer right now in return -- and it’s partially just... the right thing to do. like, common sense. honorable and shit. and it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. but just, let them know.

I love his side profile so much and I love his hair and his ear and the scuffs on his face and his beaten up hand and his hunched up shoulders and him being soft and trying not to show how soft he’s being and he is precious.

BONUS:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY HANDS IN POCKETS GRUMPY TRIANGLE EYES ROVING FERAL HOG SON, I LOVE YOU.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #makeste reads bnha #HEAVEN #MUST BE MISSIN' AN ANGEL #MISSIN' ONE ANGELLLL CHILDDDD #[camera pans over to the feral toddler digging through trash while I sigh in fondness]#bnha meta #bakugou meta

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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[Ficlet] We Can Beat Them Forever and Ever

Yep, another ficlet based on Quidditch Season 1, which focuses on the beginnings of the Carewyn/Orion relationship! 💚 This one actually centers around the actual match (chapter 7-8), though if you’d like to read the previous parts based on chapter 5 and 6, you can read those here and here! Carewyn and Orion only become a couple post-Hogwarts (and post-Second-Wizarding-War, for that matter!), but it’s been really fun kind of charting their beginnings, so that one can have a more complete picture of where they started and therefore how they ended up. This may be a platonic relationship at the moment, but even at this point when these two are babies (13 and 15, what!), they still have such fun platonic chemistry.

If you don’t want to read the previous parts, then as usual, here are the basic clip notes -- my girl Carewyn “Not-Yet-Mama-Bear” Cromwell is a third year Slytherin; the Quidditch crew is in their fourth year; Orion doesn’t have his facial hair yet because of course not; and this will ultimately be Carewyn’s only Quidditch match this year and only one of two in her entire school career (if you’d like to follow that second match, you can always consult the Quest for the Quidditch Cup tag!).

Hope you enjoy...and please consider commenting and reblogging if you enjoy it! I hope to include this as part of a masterpost chronicling my writings for the Carion relationship soon, so watch out for that too! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Carewyn didn’t think she’d ever feel more pressured than when she was dealing with the Vaults -- but abruptly becoming something of an unofficial Quidditch Captain just before Slytherin’s big match definitely provided stiff competition.

Following Orion’s instructions, she didn’t tell any of her friends about what was wrong. She did her best to put on a brave face, but she could tell that Rowan, Ben, Bill, and Charlie thought something was up. She felt so relieved that Andre didn’t seem to, so she ended up spending a bit more time with him during the next Quidditch friendly. His confidence was comforting in a weird way, especially since he never tried to ask her if anything was wrong.

With only three days remaining until the match, Carewyn knew she was going to need to come up with something fast -- and after practice that day, McNully pulled her aside into the Changing Room to talk to her. He’d heard about Slytherin’s “bait and switch” strategy from Orion himself, and although he granted that it was “typical Orion” and clearly wasn’t thought through in the slightest, he didn’t seem as worried as Carewyn.

“Look, for as rash and weird as it seems, it isn’t completely out of left field,” he told her. “You do have something of a mediating presence, but you’re also assertive. Orion’s got some pretty big expectations on his shoulders, as the youngest Captain in over a century, and everyone’s sort of been pulling him in different directions...me included,” he added a bit sheepishly. “...From what I gather, he wants to listen to everyone and make them feel represented and heard -- but at the same time, he’s team captain, and he wants people to trust his judgment too, even the players who were part of the team before he was Captain. And the odds he’ll be able to do both at the same time is somewhere around 16%. But you’re the sort to really value other people’s feelings, just like he is. You’re sensitive enough to want to include everybody, but you also have a good head on your shoulders and you’re sharper than most. What you lack in Quidditch experience, you make up for in sincerity, and you’re willing to put in the work to learn what you don’t know.”

McNully smiled.

“Honestly, I reckon Orion made a pretty good choice, in using you as a sounding board. You respect his judgment and will do right by him as Captain, but you can still kind of ‘check’ him somewhat, on those things he might overlook.”

Carewyn actually felt her shoulders relaxing slightly. She offered him a smile.

“...Thanks, McNully,” she said quietly. “I appreciate it.”

McNully’s smile broadened. “Good to hear it. We can’t have you getting too nervous before the match -- Hufflepuff’s already noticed it.”

Carewyn blinked. “They what?”

McNully crossed his arms, his expression becoming a bit more grim. “I overheard the Hufflepuffs talking after their own practice. Apparently Ulrich Dylan thinks that the ‘little girl’ Orion picked is losing her nerve. That’s why he was watching you even more at your practice today -- he’s hoping he can rattle you even more, thinking about how you’re going to have to go one-on-one against him.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away and she frowned. The Hufflepuff Captain was about three times her size -- so he thought that her nerves was because she was scared of him?

“Don’t let him get to you, though, Carewyn,” said McNully firmly. “Sure, Dylan’s the strongest link on the Hufflepuff team, and he’s brilliant at what he does...but I already told you, physicality is only a percentage of a player’s overall potential, and a low one at that, compared to strategy...”

“He’s not getting to me,” said Carewyn, and she was being completely honest.

She considered this for another moment, her fist resting over her mouth as her eyes drifted. Then her lips spread into a rather wicked smirk.

“McNully...when you next talk to Orion in class, will you tell him how worried you are about me?”

~~~

Carewyn was very pleased by how fast the rumors circulated. By the next day, just about everyone was talking about how Orion’s newest pick for the team had an emotional breakdown in the Changing Room after their last practice. The students on the Hufflepuff team clearly had caught wind of it too -- they were giving her the side-eye a lot over the next day and sharing knowing looks amongst themselves. Ulrich Dylan even made a point to stop in front of Carewyn in the halls at one point, towering over her for a long moment and blocking her from walking any further before innocently wishing her luck and walking away.

Trying to accent how much bigger he is than me again, Carewyn thought drolly.

She did feel guilty about Rowan and Bill pretty quickly rushing to coddle her and practically suffocate her with reassurance...but at the same time, it felt kind of nice, considering that she was nervous for a completely different reason.

Carewyn arrived at the Changing Room about a hour early. When she arrived, she found Orion meditating on one of the benches, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Hi, Orion,” she said gently.

Orion opened his eyes.

“Greetings, Carewyn Cromwell,” he murmured.

His face was not as pleasant as it usually was. His eyes grazed her face, almost searching for something.

Carewyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was outside the tent. Then she offered him a guilty smile and came over to sit next to him on the bench, her eyes resting on the floor rather than him.

“Orion, I’m really sorry,” she started. “What McNully told you -- ”

“No, Carewyn,” said Orion at once. “I believe it is I who should be sorry.”

“No, you shouldn’t -- ” Carewyn tried again.

But Orion held up a hand to stop her.

“I’m sure my decision must have seemed strange to you -- reckless, even,” he said quietly. “But I assure you, I was sincere when I said I was content in making it. Now, however, I find my spirit a bit unsettled.”

Carewyn felt her stomach crumpling up in shame. “Orion, it’s okay, I’m -- ”

“I placed a weight that was on my shoulders on yours,” Orion cut her off cleanly, “for it seemed to me that you’re the sort who takes strength from doing what must be done, for the good of all. But instead, it’s upset your own internal balance. And that, in turn, has greatly upset mine...”

“Orion, listen.”

Carewyn actually got up and took both of his shoulders so as to force him to look at her. The physical contact startled Orion so much that he rather resembled a cat with its hair on end.

“I’m okay,” she told him very firmly. She tried to offer him a smile, even if she still felt so guilty. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t explain earlier, but you said we shouldn’t discuss your plan outside the Changing Room, and I can never find you anywhere else in the school whenever I try to look for you. I’m really sorry I told McNully to tell you I was upset...but I needed you to react badly, at least at first, if my strategy is going to work.”

Orion blinked very slowly in a manner that made him resemble an owl. Then his eyes grew a little smaller, almost confused, as he considered her.

“...Perhaps you should tell me more about this ‘strategy’ of yours.”

Carewyn released his shoulders, taking a heavy breath.

“McNully told me that Ulrich Dylan thinks I’m scared of him.”

“Many in your position would be,” said Orion.

“Maybe others would be, but I’m not,” huffed Carewyn, crossing her arms rather haughtily. “I’ve been small my whole life. If I was scared of everyone who was bigger than me, I’d be scared all the time.”

The very slightest flicker of amusement touched Orion’s eyes, but it didn’t seem quite enough to lighten his face.

Carewyn grew more serious.

“From what I’ve heard from McNully, and from how the Hufflepuff team’s acted around me in the halls after hearing I had a breakdown, I reckon they see me as the ‘weak link’ of the Slytherin team. That means they’ll be trying to go after me, so as to pull the rest of us apart. And it makes sense. No one can get a good fix on you, particularly since this is your first match as Captain...and the other houses think we Slytherins don’t play fair, so they’ll probably be expecting the more experienced players to try to pull one over on them. But I’m the least experienced, the youngest, the smallest, and -- as far as everyone else knows -- the most fragile. Right now I’m the best possible ‘weakness’ Hufflepuff might be able to exploit.”

She smiled.

“That means, though, that Hufflepuff’s focus will be solely on me, and less on the rest of you. And if I keep letting them underestimate me...let them think I’m this scared little girl who’s stumbled into the big leagues...then I can throw off their center of balance when I play perfectly in the match. And if I can play perfectly...well...what does that say about the rest of our team, who weren’t those weak links? The Hufflepuffs will doubt their own judgment so much that they won’t be able to focus on their goal properly.”

Orion’s eyes seemed to clear as he brought up a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “I see...so you hope to make us appear off-balance, so that we can in turn be at an advantageous position to put our opponents off-balance.”

“Yeah,” said Carewyn.

Her expression became more ashamed again as she looked down at her own feet, dangling off the bench in front of her.

“I’m really, really sorry I upset you. I might not entirely get why you decided to have me call the shots for this, but...well, I meant what I sang. ‘I’ll do my very best, and it ain’t no lie,’” she sang a bit more sweetly, “‘if you put me to the test, if you let me try...’”

Carewyn’s singing seemed to soften Orion’s expression further. He smiled slightly at her.

“I accepted your apology the first time you made it, Carewyn Cromwell. Though it was easier to do, after our minds melded properly.”

He unclasped his hands, resting them on either side of him on the bench.

“...As for your role in this match...I chose you because you didn’t want to be chosen. Just like you don’t want to break curses, and yet you still do.”

Carewyn glanced at him out the side of her eye.

“How do you know I don’t like breaking curses?” she asked coolly.

“It seems to me that someone who likes being known for cursebreaking wouldn’t lose the light in their eyes whenever anyone brings it up.”

Carewyn was momentarily left speechless. When Orion glanced at her, she avoided his eyes.

“As a side,” Orion said levelly, “you may wish to apologize to Skye as well. Her internal balance was also shaken, when she heard the rumors.”

Carewyn felt her shoulders slump. Oh great.

“Don’t worry,” Orion reassured her. “She took out her anger on me, not our opponents. As is proper.”

“I’m sorry I troubled both of you,” muttered Carewyn. “I didn’t want to hurt your friendship...”

Orion shook his head with a smile. “You have nothing to be sorry for. All families have their disagreements, so I’ve heard -- and that includes Quidditch families. And yet they’re worth preserving, wouldn’t you say?”

Carewyn couldn’t keep back a small smile. “Mm-hmm.”

She glanced at Orion, her blue eyes a little softer.

“...It’s really cool, that you’ve made a second family for yourself here at school,” she said. “I really love my friends too...so I reckon it’s got to make things a lot less lonely, while you’re here.”

Orion’s eyes grew a little deeper, almost pensive.

“Indeed,” he said slowly. “Only...my family here is no ‘second’ for me.”

Carewyn looked up, startled. She stared into Orion’s deep black eyes for a long moment, trying to read his expression as she took in this information. Then, little by little, her entire expression seemed to melt. All hints of a smile or humor were gone, and her eyes had welled up with pain -- so much so that one might think she was grieving a loss of her own, rather than simply showing pity.

“...Do you...not have a family, Orion?” she said, her voice a mere ghost of its usual self.

Orion’s hands clasped lightly again in his lap as he considered her.

“Not one forged by blood,” he said lowly. His features then softened with the traces of a small smile. “But just because I’m parent-free doesn’t mean I have no family. As I’ve said, Quidditch gave me a family. Therefore my teammates are my family. You are my family.”

Carewyn was genuinely touched -- but she still couldn’t help but feel awful for Orion. As small and broken as her family was, she loved her brother and mother more than anyone else in the world. She couldn’t imagine how she’d function, if anything happened to either of them. As lonely as her childhood had been, she’d still had them. Jacob was still there to protect her from bullies and inspire her with his dreams. Lane was still there to teach and encourage her. But Orion didn’t even have that.

How lonely must his summer holidays be, with no one there waiting for him at Platform 9 3/4? she couldn’t help but think.

Carewyn had to tear her eyes off of Orion’s face and refocus her gaze on her feet -- she knew she probably looked really upset, and she didn’t like showing it so blatantly.

“...Do...I mean...does the rest of our ‘family’ know?” she asked quietly.

Orion’s eyes became a little smaller. “Only Skye and McNully. But I do not tell you this to make you feel sad, Carewyn. I’m telling you this because I want you to trust me. Many doubt my methods, but there is a reason why I was named Slytherin Quidditch Captain. On the path I have traveled, there is no one to follow...and so you lead. You keep a clear head because survival depends on it. You do not question where your decisions will take you because you have no destination. You listen to your heart first because its beat is more stable than the world around you.”

He smiled wryly, turning his gaze out toward the rest of the tent as he leaned back slightly.

“You could say I’ve been Inspired Broom Surfing through life -- and it hasn’t let me down yet.”

Carewyn felt herself smiling again, even with her eyes still downcast.

Trust isn’t really something I can do, but...

“You really are a cool person, Orion Amari,” she said softly. “And a good one, too.”

Orion’s smile spread and opened, showing white teeth. “And you are a Snidget of a person, Carewyn Cromwell. Small and seemingly fragile in appearance, yes -- but a rare creature that is quick, bright, and fearless.”

He seemed to hesitate, his black eyes drifting down to her shoulder absently. Then, looking as if he’d changed his mind about something, he returned his gaze to her face, even if it was still turned away from him.

“I have faith your heart will lead you well -- as well as us to victory -- if you merely listen to it.”

At that very moment, Skye came into the tent. At the sight of Carewyn and Orion sitting on the bench together, she immediately barreled over to them.

“I damn well hope you were apologizing to Carewyn and telling her you weren’t going to make her do your job for you, Orion,” she said at once, her eyes narrowing fiercely.

Orion raised his eyebrows coolly, his hands clasping in front of him again. “I would have, had Carewyn not already done what I asked of her.”

Skye did a doubletake. “What?”

Carewyn felt guilt prickling at the back of her neck again, and she was completely unable to look Skye in the face. “Let me explain...”

~~~

Skye wasn’t quite as quick to forgive Carewyn’s deception as Orion was, but she begrudgingly accepted it when she had to acknowledge that her plan to mislead Hufflepuff was rather clever.

“Well, we are Slytherins,” she’d said with a grin. “May as well own it.”

When the rest of the team arrived, Carewyn asked them to meet her in front of the blackboard. Once McNully had joined them too, she felt ready to explain her idea more fully.

“Okay...so...” She took a deep breath, her eyes hovering vaguely over the others’ heads rather than making eye contact. “We only have two days left before the match against Hufflepuff. I’ve done a lot of thinking and research, and this is what I’ve come up with.”

Taking out her wand, she copied the movement she’d seen McNully use. In seconds, a diagram of different yellow and green circles spread out across a makeshift “Quidditch Pitch” appeared on the board. Two of the circles, one yellow and one green, had stars in the center of them. Each of the green circles had arrows that pointed to one or more yellow circles. The smallest green circle had several arrows pointed right at the largest yellow circle with the star inside, which was in front of the goal hoops.

“From what I’ve heard from my friend Penny, Ulrich Dylan is a very ‘what-you-see-is-what-you-get’ sort of person. He’s upfront and honest and doesn’t see the need to hide what he’s doing. That’s why he’s not afraid of letting us see him when he comes to watch our practices. He’s confident enough in his own talents that he’ll favor physical skill over strategy. And well, yeah, he is good. I saw him in the matches last year -- he’s really strong and agile. Ravenclaw wasn’t able to score a single point in their match against him last year -- if it wasn’t for Erika Rath taking out their Seeker, Hufflepuff probably would’ve won.”

Skye crossed her arms. “Dylan may be stronger than you, but he’s not agile enough to beat Orion, you, and me when we’re flying together. And Hufflepuff’s Chasers are a joke -- the Parkin’s Pincer can more than take them out...”

Carewyn pursed her lips. She didn’t like being interrupted -- she had to take a minute to regather her thoughts.

“...Yeah. But we won’t be using the Parkin’s Pincer -- at least, not right away.”

Skye looked confused. “Huh?”

“Let her explain,” King soothed Skye. She gave Carewyn an encouraging nod. “Go on, Carewyn.”

Carewyn gave King a short, grateful nod in return. Her eyes drifting back to the board, she took a deep breath before continuing.

“...Everyone’s expecting us to use the Parkin’s Pincer. They know Ethan Parkin will be in the stands watching us play...and they’re expecting the more experienced members of our team,” she nodded to Orion, Skye, and the two Beaters, “to take the lead. We should use the Parkin’s Pincer, of course -- it’s a brilliant move, and it’s a classic for a reason. But before we do...we need to throw Hufflepuff off their game first. We need to use our brains as well as our brawn -- especially when brains is something Hufflepuff’s Captain isn’t using as much of.”

She glanced at McNully out the side of her eye.

“So...if it’s all right with you, McNully...may Orion, Skye, and I use your Thimblerig Shuffle, during the match?”

McNully grinned from ear to ear, his eyes lighting up. “But of course, Carewyn! I may play the impartial spectator, but we all know that’s for show.”

Carewyn beamed. “Good. But before we do that, there’s something else we have to do first.”

“Something else?” recurred Skye. “Carewyn, will you get to the point already? You’re going on nearly as long as Orion...”

Carewyn couldn’t fight back a miffed pout. “I’m getting to it!”

“Calm yourself, Skye,” said Orion serenely. “All will become clear soon enough.”

He nodded to Carewyn, and she returned the gesture before returning her focus to the board.

“Every team is made up of links, some stronger than others,” she explained. “For Gryffindor, their strongest link is their Seeker, Charlie Weasley -- their weakest is their Keeper. For Ravenclaw, their strongest link is Erika Rath -- their weakest is their new Seeker. For Hufflepuff, their strongest link is Ulrich Dylan -- their weakest are their Chasers. For Slytherin, our strongest link is Orion -- and as far as everyone else thinks, I’m our weakest.”

Her lips spread into a smirk.

“That’s why I’m the one who has to go up against Ulrich Dylan.”

McNully and the rest of the team excluding Orion all looked taken aback and confused. “What?!”’

“But Carewyn,” said McNully, “you said it yourself -- Hufflepuff’s weakest link are its Chasers. The Thimblerig Shuffle would be a much better choice to help you take them out -- hell, the Parkin’s Pincer too...”

Carewyn shook her head. “Hufflepuff’s only going after our supposed ‘weakest link’ because I’m the only part of our team they think they can take advantage of. Plus they probably think we Slytherins play dirty enough that we will go after their weakest players first. But we’re doing the unexpected...”

She grinned at Orion.

“...so we’re not going after their weakest link. We’re going after their strongest, so that he becomes their weakest link.”

She indicated the tiny green circle on the board beside the biggest yellow one.

“Dylan thinks that I’m this nervous little girl on a second-hand broom who’s scared of going up against someone as big and strong as him...and now the entire school does too. We’ll keep it that way all the way up until the match -- maybe even during the match, at least at first. Then, when the time is right, I’ll spring the trap on Dylan. In a second, he’ll suddenly be faced with a real opponent, instead of the scared little girl he expects. His center of balance will be shaken so badly that the rest of his team will be thrown off too.”

“Like aftershocks from an earthquake,” said Orion, his black eyes very bright with approval, “the entire Hufflepuff team will feel the devastation wrought by their Captain losing his stability.”

Carewyn nodded. “And once the Hufflepuffs start falling apart, we can latch ourselves onto individual members to cancel them out. Orion, Skye, and I can take out the Chasers with the Thimblerig Shuffle and the Parkin’s Pincer, while Crockett prevents them from scoring any points...and King and Shacklebolt can keep the Bludgers pointed at Dylan and Hufflepuff’s Seeker so that Hufflepuff’s Beaters can’t hit them at us and so that Lucky has free range to catch the Snitch herself.”

The rest of the team’s faces all suddenly appeared much brighter too. McNully was beaming with pride.

“Carewyn, that’s fantastic!” he cheered. “If the match follows this trajectory, I’d say there’s a 96.5% chance that Slytherin will win by a large margin. You really have mastered Quidditch strategy!”

Skye looked awfully proud too as she looked from the board to down at the tiny ginger-haired Chaser. “I have to admit, Carewyn, this is smashing. It really sounds like it could work!”

Orion, however, looked the proudest of all of them as he came up on the opposite side of the board as Carewyn, his black eyes gleaming as he smiled down at her.

“We shall have to play our parts to aid this ruse as long as possible,” he addressed the others. “When we go out onto the Pitch today and tomorrow, practice as you always do, but be aware of any audience we may have. And as before, discuss none of this outside the Changing Room, nor around anyone who is not already present. Now that all of our strengths have been pooled together...” he glanced at Carewyn with a bright white smile, “...we can place our faith in each other, and in ourselves.”

~~~

The day of the match was bright and sunny, but cold beyond reason. Carewyn was honestly kind of glad that she could forego the pre-match party Penny hosted, for the sake of bolstering the ruse that she was nervous but trying not to show it -- she much preferred the idea of staying indoors with her friends than freezing outside with complete strangers asking her pointed questions about the match and the Slytherin team.

Before heading out to meet the rest of her team in the Changing Room, Bill had gone all “Papa Bear” on Carewyn and made sure she put on one of his old Weasley sweaters on before heading out to the Pitch to change into her Quidditch robes.

“I know it’s big,” he said through an embarrassed flush, “but the last thing you need is to freeze when you’re playing out there.”

Carewyn carefully rolled up the sleeves of Bill’s old sweater, smiling up at him gratefully. “Thank you, Bill.”

Rowan looked concerned too. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Carewyn? You’re not still worried about the Hufflepuff Captain, are you?”

Carewyn gave her best friend a small smile. “Don’t worry, Rowan...I’ll be okay.”

“Of course you will,” Bill said firmly, his lips spreading into a smile too. “After all, Dylan’s a good head shorter than that Ice Knight you beat last year.”

“You mean we beat last year,” said Carewyn, glancing from Bill to Ben with a smile.

"You did most of the work, though, Carewyn,” said Ben with a self-conscious smile. “I don’t blame you for being scared of Dylan, though -- he is kind of intimidating...”

“Yes, but Carewyn can handle herself out there,” said Penny brightly. “Right, Carewyn?”

“Mm...”

Carewyn had to keep herself from reassuring her friends too much for the sake of her strategy -- after all, Penny was a Hufflepuff, even if she wanted Carewyn to do her best -- but she still gave them all a big hug before heading out to the Pitch.

~~~

Before the match, Orion gathered everyone around the blackboard for something called a “moment of vivication.” According to McNully, it was his version of a pep talk -- and sure enough, it was full of typical “Orion-isms” that could make the average person tilt their head in utter bewilderment but that made his teammates smile and shake their heads.

“To win, we must believe we can win,” he’d said. “And we shall, for the greatest loss we can have is loss of focus. I am Quidditch -- you are Quidditch -- we are Quidditch.”

Eventually, though, he got to a point.

“The time is nearly here, my teammates,” said Orion. “Although you have followed me in all of our practices, as your Captain, remember that once we are in the air, we will follow Carewyn’s lead, when it comes to springing our trap. Use patience, when waiting for her. Defend Crockett and our hoops with tenacity, while you wait for her. Show her the loyalty a teammate deserves. And once the trap is sprung, we can set loose all of our fire against our opponents. Let us go to the Pitch and make Slytherin proud.”

The rest of the team cheered. Orion glanced at Skye, McNully, and then Carewyn, all of them smiling.

“Blimey,” said McNully, “I’d better get to the commentary box. Good luck, everyone -- give me something to talk about!”

He smiled at Carewyn. “Good luck out there, Carewyn -- dazzle me with that strategy of yours, all right?”

Carewyn nodded determinedly, and McNully wheeled himself out. Not long after he did, Madame Hooch came into the tent.

“Come along, Slytherins!” she said stridently. “It’s time.”

The Flying teacher and coach gave Carewyn a rather long look as the Slytherins lined up in position. Instead of speaking to her, however, she addressed Orion.

“Since this is your first match as Captain, Mr. Amari,” she said, “you’ll signal your team to take flight, when McNully announces you. You’ll enter from the left side of the Pitch -- the Hufflepuffs are already in position on the right.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you, Madame Hooch.”

“I’ll be very curious to see what you do, Mr. Amari,” she said brusquely. “And I’m sure everyone else will be as well.”

Orion looked around at his teammates with a smile, his eyes resting on Carewyn last, before he took the lead and headed out of the tent, the others behind him.

They strode up toward the Pitch, coming to a stop under the stands on the left-hand side. Neither the Hufflepuffs nor the audience were in view. Once Madame Hooch left, the team got into formation, with Orion, Skye, and Carewyn standing in a triangular shape at front.

“Well...here we go,” said Skye. She glanced at Carewyn. “We’re counting on you, Carewyn.”

Carewyn gave her bravest, most determined expression and nodded. She then faced forward, her eyes resting on the small strip of sunlight on the grass just past them, and waited.

She could hear the crowd gabbing loudly overhead. Her eyes drifted over her head absently.

Rowan, Bill, Charlie, Ben, Andre, and Penny would all be watching up there...she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

“Find your center.”

Carewyn glanced at Orion. His expression was very gentle and his voice soothing.

Carewyn’s face softened with a smile, and she nodded. Facing forward again, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth...and began to sing quietly under her breath.

“I...I wish you could swim... Like the dolphins...like dolphins can swim... Though nothing...nothing will keep us together... Oh, we can beat them...forever and ever... We can be heroes...just for one day...”

When she was finished, she slowly opened her eyes and looked at the others. She’d expected to see some smiles -- what she hadn’t expected was just how bright and courageous all of their faces looked, nor how fond Orion’s smile would be.

The crowd roared overhead, and through the overwhelming cheers and applause, Carewyn caught the sound of McNully’s voice.

“Welcome, one and all, to the first Quidditch match of the season -- Hufflepuff versus Slytherin! Put your Pumpkin Pasties down and your hands together for Hufflepuff, led by returning captain Ulrich Dylan! Look at them fly!”

The excited sounds of the Hufflepuffs in the stands was deafening. Orion mounted his broom, and everyone else followed suit.

“And now for the Slytherin team, led by new team captain Orion Amari -- also featuring a new addition to the roster, Carewyn Cromwell, flying alongside Amari and Skye Parkin as Chaser!”

The Slytherins all took off in perfect unison and soared out onto the Pitch. Orion, typical to form, looked ridiculously confident while flying -- there were quite a few points, when they flew around the stands, that he didn’t even have his hands on his broom.

They moved into their starting positions, with the Chasers in front and the Keepers toward the back of the Pitch. Carewyn could feel all the Hufflepuffs’ eyes zeroing in on her -- she kept her focus on the frayed handle of her broom, thinking hard.

I should let Orion and Skye duke it out for the Quaffle at first, she thought. It’ll be more believable that I’m nervous if I’m hesitant to grab it. It might even look like I’m distracted.

She resisted the urge to look at Orion or Skye to try to communicate her thought process to them.

They know what we’re doing. Best keep your cards close to your chest.

“And here comes Madame Hooch, striding up the Pitch!” McNully’s voice rang out overhead. “The Bludgers are released, as is the Golden Snitch! Remember, everyone: the Snitch is worth 150 points -- when a Seeker catches it, the game is over.”

Madame Hooch gave both teams a rather discerning look as she took out the Quaffle. Then, without warning, she hurled it up into the air.

“The Quaffle is released -- and so starts the match!”

~~~

The match was stressful and exhilarating from the start. There was no sense of restraint or politeness here -- every team player’s eyes were as hard as diamonds with their concentration. It was enough to rattle most anyone: even Carewyn had to admit, everything was so much faster and felt so much more important than when she played Quidditch friendlies.

It’s no wonder people treat this game like it’s a matter of life and death, she thought, when you’re out here with seemingly the whole world watching you, waiting for you to fail...

She purposefully missed the Quaffle Orion passed to her, letting Skye double back to reclaim it. A little while later, she purposefully failed to steal it from one of Hufflepuff’s Chasers herself, and even took some time to get yelled at by Skye. (Skye honestly wasn’t that good at acting, but her looking angry was all that was really needed.)

“Looks like we’ve got a dispute between Star Chaser Skye Parkin and newcomer Carewyn Cromwell,” said McNully, his voice dripping with concern. “One can only hope that Cromwell can get her head in the game...”

Carewyn glanced across the Pitch in Ulrich Dylan’s direction -- he was grinning as he shouted something at his Chasers.

Sure enough, in the next round, the Hufflepuff Chasers seemed to decide that they were purposefully going to stick to Carewyn. Whenever Orion or Skye tried to get close to them, they passed the Quaffle or slipped out from under them.

“Hufflepuff has possession -- Groves passes to Polson, over Cromwell’s head -- ”

Carewyn caught sight of Skye flying up under them. Catching Carewyn’s eye briefly, she smirked -- then, in an instant, she’d swerved upward, bumping Polson from below.

“Whoa, Polson’s lost his balance and drops the Quaffle -- Quaffle’s just barely caught by Cromwell -- ”

Carewyn held the Quaffle under her arm, soaring off toward the goal hoops. She could feel all three of Hufflepuff’s Chasers bearing down on her, trying to cut her off from Orion and Skye. She hunched down on her broom, her eyes darting quickly around from each of the three Chasers to Ulrich Dylan smugly lounging in front of the goal hoops.

And Carewyn’s eyes narrowed.

Now.

Just as the three Hufflepuff Chasers were about to try to attempt the Parkin’s Pincer themselves, Carewyn sidestepped them completely by diving. The two Hufflepuffs who had tried to pin her both slammed into each other.

“WHOOOA! What’s this?!” cried McNully, unable to hold back his excitement. “A modified Wronksy Feint?! Looks like Cromwell’s been studying with Slytherin Seeker Lucky!”

Once she’d dodged the first two, Carewyn fixed her sights on the remaining Chaser, sweeping around him in a tight figure-eight and bumping his face lightly with the tail of her broom. Although the move had no strength and didn’t hurt, the Chaser still felt the urge to try to protect his face from the bristles, which made him absentmindedly let go of his broom with one hand and almost lose balance.

“And Cromwell pulls out a Chaser variant of the Double Eight Loop -- signature move of Slytherin Keeper Crockett!” cheered McNully.

The other two Hufflepuff Chasers, looking faintly stunned, had flown back up after Carewyn, trying to regroup. It was as they flew at her that Carewyn knew the time was right. She hoisted herself up onto her broom in a standing position, the Quaffle under her arm, and she broom surfed right around them.

“Inspired Broom Surfing, ladies and gentleman!” said McNully, as an awed sound moved over the crowd. “Signature move of Slytherin team captain Orion Amari! Cromwell’s still in possession, approaching Keeper Dylan -- ”

Carewyn fixed her sights on Dylan. The tall, chiseled Keeper was staring right at her, and yet it was obvious he didn’t see her clearly -- just as Orion had suggested, he was too distracted by her technique, and her abrupt switch had clearly thrown him for a loop.

Smirking from ear to ear, Carewyn chucked the Quaffle right to the side of Dylan’s head. Rather than block it, the Keeper felt the subconscious urge to dodge, so as to protect himself -- and so the Quaffle soared right through the hoop over his shoulder.

“AMAZING!” McNully had to shout over the sounds of the delighted roar of the Slytherins down below. “Cromwell completely sideswipes Dylan and scores Slytherin’s first goal! Hufflepuff leads 30-10! Looks like she’s not as fragile as she looks, folks!”

Carewyn took the time to lower herself back down onto her broom as Skye snatched up the Quaffle again and headed back toward the goal hoops. The turnover between rounds was so fast that Carewyn had little time to recover -- so she didn’t see the warm, proud smile on Orion’s face as he watched her fly off after Skye.

The trap was sprung, and the Slytherins immediately let Hufflepuff have it. King and Shacklebolt kept Hufflepuff’s Beaters from attacking their players by keeping the Bludgers aimed at their Seeker and Keeper. Crockett whipped out the Double Eight Loop himself to protect the Slytherin hoops from any more goals. And Orion, Skye, and Carewyn became an unbreakable unit, shaking Hufflepuff’s Chasers off with the Thimblerig Shuffle and then crushing them with the Parkin’s Pincer. By the time Lucky had caught the Snitch, McNully was struggling to keep his commentary unbiased, thanks to the excitement echoing through every word.

“THE SNITCH HAS BEEN CAUGHT! LUCKY CATCHES THE SNITCH! Slytherin wins 250-30! What a match!”

The Slytherin team all came down to land in the center of the Pitch. Carewyn immediately rushed over to the others, her face alight.

“We did it!” she said happily. “We did it!”

Lucky grinned from ear to ear. “No, Carewyn -- you did it!”

“Don’t be daft!” Carewyn said with a smile. “I couldn’t have won by my -- ahhh!”

She gave a start when she suddenly felt herself being hoisted up into the air -- both King and Shacklebolt had picked her up, their hands under her legs as they bobbed her up and down and cheered.

“Oh no!” yelped Carewyn, trying to weasel out of their grip, “No, no, no, put me down, please --”

She knew they were excited, but she absolutely did not like being grabbed and picked up out of nowhere.

It took Orion some time to calm his teammates enough to put her down. Once she’d gotten back on the ground, though, he actually couldn’t restrain himself from wrapping an arm around Carewyn’s shoulders, taking hold of one of them so he could squeeze her against his side. His face was alight with delight and pride.

“I knew my choice was the right one,” she just barely made him say over the sound of the cheering Slytherins. “You flew like a Snidget, Carewyn Cromwell.”

Carewyn flushed with pride around her smile. “Thanks, Orion.”

Orion’s eyes sparkled like the night sky, even in the middle of the day. "No, Carewyn -- thank you. For your faith.”

The memory of Orion and Carewyn together on the Pitch with their team, with Carewyn’s friends Rowan and Bill both hugging her tight and Skye whooping at the top of her lungs in Orion’s ear, was an image so strong and blazing that it helped Orion -- three years later, in Defense Against the Dark Arts -- conjure his very first Abraxan Winged Horse Patronus.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #quidditch #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #skye parkin #murphy mcnully #bill weasley #ben copper #rowan khanna #charlie weasley #andre egwu #and that's it!#i kind of feel like leaving this on a high note rather than on carewyn leaving the team #at least for now #I mean honestly it's not as much to tell -- it's basically just carewyn shutting skye down when the rumors against rath start #and with the original chaser having finally recovered carey bear just bows out with grace #and admittedly in the following years she can't justify rejoining the team with the vaults looming over her #her brother has to always come first :<#but yeah orion and carewyn always had a really strong bond compared to the other members of the quidditch crew #orion really was so happy he got to fly alongside carewyn one more time before graduating #also yes I had carey use all of the quidditch crew's moves because honestly I hate that we had to pick just one #they all have their uses!!#in game I picked inspired broom surfing and had carey use her head to make the decision #largely because if she went with her heart she felt like it might be more likely to hurt someone's feelings #and in her head she thought that throwing off her opponents with an unexpected play made a lot of sense #plus also orion is our captain?? hello?? and he trusted MC to make this important decsion??#I dunno I kind of felt like it would be honorable to show that same respect in return XD

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