#(again) full drawings sooner or later. when i do the profiles...

[fragmentofmemories]

Got Team Rin done and--

Oh my God I just did that. In like a week...

Guess Team Hinako's next!

as soon as i stop playing dq my productiveness goes up by a lot. huh.

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, don’t kill me because of the ending, sebastian and reader are the definition of right person wrong time, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, also this part has some funny moments but overall it’s a big SOB

part: 6/6 (there will also be an epilogue)

(other parts)   (masterlist)

This is how it ends: broken hearts from crashed dreams.

Sebastian holds you until his muscles ache and your lungs burn from the feeling of too little oxygen. It is cold and dark, almost midnight, too dark, a starless night.

No more stars for you and I.

“Here,” Voice hoarse, eyes heavy-lid and itching from almost crying. He gives you one of the rings he wore in the movie. “I want you to keep this.”

Keep it close to your heart. Forget me not.

He takes a breath and a step back, tries to regain all the strength he still has, steady feet and shoulders fixed. He digs his nails into his palms, red marks in his skin, air catching in his throat, he’s on the verge of falling but he stays standing.

He remembers tears glistening down his cheeks, maybe they were yours not his, and the cold autumn wind hitting his face and he remembers feeling like he’s dying.

And then he closes the door of Argyris’ car and looks at you.

And his heart stretches and stretches and stretches and then somehow splits in half.

/

It goes like this:

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment from now on. In the living room. Sitting on the couch. And it has steel blue eyes and a familiar heart. And it whispers a love story, half-finished, and you cannot make it stop.

The ghost touches your collarbone and he’s gone but there’s a ring in a golden chain around your neck and a white shirt forgotten in your laundry. And it smells like him. The clinging scent of his aftershave sticking to your pores. Eucalyptus. And no matter how hard you try to wash it off, it still lingers.

How could I ever forget someone like you?

The ghost lives here, but the place is empty, so empty. And it’s hard not to cry.

/

Sebastian calls and texts a lot.

He tells you he’s tired but excited because he started filming a new movie. It’s very indie and experimental, I can’t wait for you to see it. He tells you he’s missing his days in Greece like hell and that one night he dreamt of you. Didn’t want to wake up. What he doesn’t tell you is that he’s coming back in a month, Argyris needs him for some extra scenes. It’s nearly killing him but he doesn’t tell you. He wants to surprise you, see the pure light in your eyes when they’ll meet his.

/

You try sexting. It doesn’t go very well.

23:50, sebastian: if you were here in my bed right now what would you be doing

06:51, you: probably falling asleep hahaha

06:51, you: oh fuck was i supposed to sext back

06:51, you: sorry seb i just woke up and i have a class in an hour, love you <3

23:52, sebastian: fuck timezones

/

(three weeks and 10 seconds later)

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know you’re here,” Argyris shakes his head as he’s driving home from the airport, “If I were her, I’d kill you.”

“Good thing I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Sebastian laughs and looks out of the car window. The stars. There are so many stars tonight. He holds his breath; he’s finally feeling whole again. His heart isn’t split in two anymore.

/

You don’t know how long you stand there at your door, staring at him, but it feels like a century before he grins, almost laughs, takes your hands in his and you start considering that perhaps this isn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it’s real.

“Surprise?”

Something inside of you bursts, your organs twitch. You can’t think, you can’t speak, but you can move. You don’t lose any more time, you take a step forward, attach your bodies, your face buried in his neck, your fingers clutching into the rough fabric of his jacket. You breathe him in like an antidote.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

You kiss him and it’s like poetry, like art, like honey and you can’t separate yourself from him, not even hours later.

/

(looking back, these were the golden days)

You pretending to be mad at him for not telling you he was coming back and him pressing his lips on your skin, drawing patterns on your naked shoulder. A feathery touch.

Sebastian always touches you like you’re something made of gold and porcelain, something cherished that constantly needs to be treasured. And nobody has done that before. And you love him for it.

You try to decorate your Christmas tree together. He messes with the lights for a while, eventually gives up and goes on to eat too many reindeer shaped cookies.

He massages your muscles when you write a boring essay for college.

You go with him when he has to shoot a “driving a motorcycle naked in the centre of Athens” scene and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop smiling like an idiot.

He gives you a dress he bought for you in New York.  

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He calls you sweetheart in the mornings, still half asleep and later joins you in the shower.

“Why are you so hot?”

“Climate change”

“Oh, shut up”

It’s tender and it’s soft and it’s human.

And that’s the saddest part.

/

Soon you realize that him leaving two months ago was merely a rehearsal and you still haven’t said your actual goodbyes. Your chest starts to feel as if it’s full of crushed glass.

And it’s ridiculous because you fell in love with Sebastian sometime between the first ten days you spent together.

Who falls in love in ten days?  

Ridiculous or not, you know you are in love with him just as you know that sooner or later, whatever he is feeling will fade and wither. Maybe it’ll be in a week, maybe it’ll be in a month, maybe in a year if you’re lucky. But there will definitely come a day when he will step out of a gala or a party or a fancy gym in New York with a beautiful model in his arms and two paparazzi’s following him around.

What will you be then?

A past small cameo in his life. A side character. Will he remember your name?

He is your whole world.

(a bottle of cheap prosecco helps you decide that)

He is your whole world.

And yet, there will come a day when he won’t even remember your name.

/

It was difficult. No, it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. Telling him how you think it’d be better if you didn’t talk after he leaves.

“I don’t agree with this.”

“Seb, it’s for the best.”

Your body doesn’t feel strong enough to carry your heart. And you’re certain it will only get worse once he’s away. The world around you will melt. You’ll obsess over a phone screen and his messages. You’ll start chasing ghosts again. You can’t handle that.

“Why?” He says urgently and his fingers dance over the flesh of your palms.

“Because this”, you motion your hand between the two of you, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my life and I don’t want it to become ugly.”

He nods, he understands.

“I love you, you know,” he says smiling and tugs you closer to him, “And I may not be here to show you but I think I’ll love you for a long time.”

Your hand grips his waist right to the bones and something flares in your eyes, something wild that wrenches you around.

“I know, I’ll love you the same.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and you look at him, fully aware he’ll be ripped out of your life like a page from a cheap leather notebook. And when you kiss for the last time, there’s a hole forming in your soul.

And just because endings don’t leave visible scars to one’s body and soul, that doesn’t mean the scars don’t exist. You know they do, because you feel the aching pain of every single one of them.

/

(every night when you close your eyes you see him)

(every night you look at the stars and think of him)

/

A month passes and Argyris asks you if you miss him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“He said the exact same thing.”

You tell him not to mention Sebastian again.

Two months pass and you need to stop stalking his instagram profile.

Three months pass and you almost text him.

Four months pass and you go to watch Endgame with some friends and you cry. You cry when Black Widow sacrifices herself and when Iron Man smiles at his wife while dying, and when Bucky Barnes appears on screen.

The others don’t understand and you don’t blame them.

Five months pass and Argyris’ girlfriend wants you to meet someone. A charming boy your age with blonde hair and a lip piercing.

And he's cute but you compare him to Sebastian even before he has the chance to say his name. His eyes are not the right shade of blue and he doesn’t look at you like you’re made of the world’s finest jewel.

And he doesn’t know any constellation names.

And then more than a year passes in a second and you learn to not look for him. Not anymore.

/

It’s early March 2020 and despite the rising fear of the upcoming pandemic, you’re doing well. Scars are starting to fade. And after spending two weeks in Prague, your best friend being there with an exchange program, Sebastian Stan is the farthest thing from your mind.

Until he literally comes crashing into you. At the airport.

No, it can’t be him.

You have your suitcase on one hand and a bottle of antiseptic gel on the other. He has two bodyguards on his sides and a black hoodie on.  And while half of his face is hidden behind a mask, you can see his eyes perfectly. A frozen lake in December. You would know those eyes in your deathbed, at the end of the world.

Your vision gets blurry and suddenly you feel cold.

He won’t recognize me, he can’t.

But then he looks at you and every memory you had buried inside of you resurfaces.

He motions to his guards to wait for him and he starts walking towards you. You breathe slowly, one breath at a time. He takes his mask off and you hesitate to take yours, not sure if you truly want him to see you.

You exchange the typical and very awkward hi, how are you, i’m glad you’re doing okay and then he smiles and it feels comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the whiff of another time that you always kept around. A reminder that you were once loved by a god.

“What are you doing here?”

“Filming Falcon and the Winter Soldier”

If you hadn’t unfollowed him on instagram, you’d known.

“Ah yes I heard about that, congrats.”

He nods a thank you.

“And you? In Prague?”

“I was at a friend.”

He looks conflicted, hurt, turns his gaze to his shoes on the grey cement. You want to say something, but you feel like throwing up.

And then he laughs.

“I was right.”

You’re confused, he notices.

“Back in Greece,” he swallows, “I told you this would happen.”

“It would have been an airport, different gates for each of us, but same waiting hall. Or a Greek island, where we’d both be for the summer.”

“I would have found you.”

You remember and you cannot help but smile. He was right. He found you.

“I didn’t believe you then.”

I barely believe you now.

He touches your hair. And his touch is like a knife. And you want to cry. Magnolias under your tongue. A love long lost is whispering in your ears until it hurts to listen. He’s like a magnetic field and you feel yourself drowning in him.

“I bet they’ll ask me a hundred questions about you later.” He says and looks at the two men waiting for him.

“And what will you tell them?”

“That you’re most probably the love of my life.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“There’s no way we’d meet here if you’re not.”

“Sebastian,” His name sounds like a prayer coming out of your lips and you're ready to tell him you love him and you can swear he looks like he’s ready to faint, “I-”

The guards yell his name. And it's the same feeling people have just before a car crash.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

One last look.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You repeat it over and over again. But you fail.

“No, don't cry” He smiles, one last smile, “Just look at the stars and wait for us to meet again, because we will.”

He caresses the back of your palm for a second and you think your ribcage is shattering but it’s only your heart drumming frantically. Pushing your fragile bones to break. 

You want to stop him, wrap your arms around his torso, never let him go. Not again. But you don’t.

You just watch him leave, one more time, your knees weak, your head heavy and dizzy. For the split of a moment he turns and glances at you but then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps it was all in your imagination. Perhaps it was nothing but a wonder.

You get into your plane and you silently sob.

/

And then it’s summer.

And you overhear he was seen with a girl, the day before your vacation starts and you find a picture of them together a week later, a pretty blonde girl clinging to his side with a colorful bikini somewhere in Spain. And he’s smiling. And you feel so ashamed. And so stupid.

They say time heals all wounds but they must be wrong because you can’t forget how he used to smile at you or how he used to call you the love of his life.

Was he joking when he said you'll meet again? You bet if you asked him now, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

I’ll love you for a long time.

So long for nothing.

/

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :) also i’m really sorry if you asked me to tag you and i didn’t  but i lost a lot of asks and the urls of the people that sent them :( 

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy @christinamcdonnell ​@partypoison00 ​ @90ssantiago

[reidyoulikeabook]

hi i saw that your requests are open for the night for that list and i feel like 15&35 with spencer might be all i need to survive

anyways i’m on anon bc i’m scared you’ll hate this request but just know your writing is my favorite i would read your grocery lists at this point

excuse me i love this request please do not disparage yourself ever again <3 that’s the loveliest thing anybody has ever said to me and i will now think of you and this compliment whenever i write a grocery list

Ship: GN! (wears a bra, no mention of gender other than this) Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical case things, pining, mild thievery.

Word count: 2.4k

Prompts: #15 - "You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

#35 - “Well fuck, didn’t expect to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

A/N: This got so ungodly long I’m so sorry I don’t even know if I can call this a blurb at this point it’s a full fic but I loved this idea so much and it ran away from me.

PLEASE let me know what you think because I bashed this out in the span of an hour and I’m not sure if I love or hate it.

--

Rossi’s spitballing theories behind you. Your head lolls on the desk, feeling far too heavy to attempt lifting up at this time of night. The case was hard, you were sleeping in shifts, and somehow you, Rossi, and Reid had drawn the short straw. Your eyes are blearing a little too much to make out the exact time on the clock, it’s on the opposite side of the room and your eyes burn when you squint to look at the time; you’re fairly certain you’re somewhere on the wrong side of 3am.

23 hours awake.

Sighing, you push yourself up, looking around and only now noting that Spencer isn’t in the room. He must have made his exit while you were flicking through the files making notes, it was often easier to do that with your headphones in.

Thankfully, you'd set up shop in a conference room at the hotel, given the local PD was tiny and barely equipped to handle its own officers.

“What about the meat packing district?” Rossi muses.

It’s a rhetorical question but one you actually have an answer to, “I don’t think so. The busiest part of the city is between the meat packing district and where he’s dumping the bodies. Cops do random stop-and-searches sometimes, I don’t know if he’d risk it.”

“He could drive around.”

You frown, thinking, “He’d be crossing state lines. Hey, wait,” You stand up from your chair, walking to the board and starting drawing circles that illustrate your point, “Spencer thought there must be a pattern, right? But it died off here and we didn’t know about any more victims. If we expanded the search to outside of state lines it might connect here, here, and here,” You circle each here with a point, tapping the pen against the board triumphantly.

Rossi smiles, “Good thinking kid. I’ll call Garcia.”

Exhausted from your breakthrough, you flop back down into the chair. The clothes you’ve been wearing are icky, uncomfortable with sweat and flying and you’re strongly regretting your choice in underwear now too.

You hear the door swing open, looking up to see Spencer entering the room. Holding your go-bag. The one you’d left on the jet this morning. The jet that was a two hour drive from your current location.

“Where did you? When did you?” Your incoherency is related to both your tiredness, and his thoughtfulness.

He smiles, “It took some calling around but I found a cab driver willing to go and pick it up. It just got here.”

“Spencer I-,” You start, scrambling to your feet to accept the bag he’s offering to you, “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you. How much was the cab?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, handing it to you and heading over to the board, “What are these?”

Rossi - who was watching the exchange with some amusement - starts explaining the eureka moment you’d had. Spencer nods along, turning to smile at you when Rossi credits the thought to you. It’s something he does a lot, Rossi’s noticed. Not in a condescending way, Spencer knows more than anyone just how capable you are at your job. It’s as if he needs to channel his love for you somewhere, and chooses pride. It’s the easiest one to explain, after all, because who isn’t happy for their colleague making breakthroughs?

That’s how Spencer justifies it anyhow.

You leave the room, heading to the bathroom to change. You’re incredibly grateful to slip out of your dirty clothes and the bra that’s cutting into you, so much so that you decide to pop on a t-shirt under your blazer. The sports bra and t-shirt combo revitalises you more than you thought possible for this hour.

Digging through, you find an item that you didn’t pack. A pair of brown fluffy slippers. Attached to them, a note, ‘I thought the heels on your boots looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t want your feet to hurt. - Spencer.

He signed the note. Something about that, alongside the gift itself, sends a flush of warmth through you.

He gave you his slippers

So?

Is that something friends do?

Wracking your brain, you try to think up if he’d do this for anyone else. Hotch? The thought makes you laugh. Emily? Maybe, actually. If she didn’t make it so hard for others to take care of her. Penelope? Almost definitely.

Your heart sinks a little, and you distract yourself by fumbling to get your work boots off and the slippers on.

It doesn’t matter it isn’t romantic, it matters that he did it.

It matters to every other person you date

He sets an impossibly high bar

Thankfully, the late hour means that there aren’t many local PD still hanging around to see your interesting choice of shoe. You slip through to the conference room, where Spencer and Rossi are huddled over the phone talking to Garcia.

Spencer does a double-take. He knew the gift he’d given you, but he hadn’t expected to see you...wearing them? You look beautiful: hair mussed from fiddling with it, an old college t-shirt under your blazer, brown fluffy slippers on your feet. The mix of professional and homely attire does something to him that he can’t quite explain, and he has to clear his throat before making his next point to Garcia.

Did he just blush?

You try not to stare at him, try not to see if that’s a tinge of red creeping up under his turtleneck.

It is.

“Thanks Garcia,” Rossi clips, hanging up the phone, “I’m going to go and find some coffee. You two,” He points, looking knowingly between you, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

No sooner has Rossi left the room, you both try speaking at once.

“You look-” He starts.

“Thank you so-” You start.

You both tinge with warmth.

“You go first,” He says, gnawing at his plump lower lip, finger turning oer the pen in his hand.

You laugh, a little breathless, “Well fuck, I wasn’t expecting to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

His eyebrows quirk, is that...hope?

No. Wishful thinking

It’s probably confusion, and you’re a little embarassed, so you quickly clarify, “I mean Spencer Reid this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m endebted to you forever, really.”

A look washes over him: disappointment? You can’t trust your eyes to see the clock, so you feel you can’t entrust them to analyse his micro-expressions right now either. Especially when you’re biased by personal desire.

“It’s no problem,” He says, voice cracking a little, “You look...” He trails off.

“Unprofessional?” You suggest, teasing.

He shakes his head, swallowing, “You look really nice.”

It’s your turn to swallow. You drop your gaze to the pen, feeling too flustered to continue looking your colleague in the eyes at this moment in time, “Thank you. Where did you get slippers at this time of night?”

He shifts, one hand settling over the wrist of the other and fingers nervously rubbing over the back of his hand, “They were uhm. They were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” It comes out pitchy, a squeak, “I’m sorry, that’s probably weird I just thought-”

“No, Spence,” You say, looking up at him and giving him a genuine smile, “No, it’s really sweet. I’m really lucky to have you.”

He gives his signature tiny tight-lipped smile, the one he gives when he’s feeling awkward or suppressing something he wants to say but can’t.

Please let it be the latter.

You relinquish him of the obligation of responding, instead standing to join him at the board, “You think you’ve got enough to make a geographical profile out of this?”

He nods, tapping the board with his pen, “Your idea about crossing interstate lines was really smart.”

“I have my moments.”

He wants to tell you that everything you have is a moment. You want to step closer, to cup his face in your hands, to press a kiss to the lips that you swear are pouting, begging to be kissed. You don’t.

Namely, because Rossi chooses this moment to re-enter the room, clutching three cups of coffee, “A little help here?”

From the way you spring apart, despite not even being that close, he wishes he’d taken a little longer. Damn kids and their inability to express their feelings for one another.

***

It’s 4:30am when the alarm on your phone goes off. With the work of the four of you - Garcia sporadically included when she had genius updates - you’ve managed to uncover a pattern that arches across states. You’d called Hotch, who’d commended the good work and advised that you should head to bed at 4:30. The others would get up then, and start to head out to the different potential crime scenes. Local PD was already on it.

You’d been told under no uncertain terms that you were to rest until at least 10am. Unless there was a call from Hotch. You prayed there wouldn’t be.

Rossi’s off the minute the alarm rings, bustling out the door with a “See you later kids.”

You wait behind while Spencer packs his things into his satchel. Or rather, unpacks his things from his satchel, frantically tearing it apart.

“What are you looking for?” You ask.

“My key card,” He murmurs, “I swear it was in my wallet.”

“You were rooming with Morgan, right? Want me to call him?”

“Yes please,” He says, continuing to unearth the contents of his bag onto the desk, with an increasing degree of agitation every second that goes by.

You dial Morgan’s number, and he answers after two rings, “Hey kid.”

You put the phone on loudspeaker.

“Hey. I’m with Spencer, we’re about to head up to our rooms for the night, are you still here? He can’t find his keycard.”

He lets out a breath of air through his teeth, “Sorry, I’m already on my way to one of the crime scenes. Local PD found a body over the state line. Nobody’s at the hotel but you guys and Rossi.”

Spencer outwardly sighs.

“No problem, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright, good work kid, get some rest.”

The phone line clicks. Spencer’s brow is pinched with frustration, and your heart breaks for him. You’ve all been awake well over 24 hours, and he looks exhausted. He’s more eyebag than man at this point.

“Do you want me to go to the front desk?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “Reception doesn’t open until 6am. I’ll just wait here until then.”

He starts packing the belongings back into his bag, a resigned look on his face. And you have an idea.

“Actually,” You say, pulling the keycard out of your pocket and sliding it across the table to him, “You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

He picks the card up, squinting in confusion.

“Me and Rossi both got put in single rooms. I mean, it might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, both of us in a single bed, but it’s better than nothing right?”

He opens his mouth to object, and you shake your head.

“Spence you look like you’re about to drop unconscious on the floor and I don’t want to be responsible for yet another injureid.”

You’re so tired that the pun seems hilarious to you, and it does elicit a small laugh from him.

“Come on, it’s either share a bed with me, share a bed with Rossi, or try to sleep in one of these chairs. And I’ll be honest, I’d be kind of offended if you’d rather either of the other two options.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” He says, obviously warming up to the offer but not wanting to push his luck. You can hear the hesitancy in his voice.

“You can. But you won’t,” You tell him, settling your go-bag on your shoulder, “And might I remind you that all this time you’re spending objecting are minutes we could be spending sleeping.”

That seems to win him over. He tucks everything back into his bag, zipping it up, “After you.”

“You have the keycard,” You smile, “After you.”

***

The bed is a single bed. It prompts another round of ‘No really, I can sleep on the floor’ from Spencer, your enquiries about if it’s too much for his germaphobia or issues with touching, and his blushy embarassed reassurance that he doesn’t mind if it’s you.

He doesn’t mind if it’s you.

Not as if you’ll spend the next year mulling over those words or anything.

When you get out of the bathroom from changing, Spencer is tucked up in bed. Well, you say tucked up, but he’s practically lay right on the edge. How he’s actually physically still being supported by the mattress at this point must be his physics magic.

“I thought I said I didn’t want you getting injured,” You say, crossing the room to him.

He opens his eyes, “I didn’t want to-”

“It’s okay Spence,” You tell him, huddling down into bed.

There’s about enough room for you both to fit in, with an inch between you, so you pull gently at his arms, urging him closer.

“There’s enough room for us both without you going flying in the night,” You tell him.

He nods, obviously still a little nervous. It’s odd, lying face to face with him, illuminated only by lamplight. He looks soft. He always does, but there’s something intimate about this. You can feel his breath fan across your cheek, can feel how heat radiates off his arms.

“Do you want me to turn the lamp off?” He asks.

It’s not your staring that implores him to ask, because he’s been staring at you too. The both of you, trapped in a perfect bubble of a moment. Lamplight a spotlight, highlighting all the features of the person you love most.

“Sure,” You whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He flicks it off, settling back down.

His breath brushes against your face when he asks, “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Do you want to?”

He hesitates for a moment, voice even softer when he answers, “No.”

It’s dark. You can hardly make out his outline. Yet somehow, you both just know. Shifting, infitismally closer. Breaching the tiniest gap between you somehow feels like crossing the Grand Canyon. Your heart thumps in your chest, and you can feel it in your fingers, the fingers that trace cautiously along his jaw.

His mouth finally, finally, slotting against yours in the most gentle of kisses. A blink and you’d miss it.

And yet, in the same blink, your life changes forever.

When Rossi makes a speech at your wedding, he admits to being the thief of the missing keycard, and intentional orchestrator of the greatest love story he’s ever known. His words.

---

Permanent tagslist: @reidingmelodies @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician @calm-and-doctor @ssa-m-187  @seasonfivereid @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reidsnose

(message/reply to this to be added or removed!!)

[peachy-panic]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 3: “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

This is the next chronological piece of Do No Harm, continued directly from this chapter.

Tag list: @whumpervescence  @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump

WARNINGS: Medical procedures, referenced/implied noncon, slavery setting, the usual.

The young doctor seems a bit skittish and far less cruel than the other Facility employees, and that comes with the dangerous notion that perhaps he doesn’t plan on hurting him. But that notion requires a naivety of which Jaime is no longer capable. He, of all people, is aware that cruelty can disguise itself in many shapes and sizes. Just because it isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that only makes it all the more dangerous.

There’s no use in hoping either way, he decides. Dr. Tate will either hurt him or he won’t, will either touch him or he won’t, and Jaime can’t — won’t — react. He has already made that mistake once today and will certainly pay for it later in ways he doesn’t want to think about now. He would do well to remember that he doesn’t hold any power here. Not in this room, this building, this life. And that, despite any arbitrary written rules, Dr. Tate is free to do as he pleases. 

At least he had removed the restraints from his mouth and wrists. Jaime can console himself with this small mercy. 

Those had always been the worst part of nights with Mr. Torley, on the all-too-frequent occasions he decided to use them. He was clearly very into them, and even more into Jaime’s fear of them. In addition to the claustrophobia they stoked in him, the use of restraints in bed had always felt something like a mockery. What use was it to restrain someone who can’t fight back regardless? The binds on his wrists and ankles were nothing more than accessories. The shackles in his mind did all the work to keep him still. And Mr. Torley knew that.

He does his best not to think about that now. Not to think about Mr. Torley at all, since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Distantly, he wonders how long the influence of his first Keeper will continue to stain Jaime’s existence beyond the termination of their six-month contract.

Dr. Tate, who has been buried in the cabinets above the sink for several minutes, turns back to him sporting bright-blue gloves that adhere tightly around his slender hands. He meets Jaime’s eyes for half a second before his gaze darts somewhere just to the left of his shoulder. 

“We need to run a couple of tests,” he says in a detached, clinical voice, all notes of lightheartedness from earlier removed. “I’ll need to collect some samples from you.”

Jaime nods once in acknowledgement, squeezing his fingers tightly, unconsciously around the edge of the table. There’s an unnatural pause in his cadence, and Jaime when looks up, he watches a slight twitch of movement in the doctor’s jaw. 

“Please remove your pants and underwear,” Dr. Tate says, his voice taking on a lower pitch. “You can leave them on up to your thighs, if you’d like.”

The slight shift in demeanor sets Jaime on edge, but he doesn’t hesitate at the command, even as a familiar panic claws at the inside of his throat. He drops forward from the table, his legs taking his weight. His thumbs hook the waistband of the thin, cotton pants he had been returned in, and he doesn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation before pushing them unceremoniously off his hips. He takes Dr. Tate up on his merciful offer to keep them partially on his body. The cold, sterile air inside the clinic is sharp against his exposed skin.

Jaime’s eyes find the ceiling as he prepares for the touch he knows is coming. He doesn’t look to see whatever tools and instruments Dr. Tate is laying out on the silver tray beside the exam table. He doesn’t have to. “We need to run a couple of tests.”  Whatever foolish hypotheticals Jaime once held in regards to WRU — what they did and didn’t know about the treatment of their wards — had long been shattered. 

Of course they needed to test him for sexually transmitted diseases. They can’t have a Domestic Companion spreading something to the next paying customer that buys their time and exposing their innocent charade. 

There’s a pause in Dr. Tate’s movement, but Jaime doesn’t look away from his spot on the ceiling tile.

“I’m going to touch you, now.” Dr. Tate’s voice is low and measured. “I need to examine you for bumps or sores, any abnormalities.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll take a swab from your urethra. It might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt you.” Another pause. “Please, tell me if it does.”

Jaime’s grip on the table tightens, but he otherwise doesn’t react. Distantly, he is grateful for the warning, the bare explanation, mortifying as it is. He knows that the doctors here are not obligated to explain anything to the Companion patients, to seek consent in any form. Their consent was implicitly given in the contracts they signed at intake. He just as easily could have left Jaime gagged and bound to the table and gone about the procedure without so much as a word to him. Jaime is glad he hadn’t. 

Instead, Dr. Tate’s touch is light and professional. His gloved hands don’t linger, they don’t poke and prod to get a reaction from him. It seems, even, that he touches him as little as possible. Almost as if he is as eager to get this over with as Jaime is, which doesn’t feel quite possible. 

The fluorescent strip of light next to his focal point on the ceiling burns at the edge of his vision, but he doesn’t look away, using the mild discomfort as an anchor to hold himself steady. He concentrates on that instead of the gentle touches, gritting his teeth against any traitorous urges his body might provoke. Mr. Torley had loved that about Jaime — his responsiveness to touch — but not as much as he loved using it against him. 

His stomach sours at the memory, fresh humiliation creeping into his cheeks at the idea of something similar happening now. He doesn’t think Dr. Tate would tease him the way his Keeper had, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of becoming physically aroused in front of this young doctor, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him and, in another life, Jaime might have found pretty. 

The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, too painful to linger on. The idea of another life. A normal life. A life at all. These are thoughts Jaime is forbidden to have. The phantom sting of an electric shock lights up the column of his throat and Jaime winces.

“Sorry,” Dr. Tate said quickly, misunderstanding the movement and withdrawing his hand. Jaime’s eyes finally fall to his as the doctor takes a step back, inserting the long swab into a glass tube and sealing it with a cap. “The worst part is over.”

Jaime is numb all over, but he nearly laughs. He knows that having stepped foot in this facility again, the “worst part” has not even begun. 

“I’ll need to collect another sample from your mouth,” Dr. Tate continues, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, and Jaime absently wonders why they even bother wasting extra product on the patients here. “And we’ll draw some blood—” 

Something catches his voice mid-sentence and Jaime’s eyes flick up to his again. Dr. Tate looks at him, and then pointedly, hurriedly away. Jaime swears he can see his pale cheeks reddening.

“You can— We’re finished with that part.” He stumbles out. “Feel free to cover yourself up.”

Jaime does as he’s told, finding it somewhere within himself to be grateful that the doctor had kept the procedure professional. He couldn’t say the same thing for every encounter he’d had in the facility clinic before. 

********

Sebastian knows what happens next, and that’s why he finds himself taking his time with the rest of the visit. As soon as he’s completed the mandated intake exam, he is supposed to mark the patient as cleared in his chart and alert the handlers to come collect him. To take him back into the part of the facility where Sebastian has never set foot; the “residential” wing where the unclaimed Companions are housed between contracts. On all the promotional advertisements, it’s depicted as a dormitory-like accommodation. Now that Sebastian knows just how little truth exists behind their lies, he can only imagine it’s nothing of the sort. 

His mind conjures images of iron-barred cells and concrete rooms, of medieval dungeons with chains and darkness and filth. It’s a sensationalized version of what he assumes is probably the truth, but that doesn’t mean the reality is any less horrible. After what he’s seen in his time here and everything he’s heard, he has no doubt that the people who are forced to reside here between Keepers are subject to the company’s own brand of horror. Frankly, he’s in no hurry to turn his patient back over to their hands a moment sooner than he has to.

The boy is silent and entirely pliable throughout the whole exam, allowing himself to be moved when necessary and not so much as flinching when the needles for the blood draw break his skin. Sebastian is glad when the more… invasive parts of the exam are over. The boy had been no less compliant during them, maybe even the opposite, but Sebastian hadn’t missed the subtle changes in his posture, the way the muscles in his hands clenched and released around the edge of the table as he touched him as little as possible. 

He had looked up at the ceiling instead of at the wall behind Sebastian, as he had done previously, and Sebastian had silently prayed that the position wasn’t intended as a way to hold back tears. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself if he made this kid cry.

When the blood has been drawn, the test samples submitted for lab processing, and a full physical performed, Sebastian has run out of ways to delay the inevitable. He closes out of the boy’s patient profile on his screen and turns to him, hands folded professionally in front. 

“I’ll need to alert the handlers that your intake exam is complete,” he told him, probably unnecessarily. He hadn’t looked to see how long he had been in the system, but from his behavior, he assumes it’s been long enough to break his spirit. He probably knows these protocols better than Sebastian ever wants to. “They’ll come and escort you back to the residential quarters.”

110750 nods once without looking at him. “Thank you,” he says flatly. Then, there is a moment of pause before he lifts his eyes and seems to level Sebastian with something more sincere. “Thank you for… for letting me get cleaned up.”

Sebastian feels like shattering into pieces all over the cold linoleum. Instead, he tries for a smile and lands somewhere in the realm of a tight, thin line at his lips. “Sure,” he says, a bit mortified to hear the crack in his voice. 

He watches 110750 take slow, measured breaths as Sebastian makes the call he desperately wishes he didn’t have to make. He tries not to stare as they wait in tense silence for the handlers to arrive. Of course, Sebastian could leave the room if he wants. The intake procedure is done, and so is his minimal obligation to patient care. But something feels wrong about leaving him. More than that, something feels utterly wrong about this boy being taken out of the clinic, away from his line of sight, where he can’t see what will happen next. He only knows it won’t be good. 

A split second before he hears the clinic doors whoosh open, Sebastian steps closer to his patient, lowering his voice to a quick, urgent whisper. “Keep an eye on that broken nose,” he advises. “If you have any trouble breathing as it heals, please don’t hesitate to let your assigned handler know that you need medical attention, okay?”

The boy hitches in a breath but doesn’t respond. Sebastian takes half a step closer. 

“Look, you have a right to medical assistance,” he says, the words feeling like treason on his tongue despite knowing their written truth. “Even here. Even now. You can always come see me here if you need to. They can’t legally prevent you from requesting care. Do you understand?”

Unexpectedly, something dark flashes in the boy’s eyes. Something less like the fear and dread he had witnessed earlier, and something much more akin to anger. Anger at Sebastian?

Before the interaction can go any further, they are interrupted by the unceremonious swing of the exam room door. The same two men who had brought him in - one with a fresh bandage on his face - push their way in, stepping between Sebastian and his patient. 

“Up you go, 7-5-0,” Handler Hernandez barks, and the boy is on his feet before he can finish the command, his hands behind his back, head bowed. 

“Oh, look who finally decided to behave,” the other one - Smith, maybe? - taunts as he sizes him up in a way that makes even Sebastian’s skin crawl. Just as he had prior to the visit, the man shifts his gaze to him, a sneer permanently embedded into his expression. “Does he get a lollipop for good behavior? Maybe a sticker?”

The boy doesn’t look up at him, but Sebastian thinks he sees his throat move. He feels a swell of rage rise into his throat, coming to a boiling point for the second time since he entered the room with this boy, but he swallows it back, keeping as level an expression as he can manage. 

“He was perfectly agreeable,” he responds tightly, refusing to play into whatever mockery he’s initiating. 

Smith answers him with a dismissive snort, turning his attention back to the boy like a predator who just found fresh meat. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, the thick rubber of his boots squeaking against the tile as he takes a step too far into the boy’s personal space. “Think we can go the easy way back, or would you prefer to do things the hard way again?”

The beat of silence in the room is painful as they await his response, which comes eventually in a subdued voice, through slightly gritted teeth and with his eyes on the floor. “The easy way. Sir.”

A snort from Hernandez breaks the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he is escorted from the room and seems to take with him all the air in Sebastian's lungs. Naively, desperately, he hopes for the briefest moment of eye contact before he’s taken away from him. But his eyes stay downward, even as a large hand curls around his bicep and makes him stumble in his gait as he’s yanked forward. Sebastian watches helplessly as he disappears from sight, one singular thought slicing through his mind on a loop:

Who did this to you?

[hotchseyebrows]

thoughtfulness in little things

a derek morgan x penelope garcia fic

a/n: can you believe that is my first ever full length morcia fic? me? resident morcia nut? wow. what a world. anyway!! i hope yall like this (and if you noticed it was already on ao3 earlier today shhh this is a scheduled tumblr post im Sleeping rn) and hopefully i dont take 4 months in between posting fics again, but i make no promises!!! my brain is Evil

thank you @blkantigone for being my beta and thank you @derekmorqan for letting me barf 1k of this in our dms a while back, i love you both sm

they do kiss a fair bit in this (it is, in fact, a first kiss fic) and its a little steamy, but by no means explicit and is rated teens and up on ao3 :)

read it here on ao3!!

Penelope splutters. “Sugar, you don’t have to stay here with me, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shrugs. “How am I supposed to party when my best girl is stuck at work?”

-

Everything changes during a late night in Penelope's batcave. But really, nothing changes at all.

word count: 3000

Friday nights without a case are a rare treasure for SSA Hotchner’s highly sought after team of profilers. Normally, Derek and Penelope would be taking advantage of the freedom by dancing all night, but sometimes the universe has other plans. 

Penelope used this week’s case-free time to put the finishing touches on an antivirus and security software of her own creation. The personal information of her beloved BAU babies was a hot commodity well worth the additional protection, and she’s always looking for a reason to fiddle with Quantico’s servers. It ended up being a whole production, taking the entire afternoon and then some. Apparently, she still doesn’t have all of the permissions required to make certain adjustments which means that she’s fiddling and bending her way into all of the things she needs to do. If that wasn’t bad enough, the whole damn thing crashed around 4:00. She managed not to pull her hair out, but it was a close thing and it set her back at least an extra hour.

Derek stops by a little after 5, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Baby girl, I can hear the bottles of DC’s finest vodka and Hennessy calling our names, are you almost ready to leave for the day?” He pauses in the door, taking in her furious typing and furrowed brow. “Whoa, Mama, what’s the matter? You’ve got Hotch’s eyebrows.”

She throws her arms up. “The entirety of the FBI and also the world is getting on my nerves!” He walks over to her, leaning on the side of her chair and turning her away from her monitor. His hands gently grab both of hers and he rubs a soothing circle with one of his thumbs. 

“Explain, baby girl.” 

She does, eventually just ranting and raving about how annoying it is to still be put in metaphorical handcuffs by the FBI as if she can’t just do what she wants anyway. “I’m not even breaking any rules, technically, they’re just making things annoying and long winded.” She sighs, moving her hands to interlock their fingers. “But now that it’s started, it would be doubly annoying to stop it and come back later. So I’m stuck here until it’s done, which might take a while.”

He nods, thinking. Then he straightens up, grabs the extra rolling chair, and sits down. 

Penelope splutters. “Sugar, you don’t have to stay here with me, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shrugs. “How am I supposed to party when my best girl is stuck at work?” She blushes, turning away to hide it on instinct. 

“You cheeseball.” She spins around to lightly push on his arm. He just smiles. 

They sit together for 20 minutes in relative silence as she continues her work. It’s a comfortable silence; his occasional humming soothes her rising annoyance at how needlessly long this is taking. She can hear him playing with one of the fidget toys she keeps on her desk behind him. When she gets to another point of sitting and waiting, she turns towards him and asks him about his day. He tells her about how Prentiss helped him get Reid back for a prank by distracting him in the break room while he switched out the keyboard of Reid’s computer with an identical one with a grass garden planted inside. “It’s a long con for sure, but I’m hoping it sprouts this weekend.”

She laughs. “How long did it take you to set this up, dumpling?” She already knows the answer, but it’s nice to see his slightly sheepish but proud look about his dedication to his prank war. Her computer beeps at her, and she spins back around to begin working again.

He rolls closer, avoiding her question and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You getting hungry yet?”

She relaxes, leaning against him. As if on cue, her stomach grumbles. “Yes, I’d say so.”

He leans over and moves a strand of hair out of her face. “Okay baby girl, I’ll go grab us food and be right back.” She nods, lifting her cheek on instinct to meet the kiss she knows is coming. He stands and sure enough, leans down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be quick. Be good.”

“How can I do anything else if you’re not here?” She bats her eyes up at him. 

He grins. “Oh, I’m sure you’d think of something.” He brushes his knuckles against her cheek. It makes her shiver.

She watches him leave, catching the kiss he blows at her from the door. Turning back to focus on her work, it feels like she blinks and he’s back. A glance at the clock tells her it’s been over a half hour. He puts the bag of food onto the table before coming to pull her away from the computer. 

“One minute, I promise, I’m so close to just letting this thing run for a little.” He twirls her hair around his fingers before dropping his hands onto her shoulders, rubbing away the tension. A minute and a half later, she leans back in her chair with a sigh. She tilts her head back and sticks her tongue out at him. He smiles at her. 

"Come eat, baby girl. Don't think you're getting out of eating my hard won dinner." He moves to the table and pulls out her chair. She follows and sits.

"Hard won — mon cher, you didn't tackle a wild animal and lug it home to our log cabin in the woods, you drove your car 20 minutes."

He kisses her temple, handing her a pair of chopsticks. "Yeah, but I would lug home whatever you needed anytime, so the sentiment is the same."

She smiles and knocks their feet together under the table lightly. He moves his chair, so they are sitting right next to each other on the same side of the table. The heat from his arm is palpable.

Derek grabs a box from the bag and splits the vegan pad thai within onto two paper plates. He opens the box of spring rolls and places it in between them while she places napkins in front of them both. He pops the cap off of her bottle of lemonade without her asking, and sets that in front of her too. “Thank you, handsome.” He smiles in response. They start eating and the comfortable silence returns. 

She talks him through what she still needs to do to fix everything in between bites, even though she knows he doesn't really understand her technobabble. But Penelope can feel his eyes on her, and without looking, she somehow knows that something has shifted in the air around them.

"What?" she asks, turning her attention away from gesturing at her computer with the chopsticks. "Do I have something on my face?"

He chuckles. "Actually, yes, c'mere." He brushes away a stray spot of sauce on the corner of her lips with a gentle swipe of his thumb. The rest of his hand stills on her cheek. She shivers. She can see him notice it, his attention focusing in on her. Penelope's blood is thundering in her ears as he glances in between her lips and her eyes.

She leans purposefully into his hand. His thumb brushes over her lips again and her mouth falls open a little. 

"Penelope, I-" he cuts himself off with a hard swallow. "Penelope." His eyes flicker down to her lips and back up to her eyes quickly again.

She can only blink at him for a moment. "Yes, Derek?"

"I don't kn- um. Can I-" She's never seen him flustered and unsure like this. But they've never been out of sync before and they aren't about to start now, so she nods, bringing up a hand to rest on his. A smile grows on his face before he starts to lean in. His hand slides along her cheek to more firmly grip her face- it makes her gasp.

He pauses, thinking something is wrong. "Penelope, are y-" Her heart swells at how careful he is to take care of her always, and she meets him in the middle, pressing their lips together in a soft, purposeful kiss.

For a moment, all is still. The world boils down to just the place where their lips are touching. Their lips barely brush against one another, but already Penelope feels light headed. Derek separates their lips for a moment before kissing her again, a firmer touch this time. She sucks in a breath through her nose. His lips are incredibly kind- that’s the only word for it. He doesn’t seem to know the word “take” right now because all she can feel from him is “give.” As he presses into the kiss and gently cups the side of her face, her brain wildly spins through thoughts about how of course he’s like this even when kissing her and how good he smells and how she can’t believe they haven’t done this sooner.

He draws her closer against him, pressing into the kiss more insistently before bringing his other hand up to her face and holding her. His fingers move to cup the sides of her neck and she tilts her head to the left a touch, letting her mouth fall open in a sigh. He makes a soft noise before tentatively sliding their tongues together. A full body shiver runs down her spine and through her limbs. Another small noise falls from the back of his throat. Her stomach swoops like they've just dropped down the side of a huge arch in a roller coaster. She places both hands on his chest, pressing forward. He moves with her, chair squeaking underneath him as he presses closer, one arm snaking around her back. Penelope’s heart pounds even louder. His tongue is gentle even in its insistence as their kiss turns slightly desperate. 

It feels like someone has lit a fire underneath Penelope’s chair, warmth washing over her whole body and radiating out from everywhere they touch. One of his hands tangles into her hair as he gently tilts her head back. If she wasn’t sitting her knees would have buckled so long ago, but now she would absolutely be on the floor. It’s no surprise that Derek Morgan is an incredible kisser, but knowing something and knowing something is so different. 

He pulls back, letting their foreheads rest together. Her eyes stay closed, tingles radiating from everywhere his fingers are tenderly holding her face. She tightens her grip on his shirt. He kisses the tip of her nose. "You still with me, baby girl?"

She nods, breathless. She slowly opens her eyes and smiles at him. "Hi." It's the first thing she thinks to say. 

He laughs. "Hey you."

She has so many questions- how long have you wanted to do that, can we do that again right now, can we do so much more right now, right here- but before she can ask any of them, her computer beeps loudly. "Oh!" She jumps at the sudden noise. He drops his hands and leans back, looking far too much like the cat who got the cream. "I should- right, I should deal with that," she says, standing on shaky legs. Heels were never so precarious. Of course, there is no hiding from a profiler.

He grins up at her. "Need some assistance?" His eyes are shining like he's hiding a joke. She scrunches her nose at him, biting back a smile.

"Oh, hush you. I’m perfectly capable of walking 3 feet, thank you very much." Her tenacity is a little undercut from the way her hands are trembling a little as she smooths her skirt, but still. The point remains.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Alright baby girl, go on then."

She walks over to her computer and stays standing to fiddle with the wires behind it before bending over at the keyboard and reading the report on the screen. "It shouldn't be much longer now, it just needs to run the last new anti-virus- what?" He's leaning back in his seat and staring at her, a small smile dancing on his lips.

"What, Mama?" But he knows what, clearly evident from the way he is trying to school his expression into something innocent.

She blushes. "Derek Morgan, I don't know what I'm going to do if you keep looking at me like that."

"Oh, I don't know. I might have some ideas."

She sucks in a sharp inhale through her nose. Playing nonchalant, she turns back to her computer. "Well, I might have to hear your ideas out."

"Yeah?" 

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and he's grinning.

"Yeah." she says, not trusting what will come out of her mouth if she elaborates (probably something along the lines of “I’d listen to all your ideas, do your ideas include any semblance of forever, if you keep grinning like that I'm gonna lock the door and do something reckless”).

They sit in relative silence, just the sounds of her typing filling the room. When she finishes, she spins her chair around. "Hi," she says again.

"Hi baby," he responds.

Her fingers twist and curl the hem of her skirt. "So, uh, well, that's gonna take at least another 30 minutes to finish running."

He raises one eyebrow. "30 minutes, huh?" 

She nods. "Might be a good time for some of those ideas." 

He stands and walks across the room to her. She takes his offered hand and stands as well. They stay there, inches apart and holding hands as the charged atmosphere around them seems to crackle. In the same breath, they lean in to kiss again. Both of her arms wrap around his neck as he tucks his around her waist. He pulls her against him, fully pressed together as the soft kiss deepens into something heated and desperate.

He bites her bottom lip gently before the kiss turns open mouthed and slick. She arches against him as they slide into a slow rhythm. She feels fluttery, like his arms are the only anchor point in the whole world and if he let her go, she’d simply float away. He tastes like lemonade, sweet and alive. She hums as he tracks his hands in a slow circle at the base of her spine. Her knees really do buckle a little as he attempts to tug her closer, but he holds her steady. She rests a hand on his cheek and grounds herself by using the other to grip the back of his neck. She’s utterly swallowed up by him, his arms and his mouth and just him surrounding her in their own little cocoon. He separates their mouths to kiss across her jaw and down her neck, hands flattening on her back. He places a line of long kisses down to the crook of her neck. She lets out a sigh, letting her head fall to the side to give him more room. He sinks his teeth into the same spot lightly, and she shudders. 

"Derek," she whispers. She can feel his smile against his skin as he kisses the same place again.

They slow to a stop, tucked against each other. He rests his face against her neck and mumbles something against her skin. "Hmm honey?" she says, hand rubbing a circle on the nape of his neck.

"I got us that Talenti ice cream you like," he says, only moving enough to be heard. “Chocolate peanut butter cup, and the color changing spoons are still in the break room.”

"Oh Der, that's so sweet, you didn't have to do all of that." Her heart skips a beat. 

He shrugs, kissing the side of her neck. "I wanted to."

She is half tempted to haul him in for another kiss, but as if on cue, her stomach grumbles. He picks his head up and smiles at her. "Come eat now," he says before giving her another quick peck. 

She lets him pull her to the table, but before they sit, she pulls him in again. He chuckles into the kiss.  "Eat, you menace." He mumbles against her lips. Pulling back, he plants a kiss on the apple of her cheek as he guides her into her seat.

She bites a retort about how she was trying to but he sees it on her face anyway. 

"Later, baby girl. Dinner first."

“Then dessert?” She tilts her head and gives him a flirty smile. 

He runs his thumb along her bottom lip. “All the dessert you want, Penelope.”

Much the same as before, they eat in comfortable silence. Except this time he rests a hand on her thigh, and traces a slow lazy circle with his thumb. The conversation picks back up and turns to unrelated things. Derek muses about possible retaliations from Spencer once he notices his new desk plants as he casually offers her a bite from his plate. She takes it, humming.

Something Penelope did not realize had lost its footing resettles in her chest. Nothing is different, not in any way that would scare her or be a loss. They are just the same as they've always been, but also more. (Though she'd be hard pressed to think of a time when this wasn't the way they were. Maybe things are just being unveiled, not changed.) 

When they finish eating, he goes to get the ice cream and two of the fun spoons from the break room. They split the pint and laugh far too loudly for how late it is. The computer beeps for a final time, software finally fully uploaded and settled. She still has to run tests and double check that everything is working, but that can wait. Derek offers her a bite of ice cream, and if he kisses her again to remove the ice cream from her bottom lip, she can't say she minds.

[itsthemoofacewriting]

It’s heaven in your arms - Chapter 2

Welcome back!

You guys, I was so nervous posting this and everyone’s been so lovely ;_;

I don’t know if anyone picked up on it, but my title has two meanings. One, because it’s a bed sharing trope and two, because Ace died in Luffy’s arms. I’m a monster, I know.

Summary: It may have been two years since Ace’s death but, for Luffy, sometimes it still felt like just yesterday. Or, sometimes, something beautiful can blossom from a place of hurt. Raining: K+ 

You can also find this on AO3 and FFN. 

Enjoy!

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

But when he’d shot her those excited puppy eyes and asked if they could have another sleepover, she’d found herself caving. Even more so when the thought cropped into her head that maybe he was asking because he was struggling. She’d rather know where he was if he was going to be upset than worry about him being all alone out on the deck.

She’d raised an eyebrow when Luffy had arrived with Zoro in tow but that had been quickly snuffed out when he’d smugly said, “A one-time thing, huh?”

From there on the second time turned into a third time and then a fourth and now she’d lost count of how many times this had happened. It wasn’t every night, mind you, as they all had watches and if one of them couldn’t be there, then it was an unspoken rule that the others would sleep separately. Although she couldn’t be sure that Luffy and Zoro didn’t in the men’s room, but she’d seen those bunks and they’d never mentioned it.

The point was, it’d turned into a routine that no one blinked an eye at, and she’d even got them bathing regularly because there was no way either of them were getting in without being clean.

She’d also never slept better than she did when she had those two in her bed, piled in whichever way they found themselves throughout the night. Luffy liked to be the big spoon, which was something she felt like she shouldn’t know but did, he almost insisted on it even as he climbed in first and took an end. It was a funny sight when Zoro ended up in the middle, his hulking figure being cuddled up to by Luffy. The person on the other end was hardly left out when he stretched his arm to curl around them. It was like he was trying to keep them all close.

When they weren’t being spooned by Luffy, another favourite was when Zoro would lay on his back, an arm thrown out either side and she’d naturally gravitate towards him until her head was on his chest or tucked into his shoulder. His beefiness made a nice pillow, something Luffy must have agreed with as he normally mirrored her on the other side.

She’d stopped being flustered by all of this long ago, it was easy to get over when they did it all the time and neither said anything about it.

She did, however, question whether it was right that she had a preferred sleeping preference with the both of them and that she was ranking them.

.

.

.

Nami was sunning herself on her lounger, it was a pleasant day with the sun out, the ocean still and the background noise of Luffy, Chopper and Usopp running around in the distance. Footsteps approaching caught her attention only to see Robin making her way over, two drinks in hand that must have come from Sanji and a third arm holding a book. She greeted the other woman silently, turning her head to smile at her before facing the sun again and closing her eyes to enjoy the warmth on her skin.

There truly was no better way to spend the day-

“My invitation to your little sleepovers must have got lost in the mail.”

Nami was ripped from her peace as she gaped, feeling heat flush through her body at this finally being acknowledged. She shot a nervous look at Zoro who was sleeping only a few feet away from her sun lounger against the railing. Just because he looked like he was asleep, didn’t mean he was, but when he didn’t move or twitch or give any indication that he might be awake, she let herself relax slightly.

And focus back on the woman next to her still staring her down for an answer. Even though it was a statement, she felt the need to explain herself.  

“No- Robin! It isn’t… like that?” She could almost feel the ghost of Luffy’s breath against her skin and Zoro’s arm wrapped around waist, an unwelcome reminder to contrast her words.

Robin hummed, a look in her eye that told Nami she didn’t buy it. “You three looked adorable all cuddled up this morning.”

Of all the ways she thought she was going to die throughout her life, at the hands of Arlong, dropping from Skypiea or on Whole Cake Island to name a few, she never imagined this would be it. Embarrassed to death.

How was she going to explain that this had started with comforting Luffy and snowballed into whatever the hell they were doing now.

She didn’t have to either as Luffy came barrelling over with a chirp of “Nami!”, unaware of their conversation or her embarrassment only to make it worse by squeezing himself onto her sun lounger, ignoring how close they were or that he was practically laying over her. He chattered excitedly next to her, telling her about what him, Usopp and Chopper had been doing, at one point using her straw to take a long gulp from her drink and all the while she was very aware of Robin’s eyes on her the whole time.

“It’s sweet. I’m happy for you three,” Robin said as soon as Luffy bounded off after telling her his short story.

He was out of sight soon enough, but her eyes naturally trailed over to Zoro, only to find his eye trained on her already. She couldn’t be sure whether he’d heard what Robin had just said, but the smile he gave her before closing his eye again certainly didn’t help.

It was full of warmth.  

.

.

.

‘It’s sweet. I’m happy for you three.’

Robin’s words replayed in her head, over and over.

The last couple of weeks washed over her. Robin’s words bringing to the forefront how Luffy and Zoro’s behaviour had changed.

Luffy was the first one up in the mornings, unable to wait for either of them to wake up as he heard Sanji bustling around the kitchen and the lure of food too strong that he’d hastily take off, plastering a hurried kiss on the cheek or forehead of whoever was closest. Sure, it’d stunned her at first, but he’d done it to Zoro too and the other man hadn’t even blinked, so she’d let it go. Even if it did take her by surprise each time.

Then it just left Nami and Zoro by themselves to wake up together. He was so casual as he stretched, murmuring out a “mornin’” as he removed his arm from wherever it was laying against her body and it lingered a second too long, brushing against her skin. It was more subtle than Luffy’s gesture, but this was Zoro. It might as well be the same act.

She felt like an elephant in the room needed to be addressed, yet neither of them acted like anything had changed.

Outside the bedroom it changed too.

Where she used to be alone in the library as she drew maps, Zoro would now be napping against her desk or on the sofa, saying how it was quieter in there and because she was so cranky, they wouldn’t be disturbed. Luffy would soon gravitate towards them, asking questions about her maps that he didn’t really listen to the answer to, or he’d go lay his head on Zoro’s lap whilst he slept, a rare moment of calm that would punish them later as he bounded around.

Luffy would find her more often too, clambering over her seat if she was sun lounging or bringing over things that he’d found and deemed ‘cool’. Kind of like how a cat would bring mice to its owner to impress them… not that she was Luffy’s owner.

They still hung out with their other friends, but instead there’d be Zoro’s arm casually thrown over the back of her chair and Luffy at her other side, a hand constantly finding a way to touch her or draw her into his chaos.

Small shifts, so subtle it had taken her this long to piece it together.

It was almost like…

Almost like they were in a relationship. The three of them.

It made her stomach churn, but she didn’t know if it was in a good or bad way, like how it did when she was dreading something or excited.

And then the final puzzle piece slotted into place.

Oh.

She was in a relationship with them. Or at least the early stages but it was all there, for everyone to see and she’d missed it every step of the way. Her thoughts were jumbled. Too many fighting to be at the forefront and how had she not figured this out sooner?

Her mind had been running for hours whilst she was squished between Zoro and Luffy, staring up at the ceiling. It was still dark outside and all she’d done all night was drift in and out of sleep. She had more hours left to sleep, but she couldn’t calm her mind enough for it.

She rolled onto her side to face Zoro, in his sleep Luffy sensed her movement and filled the slither of free space to spoon up behind her, his breath heavy against her neck. She studied Zoro’s profile, from the scar covering his eye, which when he slept like that she couldn’t tell if he was awake, to the strong line of his nose, the normal severe expression softened in his sleeping state. Even when he slept on the deck, he didn’t look that relaxed, this was something privy to her and Luffy.

There was no way around it. She was attracted to him, and she couldn’t deny looking down at his lips a few times recently as he spoke. They looked dry, like he needed a good slather of lip balm over them, but she it didn’t stop her from entertaining the thought of pressing her lips against his. Luffy’s on the other hand, looked softer and she wondered if the texture was the same as his skin, still soft like human skin but there was a hint of resistance, of elasticity there. She was attracted to Luffy too, his carefree grin and contagious enthusiasm. How weir-

What she wasn’t expecting was for Zoro to suddenly stretch and stir, making a noise of contentment before he rolled over to face her and she didn’t have the sense the clamp her eyes shut in time. She stared back into a lone grey eye.

“Y’alrigh’?” Zoro slurred out, still caught in the grasp of sleep as he settled into his new position.

“Yeah.” She sounded too awake for how early it was and too vacant, unsure, that it caught his attention.

“What’s wrong?” More coherent now.

“Zoro… is this not a bit weird?” Luffy’s arm tightened around her, and he snuggled further into her back.

Zoro had already turned to face her, his arm haphazardly thrown over her, but after her question she could feel the shift, how he was looking at her before but now she could tell she had his full attention. He stared at her, all the signs of sleep or tiredness from before gone from his face. His eye was trained on her and it felt like she was being accessed, that he was trying to look through her.

Another second passed until he answered with a shrug.

“I dunno, maybe, but when have we ever done anything by the book?”

He made a good point and when had she ever cared what others thought?

Her silence seemed to make him take a step back, second guessing the intention of her previous question, as he asked, “Do you want to stop doing this?” The arm over her waist lightened, like he was ready to remove it at a moment’s notice and if she thought she was being accessed before, it was nothing compared to now. His gaze scrutinizing, flittering around her face for any sign of discomfort.

She considered it for a second but the thought of going back to an empty bed permanently made her ache. There’d be no whispering as they tried to go off to sleep, no elbows digging her in the night, no snoring in her ears and it wouldn’t be like an oven all the time with their combined body heat. It’d be cold and silent.

It sounded awful.

“No,” she whispered and Zoro’s arm rested back over her body like before, palm splayed across her waist and squeezing slightly, like he was encouraging her to continue. “But what if- what if this…” ‘doesn’t work out’, She wanted to say.

It didn’t matter, he was on the same page. “This is Luffy we’re talking about. And it’s me.”

He was telling her to trust them. Trust that this would all be okay regardless of the outcome because it was them, and they’d been through hell and back with each other since the very beginning.

And she did, the instinct flaring up instantly to calm her down.  

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed, body relaxing and mind going blissfully silent with that little piece of reassurance.

“Good, then go to sleep, you’re gunna wake up cranky otherwise.”

He was pushing his luck, but she’d let it slide right now mainly because one, she didn’t want to wake Luffy (he was almost as bad as a baby when woken) and because he’d just been very sweet just then, in his own gruff way. And she was feeling generous.

A moment after closing her eyes there were warm lips pressing against her forehead and she sensed a slight hesitation there before they were gone. She cracked her eye open to look at him, but his eye was clamped shut stubbornly, pretending that he hadn’t done anything. There was no mistaking the blush on his cheeks though.

In the morning, when Luffy performed his routine of frantically jumping out of the bed to chase Sanji to the kitchen, he placed his usual hurried kiss on her cheek but this time around, she leaned into it with a smile on her face.

.

.

.

Since that night, things had changed. Everything seemed easier, casual touches that she no longer overthought and, if anything, she leaned more into them.

All of it felt more natural but then maybe that was because she’d relaxed.

Like déjà vu, Nami was on her sun lounger the next day. The hot weather from the day had simmered down into a mild evening and she was making the most of the quiet before they did it all over again tomorrow. Robin was next to her too, reading with the little light naturally left, she’d be moving indoors soon to carry on.

Nami’s eyes stung a bit, from the lack of sleep the night before and she hadn’t napped, but she felt lighter after last night. So much so that she confessed, “I’m in a relationship with Luffy and Zoro.”

Robin stopped reading and turned to smile at her patiently. “It would appear you are, are you happy about it?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling her cheeks go rosy. “We can make arrangements though, it’s your room too,” she added as an afterthought.

“As long as it stays pg, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

She spluttered, her previously rosy cheeks turning red as it spread hotly across her face and down her neck. She’d only just wrapped her head around the fact she was in a relationship with them, she couldn’t even think about that yet.

“Besides, I believe I have somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

Robin looked over her shoulder and Nami peered behind her to see Franky walking off to his workshop.

Oh.

Nami’s grin turned teasing, it was only fair with what she’d had to put up with recently, except her fun was interrupted by Luffy calling from the women’s room stopped her in her tracks, Zoro poking his head out of the frame to grunt at her. Honestly, as if it wasn’t her room.  

“I believe you’re being called for by your boyfriends,” Robin teased, twinkle in her eye.

“This isn’t over!” Nami pointed her finger at her.

“I didn’t doubt it.”

She crossed the deck, on her way to her room when the thought from last night popped into the forefront of her mind and how she could actually act on it now.

Zoro’s mouth opened when she appeared in the doorway, no doubt something snarky about her being the last one present but she couldn’t hear it over the blood thumping in her ears.

She marched over to them on the bed, a woman on a mission and Luffy looked at her curiously until he yelped as her hands cupped his face and brought him into a kiss. He hesitated for a second until his hands gripped her arms and his lips responded in kind. Whilst it was clear he lacked experience, enthusiasm dripped from the kiss and it more than made up for it as his lips moved eagerly against hers. She angled her head, encouraging him to do that same and trying to keep up with the frantic pace he was setting, all the while batting down a smile. It was him all over, joyful and chaotic and she didn’t know if she’d ever get enough of it.

They pulled apart and there was a split second of relief in his eyes, like maybe he thought this moment was never coming, before it was trampled by his excitement, and he beamed at her.

“You want one too?” She teased, looking over at Zoro, eyebrow raised in challenge.  

Zoro’s response was a heavy palm on the back of her neck that had them both leaning in, over Luffy, to meet in the middle for a kiss much different from hers with Luffy. Zoro’s pace was slower, more thorough as he took his time against her lips, yet it was firm. He had a bit more knowledge, he was surer in himself, and it showed as she sunk into the kiss, for once letting herself be led. She enjoyed it just as much and she knew she’d relish taking her time to pull apart the differences between them, savouring the way they both made her feel.

A daring swipe of her tongue across his bottom lip and then they broke apart, Luffy in the background demanding another kiss when Zoro smugly said, “Took you long enough.”

He wouldn’t look so smug when she pushed him off the bed tonight.            

Luffy’s pleas weren’t ignored when Zoro said, “Captain,” to capture the other boy’s attention and tugged on his vest to kiss him and it made her feel warm, a flutter in her stomach because whilst she wasn’t a part of the kiss, she was a part of them. The three of them.

Luffy looked dazed and then elated when they broke apart, grin splitting his face and there was a glint in his eye that told her more kisses would be demanded before they went to sleep.

She’d get changed and brush her teeth before getting in bed, maybe check that both of them have done that already because she didn’t remember smelling or tasting mint on their breath, when something caught her eye.

There was a space in the middle for her already.

And she smiled; her boys.

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

It’s been a while since I’ve had a fic practically write itself, I’ve missed that.

Luffy and Zoro may be idiots most of the time, but they’re both emotionally smart, it’s been shown time and time again. Nami, on the other hand, is in some cases but she’s also a bit of a worrywart too. So yeah, they kinda eased Nami into what was developing because they didn’t want to freak her out.

As always, please excuse any errors.  

If you got this far, thanks for reading, it means a lot.

[butsomeofusarelookingatthestars]

Forgotten: Part 3

During one of the BAU’s most difficult cases, Luke meets a dedicated journalist who is committed to fighting for the underdog. Reluctant to trust the authorities at first, she finds a friend in the compassionate FBI agent. But as they draw closer, the challenges only grow with fear, hostility and a relentless unsub whose attention turns to her…

Masterlist (x)

AN/ FINALLY here’s Part 3! I hope you enjoy reading it. Apologies for the long wait and for the terrible writing (I’m so out of practice!). But we’re starting to get to the good stuff, so please do let me know what you think. What are you most excited for? Is there anything you’re dreading? x 

“Thanks for the welcome.” Prentiss said, her eyes scanning the board pinned against the wall. “It’s good that we can get started as soon as possible.” She flashed the local police chief a reassuring smile as he nodded in acknowledgment.

The BAU were well adapted to setting up quickly and in this particular case it had been stressed, by Linda Barnes herself, that time was of the essence. With the media frenzy outside the station, it was clear why the FBI brass wanted it resolving sooner rather than later too.

But, of course, the BAU would be paying it the same due diligence they did all their cases.

“Reid, if you could get started at the ME’s office?” Emily asked. “Tara and Matt, if you could take a look at the crime scene?” Her colleagues nodded in agreement.

“I’ll get one of my detectives to take you out there.” The police chief told them, gesturing to an officer stationed outside the window. “We’ve had a presence at the scene since the body was discovered in an effort to keep prying eyes away.”

“Thanks Chief. I’m sure that it will be helpful to get the insight from your officers too.” Matt replied, a small smile on his face as he and Tara left the room, closely followed by Reid. All were keen to get started on the investigation.

Emily watched them depart before turning back to the chief. “Myself and Agent Rossi are eager to speak to Lara’s family. Would it be possible to arrange a meeting?” The chief grimaced, her name clearly a reminder of the pressured situation he was facing.  

“Sure. It might be better for us to go to them though. They’re not big fans of the media circus outside.” He explained. “Can’t say I blame them…”

Prentiss nodded in agreement. “Thank you for your cooperation chief.”

He cleared his throat and stood up a little straighter. “Of course. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“Do you have any information about the other cases that have been reported recently?” Luke asked, one hand resting on the back of his chair and the other skimming the pages of the report Garcia had sent across.

With gruesome details of five other bodies found along the same stretch of highway, it certainly hadn’t been light reading. And, even with Garcia’s superb sleuthing abilities, she still hadn’t managed to track down much information about the victims themselves. Hopefully the local PD would be able to shed more light on the situation.

However, as soon as Luke glanced up to see the tense posture of the chief, he realised he’d made a mistake.

“Other cases?”

JJ frowned at the defensive tone of the chief. Hostile police forces were something she definitely didn’t miss having to deal with as Communications Liaison. “The other women who were found dead in the same area. Our technical analysist found striking similarities between-”

“Similarities?” The Chief scoffed, his unkind expression promoting Luke’s back to stiffen. “We have the body of the most influential woman in the city on our hands Agent Jareau. If you think that’s a comparison-”

Thankfully Emily decided to intervene, cutting his undoubtedly offensive comment short. “We believe these cases may be relevant Chief.” She turned to JJ and Luke, skilfully avoiding further confrontation. “I want you two to head to the local newspaper office to interview Y/N Y/L/N. See what you can find out from her.”

“Y/N Y/L/N?” The Chief asked incredulously, shaking his head. “The journalist?”

“Chief, you called us in to help. Let us do that.” Prentiss replied firmly “At the BAU we study criminal behaviour and have to investigate all of the evidence we find.”

“Do what you like…but, if you ask me you’re wasting your time, time we don’t have to spare.” He declared, his eyes narrowing slightly before he stood up. “If you’ll excuse me Agent Prentiss, I’ll arrange that meeting with the Hughes family.”

The team exchanged knowing glances as the Chief stormed from the room.

“It looks like we’ll have our work cut out for us here.” Rossi murmured quietly. “Lucky us.” His sarcastic comment prompted a few wry smiles from the group, but all knew the implications were serious. Working with a reluctant local police force was less than ideal, especially when trying to stop a serial killer.

 You drummed your fingers against the wooden desk, the repetitive thud offering a little comfort as your heart thudded nervously. In your years reporting, you had experienced many adrenaline-fuelled moments – both ones you’d rather forget and the ones you savoured. It was the excitement and frustration that pushed you on and made you determined to continue the pursuit.

But the possibility that something might finally go right? That things could change for the better? That seemed to be the most nerve-wracking of all. Hope was dangerous.

As you sat waiting for the FBI to appear, all you could think of was each of the families you had come to know over the years. Each one carrying an agonising burden of loss. Their lives had been forever changed by the actions of another. Their futures stolen.

Did the FBI agents know about their stories? What would they be like? Would they even care? Or, did they just have to be here to alleviate concern about the most recent high-profile victim?

You felt terrible thinking of Lara Hughes that way. Of course, you didn’t begrudge her case receiving attention. Every single victim of crime deserved their story to be told and justice to be served. However, the intense media and police attention on her case alone, just seemed to serve as a painful reminder of the disparity ‘different’ victims received.

Behind every case that crossed your desk were loved ones left behind in desperation and sadness. A pain that no one else seemed to recognise or even cared to listen to. Sometimes families would even confess that the isolation and sense of neglect could feel as terrible as the murder itself. Almost as if their loved one had been killed for a second time when police explained there were ‘no credible leads’ and that the cold investigation was a ‘stretch on resources’.

A frown crossed your face as you glanced at the pile of case folders stacked neatly on your desk.  You saw every victim as a person and it was difficult to understand why others couldn’t afford them the same courtesy.

Despite all your dealings with the local PD, you still couldn’t decide why they seemed so reluctant to cooperate with the investigations. Was it simply a misunderstanding? Or was there a deliberate refusal from some to help those deemed ‘beneath them’?

Fortunately, you were snapped out of your gloomy thoughts by your boss’s sudden announcement.

“Y/N, there’s a call for you. They arrived.”

 “Why’s it this difficult?”

JJ frowned in confusion as she glanced over at Luke. The two of them had arrived at the newspaper offices and were waiting in a quiet room for the local journalist to arrive. However, it seemed like her colleague had a few questions of his own on his mind.

Luke sighed quietly, his gaze dropping on the file clutched in his hands. “Why don’t local police want to investigate these cases? Or at least be open to the possibility there’s something bigger at play here?”

JJ flashed him a reassuring smile. “Trust me Luke, I’ve had my fair share of reluctant PDs. They’ll come around eventually. It’s just fear that holds them back.”

Luke gave her a small nod. “I hope so.” He shrugged his shoulders as he leant back in his seat. “At least we’re here now.”

His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened to reveal a young woman stood outside, files balanced carefully on top of what appeared to be a very well-used laptop in her arms.

“I was told that the FBI wanted to speak to me? I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

 You silently cursed yourself for the nervousness that had crept into your tone, your voice unusually high as you stared at the two agents sat at the table. Despite your dealings with law enforcement in the past, this time with the FBI’s involvement it felt incredibly serious and you couldn’t help but find their presence imposing.

What if the local police had already cast doubts upon your investigation? What if they were just here to box tick? How could you let the families down again?

Your heart thudded uncomfortably and your hand drifted towards the strap of your bag, twisting it in an effort to distract yourself from your nerves. The man’s eyes narrowed slightly as they followed your movement. Of course, they were profilers after all.

“Ms Y/L/N? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau, otherwise known as JJ.” The blonde women explained. She gestured to her colleague sat beside her. “This is Agent Luke Alvez.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, finding yourself taken aback by how normal they both seemed. It wasn’t the straight-laced government officials you had been expecting. Agent Jareau appeared younger than you would have imagined. Her eyes kind and expression relaxed.

“Thanks for making the time to see us.” Agent Alvez said, his voice deep and oddly soothing. His dark curls framed his face and his brown eyes seemed to radiate warmth as he flashed you a small smile. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

Definitely not what you had been expecting…

  An hour later and the conversation was still in full flow. You had been hesitant at first in an effort to suss the agents out and determine their motives. But after the initial pleasantries it hadn’t taken long for you to realise that both seemed like dedicated agents that were deeply committed to their jobs…and justice. With that reassurance, you had been happy to review the details of each case, your own investigations and even discuss the cooperation (or rather lack of) from local police.

However, unfortunately JJ had been briefly pulled away by a phone call, calling a temporary halt to the interview. Luke gave you a small smile as he pointed towards the coffee clutched tightly in your hand. “Black? I’m impressed.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Trust me, in this job you need it. Before all of this I used to be a caramel latte girl.”

He chuckled quietly at your joke, folding his arms as he leant back in his chair. His eyes seemed to soften as he glanced at you in curiosity.

“Why do you do it?”

You froze for a moment, the question momentarily catching you off guard. It wasn’t something you had ever been asked before. As a journalist, you were so used to talking about others, it seemed strange to discuss yourself for a change. But judging by what you knew of Agent Alvez so far, you knew he’d understand your answer.

You bit your lip as your eyes lifted to meet his. “To show someone cares.” You gestured at the files littering the table and the photographs staring up at the two of you. “These women and their families deserve that as much as anyone else.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes surprisingly gentle as he stared at you. “I completely agree.”

For the first time in a long time, you found yourself believing that someone else cared too.

TAGLIST:

@ssaic-jareau, @alvezstan, @exceptionallytiredzombie, @illegalcerebral, @captaintightpants58, @abitofeverythinggg, @sociallyakwardb, @notsomellowmushroom, @afuckingshituniverse, @yourwonderbelle, @crimeshowtrash​

[rosettastarlight]

Abel Soren

Part two of my theories on this au where Sam was given up instead of Caine. Like I said, it was really long so I cut it in two. Since I’m not going to give him Caine’s name and I want to be consistent with the slight symbolism of the biblical names, I renamed him Abel Soren. I suppose in this au, since Sam doesn't really seem the type who's an intentional troublemaker, he might have not ended up at Coates academy at all… then again, there are also some kids who didn't really do anything but ended up there anyway. Either that, or his DNA connection to the gaiaphage would draw him to Perdido Beach.

His adoptive parents are rich but neglectful, showing little if any affection or love, and they send him off to boarding school at the first excuse.

His parents' coldness impacted him badly as it did Caine, but in a different way, leading to Abel being withdrawn and quiet, not knowing how to show what he was never shown. He essentially just wants to be left alone, and rarely, if ever, smiles, speaking only when spoken to first.

I don't think he'd necessarily be a villain in this au since having low-empathy doesn't necessarily mean that person is bad, but he would butt heads against his brother, especially when he finds out their relation.

At Coates, he kept his head down and was content to be unknown until a similar incident to the "School Bus Sam" happened, except considering it's Coates, it was probably either a fire or danger caused by another student. After that, he became famous in a way, considering how quick and efficent he stepped up and handled the situation where if he'd hesitated could have mean the death of many, but then how he eased back into the invisible and quiet life he was accustomed to immediately after.

This is what essentially drew Diana to him. Before she knew of her power, she just knew when she touched his hand that he was powerful for some reason, and was only proven right by his sudden act of bravery. She figured he could be use, using her looks and cunning to get his attention. A lot of her attempts were rebutted coldly until she eventually started to chip through his walls.

She respects his space, he respects hers.

This sparked a sort of odd relationship between them that couldn't exactly be called friendship but at the same time, something more as she became one of the few people Abel talks to on his own. It’s similar to the unspoken relationship between Caine and Diana but healthier in a way. This was strengthened when she first witnessed his powers and lied about it to the teachers and police when they asked her what happened, as it cemented Abel's belief that he could trust her.

He first realized he had his power when he caught Drake attacking someone (I haven't decided exactly; could be Diana, could be one of the Coates mutants, could just be a random person) and impulsively tried to stop him when a beam of light shot out of his hands.

It burned off most of his arm, and the doctors were forced to amputate what remained, so most of what is done in the series is him with a prosethetic until he grows his "whip hand".

When inquired about the situation, it was Drake's word against Diana's, and considering he had a more incriminating record, Abel kept a low profile, and he wasn't exactly being innocent beforehand, no one believed him, and when it became obvious he would either be medicated or institutionalized if he kept ranting on about the quiet boy in class shooting green light from his hands, he let the issue drop. But never forgot.

This incident did, however, draw Connie Temple's attention, and it only took a bit of digging and one look at him to realize he was her other son, that she had the same connection to something dark within him as David. She kept a close eye on him afterwards and made notes of her observations.

Drake isn't considered an ally, but Abel is someone able to keep him under control since Drake had seen firsthand what he can do and what he can do again if he pushes him, and Abel takes full advantage of this so Drake won't hurt Diana or anyone else.

Though he is reluctant to use his power again after seeing what it did to Drake, Diana encourages him to practice at it until he has a somewhat better grip on it.

When she realizes her power and makes up the bar system, she doesn't hesitate to tell Abel there are others like him. He, however, doesn't know what to do with this information, and just tries to go about like everything's normal. Until normal crashes and burns.

After the Poof happens and the FAYZ, some of the Coates can't help but expect Abel to do something since he has gained a reputation for being silent until the time calls for someone to step up.

With Abel not sure what exactly to do, when Diana suggests a travel to Perdido Beach to make a deal for food, he jumps at the opportunity for something to do, something to distract him from his thoughts.

Unlike Caine does in canon, he actually listens to her, and fully intends to come only for more food since they are bound to run out sooner or later, and if anyone wants to stay in town, that's their decision, and he certainly wouldn't blame them. Except he becomes curious when he goes there and meets David Temple, son of Nurse Connie Temple.

Abel's actually quite impressed with how he's handling the situation, but Diana senses something off, and shakes David's hand to check, later telling Abel her findings as she whispers in his ear.

Shocked to find out there's people with the power not just at Coates Academy but at Perdido Beach, and that this guy is apparently the only one Diana's met with power at his strength, Abel decides to stay to find out more. See what else they have in common and if in solving this increasingly complicated puzzle, they might come a step closer to everything going back to normal.

He and David Temple form an uneasy alliance, since David doesn't like the idea of sharing his position as leader.

After the twins disappear, he and Diana pitch the idea that it might be best to get everyone's birth certificates in order to figure out what exactly they're going to do and who is going to "poof" next. This is how the boys find out they're twins.

It does not go well. At all.

The girls are in the background shaking their heads at them.

"Yours is an idiot, too?"

“Yep."

“What do you know, something else they have in common."

[meaninglessblah-writes]

Writing Prompt Wednesday

It hasn’t even been a full hour before Tim hears the clack of the handheld clicker again. It’s been plaguing his every waking moment for the last week, with increasing frequency, and whilst it hasn’t yet emerged into the realm of unbearably annoying, the mystery behind its use is starting to grate on Tim’s nerves. 

He turns to face Damian where he’s sat at the conference table, gloves shucked and a blueberry muffin in his hand. There’s a sprinkling of crumbs dotting his cheek that Tim is compelled to point out to his compulsively hygienic tendencies, except that his attention is drawn - once again - to the small black device resting in Damian’s other palm. 

“Damian,” he hedges, and braces for the staccato clack-clack. 

“Yes, Timothy?” Damian responds once the sound has settled firmly in Tim’s eardrums, turning to face him. Jason’s chin lifts a notch to watch their interaction where he’s sprawled back on the chair adjacent, tilting back precariously on two legs as he rocks his heels against the lip of the table. 

Tim shoves down the uneasy turn of his stomach and asks, “What on earth is that?” 

Damian inspects the device like he’s only just noticing it. “It’s a behavioural stimulant. Primarily used on dogs. I’ve been training Titus, and found it quite effective in bridging the gap between positive reinforcement and reward distribution.” 

Tim feels his brow pull into a tight crease. “So why do you have it down here?” 

“I’m experimenting,” he replies cryptically and shortly, and doesn’t seem to feel the need to elaborate. Tim frowns but returns to his post-patrol procedure, stripping back his cowl and setting the cape aside. 

Clack-clack. 

This time he turns entirely to glare at the pair of men at the table, meeting twin blank, innocent expressions. “Okay, what is going on here? What’s with the clicking?” 

“He told you,” Jason interjects. “We’re experimenting.” 

“Experimenting on what?” Tim snaps, though he suspects he knows the answer. 

“Whether subjects’ inadequate habits can be curbed and replaced with satisfactory behaviours,” Damian says primly. “Specifically with regard to cleanliness and environmental tidiness.” 

Tim blinks, and tries to digest that. “That doesn’t explain why you clicked at me, just now.” 

Damian pauses a moment, like he’s considering whether to explain or not, and says, “You folded your cape.” 

Tim glances down at the material in his hands, which is sure enough folded with neat precision into a compact stack worthy of display case. It’s a little surprising to see, given how haphazard he usually is with tossing the cape over any available surface in his post-patrol haze. He doesn’t even remember folding it. 

It makes him a little uneasy, as he drops into his chair and brings up his digital report. The sooner he can make his notes, the sooner he can duck out from under Damian and Jason’s lingering presences. He can’t help but feel how he’s being watched, the sensation dragging up his spine as he begins to type. 

He does his best to shove the thought from his mind. The less attention he gives them, the more likely they are to grow tired of whatever game they’re playing and leave him be. 

Tim almost manages to forget their presence after a few minutes, swept up in the tide of pattering keys and scrolling text, when he reaches for his mug of cold coffee. Lifts it to his lips without pausing, takes a sip, and sets it down. 

Clack-clack. 

It ratchets Tim’s shoulders up, snaps him right out of whatever focused reverie he’d managed to achieve, as he spins to stare pointedly at Damian’s palm. The man doesn’t break beneath the glower, except to shift his thumb off the button and chew silently. 

Tim lifts an eyebrow, and Damian eventually swallows. 

“Coaster,” he says, with a slight tilt towards Tim’s desk, and sure enough, when he glances down to where his fingers are still wrapped around the handle of his mug, it’s resting on the cork coaster to the left of his keyboard. 

He doesn’t even remember putting it there. Has only the vague recollection of Alfred huffing and shifting his mug time and time again, of it gradually becoming buried beneath the clutter of his desk, the coaster swamped with more mugs than it could possibly ever hold. 

Glancing down the width of his desk now, Tim is stunned to realise how… tidy it is. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“Damn,” Jason murmurs, almost too low for Tim to hear. When he glances back the man is nodding above the weave of his arms over his chest, an impressed smile tugging at his lips. “I still haven’t managed to train that one into Dickie yet. That’s impressive.” 

Damian looks a little too proud at the praise, and several dots connect in Tim’s head. 

“Are you testing me?” Tim asks, too shocked to be as incredulous as he intends. 

“Training,” Damian corrects, and Tim pulls to his feet. Shoves his chair back loudly into the desk on habit, hard enough to rattle the mug on its coaster and the handful of pens arranged neatly beneath the monitor. 

Not loud enough to drown out the resulting clack-clack. 

“Stop that,” Tim demands, frustration rising, and yanks his hand back from the tucked-in seat. Since when did he ever treat his furniture so well? Since when was he organised enough to do anything other than leave a careless trail of clothing and belongings behind him on his half-comatose trudge up to his bedroom? 

It’s downright spooky, and he doesn’t like the implications. 

“How long have you been training me with that thing?” Tim snaps in a sudden spiral of fear. Surely it can’t have been that long, or he would have noticed sooner. Wouldn’t he? 

Unless it’s been so pervasive that everything but his subconscious has tuned out the noise of the clicker, releasing a helpful little dose of dopamine into his sleep-addled brain every time Tim completes a designated task. 

Tim doesn’t think it’s been that long. It can’t have been. Otherwise the compulsion would be harder to shake. Right? 

Damian and Jason share a look that does nothing to ease Tim’s concerns. 

“How long?” he demands. 

“Three weeks,” Jason admits, folding his hands behind his head as he tilts. “Same time I started training Dick. We didn’t think it would work so quickly, but our apartment is the tidiest I’ve seen it in literal months. He even cleared the dining table without so much as a look from me the other night.” 

Tim’s burning gaze swings to Damian. “And you’re training me why?” 

“Because you’re filthy, Timothy,” Damian replies airily, and reaches for another blueberry muffin. Since he filled out his third upgrade of the pixie boots and came into as many inches, the current Robin’s appetite has been unquenchable. He’s rivalling Jason at the breakfast table most days, shovelling down eggs and pancakes with gusto only for Tim to find him hunting through the pantry an hour later. 

“Your mess was becoming unbearable,” Damian continues, with a corroborating nod from Jason, “and you respond poorly to advice from either of us. So we took matters into our own hands.” 

“By training me,” Tim accuses, “like a dog.” 

Jason shrugs, and Damian echoes the sentiment. “The results justify the means.” 

“You’re conditioning me,” Tim stresses, crossing over to the table to stand over the squirt. It’s not nearly as impressive as it used to be, now that Damian’s actually packing on and holding muscle weight. “Without my consent, without my knowledge. For your own selfish benefit.” 

“Have you not benefited?” Damian retorts with a pointed sweep of Tim’s very tidy workspace. He can’t bring himself to turn around to look, to be betrayed by his own unwitting compliance. 

“That’s irrelevant.” 

“I think it’s very relevant. Both Richard and you have made incredible progress in such a short time. Both your lives have become more manageable since we implemented your training. Your organisation has improved, and as a result, your demeanour. It can only improve further from here.” 

“So what comes next? You buy me a collar and start teaching me tricks?” 

Jason snorts, loud and obnoxious, as colour rises on Damian’s cheeks. Tim doesn’t give him a chance to draw in a full breath before he fixes the other man with a cold stare. 

“I’m sure Dick’s going to be just thrilled when he finds out you’ve been training him like a circus seal. I expect that’s going to do wonders for your sex life, Hood.” 

Jason’s laughter snaps off, his expression bleeding into sudden hesitant concern. “Now, wait a second-” 

Tim smirks. “You haven’t seen how bad his cold shoulder gets yet, have you? Dickie’s got a temper, Hood, and you’re about to find out exactly how bad blueballs can get when you set it off.” 

“That’s uncalled for,” Jason tries to defend, tucking his legs back under the table as he sets his chair down. Tim cuts him off with a sharp cluck-cluck of his tongue, stunning both men into sudden silence as he grins. 

“You know, that’s actually pretty useful,” Tim murmurs, malicious satisfaction filling his chest when both their expressions fall into wary horror. “Don’t even necessarily need a clicker to achieve the results either. But you’re both missing an important element of the training process.” 

“Which is?” Damian entreats with the hesitance of a man feeling blindly for a bomb. 

Tim makes sure he leans down close enough to see the individual crumbs on the teen’s face, to feel the sharp intake of his breath when Tim grins sharply and purrs, “You have to follow up the immediate approval with a reward.” 

Damian swallows hard, the blueberry muffin making an odd protrusion as it travels down his throat. 

“Good boy,” Tim murmurs, low and coaxing, and feels an immense wash of gratification when Damian’s cheeks flush red beneath his complexion. 

Damian’s mouth opens and closes, producing no sound as Tim straightens and glances over at Jason, who’s just as cowed. 

“I’m going to bed now. If I so much as hear the sound of that clicker in my dreams, I’ll flood your public social media profiles,” he threatens, pointing his index finger at Jason to watch him pale before it swivels to fix on Damian, “with his very inventive furry art.” 

Jason spins to fix Damian with an accusatory stare that he flounders to rebut, the muffin slipping from his fingers in his defensive panic. Tim smirks and turns up the stairs to the sounds of an argument erupting behind him, letting his shoulders slide out of their tense curl with the assurance that he doesn’t need to worry about any pesky clickers anytime soon. 

“Goodnight, boys,” he calls back, drowned by the shrieking below, “and be good.” 

You can send me a prompt here!

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Shapeshifter/Werewolf AU

NOTE: So there is a ton of really good werewolf-Arthur stuff floating around and I love it. Here is one more. Also, I read this and got inspired. 

Summary: Werewolf-Arthur but Vivi and Lewis are shapeshifters. They all go out on the full moon Harry Potter style. Set pre-canon.

.

The sky is bright blue today. If the weather report is to be believed, it will remain clear for the next five nights. Perfect for camping. Everything is falling into place, and Arthur is feeling increasingly energised. There is an extra spring to his step uncommon for this time of the mouth. Even his Uncle Lance, who hovers, face creased into an almost permanent frown, can’t dampen his spirits.

Arthur shoves clothes into his bag, throwing a comment over his shoulder, “I’ll be fine. Mystery is supervising.”

“Mystery. Mystery ya friend’s dog. That Mystery?” His Uncle, leaning against the doorframe, scowls some more, sounding disgruntled. After so many years living with the man, Arthur knows that the irritation is just a poor disguise for worry. He pays it no mind, continuing to pack.  

“I think he is some form a Kitsune. You know, a Japanese fox spirit. He’s like Vivi, except, instead of pretending to be a human, he pretends to be a dog. Also, Mystery’s a few hundred years old, a whole lot more powerful, and he is super experienced when it comes to these things.”

“I don’t like it.”

Arthur sighs, lifting his stuffed duffle bag. His Uncle’s distrust of the Yukino family has been an ongoing source of tension this last week. Vivi’s dad had it out for him, some old prejudice about curses and bad luck, but Mystery has never seemed bothered by it.

“It’s either this or a night in the basement,” He reasons, twitching in discomfort at the thought of being stuck in the basement for another full moon. The idea is equally unattractive to his Uncle, who grimaces. Neither of them enjoys locking Arthur up for full moons. Especially now, when Arthur is older and more unpredictable, and there is a large iron cage involved. He hates that cage. Necessary for his Uncle’s safety, but unpleasant on all counts.

His Uncle relents, “I want ya to call every night when possible.”

Arthur hoists a tent up in his free hand with an ease born of supernatural strength. With the full moon tomorrow, the bleed between human and wolf is becoming increasingly pronounced, resulting in heightened senses and ability.

“If anything happens, even if it's bad, you come back, ya hear. I don’t give a shit about what ya do when you’re the wolf, you come back, and we’ll deal with it together like we always do.”

Arthur slips around his Uncle, heading for the front door and his waiting van. “Yes. I know. I will.”

“If I don’t hear from ya, I’m hiking out there to track ya down myself.”

The air is crisp — a beautiful day. Arthur strides out across the parking lot, relishing the feel of open space. The sprawling desert on either side of him beckons to him. ‘Run. Be free,’ his instincts tell him. The door to the front reception rattles in its frame, and his Uncle follows him outside.

“I’ll be fine. We’ve been planning this for ages. I’m even looking forward to it.” He turns, smiling despite ongoing misgivings. To look forward to a full moon is monumental. It is something entirely new for Arthur. Honesty, he’s still not sure how to deal with it and is almost waiting for it all to come crashing down around him. Surely, someone is about to jump out and inform him that this all a joke.

His Uncle hesitates on approach, torn for maybe a second before deflating. He steps up to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. The action takes a bit of stretching, due to Lance’s shorter statue.  

“I’m just worried about ya.”

“I know. I swear I won’t take any chances. This is going to work. Trust me.” It had to work because, as amazing as his Uncle is, he is still just a human-A human with a werewolf nephew who put themselves in danger every month. Arthur’s biggest fear is waking up one of these mornings to discover his Uncle dead by his hand.  

Thankfully, his Uncle nods in acceptance, reaching forward and pulling him down for a ruff hug. Arthur breaths in, scenting the familiar oil and grease mixed with tobacco underling the salami sandwich Lance ate for lunch yesterday. It’s a comforting scent. They separate, and Arthur steps away, swinging himself into the van, throwing his belongings into the back.

Lance walks to stand near the window, folding his arms once again.

“Don’t forget. Call. Every night.”

“I will,” Arthur answers, wavering before flipping the ignition and accelerating out of the lot. Vivi, living smack in the centre of town, is a half-hour drive from Kingsman Mechanics.

When he pulls up, the whole Yukino family is out on their porch. Vivi is having some disagreement with her father, her mum looks to be playing mediator, and the Yukino elder is idly tracking his approach. They make eye contact. Arthur sinks low in his seat, so he is mostly hidden from view. Just perfect. He’d been hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself.

While he waits, he deliberately ignores how the wards around Vivi’s house make his skin itchy and hair stand on end. Wards designed to deter creatures like him. The few times he had been invited in -on the rare occasion Vivi’s family are away- had left him with ringing ears and a clogged nose. The layers of illusion, plastered over the house’s plain exterior, coupled with the wards, play havoc with his senses. A common reaction when supernatural creatures encounter ‘fox magic,’ Vivi had tried to reassure.

Ten more minutes of arguing and Vivi throws her hands up in frustration, grabbing her bag and stomping up the garden path, visibly irritated. Over her head, Arthur catches the eye of her father, who is glaring daggers at the van. His eyes narrow, flashing blue. Arthur doesn’t need heightened instincts to recognise a warning sign. Internally, he groans, sinking further, putting his head below the window, resigning himself to another ‘stay away from my daughter or else’ lecture. So far, the ‘or else’ was impending, but Arthur can’t help but worry every time he accidentally reminds the patriarch that he exists. It throws a damper on his anticipation like a bucket of ice.

The passenger door opens. Mystery leaps up into the van, giving him a perplexed lopsided expression. Vivi clambers in after him, throwing her bag over the seat divider in the same movement. A puzzled glance is given when she notices him almost on the floor.

“Your dad hates me.” He offers.

“Oh, ignore him. He’s got his head stuck back in feudal japan,” Vivi gripes, twisting to pull down her seatbelt, “Right Mystery?”

Mystery, who has seated himself between them, nods, projecting his voice, /Though concern for one’s progeny is natural, the fact that I am acting as your guardian makes his worry unfounded. /

“See. Mystery agrees with me.”

“Is that what that was…” Arthur mutters, starting the van up so he can drive away as quickly as possible. He can still feel piercing blue eyes ten minutes later when the Pepper’s diner, in all its bright pink glory, appears on the horizon. Anxiety and fear are quickly killing the rest of his excited anticipation.  Now, he is wondering whether Vivi’s dad has a point.

“He’s right you know,” Arthur blurts, unable to help it, “Your dad I mean. About me being dangerous. I don’t even remember most full moons. I’ve ripped up all the basement floorboards and destroyed whole walls before.” He had even hurt people, back when he and his Uncle had lived in the city, but he can’t bring himself to mention that failing. “The full moon is nothing like when we’ve all gone running together or shifted to mess around. What if I hurt you.”

“Arthur,” Vivi sighs, turning to stare at his profile, “We’ve talked about this. There is no way we are letting you spend any more full moons locked up in that thing you keep in the basement. Not when we have a better option. My dad can go suck on a lemon, because, curse or not, I’m doing this.”

“What if something goes wrong and you regret it...”

“The only thing I regret is that we didn’t know you were a bitten-wolf sooner.”

Arthur hyper focuses on turning off the motorway, face heating up. Honesty, Arthur hadn’t known there was a difference between him and Lewis’s wolf nature until an offhand comment about werewolves had Lewis commenting that the full moon gave him a crazy appetite. Vivi’s dad had been by to threaten him enough times that he had assumed Vivi knew he was a werewolf and not a regular shifter, but she had simply nodded along with Lewis, asking if Arthur had a similar quirk. Then Arthur had been too embarrassed to correct them. The full moon was such an unpleasant experience for him that he had avoided talking about it for years, making excuse after excuse.

/To go on a hunt with one’s pack is a common strategy when dealing with lunar-madness — one of the reasons you wolves tend to congregate in one location. / Mystery adds, voice calmer.

“Exactly. You’ll have Lewis. You get along great when you shift. Also, I wouldn’t be much of a fox if I couldn’t keep up with you two bumbling lumps.”

“Lewis is a regular wolf, and you’re just so tiny. I could easily hurt one of you,” He objects.  

/Fear not, Arthur. In the unlikely event that you do not recognise your companions as part of your pack, I will intervein and keep you and them safe for the night’s duration. / Arthur eyes Mystery and exhales to release tension. Mystery was so good at masking his presence that sometimes Arthur forgot he was a crazy strong spirit. According to Vivi, her family had once been his vassals, actual foxes, before marrying into human lines. It was where she got her shifting ability and instinct for magic. Arthur’s not sure how Mystery ended up disguised as a dog, playing family guardian to a bloodline who were once his servants, but he’s not about to question it. If the supernatural world was anything, it was convoluted.

“Arthur.”

“What.”

They’d pulled into one of the vacant spots outside the Pepper's diner. Arthur realises he’s been sitting, staring at his lap, in silence. Vivi’s leaning over, waving to catch his attention. She smells like paper, grass, flowers and that electric undertone he associates with magic.

“Don’t let my dad get you down. This’ll be fun. I know I’m looking forward to camping, and the full moon is only one night.”

“Right. Yeah.” His dour mood falls away. Vivi’s eyes are sparking blue, signalling her enthusiasm. “You’re right.”

A knock on the van’s glass window has both him and Vivi twisting in their seats. Lewis waves from the other side and Vivi quickly winds the window down so she can call a greeting.

“Don’t suppose I could trouble you for a lift,” Lewis jokes, holding his thumb like he’s attempting to hitchhike.

“I don’t know. Where are you heading, stranger,” Vivi returns, leaning out to grin. Arthur feels a smile return, and he clicks off the locks so Vivi overbalances when Lewis tries the handle. It is the breakfast rush, so none of the other Peppers have joined Lewis outside- too busy serving customers- but Lewis has a giant portable cooler at his feet, which is probably packed with their cooking.

“Hey, Arthur. How are you holding up?”  Lewis meets, attention moving off Vivi. His eyes flash gold, catching the light, and Arthur gets that additional rush of excitement reuniting with Lewis always inspires. Vivi called it a ‘pack response,’ but Arthur’s not so sure, seeing as he feels the same way when he sees her. Vivi's not a wolf after all.

“I’m fine,” This isn’t his first full moon, so the concern is a little unnecessary. He still finds himself pleased to receive it though.

“There’s space in the back for that. Hold on. I’ll get the back doors.”

“Thanks. I brought an extra tent as well,” Lewis continues, tracking him as he circles around the vehicle to open the back.

Vivi sticks her head over the seat divider to watch them, commenting, “Because two tents aren’t enough.”

“You can never be too prepared.”

“We have space. Why not?” Arthur reasons, reordering his and Vivi’s stuff to give Lewis room to load up his cooler box and mound of additional camping supplies. Of the three of them, Lewis has definitely packed the lions share.

Then Lewis hands them all sandwiches, correctly guessing that no one has eaten breakfast, and they hit the road. While he and Viv eat, Lewis drives humming along to the radio. Thoughts of Vivi’s dad fade into the background, Arthur simply enjoying being in the presence of both his friends. Even Mystery, who tended to be more reserved, is joining in their conversation, seemingly looking forward to spending time hiking about in nature.

[akitokihojo]

In Between: Chapter 9

Here we gooooooooooo! Chapter 10, the final chapter, is in the works. So, hold on to your butts, shit’s getting real y’all!

Previous chapters can be found in my fic masterlist, as well as on AO3 and ff.net.

-----------

Kagome grimaced, leaning over the counter to get a closer look at the bruise on her face in the mirror. Her cheek and part of her under eye were painted scarlet and purple, the intense darkness of the wound saved for the very side of her cheekbone where he'd hit her hardest, shaded navy and shadowed slightly with swelling. Swiveling her head, she pulled her damp hair away from her face, analyzing the cut just outsider her hairline. It was angry and tender, especially whenever she made any sort of facial expression, but it was easy to hide beneath her waves so long as she left them untamed. The marks on her neck, though, were an entirely different story. The splotchy bruising marred a portion of the center and the sides of her throat. She was grateful the marks weren't as dark as the one making up her left cheek; he was hitting her over and over in that spot, whereas on her neck he was controlling his strength so as not to choke her completely. The mauve and rouge colors blended and lined where his fingers had squeezed, hardly sensitive and serving as nothing more than a reminder that he'd had her pinned.

"You okay?" Inuyasha asked from the open doorway to the restroom.

"Why does it look so much worse today?" She moaned, lightly poking her cheek to test the soreness of it. She winced, instantly regretting her stupid action.

"It's usually worse the day after. Here." He held out a cloth-wrapped bag of frozen peas. 

"Thanks." Kagome smiled, happily planting the icy vegetables on the side of her face.

"Come on, I need to get a bandaid on your cut before you start oozing all over my clean floors."

"It's not bleeding, I can do it." She grimaced again.

"Shut up and sit." He pointed behind him to the couch, watching as she rolled her eyes but followed his order. Pulling open the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink, he fished out the small first aid kit and followed her out, sitting on her right and setting the box in front of him on the coffee table.

Kagome dropped the bag of peas on her lap to pull her hair over her shoulder, using her right hand to keep it held back just behind her temple. There was no need to clean the wound since she'd taken a shower less than an hour ago - her third shower since they'd finished cleaning the apartment, and second since they'd woken up this morning. While she was handling the situation well enough, it was understandable that she'd want to try and "wash" the violation from her skin. Carefully, Inuyasha applied some ointment to the cut with a q-tip, spreading it out evenly before grabbing a small butterfly bandage from the box.

"I'm surprised you have those. It's not the most common type of bandaid to see in someone's house."

"Pfft," Inuyasha scoffed, applying the bandage securely and ignoring her little wince. "I'm a cop. I'm a reckless cop. And I've got just enough demon blood to avoid the constant visits to the hospital for a scratch that'll disappear in twelve hours. Put the peas back on your face. How's your head?"

"It's okay." She shrugged, leaning fully back into the cushions of the couch as she did as he said. "I'm more concerned about my face."

"Is it sensitive? I've got some Ibuprofen."

"No, the way it looks!"

"It's not that bad." He tried to comfort

"Are you kidding? I can't go to work like this, I work with children!" Kagome flailed her free hand in the air in exasperation, giving Inuyasha a look like her ailments were common sense.

"Well, it was stupid of you to still plan on working in the first place! You need to take time off!" The half demon argued.

"I can't just take time off, Inuyasha!"

"You literally never take vacations, you've probably got P.T.O. up the yin yang!"

"It's not about how much time I have accrued, it's about the lack of notice I'm giving! I'm a teacher!"

"With a teaching assistant!"

"She can't make teaching plans!"

"It's a preschool, Kagome, have her recite the ABC's and give the kids some coloring books!" He rolled his eyes so hard his head lolled to the side. Kagome scoffed.

"These are vital learning years in a child's life, I'll have you know!"

"Fine, go to work." He shrugged, leveling his expression, a hint of arrogance in the cock of his brow.

"Hello! Have you been listening? I can't go to work!"

"Then it sounds like you need to take some damn time off, you idiot! Two weeks, just for cushion!"

"Two weeks!?"

"God, you just keep arguing." He drawled.

She threw the peas at him. "And tell them what? "Hi, I can't come into work because I've caught the fourteen day flu."" Kagome mocked, holding her finger-phone to her ear.

"How about, and bare with me because this is pretty out there, a family emergency." Inuyasha spread his hands out like he was drawing a rainbow in the air above his head.

"What?"

Inuyasha chuckled hopelessly, shaking his head as he picked up the wrapped-up peas and gently held them to her cheek. "Man, this knock to the head really isn't helping you think straight, is it? A family emergency." He reiterated. "Say you have to fly out because your grandpa's in the hospital and you'll keep them posted, call again in a week and let them know things are worse than you expected. Boom, two weeks covered and no doctor's note needed."

"That's-" Kagome looked slightly stunned, blinking as the tension in her brow faded. "That's actually a good idea."

"Imagine that." Inuyasha nodded.

"God, you're so full of yourself." She snagged the frozen vegetables and pushed the half demon away, ignoring his cocky laugh as she rolled off the couch to grab her phone from across the room. Before she could open her email to prep her excuse, Inuyasha's phone rang right next to her, Koga's name illuminating the screen. She tossed it over to him, unable to hear what the normally-boisterous wolf was saying on the other end, only able to gather that it must have been semi-good information being fed through the line from the way Inuyasha didn't ignite in curse words but only nodded and responded with a simple "okay."

Hanging up his phone, he looked over at Kagome from his spot on the couch, sighing out before speaking. "So, they may have caught your attacker from last night."

Kagome sealed her lips, trying to swallow the nerves that suddenly began to inflate.

"They need you to pick him out of a lineup."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

She hadn't imagined having to see that man again so soon, and the thought was intimidating. She figured it would be through a two-way mirror, just like the interrogation room she sat in last night, and he wouldn't be able to see her, but what if he picked up her scent? What if he gave her that thin-lipped smile like he'd already done so many times? 

"Will you be there?" Kagome asked.

"I can't for this one." He hesitantly admitted, looking half-ashamed. "I saw his profile in the system last night. I know what he looks like. They haven’t specifically told me I can't yet, but I already know Kagura won't let me ten feet near that room. This is just so no one can say I influenced your answer."

"Got it." She breathed with a nod, completely understanding the logistics behind it. "Then, alright. We've gotta do what we've gotta do."

"Come on," Inuyasha stood, walking around the room to gather his necessary belongings. "Let's get this over with."

SVU Precinct

Sango sipped her piping hot mug of coffee, ignoring the sting on her tongue so she could get the caffeine rolling through her system. It had been a long night and she'd only been able to doze off for a quick power nap in the cot room before her busy mind and restless legs demanded she move. It was hard to be still when they had a criminal detained, even more so when he was playing smug and abiding by his right to remain silent. Not once had he asked for a lawyer since they sat him in the interrogation room, though. As fishy as it seemed, it could potentially end up working out in their favor. No lawyer means they had room to play a little dirty.

She looked up from her half-drunk cup as Inuyasha's silver hair caught her peripherals. He walked in at a leisurely pace, dressed down in a thin, maroon hoody with a plain, white tee underneath, loose jeans making up the lower portion. The guy practically lived at the station with how busy he liked to keep himself, so seeing him dressed in his civilian wear was on the odd side of things for her. What was even more odd was how soft his features appeared as he shifted his body to let the woman behind him step in front, his hand not touching, but hovering at the small of her back to keep her near.

It was a suitable change for him, and one she hoped he got to permanently adopt this time around.

Sango rose from her seat, hoping the coffee would hit her sooner rather than later, her muscles feeling heavy and sluggish. Inuyasha's ember eyes landed on her instantly, and he led Kagome down the hall of desks to meet her.

"Hey, thanks for coming." She greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm okay. Don't worry about me." Kagome responded with a pleasant shake of her head. The thick bruise on her cheek crinkled slightly with her controlled grin, the smile appearing crooked so as not to anger the blue and purple mass. Her black, wavy hair was brought to the front of her shoulders, curving and covering most of the marks around her throat, and the only evidence of the nearly-shielded cut on her temple that would catch one's eye was the redness just outside of the swelling that traveled towards the outer tip of her eyebrow. She was wearing a charcoal pullover hoody with the brand name stitched across her chest, the bottom hem hugging the hips of her dark blue jeans.

"I'm glad to hear it, though." There was a brief pause before she continued. "So, I'm sure Inuyasha told you, but we have to have you pick the perp out of a lineup. Think you remember his face well enough to do that?"

"There's no way I could forget it." Kagome said earnestly. "Shouldn't be a problem at all."

Kagome was confident, but Sango couldn't help the pang of guilt she felt that a man's face was so unwillingly etched into her mind. She wondered if she was troubled with nightmares of his brutality as she slept last night, or watched him leap at her whenever she blinked. The way she held herself seemed calm and nicely put-together; there was no evidence of fear or lingering anxiety written in her body language, and Sango couldn't help but think this woman was fantastic at putting up a front in response. But that wasn't it. If Kagome was hiding behind a facade, Inuyasha's protective demeanor would give it away. She'd worked with the half demon for long enough to understand that he feeds off of the reactions of those around him; those he's closest to. Especially victims. If they wanted to shy back, he'd give them shelter behind his broad shoulders. If they were nervous, he'd compensate with his surety. Kagome was temporarily living with him, so it would be entirely too exhausting to keep up a lie all hours of the day until this mess was put to rest. And Inuyasha was undoubtedly synced with the woman at his side, standing close but not smothering, there for assistance if necessary but allowing her to stand tall without a crutch. If she was even slightly nervous, he'd pick up on that emotion like it was broadcasted clearly on a billboard. Sango watched him stiffen a smidge as Kagome took another step forward, a silent indication that she was ready. He was the nervous one.

Sango took Kagome's arm to guide her towards the back, letting Inuyasha know they'd return shortly as he plopped down in his own desk chair to wait. They walked through a small curve in the halls, coming up on an open room, greeted by Hojo and Kagura as they entered through, simple pleasantries exchanged as Hojo did his part to make sure Kagome was as comfortable as manageable. They stood before a two-way, illuminated from the opposite side, the room they watched completely empty aside from Koga standing next to a door on an adjacent wall.

"Koga's going to let them in through that doorway. Everyone will be holding a number, so if you see the man that attacked you, I want you to tell me which number he's holding, okay?" Kagura instructed. Kagome nodded, a note of hesitation finally crumbling her stature.

"He can't see me, right?" She asked, walking up to the window, placing her fingertips on the metal frame at the bottom of it.

"No, he won't be able to see you at all." Hojo steadily affirmed. Again, she nodded. They all stood there silently, giving Kagome a moment of composure. Her brown eyes didn't shift from the brightly-lit room they looked in on, and as she took in a deep breath, there was no more sag to her body, even her chin raising a hair. Hojo gave two deliberate knocks to the glass, and Koga turned to push open his door, ordering the row of men to enter without bark to his tone.

As each man passed through, Kagome quickly studied their faces, all looking slightly similar to the next. She immediately disqualified numbers two and three as they appeared for their five o'clock shadow. The man she'd been attacked by had such feminine features, she didn't think it'd be possible for him to grow facial hair. Number four walked through, shortly followed by number five. Neither were him. As soon as number six walked in, Kagome tensed considerably, her fingers gripping the frame.

"Number six." She announced, watching the man saunter to his spot, the number held just in front of his navel. His nose was slightly crooked, the bridge an off shade of magenta, green and yellow outlining and expanding to the inner corners and beneath his eyes. There was a cut on the side of his head that she swore was twice the size when she'd given it to him, little, angry nicks decorating the skin around the wound. That was her doing. That was the memento she was glad he was stuck with, even if his demon blood hastened his recovery. It didn't matter. She wasn't the only one currently standing marked.

"Give it one more moment." Kagura said, lightly placing her hand on Kagome's shoulder. As soon as all ten of the men were in the room - some detainees, some cops in disguise - and Koga had closed the door, she spoke. "Take a look at all of them. Are you sure?"

"Number six." Kagome stated again, more fervency in her tone. "That's him. He was the man at the coffee shop and he was the man that broke into Inuyasha's home."

Hojo gave six steady knocks against the window with the knuckle of his middle finger, and they watched as Koga emptied the room, the smile on the accused criminal's face growing wide and thin as he was personally led out by the wolf demon.

"You did great, thank you so much for your help." Kagura smiled.

"What happens now?" Kagome asked, turning around to face the lot of them.

"We interview him. Now's the time where we press him for any information he can give. He's our link to Naraku, so we're a step closer to tracking him down, and we're going to make sure this guy works with us." Sango replied assertively.

"Once we catch Naraku and trials begin, he'll be present. You'll have to testify against both of them." Kagura added.

"I'll do whatever you need."

"Good." Hojo grinned, watching Kagura walk off and in the opposite direction of the main office, lightly patting Kagome's upper back to lead her out the door. "Let's get you out of here."

"Wait," Kagome stopped in the center of the hall just outside the room, staring intently into the detective's blue eyes. Her determination took him back a bit as his fingers flinched away from her spine. "What's his name? I deserve to put a name to the face."

"It's Byakuya." He answered after a small moment of hesitation. "His name's Byakuya."

She swallowed the information, biting her bottom lip as she glanced to the floor, then darted her brown-eyed gaze back to him. "Thank you."

They walked out into the main office where Inuyasha sat, tapping his claws impatiently against the lining of his desk, his leg bobbing like a wind up toy bound tight. He jumped up at the sight of Kagome, quickly crossing the distance to meet her more than half way as she greeted him with a smile, her fingers loosely gripping the cloth of the arm of his sweater.

"Was he in there?"

"Yeah." She nodded curtly.

"Good, time for the interrogation?" He asked the detectives behind her.

"You know it." Sango replied.

"Let me see that fucker."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Hojo stepped in front of him, halting his path.

"Come on, I just want to look. I'm not gonna do anything." Inuyasha drawled.

"Why do you want to see him so bad all of a sudden?"

"Well, I had plenty of time to think out here and I've decided I'd get some nice closure if I got to see this man, too.” The half demon feigned innocence, the smile curving his lips only serving to disturb the detectives before him.

"No." Sango crossed her arms, planting her weight on one hip. "No way. You're gonna punch him."

"Just once!"

"Get out of here!"

"I can break him faster than you guys!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you can!"

"I just have a few words for him!"

"Well, write him a letter and we'll make sure he gets it!"

"Let me through!"

"Go home!"

"I should be part of the interview process! It's a good tactic to bring it down to a personal level, and he could potentially start talking faster!"

"You know damn well you can't do that! You aren't on the case, Inuyasha!"

"So!"

"You'd compromise everything!"

"No, I wou-"

Kagome reached up, gently flicking Inuyasha on the tip of his white ear, watching the appendage jerk to the side in response as his entire body froze and his voice completely hitched in his throat. He didn't look at her, his eyes stunned while facing his coworkers. "Come on," She spoke, her tone simple and level. "It's time to go, Inuyasha. You're in the way." She spun around on her heel, traveling to the door, only stopping to wait for her companion.

Sango blinked, covering her mouth to block the amusement she knew was written so clearly on it. She sniffed and cleared her throat, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible as she noticed her partner struggling to do the same, his lips pressed into a tight line. Inuyasha straightened, his body language no longer radiating defensive but slightly awkward and put off, scratching his temple as was his particular ism, and fixing the sweater over his shoulders to line up neatly.

"So, I'm gonna go." He raised his brows, pressing his own lips together. A small popping sound came as he released them and continued. "But it's only because I don't want to hear shit from you two. Got it?"

"Yup, sure, got it." Hojo nodded, a smug expression foiling his casualty. The half demon squinted his ember eyes in a meager challenge, spinning around and allowing his silver ponytail to fly behind him, following after Kagome and promptly exiting the office.

—

Sango unbuttoned the ends of her dress shirt sleeves, rolling her left up above the crook of her elbow, then swapping sides to roll up the right. She looked in on the man beyond the two-way, his pasty forehead dampened with sweat, the fine, ungroomed hairs of his bangs sticking to his skin. It was an effective tactic of theirs to spike the thermostat in the room. It was one thing to make them mentally uncomfortable with loaded questions, it was another to increase their physical discomfort - all around aiding in their quicker crumbling. On top of that, Koga had gone through and removed some of the bulbs in the overhead lamps before throwing Byakuya to sit alone in the room over an hour ago, the setting dingy and humid and uninviting.

Perfect.

Hojo approached, his button up and tie entirely removed as he prepared for their routine in his black tee shirt. He faced his partner, the back of his right forearm held out to her. "Good cop."

"Bad cop." She winked, tapping the edge of her right elbow to his.

"How long do you think it'll take to crack him, doc?" Totosai asked from the sidelines. Miroku observed the perp before them. Byakuya was tapping his foot against the flooring at a steady pace, his lips curved down in disapproval, his chest raising as he heaved a heavy, throaty sigh.

"Hard to say until he starts talking. He hasn't said a word since he's been apprehended. My guess is he's testy. He's secure, but he's guarded. He hides behind his rooted confidence. Find his weak spot and he'll give. Or potentially snap."

Sango spared Miroku a brief side glance, smiling softly when she noticed their chief wasn't looking. His face was serious, violet eyes captivating her gaze as he discretely mouthed the words, "Be careful."

Hojo stepped through the entry first, expression straight, holding the door open with one hand and a notepad in the other as Sango followed through. It was incredible, she'd been told, how fast her demeanor could change; how she could step into any roll necessary for the part. Next to Inuyasha, who'd rightfully earned his place at the top as lead detective in the precinct - despite his unorthodox practices - she fell just below him for her strong abilities to make perps fold. She was versatile in her tactics, adaptable in the room, and justifiably a force to be reckoned with.

Byakuya tilted his head upward to face the two detectives, his skin glowing beneath the yellow light from the slimy-looking film of sweat on his cheeks. Without the slightest hint as to what anyone should have expected, Sango crossed the room, curved around the corner of the table and demanded the criminal to stand. He did nothing but stare at her, thin brows pinching together audaciously. Again, she told him to stand. There was no degree of malice in her tone, no aggression, no attitude. The order she spoke was with the sincerity of a ship's captain. What she said would be heeded no matter what, and as he chose to ignore her once more, wrists bound close together in his lap with metal cuffs, she flicked her foot around a leg of the chair and kicked it from beneath his seat.

He fell to the ground, clambering up to his feet with dangerous chuckles mixed with growls brushing past his thin lips. Sango made sure the chair was out of reach from him, turning to push the wooden table to the far wall and out of the way. Hojo stood back, leaning against the wall at the very edge of the mirror, his face unchanged.

"You don't want to talk, you don't get to sit."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall in back of him.

"You're not looking too good there, woman beater. You tired?" She baited, closing some of the distance between them, stopping with just a couple feet to spare.

Byakuya ground his jaw forward, the muscles at the joint flexing as he brought his teeth back where they belonged. 

"Had a long night?"

His upper lip twitched.

"Hitting girls take a lot out of you?"

His head shifted slightly as Sango took two small steps forward, damn near in his face now, eyes slanted dangerously as she spoke again.

"Or was it the pounding she gave you that wore you out?"

Again, he scoffed, this time hard enough for spittle to fly from his mouth as he dramatically rolled his dark eyes. "I'd hardly call this a pounding."

"Really?" She feigned curiosity.

"Have you seen her face? I'm sure the marks I left have set in nicely."

"Sure, she's looked better. But there's one small detail you're neglecting. She's human. She, like most of us, get bruises from bumping the corner of a table.”

"What of it?"

"Well, you're a full-blooded demon. Your kind is difficult to harm and heals at a ridiculously fast rate, and yet..." Sango took an obvious glance at his wounded face and gashed head. "You're looking pretty worse for wear."

Another eye roll, this time swiveling his head to the side to face the neighboring wall instead of her.

"What's even better is once we lock you in a cell, you'll be labeled a woman beater. A lot of men in there don't take kindly to that."

"What, because a bruised septum and a cut on my head is clear indication of my crimes?" Byakuya chuckled. "How the hell would anyone know?"

"Oh, I'll make sure of it." Sango grinned, cocking a brow. "You think I don't have pull beyond these walls? You think one slip of the lip to the right guard wont spread your little secret of assault like wild fire? You'll have an awful rep before you're even indicted. The moment men see you walk through those doors, you'll be targeted. Your prissy, feminine looks will be scarred and bruised, and your ego will rightfully be smeared in the dirt. Your broken nose will stay this way, because everyone in there will want you to hold onto the little trophy Kagome gave you. Out here, you think you're something big, don't you? You think you're invincible because you hurt an unsuspecting girl, right? You're nothing. Not out here and definitely not in prison, and you'll have plenty of reminders coming your way for years to come."

"You're not allowed to threaten me! I know my rights!" He hissed.

"Who's threatening? I'm only trying to be informative. Hojo, did you hear me threaten Byakuya?" She asked with a smile, irreproachably. Hojo shrugged and shook his head, grimacing as he pretended he didn't hear a thing.

"You guys out there, knock twice if you heard me threaten him." Sango called to her coworkers watching in. Nothing. She turned back to the perp before her, raising a shoulder as she dismissed his accusation. 

"You're all corrupt!"

"What, are you mad now? Are you mad because a woman's in charge? A woman's in your face and you can't do anything about it?" She badgered, finally beginning to raise her voice.

"You don't know shit!"

"Don't I? Enlighten me, then!"

Byakuya stared at her, violet eyes flickering over every inch of her face, studying as his chest rose with an unsteady inhale. As he dropped his breath, he let out an incredulous chuckle, shifting his sights to the side.

"Or, is the only way you know how to teach a lesson-"

"God, woman beater, woman beater!" He drawled, unamused, bobbing his head from side-to-side. Byakuya stood up straight from the wall, leveling her challenge. "Is that all the material you've got? Look, if you think this has anything to do with the "reputation" you're giving me, you're sorely mistaken." He'd made quotation marks with the index and middle fingers of both chained hands, lifting them between their bodies so she'd see.

"Is that so? So, what did it have to do with?"

"Is that a loaded question?" He smirked.

"No, a loaded question would be me asking how much Naraku paid you to attack her." She watched his conceit fade. "I was fishing for you to admit it yourself."

His discomfort notably increased as his Adam's apple bobbed with the thick swallow. He moved to step away from Sango, to create some space, but she clutched the front of his shirt and yanked him back, slamming him against the wall.

"Did I say you could move?"

"Sango-" Hojo calmly warned, dropping his pad of paper on the discarded table as he apprehensibly stepped up beside her. "Ease up a bit."

"What? No." She smiled, shaking her head, the collar of his tee still balled in her fist. "He's obviously the type of guy that likes being told what to do. All I gotta do is smack him around a little to show him who his new boss is, and he'll break."

"This isn't the way to do it. He's talking now, let's just keep the conversation going." He held up his hands, trying to break the two apart. Sango brought her other hand up to grab Byakuya securely, bringing his body forward only to crush him back against the wall, his head colliding with the cement.

"Here's what's gonna happen, princess,” She spoke low, leaning closer to hover inches from his face. "You're gonna tell us everything we want to know, or I'm gonna give you a glimpse of what you have to look forward to in prison! Got it?"

"Sango!"

"Get the fuck off of me!" Byakuya growled.

"Or what? What are you gonna do?"

"It's not even ground-breaking that you know who he is, don't act like you have the upper hand!"

"But don't we? We have his lackey in custody, and he's seconds away from giving us what we need." She patronized.

"Like hell!"

Sango stepped back, the hint of an arrogant grin pushing the corners of her lips up as she crossed the floor and grabbed the discarded chair, dropping it down in the center of the heated room. Hojo created his own space, backing away to the table's new home, his fingers landing on the notepad but not picking it up. She silently commanded their perp to sit with the shift of her eyes that dragged from his body down to the seat. His expression was clearly ambivalent as he stayed put, thin lips twitching, eyes untrusting, sweat crawling down the side of his face.

Finally, he moved, squatting into the uncomfortable chair that only worked to further unease him, eyes inside and out of the immediate area focused on him as one of the remaining working lamp lights flickered in and out three times before going back to burning yellow.

"So," Sango began again, pacing around the room to stand before Byakuya. "How much did he pay you?"

He rolled his violet eyes, cocking his jaw out and in, a small popping sound heard from the grinding motion. 

"Alright, we'll make this easy. We'll come up with scenarios and you can just confirm or deny. Ready?"

No response.

"You're having trouble paying your bills. Or, better yet, you're an addict - that explains the sweats you've got right now. Jonesing. Craving. Your blood must be boiling, poor thing. You met Naraku by pure coincidence, and he offered you money in exchange for your assistance. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. Money means drugs, so you took the bait."

"No." He plainly refuted.

"You're right, that doesn't make sense. How would Naraku have even a dime to his name right now? It's not like an asylum-escapee could hold down a normal retail job. Unless he's selling-"

"No."

"What about blackmail?" Hojo asked, his tone kind and approachable. "You don't seem the kind of person that's capable of concocting something this dangerous just for the hell of it. I can see there's more to you, and if he's holding something over your head, now's the time to tell us. We can work with you, Byakuya."

"You don't know shit about me." He dismissed with a sneer. "I'm not in this for money, I'm not into hard drugs, if anything I'd be the blackmailer in this scheme considering the way this man's twisted mind works, and I have the sweats because you assholes turned the heat up to eighty-five fucking degrees!"

"Doesn't feel hot in here to me." Sango shrugged.

"So, you're saying he asked you to do his bidding and you agreed? Just like that?" Hojo inquired.

"Basically."

"Did you aid him in the murder of-"

"Oh, here we go again!" Byakuya rolled his head back and around dramatically, landing on his bony-looking shoulder as he laughed. "History's repeating itself, and you're about to chalk up the whole story of how Naraku's some sort of serial killer, aren't you? Don't bother!"

"What do you mean?" Hojo and Sango glanced at each other from the side.

"He didn't kill anyone!" He shouted, fervency in his beliefs, eyes glowing in his defensive hunch. "You guys had nothing, nothing, and you were only able nail him down by planting incriminating evidence that didn't exist!"

"You don't believe he's a criminal?"

"That's not what I said. He's broken some laws here and there, he's built a record. He's just not the criminal your system has painted him out to be."

"A murderer." Sango stated, crossing her arms where she stood.

"Exactly."

"How do you know anything about Naraku? What makes you so sure?" Hojo pulled up a chair, opting now to sit across from Byakuya, sparing five feet's distance between them.

"Let's just say we have history." The demon shrugged, sitting back in his seat.

"That's not the answer we were looking for." Sango declared.

"Well, that's the only answer you're gonna get, sweetie."

"Try again."

"Go fuck yourself."

She grabbed a chair for herself, swinging it around to straddle beside Byakuya who leaned away as she neared. "Big talk for a guy in your position. See, here's the thing, considering you aren't cooperating but have confessed to your affiliation with Naraku, you could be pinned for everything he's done, and the potential is strong here."

"Aside from the assault, you don't have a thing on me."

"How about aiding an escapee?"

"Alright, you've got one thing." He smiled. "I'll do my time."

"How about stalking on two accounts?"

"So he took a few photos. Big deal."

"How about the murder of Abi Phoenix and her unsuspecting mother?" She delivered with more vehemency.

"Now that's where I have to stop you, because he hasn't-"

"He shot her mother in the head and tortured Abi all night until she bled out, you piece of shit! And before you defend his innocence again, he personally left his DNA on Abi by biting her thigh! We have the strongest evidence necessary to prove it was him!"

"Do you have an eye witness?"

"We have his saliva!"

"DID SOMEBODY SEE HIM!?"

"Yes! You! Apparently, you're the only person since his escape that has had any personal contact with him! You seem to know his every move, so you must have known he murdered the two women! Maybe you even helped him! You think the men in prison will be hard on you for brutally attacking a woman, wait until they find out-”

"You're making shit up!"

"We have to work with what we've got, don't we!? This is what you could be indicted for! This is the fire you're playing with, Byakuya!"

"He didn't kill anybody!"

"Sure, he did! He did, and so did you! How strong do your roots run, huh? Did you help him back in the day, too!"

"You mean the crimes you incorrectly pinned on a mentally unhealthy man!?"

"I mean the murders he committed on women and children! He killed a little boy! He kidnapped and murdered him in the backyard of his family's cabin!"

"Our family hadn't been to that damn cabin in three years, and Naraku hated that fucking place!"

Sango's mouth hung agape as she straightened her back, allowing this new information to bleed through. His cheeks went a sickly pale, neck tensing as he stared at her, the hollow of his throat emphasized with his discomfort.

"Our family?" Hojo spoke, leaning in slightly with an air of caution. Their perp was breaking, sweat dripping from his jaw line and soaking through his dirty, white shirt. He was nervous, a noticeable pulse pumping at the side of his neck, breathing elevated and heavy.

"So, you're related. That's how you know so much about him." Sango said.

"So fucking what!?" He spat defensively.

"That doesn't make sense, though. We have both yours and Naraku's DNA in the system and neither were matched to one another." Hojo said, brows furrowed as he reached for an explanation.

"Use your fucking brain, dumbass." Byakuya responded, his confidence raising as he embraced the now-exposed truth. "We aren't biologically related. Naraku was adopted."

"You're his younger brother."

"Ding, ding, ding! My parents thought themselves sterile since they were two clashing breeds of demons. They tried and tried and tried to get pregnant until a professional diagnosed that their contrasting biologics were too unstable an environment for a fetus. Hell, for semen. My mother's uterus was a war zone, you see. So, they adopted. They got my brother before he could even talk and it was a nice few years before I came around. I was deemed the "miracle child," and my brother was officially in the shadows from that day forward. He didn't take it to heart, though. He was... indifferent, I'd say. Indifferent to almost everything, really, but if there was one thing he hated, it was being still. If the house was too quiet or he ran out of things to do, he'd grow irrationally angry; he always had to be doing something stimulating. My brother's mentality began to slip when he was around, I don't know, ten or eleven. I was young, only seven, but I still remember the depthless look in his eyes when he first hurt an animal. Sure, I thought it was terrifying. How could a person do that to a cute, little bunny, right? It didn't take me long to realize Naraku wasn't a normal person, though. He never showed a hint of remorse when he did something wrong, was the biggest pathological liar you'd ever meet, either lacked or neglected control over his behavior, but still managed to be the most suave motherfucker around. That guy could manipulate the pants straight off of someone, but he was so charming not a single person batted an eye. Not even me. He was arrested several times over his teen years for animal cruelty; not the best hobby he could have picked up, even I can admit that. But not once did he ever target people for his twisted gimmicks. Not to mention, the last few times my family went up to that stupid cabin in the woods, Naraku lost his absolute shit! And I wish I was exaggerating! He'd break things, and scream, and curse, and kick, and punch holes in the walls, and demand to go home the entire fucking time. He wouldn't sleep while we were there, and he'd wander off into the woods and disappear for hours on end, which clearly wasn't a good thing considering what he was notorious for. So, we stopped going. Simple as that. Who knows why the hell he hated the place so much; probably because there's hardly anything to do in a secluded area. All I know is, it doesn't make sense that he'd ever willingly go back."

"He was arrested in the woods near the cabin."

"Fake."

"The little boy's body was dug up in the backyard."

"That doesn't mean he did it." Byakuya shook his head. "Hell, my father was more likely to kill a kid before Naraku ever would! He and my mother treated him like he was nothing, even after paying good fucking money for the adoption! I didn't want the limelight! I didn't want my brother to be treated as he was just because I was the one sperm that survived her fallopian tubes' ruthless defenses! For all I care, they caused his mental instability or whatever personality disorder he was diagnosed with! They threw him out on the street when he was seventeen! They kicked him out and moved so he wouldn't be able to find his way back! I was the only one that thought he deserved a little leeway! He wasn't right in the head and wasn't getting any sort of therapeutic help! How was he supposed to cope!? He was accused of all these murders, and it drove me crazy how that ugly, half-breed cop pinned all this false evidence on him like all psychopaths are bad! They aren't! There's this stupid stigma placed on psychopaths, that they're all murderers, but they're not! My brother may lack empathy, but he's not stone cold! He has a heart! He's never done a single bad thing to me! Not once! He lied about a lot of shit he did as a kid, but never once placed the blame on me! He was a good older brother!”

"No, not all psychopaths are killers." Sango spoke. "Not all killers are psychopaths. You're right. But you're brother-"

"YOU SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!" Byakuya heatedly rose from his seat, cutting her off as he kicked his chair away and raised his cuffed hands to strike. She jumped back, but Hojo was on him before anything could happen, spinning Byakuya around and pinning him against the cement wall. He was gasping for air, struggling to escape the hand Hojo gripped his untidy, black hair with, body weight applied to his core so he was effectively restrained.

Sango held up her hand to the two-way mirror, knowing someone was probably preparing to break up the scene in case things were about to get messy, which she wanted to prevent. That couldn't happen yet. He was finally talking, and if they ended the interview now, the next time around would be twice as difficult. So long as Hojo could calm the detained demon, they could continue.

"There's no need to get angry, alright? Take a deep breath. That's it. One more. Good." Hojo soothed, backing off of Byakuya as his temper diminished. He took the liberty of grabbing the thrown chair and placing it where it was before, allowing the demon to sit and wind down as the tension in the room dwindled.

"He didn't kill anybody." He stated again, staring at the floor. "Abi's just a casualty in your half-demon's twisted game. He wants Naraku back in that hell hole so bad, it's pathetic."

"And how do you suppose he got the saliva sample?"

"Oh, please. Like that's even real. All you guys have to do is say you got it, and the system would take your word for it."

"What if we showed you the proof?"

"Then I'd insist you attained the DNA from his stay at the asylum and planted it.”

“Why would they have his DNA?”

“Who knows, but it’s a possibility.”

"You're very adamant in your opinion. You're incredibly loyal to your brother. It's understandable that you'd fight for him now that he's free; even going as far as running his errands." Hojo leaned in from his seat again, playing up the empathy.

"He's been through enough. I don't blame him for wanting payback." Byakuya's knee started bobbing up and down, growing faster as he tried applying more weight into it to get it to stop. "He justifiably hates Inuyasha, and I'm on board with anything he has planned for him."

"So where does Kagome land in all of this?" Sango asked, her tone notably softer than any other time she'd spoken before.

"Just like Abi, she's a casualty." He smirked. "My brother can be... obsessive. He started following her to spike the half-breed's anxiety and paranoia, but then it evolved into something more. He had a reputation given to him by Inuyasha, kind of like how you tried to pin one on me, so he's decided to live up to it. Polaroids. Polaroids, everywhere. Quite frankly, it was annoying, but who am I to tell him how to get his revenge? In all honesty, though, Kagome deserves the backlash she's getting if she's choosing to stay with the guy."

"I thought he's never targeted people before." Hojo posed.

Byakuya shifted uncomfortably, handcuffs jingling as he brought his sweating palms closer together. "Well, yeah. Before now."

"That's a pretty big leap. And you were ready to kill for him?"

He half-scoffed, half-chuckled. "I was actually under strict orders not to kill the girl. He wanted her maimed, really. He wanted Inuyasha to see the damage he was inflicting."

Sango sunk into her chair a little lower. It made sense. Kagome had mentioned he wasn't cutting off her air supply when he choked her. He was only trying to leave his mark.

"And you still believe he didn't hurt a single living being, human or demon, before this?" Sango tried.

"God, are you not listening!? Your corrupt officer framed him!"

"But why?" Hojo asked. "For what reason would Inuyasha have an innocent man put in prison?"

"Probably because these crimes were really taking place, but you guys arrested the wrong man. Inuyasha seems prideful. Like the kind of guy that doesn't like to admit when he's made a mistake. He couldn't take the embarrassment since this was such a high-profile case, so he made sure all signs pointed to Naraku."

"Don't you think that's a little too coincidental? I mean, Hakudoshi's body was pulled from your family's backyard. If Naraku was falsely accused-"

"Planted. He was planted. Keep up."

"How could Inuyasha have had the time to plant Hakudoshi's body? We have tapes, plenty of eye-witness proof, that proves Inuyasha was here, at the precinct, interrogating Naraku the entire time most of the searches for evidence was happening. The only time he went on the field was when we drove up to the cabin and unburied Hakudoshi."

"Then he had a buddy working with him. All of you have partners, who's his?"

"I understand your stance on this, I do. You want to believe your brother. You probably feel like you even have to because of everything he's been through. There's guilt gluing you to Naraku's side." Hojo said, allowing Sango to pick up where he stopped, instinctively knowing they were riding the same wave.

"But you're looking at this all wrong. Believe us when we say we want to help you. We are not against you here. You need to think of us as deforesters, not landscapers. We're in the business of uprooting every fine piece of grooly evidence, not planting it. Inuyasha was here, and we can show you. Abi wasn’t just some casualty, she was the link that pointed to your brother's arrest. Hakudoshi was innocently slain. He was a little boy. You think your brother doesn't deserve this treatment, but what about Hakudoshi? What about all the other innocent people killed by Naraku? What about them?”

Byakuya’s deep eyes pierced the ground at his feet, face contorted and wet, stray hairs sticking to his cheeks and neck, breathing unsettled as he clasped his hands together but couldn’t seem to hold them steady. He began shaking his head, the rhythm small and barely noticeable, allowing his mouth to part, a drop of sweat flowing over his upper lip and meshing into the line where it met the bottom.

“Show me.” He whispered. “I want to see every piece of damning evidence you have.”

—

The room was sitting at a more comfortable temperature now, the thermostat adjusted accordingly and a water bottle delivered for Byakuya as he sat in the room alone once more. The table was put back in the center, his arms resting against the wood as he stared down at it, waiting.

Sango and Hojo reentered with manilla folders in their hands, choosing their seats opposite Byakuya and placing their items on the tabletop.

"Sorry it took so long." Hojo said.

"Just show it to me." He mumbled.

Sango opened the folder she held, dragging out a glossy, black and white, overhead photo of Inuyasha questioning Naraku almost exactly nine years ago, six days from the date, the timestamp printed clearly in the bottom, left corner. She placed that in front of Byakuya, turning it around so it was right-side up for him. The next was a photocopy of an incident report where evidence was found at Naraku's apartment, dated and timed only eighteen minutes apart.

"In the video, Inuyasha is trying to get Naraku to admit to Hakudoshi's disappearance. No one knew he was dead yet. He was consistently pressing him to get him to reveal his location. He was trying to save the boy. At the same time, Naraku had given just enough information to get a warrant to search his home. Detectives found polaroids on the walls of women and children he'd stalked, women and children that had active missing reports out for their safe return."

"That doesn't mean anything. The time on Inuyasha's picture could have been photoshopped in." He argued.

"You can believe that all you want, Byakuya. You can bathe in your denial for all I care, but this is it. This is the proof you asked for. Inuyasha was in this station, locked in a room with your brother for hours, all while other investigators searched his place. How could he have planted anything?" Sango asked, her frustration slowly hiking.

"Well, where was he before the interrogation began?"

"Arresting Naraku."

"And before that?"

"Oh my god." She could tell it was a never-ending cycle, the huff from her nose heated like a dragon's.

"Look at this!" Hojo instructed, his tone striking critical for the first time. He opened his own folder, slapping down image-after-image of the scene they'd walked in on at Abi Phoenix's residence. Pictures of her mother's lifeless body, of Abi sprawled on the floor, slightly decayed, closeups of her brutally-inflicted wounds, the contusions on her neck, the bite just above her knee, her dark hair matted in dried blood. "See that mark on her leg? That's where Naraku bit Abi! That's where he left behind his DNA! She was murdered by your brother!"

"Bullshit! What reason did he have to get revenge on Abi? They had no affiliation with one another, they-"

"She was his girlfriend nine years ago! She was the reason he was arrested!" Sango interjected.

"That doesn't make sense!"

"When she was questioned by the police, she told them the last time she'd spoken to Naraku, he'd said he was heading to his family's cabin with his nephew!" Hojo yelled.

"No, that's not right! Naraku didn't have a girlfriend, and he doesn't have a nephew!"

"Think about it!"

"I'm telling the truth!" Byakuya shouted, slamming his fists against the table. "He's never been able to hold down a relationship in his life! Hell, he even told me he finds the opposite sex repugnant and never felt any desire to be with them - sexually or what have you!"

Hojo sat back in his seat, the heat fading from his expression, though his lips pressed into a flat line as he allowed Byakuya's words to settle, to cool. He nodded, shrugging his brows as he spoke again, this time more levelly. "Think about it."

"E-even if he did have a girlfriend, we don't have a nephew - he doesn't have a nephew." He shakily said, eyes widened with unclarity. Hojo pulled another photo from his folder, placing it on top of the others in the center of the table. The little boy stood with a bright smile on his face, white hair falling over his shoulders as he held a large basketball between his hands.

"This is Hakudoshi. He was eight years old and his body was discovered in the backyard of your parents' cabin."

"Inuyasha worked for hours to make Naraku slip, and a warrant was finally issued for us to search the premises. He was young, and terrified, and alone when he was killed. You want justice for your brother, but what about him?" Sango added, watching Byakuya's shoulders tremble from the applied guilt.

"You honestly didn't know?" Hojo inquired.

"No, o-of course not. I always believed him when he said he was set up, I-I thought I knew him better than anyone." He replied, the breath heavy against his lungs.

"I find that hard to believe."

Byakuya's violet gaze instantly redirected away from Hakudoshi's image, colliding with Hojo's skeptical, blue eyes.

"You mean to tell me you had no idea what pictures were inside the envelope you handed Kagome?"

"H-he didn't let me see them. The envelope was sealed when he gave it to me, I figured they were the same old thing." He hastily opposed.

"Well, it was; you're not wrong there." Hojo smiled incredulously. One of the remaining items in his folder was the very same envelope, slightly wrinkled, pointed corners of polaroids poking out from the opening. He dumped the contents on the table, tossing the empty envelope down beside it all. "Same old thing, same old Naraku! These are old photos he managed to keep of past victims! Look at them, Byakuya! Take a look at all the people he's stalked throughout the years!"

He did so, spreading them out, confused, taken aback, not knowing what to say anymore, studying, looking through and stopping as he spotted the silver-haired little girl he remembered from third street. Bile was rising into his throat as his stomach twisted and lurched in his abdomen. The temperature was normalized in the room, but his cheeks felt clammy. She'd gone missing when he was nine. Naraku used to babysit her for a little cash. He remembered the sirens blaring as they raced around the bend to her house, he remembered the police coming to their door to question his parents and then moving on, he remembered the incessant rumors about her dad spreading throughout the neighborhood community, the pain he would see on her mother's face when she watched little children walk by, the hint of envy as they went to elementary school - something her daughter would never do. And he remembered them eventually moving away.

"What-" His breath hitched as his nerves began getting the better of him, fingers shaking against one another. "What do you want to know?"

"Is there anyone else working with you two?" Sango asked without hesitation.

"No."

"How did you get Inuyasha's spare key?"

"I have a detachable eye, it's disgusting but one of the quirks of being a mixed race of demons. Stole a uniform from one of your cops and my scent was masked enough to blend with the mess of detainees you have in this building. Set up the eye, saw his combo, came back and got it. I got lucky finding the key in the locker; I was beginning to think he didn't have one."

"And Kagome's?"

"Her landlord is a dumbass with multiple masters in an unlocked office in the basement."

"Your parents, we never located them." Hojo stated, waiting for Byakuya to fill in the gap.

"They live upstate on a ranch. They're fine."

"And your brother," Sango leaned inward, maintaining a careful tone. "Where is he?"

He hesitated, eyes slowly shifting back and forth between the two detectives. His throat clenched, and he didn't know what to do. Naraku was still his brother. How could he turn his back on him after everything - no, that was all a lie. Naraku was the one inflicting pain, not the other way around. He was a serial killer. 

The thought felt acidic on his brain.

Still, as he opened his mouth to speak, his throat clenched and held his voice captive. He tried again, to tell the truth, to give up the headache-inducing charade, but his abdomen tightened like a shockwave had coursed through the surrounding muscles.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? What was right? What was wrong? He was going to be doing time in prison anyway, maybe if he willingly took the fall for his brother, Naraku could start anew.

That wasn't the way it worked though, was it? His brother had grown obsessed with Inuyasha, obsessed with his revenge. He was going to kill again whether Byakuya took the fall or not. His brother was sick.

He deserved a chance.

But he was going to kill.

"I," Byakuya's bottom lip trembled as he hung his head, staring at the wood between his forearms. "I want a lawyer."

Two hard knocks against the mirror behind them rang heavily throughout the dense room, effectively ending the interview.

Inuyasha’s Residence

Inuyasha stomped around the apartment, huffing and puffing as he made sure the windows were secure for the fifth time and counting, rushing out of view for his next task. Kagome sat on the kitchen counter, watching him travel through with his ever-prominent scowl, propped with one hand just behind her butt while the other held the strawberry she nibbled. She knew it would be irrelevant to point out how repetitive he was being. She knew how this time of the month spiked his blood pressure, and with Naraku still on the loose and his teammates hardly communicating anything with him, there was very little comfort in tonight's new moon.

She could hardly blame him. She'd tried calming him down a few hours ago, but he had every right to be high strung. If Naraku has been stalking the two of them for months now, there was a huge probability that he knew of Inuyasha's human night. Not that it would provide an inkling of consolation for the irritable half demon, Kagome couldn't help but hope Naraku had spent his time being more focused on her. He could rob her of every secret she hid from the world, just so long as he didn't take this one from Inuyasha.

He walked into the kitchen, stopping close by, ember eyes dulled with anxiety, staring at her legging-clad legs that dangled from the marble counter. Even though he wasn't looking at her face, she gave him a congenial smile, one she hoped would express her empathy for the situation at hand. With a tense sigh, he turned around and she knew he was about the repeat the entire process all over again.

"Hey," She extended a leg out, barely skimming his thigh with a toe but serving to halt his path nonetheless. "You've got it all, Inuyasha. Everything's locked up tight. We're gonna be perfectly safe."

"One more time." He grunted, still not looking at her.

"No more times." Kagome scooted her bottom closer to the edge of the counter, reaching her foot out to nudge him in her direction. He was reluctant. Rigid. Strained. She nudged him again and he finally gave, glancing at her with an unamused expression as he stepped his left foot back to open his front to her. Using the leverage she was granted, she pinned his hips between both ankles and pulled until he gave her what she wanted and came to stand between her knees.

"What?" He grumbled.

She grabbed his hands and gently placed them to rest on the tops of her thighs.

"Kagome."

She shushed him, the sound quick and gentle, tenderly raking her nails up and down his bare forearms. He huffed again, the sound clenched in his throat, but he didn't try to pull away. Kagome dragged her fingers up to the crook of his elbow, tickling slightly from the way he twitched, secretly enjoying how sensitive his skin became when he was on the brink of transforming, traveling up to his biceps and going inside the hem of his tee so she could skim the faded edge of the tattoo on his arm. He was beginning to ease, beginning to soften, his thumbs rubbing back and forth over the material of her leggings. Kagome leaned in, placing a small and playful kiss on his chin.

"I don't have time for this." He said. It was gruff, but wasn't the least bit convincing. He never moved away. In fact, his hands had moved up to her hips, thumbs now meshing between her pelvis and the softness of her thighs.

"You can check the locks as many times as you want, but it won't stop the sun from setting and I know that's what you're really trying to do."

"Don't get all philosophical on me."

"Then relax. Everything's gonna be fine."

"Not if he tries anything."

"Who says he will? Nothing has happened in the previous months on this night, right? Maybe he doesn't even know."

"I can't take that chance, Kagome. You know I can't take that chance." Inuyasha rebutted, shifting his head to the side, glaring at the drawn curtains of the closest window. "If anything happens tonight, I won't be able to protect you as well as any other night."

"I'm not worried."

"Well, you should be." He said earnestly.

"Well, I'm not! Look - hey, look at me!" Golden eyes shifted, landing on the bruise that had settled into her cheek. The last she'd seen it, which wasn't all that long ago, it was a nasty mixture of green and yellow, outlined with sprinkles of purple. It was healing, but he still stared at it as if it were freshly-inflicted and the bane of the Earth. "I trust you. Nothing will stop me from trusting you, not even the moon. Get that through your thick skull, Inuyasha, because I'm really not worried. And if it makes you feel any better, I'll double check everything for you so you can stop second guessing yourself. Alright?"

He rolled his eyes, giving her a small shake of his head as he ground his jaw outward.

"Alright?" Kagome tried again, this time with a little more fervency, moving her hands to grip the slant in his shoulder muscles, giving a warning squeeze so he'd take her seriously.

"Alright, alright. Whatever. It's your funeral."

"Make sure The Black Parade plays at it." She teased.

"That's not fucking funny." Inuyasha groaned, leaning down to bury his face in the curve of her neck. She wrapped her arms around the nape of his, welcoming him, allowing him to clutch her tighter than normal as he hissed a curse and shuddered. Through the curtains, Kagome could see the night resting in, the orange and pink hues of the sunset vanishing completely.

His hearing dulled incredibly, making him feel stuffed up, his equilibrium swaying slightly as he gathered himself against her. Tucking inward even more, he felt a swarm of gooseflesh travel over his body like tiny electric shocks thieving away his supernatural gifts. Everything was bland suddenly. Plain. Limited. He hated it. It was unsettling to be this vulnerable.

He felt the tips of her fingers caressing over the bumps of his spine at the base of his neck, and he finally blinked open his eyes. Her inner thighs were relaxed alongside his hips, her mouth pressed to the shirt on his shoulders, the hot exhales leaving her nose seeping through the cloth and gracing the skin beneath. She was being so patient, tender, as if the transformation was something painful for him. Of course it wasn't, and he was sure she was well aware. It wasn't the first new moon they'd spent together in all the years they've known one another. Still, that never stopped her from waiting him out, never saying a word until she was sure he was adjusted.

Inuyasha sighed defeatedly, stepping back and standing tall, unable to hide the way he avoided looking at Kagome. Maybe he was sloppy, or maybe it was because he was human for the next twelve hours or so - truth be told, probably the former; he couldn't blame everything on the night of the new moon, no matter how overwhelming his emotions became. -  but his shame was evident, as was his lack of confidence the darkness had graciously provided. He believed her when she said she trusted him, he had no reason not to, but that didn't stop him from thinking she was stupid. So fucking stupid. He had a horrible feeling pooling in the pit of his gut, bubbling, churning wildly, heating his core like his demon blood used to, and it put him on edge.

It had been six days since Kagome was attacked; six days since he initially failed to provide her the protection he promised. If something happened tonight while they were under the same roof and he failed again, he didn't think he could live with himself. But that was selfish, wasn't it? He was only thinking about the way he felt. She wasn't worried, wasn't scared, wasn't even bothered by the diminishing marks on her face. Yeah, she was stupid and he would argue that until the day he died, but she was also way more intuitive than he was. If her gut wasn't telling her to tread carefully, then maybe it was just his human emotions and the effervescent need to protect that was fooling him into thinking something may go wrong.

Kagome pulled Inuyasha's ponytail to the front of his shoulder, combing the stark black ends she'd always expressed she loved so much with her nails. He still hadn't looked at her but, god, did he want to. The sooner he looked, he realized, the sooner she'd stop her ministrations. Selfish, yes, but that's a degree of greed he could accept within himself. She shifted her head, he could see in his peripherals, and her hands slid up his neck, fingers gently massaging the lobes of his ears, the feeling foreign and slightly weird. He didn't stop her. Instead, he subconsciously leaned into it, effectively blowing his cover. There was mirth in her brown eyes as he caught her gaze, her smile scrunching her nose, and her fingers fumbled to the tops of his ears, still rubbing, still foiling his act.

"Move," She said, a giggle on her breath. "I've gotta check the house since you clearly didn't do a good enough job."

"Punk ass." He grunted, stepping out of her way. Kagome grabbed a strawberry from the bowl beside her and put it in his eagerly-accepting mouth before hopping down from the counter and working her way from window-to-window. She pushed up on the borders, making sure they were all stuck securely by the locks, readjusting the curtains she'd pushed aside and moving onto the next. Lastly, she checked the the door, unlocking and re-locking so Inuyasha had the satisfaction of the bolt clicking into place. 

"Everything looks good to me. What about your gun?"

"Loaded and on me."

"You can't sleep while wearing it." She grimaced.

"Makes sense since I'm not sleeping." He shrugged, discarding the top of the strawberry in the trash.

"Oh, that's right. It's the all-nighter. I'll stay up with you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no need.”

“Four eyes are better than two.”

“You can’t stay up. You’re practically an old lady with how early you usually fall asleep.”

“Just because you have the unhealthy habit of doing it all the time, doesn’t mean I don’t have it in me!”

“I don’t need to sleep as much as humans!”

“And I’ve been reserving my energy just for tonight!”

“Bullshit! Ten bucks says you don't make it past two am."

"Twenty says you're the one that falls asleep first." Kagome challenged, laughing as he chucked a strawberry at her.

--

Her eyes were heavy as she watched one of the lesser-rated episodes of The Twilight Zone, making sure the volume to the chilling opening theme was low enough that it wouldn't disturb the sleeping man at the other end of the couch. It was surprising that he'd given in to the fatigue, despite how much she'd hoped for it from the beginning. All it took was some simple caressing and he was a puddle on the sofa, melting and dozing off until he couldn't fight it anymore, and she silently thanked his human night for making the guy substantially more sensitive than he’d ever willingly admit to being. Even under the illumination of the television, the black and white contrast bouncing off of his even skin, he looked peaceful. His scowl wasn't dominant, his brows were relaxed, and his lips were slightly parted as he steadily breathed in contentment. For his added comfort, she'd happily stay up all night. Plus, it would be fun to rub it in when he woke up that he owed her some money since it was hitting four-forty in the morning and she was still conscious. 

She leaned forward, minding that the motion was controlled to not alert Inuyasha, going for her glass for a sip of flat soda, fully relying on the small intake of caffeine to perk her up for the few remaining hours she had. As she reached, her phone vibrated against the coffee table, claiming her undivided attention as her hand snagged the device instead. It was the god-awful hours of the morning, who in the world could have been texting her?

The number was unfamiliar, though the area code was the same as her own. She opened the message, a chill rushing down her spine as she read the text three times over.

Kagome, is this still your number? This is Kikyo. I need your help...

The last time Inuyasha had spoken to her about his ex was when he was standing in her living room, telling her the truth she had been resistant to hear for so long. He was naturally worried about Kikyo's wellbeing, considering she'd disappeared from his place without a trace while fighting her addiction, and though he seemed to be masking it all well - maybe for Kagome's own sake - it must have been eating away at him. But why would she message her and not Inuyasha? What could she possibly do for Kikyo that Inuyasha couldn't?

Her phone buzzed again in her palm.

I'm sorry for texting at this hour. I don't know what else to do...

She needed help. That's what she'd said, she needed help. She was last seen in an unhealthy state, what if she never fully got better? What if she relapsed?

Even worse, what if Naraku knew about her too?

It's okay, I'm up. What's wrong?

It was only a small moment before Kikyo replied. Kagome couldn't help the sturdy beat of her heart thumping against her ribcage as she waited.

I got into some trouble, I can explain later. I think I'm by your apartment, will you pls meet me?

Yes! Where, exactly? Are you okay?

It made sense that she didn't know Kagome was currently staying with Inuyasha.

Near the old cafe and pancake house. Idk if you're still in contact, but I don't want Inuyasha knowing. Don't tell him.

She swallowed thickly, glancing over to his sleeping form. A guilt instantly washed over her. How could she not tell him? He's probably been so worried, so afraid. If there was anyone that deserved to know, it was him. Why wouldn't Kikyo want Inuyasha knowing? He would do anything to make sure she was safe. 

Nonetheless, it was her choice. She needed to respect that, didn't she? Maybe if she met with Kikyo, she could convince her to come back to Inuyasha's. Then it would be right on all accounts. Wouldn’t it?

The thought of the two of them together made it feel like a large, dense rock was dropped into her stomach, causing it to sink. It wasn't important, though. Her feelings weren't important right now. Kikyo was in trouble. Choosing not to help to spare her from the sting of jealousy was the worst thing she could ever consider. There was more than just herself involved in this. On top of it all, Kagome desperately needed to get to Kikyo before Naraku targeted her too.

Stay there.

She hit send. Stared at the virtual keypad beneath her hovering thumbs. Then began typing once more.

I’ll be there in ten.

As carefully as possible, she unfolded her legs from beside her, glad she was too comfortable to change from her leggings when they sat down to watch T.V. hours ago. As her bare feet met with the throw rug, she slowly rose, freezing as Inuyasha readjusted his position. Kagome stood in a semi-squat, her quads burning from the power pose as she waited him out, letting him settle, holding it until he gave that heavy sigh of deep sleep she’d been impatient to hear, then fully extended her legs in relief. She took every step with the intention of silence, clutching the notches of her shoes in her hands and deciding it’d be safer to slip them on in the hall. His car keys, thankfully, weren’t attached to an obnoxiously large set of keychains and rings like hers were, so folding her fingers around the three keys attached by a belt clip was easy to do while preventing a loud jingle that would no doubt wake Inuyasha. At a time like this, she legitimately didn’t know how to express how grateful she was that he kept his work set separate, as well.

Unlocking the door, though slow, was simple. The small scrape the chain gave hardly disturbed him, and the bolt was slid open right as a commercial flickered on the tv, so it masked the sound. Kagome twisted the knob, cracked the door enough for her to slide out, and pulled the door shut. She wouldn’t be gone for long - thirty minutes at the most. He’d, of course, be pissed when she got back, but seeing who she was with would hopefully provide some cushion. She had a legitimate reason for leaving.

As she got downstairs, Kagome dropped her canvas shoes to the ground without worry, sliding her feet in and adjusting the heels and tongues as necessary as she stumbled outside and to Inuyasha’s car. The vehicle came to life as soon as she twisted the key in the ignition, and she slid the seat forward and adjusted the mirrors as quickly as she could. She glanced at her cellphone one last time before driving off, checking to see if she had any other texts from Kikyo. Nothing. It wasn’t anything too abnormal for the woman, she was never very good at responding. Nonetheless, at a time like this, an “okay” or a “thank you” would have been nice.

The roads were dark as she stepped out of the car, sunlight still a couple of hours away. The street lamps were few and far between near her apartment, the neighborhoods slightly sketchy. She’d parked behind the coffee shop she used to frequent, venturing around the corner and to the front. The pancake house Kikyo mentioned was most likely the mom and pop shop a half a block down, but as she made her way closer, she realized there wasn’t a single sign of life around.

Kagome pulled up their texts, sending one saying she was here and waiting for a body to pop into her line of sight, but as the seconds ticked away, an uneasy and dreadful sensation made home in the pit of her abdomen. Something was wrong. Something was coming. She could physically feel the undoing taking place. It was getting increasingly difficult to swallow, to stand still, and her eyes were flickering over the streets around her until something told her it was time to go. Now.

Never in her life had she felt more like a sitting duck.

Kagome spun around, speed-walking her way up the street and back to the car, relieved when it was in view. Clicking the second button down on the remote, she unlocked the door so she could slide right in, but as she latched onto the handle and yanked it open, a powerful force slammed it shut, ripping the lever from her grip. The light from within had turned on from the initial open, bringing the face beside her into comprehensible view.

“Long time no see,” Onigumo grinned, the charming glimmer in his ruby eyes as evident as the day she’d first met him. “I’ve missed you so much, Kagome.”

“Shit!” She hissed, instantly running in the opposite direction. She’d made it three steps before a sharp yank to her hair stopped her in her hurried tracks, yelping more from fear than pain. He walked forward, holding her captive with the fist full of locks, pressing his torso flush against her back, curving his calloused, scratchy fingers around her throat, her head firmly tilted back to rest on his shoulder. His breath stank as he chuckled, the sound malevolent all on its own.

Naraku moaned, kissing the bruise on her cheek, his chapped lips lingering in place before the click of their separated moisture rang in the night. Kagome shuddered, gasping with every touch. 

“Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

[captainhotch]

Scare Them Away | Derek Morgan

Derek Morgan x Reader

Request: Can I request a Derek Morgan x reader where she has feelings for him and they’re good friends. She suffers from slight insomnia but notices that sleeping next to Derek makes her happy and able to sleep better. She comes up with excuses for him to be near when she needs to sleep and eventually he catches on? A fluffy confession XD @m00sethemurderer

A/N: For some reason this took me forever. I couldn’t decide how to end it. Le me know what you think!

Masterlist

Sleep had been escaping you lately, much to your disdain. You used to be able to take full advantage of your days off from the BAU, cuddling up in your fluffy blanket and sleeping all day. Lately, however, all you’d been able to do was toss and turn.

It started a few weeks earlier with a particularly difficult case. An unsub was murdering families while making the husband watch. It took four families— four mothers, fathers, and six children before the unsub was caught.

You couldn’t help but to see the bodies when you closed your eyes. This case stuck with you particularly hard for some reason. Maybe it was because the mothers resembled your own.

After a few days, however, the nightmares stopped. The restlessness remained.

You knew the team could tell something was off. You caught Reid eyeing your dark circles on more then one occasion, obviously not wanting to bring it up.

JJ was the only one who mentioned it to you, letting you know that she was always there to listen if you needed her.

The team had just boarded the plane on the way back from a case. This one was relatively cut and dry, with the unsub being caught in a matter of two days with no new victims.

You glanced around the jet at the relaxed figures, even Hotch passing out on a couch on the other side of the jet. You clenched your hand around the warm ceramic coffee mug, staring at the liquid as it swished around. It would be a restless four hour flight, that you already knew.

You looked up from your mug when you felt the seat beside you shift, finding a concerned Derek Morgan beside you.

“What’s going on over here, beautiful?” He questioned, turning his body to face you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, turning your head to look at him with a small smile.

“Now I don’t believe that at all,” he began, looking over your exhausted figure, “Why are you drinking that? You should try and get some rest.”

You laughed sarcastically, shaking your head, “I don’t think I’ll be able to do that anytime soon.”

“Having trouble sleeping?” He asked in a concerned voice, placing his hand on your shoulder comfortingly.

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, wondering if you should tell him. It would be good to get it off your chest, you told yourself. Maybe it would help.

You looked at him nodding, “Am I that easy to read?”

“Well I am a professional,” he smirked, rubbing circles into your shoulder with his thumb, “why don’t I take this.” He added, moving the coffee mug from your hand to the table beside you.

“I don’t think that’s gonna do anything,” you sighed, “I just can’t fall asleep. No matter how long I lay there.”

Derek only leaned back, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you so your head rested against his shoulder. “Just relax and close your eyes. I’ll be here when you wake up. Promise.”

You looked at him over your shoulder hesitantly. He just sent you a reassuring nod, waiting for you to lay back.

Slowly you let yourself relax into Derek’s chest, closing your eyes as he wraps his arm around you. He smelled of something indescribable. Warm and cozy like home. It wasn’t tangible.

Before you knew it you had drifted off, one of his arms wrapped around you and the other one holding up a book that Spencer had lent to him.

You had woken up to Derek shaking you a few hours later. In the time that you had been asleep you had completely buried your head in the man’s neck, your hand gripping at his blue button-up rather tightly.

You blinked open slowly, your eyes meeting his brown ones in confused. He smiled wide at the sight of your furrowed brows.

“Rise and shine, gorgeous,” he grinned, “we’re landing in 15”.

You groaned into his shirt, stretching your arms out in front of you.

“How’d you sleep?” Derek asked, dog-earing his book and turning his attention towards you.

“Pretty well,” you shrugged, pulling back so you could see him fully, “all things considered, anyways.”

Derek’s arm was still wrapped around your shoulder, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your back.

“Well you looked peaceful,” he smiled softly, pushing the hair that had fallen down from your bun behind your ear.

Although you hadn’t said it, that was probably the best sleep that you had gotten in weeks. You couldn’t even remember dreaming, which definitely beat having a nightmare.

Derek made a surprisingly good pillow.

“Let me know if I can ever return the favor,” you grinned, looking up at the taller man so you could wink at him.

“I mean you could always buy me dinner as a thank you,” Derek began with a grin, “we can discuss dessert at a later date.”

A few weeks later and you were on another case, this time in North Carolina. The unsub was a bad one. That paired with the sleeping troubles that had reappeared a few days after your nap on the plane with Derek, it was safe to say that you were in for it.

Derek noticed the circles that had reappeared under your eyes on the plane, but he had decided to bite his tongue. If you wanted him to know you’d tell him, he decided.

He also noticed how tense your shoulders were when the team retired to the hotel for the night, an obvious sign of hesitation and stress.

Derek waited until everyone else had grabbed their keys and gone off their separate ways before ambushing you.

You were dragging your feet in the hallway, your bag weighing you down. He stopped beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Everything okay, Beautiful?” He questioned with concern obvious on his face.

You sent him a small but obviously fake smile. “I’m fine, just a little tired.” You shrugged.

��Haven’t been sleeping again?”

“Am I that easy to read?” You laughed lightly, hiking the bag up further so it wouldn’t slip down.

“C’mon now, Gorgeous,” Derek grinned, placing his arm around your shoulder as you walked, “you know better then to underestimate your favorite profiler.”

“Silly me,” you smiled, leaning your head into his arm.

“Damn straight,” Derek paused, stopping you both from continuing down the hallway, “hey, why don’t you stay with me tonight? Maybe you’ll actually be able to get some sleep.”

You only nodded, walking along side Derek to his hotel room. When you entered you threw your bag down on the bed, your body following close behind.

“Why don’t you take the bathroom first, beautiful?” Derek smiled slightly at your fatigued figure. “That way you can get into bed sooner.”

You sighed, hesitating to get up when your entire body was currently melted into the surprisingly comfortable matress. You say surprisingly cause the hotel lobby wasn’t exactly promising.

You did your business in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and changing into pajamas quickly so you could hurry back to bed.

You opened the door to a shirtless Derek unoacking his belongings, you assumed that he was getting ready for the next day.

You kept your eyes to the ground, avoiding staring at his deliciously muscular back. You could feel your cheeks burning with a pink flush.

“Go ahead and get settled into bed, i’ll be out in a few minutes,” Derek grinned, his eyes going to your flushed cheeks and then back to your own. He could tell that you were trying to look anywhere but at his abs, which turned his smile into a smirk.

You tucked yourself into the fluffy duvet, your hands pulling the white material up to your chin so that only your face could be seen. Your eyes were glued onto the television screen that was running the news, but you definitely were not comprehending anything.

You mind was running ten miles a minute with thoughts about the man on the other side of that bathroom door. Emily would kill you if she knew where you were but hadn’t told her. She claimed that she saw the “sexual tension” between you and Derek from the beginning.

You thought about what it would be like to cuddle with the man, your head on his chest, his arms drawing you in. Or maybe he’d be a spooner. Either way the thought made your pulse skyrocket. You felt like he could hear it through the closed door.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear the door open, or notice Derek standing on his side of the bed. So much for FBI Agent, you sighed.

Derek slid in beside you, turning his bed side lamp on as he cuddled into the blankets on the bed.

“What’s going on with you, mama?” He questioned, his brows furrowed as he watched you in your dazed state.

“Nothing, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged, turning to face him fully.

“Bullshit,” Derek began, “—I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping but it’s more then that. What’s on your mind? You don’t have to keep stuff from me.”

Damn profilers, you groaned, running your hand over your face in exhaustion.

“It’s nothing, Der,” you sighed softly, “let’s just go to sleep, ok? We have a long day ahead of us.”

Derek only rolled his eyes, though you could barely see it with your lamp being the only light source in the room. He turned over to face away from you.

“Derek please,” you frowned, “i won’t be able to sleep with you being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you I’m just— I’m just confused,” you could hear the frown in his voice, “Why don’t you think you can tell me stuff?” He turned back around to face you. “I don’t understand how I can like someone so much who refuses to open us to me. I can’t get you out of my head but I can’t unravel you either”

You stared at the man with wide eyes, his meeting your own with hesitation. You had never seen him so shy, for lack of a better word. “W-what?” You stuttered out.

“I like you so much—“ he paused,” but you won’t let me in and I don’t know what to do.”

You closed your eyes tightly for a second, biting your lip. “I haven’t been able to sleep through the night since that time on the plane,” you kept your eyes closed so you couldn’t see his reaction, “when I was with you— I felt safe. It was the first time in months that I didn’t wake up from nightmares. It was like you scared them all away.”

You opened your eyes when you felt his hand rest softly against your cheek, willing you to look at him once again.

“I’ll always be here to scare your monsters away.” He replied in a soft voice, pulling your smaller body into his arms.

“Promise?” You questioned, looking up at him through your lashed from where you rested against his chest.

“Promise.”

[funkymbtifiction]

[answered asks for the week]

INSIDE:

Hy! Can you pls give more examples how the types looks like as a child?

Is this related to a loop or inferior function?

When Enneagram 1 goes to 4, would that look like sensitivity to criticism, moodiness, brooding?

Could you compare enfp 4w3 and 4w5 ( both) so/sp?

i’m 90% sure that i’m an ISTJ, but sometimes i don’t feel that way.

Recently you said it might be difficult to determine enneagram type before mid thirties.

I haven’t been able to find any information on 1w2 ENFJ.

when we are teenagers we are developing our least favourite function right?

Hi. I was hoping you can help me. I figured out a pattern of mine that I would imagine is probably either a loop or my inferior function, because it is me when I am at my lowest point and am most unlike myself. I know what makes me fall into this pattern, now that I am older. However, whenever I fall into this pattern I have a hard time pinpointing what functions might be responsible for it. 

I am usually an optimistic person. I am usually upbeat and can always turn a negative situation into a positive one by finding something positive about that particular situation, or something upcoming that I am really excited about. When someone is sad about a situation, I can explain why it’s not so bad and then get them to think optimistically. It is what makes me charming, bubbly and an overall good presence. It is rare when I fall into a slump, but when I do this optimism disappears completely. I get extremely negative minded. Like this morning, one of my closest friends told me “Why are you being so pessimistic?” And I know why. It is always the same story…

I really like having a simple lifestyle. By that, I do not mean I do not care about good food, company, and good stimuli to keep me excited. I am all about aesthetics. But what I mean is I rather make a modest living than work long hours, wasting life. I like to work minimal hours so I can enjoy this short life we have been given. I don’t like to take life seriously. I like to just live in the moment, day by day, and absorb the present. Every hour at its rawest form. But when my boss gives me ridiculous hours or I feel this time is taken away from me by obligations like even funerals or upcoming prayer events, I begin to flip out. It’s rare because I purposely chose a job that prioritizes hours for friends, family, and fun instead of work. But obligations happen and when they happen I can’t enjoy the moment anymore. I keep thinking of that obligation and how

But when I see these dates where I won’t have time for any of that sporadically appear in my calendar… every task becomes so tedious. I feel like every chore inside my house or outside of my house is ridiculous, including something so simple like vacuuming and I cannot live in the present like I want to. I keep living in that moment where I have to do this chore. I have to do this obligations. And then I get lost and everyone around me senses something different. They get pissed at me because I’m so damn negative.

I feel like if I can understand the functions responsible maybe I can direct myself to changing this pattern. Again. It’s so rare but when it happens, it’s really bad.

The bolded is high Se. You’re an SFP. Given your obvious Enneagram 7 core type (the need to be free of obligation and able to do whatever you want / live in the moment and be spontaneous – feeling trapped when too much closes in on you) I’m guessing you’re an ESFP, and these “I feel trapped and no longer able to enjoy the moment” days are Ni-gripping (unable to think in the present, just ahead to things you are not looking forward to).

You can counter this by one of two ways, or both:

1) Doing something at the end of the day that brings you back into Se. Something aesthetic that returns you to THE PRESENT. It might be Yoga. It might be a back rub. It might be laying in the tub for two hours and reading a book by candlelight. Something sensory. Something NOW.

2) Have something to look forward to on the other side of your obligations, so you are not thinking about the days you have to do things, but that fun thing you get to do on the weekend. It may be something you planned, or the decision to live in the moment on that day and be impulsive all day long. But 7′s need fun things to look forward to, when they have a lot of “commitment”-related things sucking up their energy. So, look ahead in a positive way and not just a negative one. :)

When enneagram one goes to four would that look like sensitivity to criticism, moodiness, brooding? I know a few people like that who are normally pretty immune to taking things to personally but at times can seem quite sensitive. They also have the best sense of humor and are playful at their best. Thanks

Yes.

The important thing to remember with disintegration is that the person has all the negative attributes of the number they are moving into, but none of the positive ones. So a 1 moving to 4 is melodramatic, woe is me, nobody understands me, nobody appreciates me, I’m all alone and unloved, nobody loves me, fuss, fuss, fuss… with none of 4′s authenticity, seek for deep internal meaning, or ability to understand and process intense emotions on a deep level.

Moving into integration would also mean taking on the positive attributes of 7 without the negative ones – so the 1 would become more happy, playful, and optimistic, seeing the best in people instead of what needs fixed.

Could you compare enfp 4w3 and 4w5 ( both) so/sp?

Ignore your MBTI type and just focus on what 3 and 5 bring to the 4, and how that would change it.

3 is extroverted, wants to win, has confidence in their look, is centered around success.

5 is introverted, fearful of getting things wrong by acting too prematurely, protects self by falling into knowledge, tends to fantasize.

4w3 therefore is more outgoing, flamboyant, bigger with their feelings, more dramatic, and yet cares more how people see them because of the 3. They often are fashionable and image-conscious – because the “is this authentic to me” 4 is being pulled at by the “but do I make an amazing impression” 3 wing.

4w5 is more introverted and more inclined to intellectualize their feelings, more secretive about everything (because 5 is a little fearful of how you may use things against it if you know too much), doesn’t care nearly as much how other people respond to them in terms of their overall presentation.

Since 3 is optimistic and ‘can’ do, it makes for a lighter, more colorful 4 – optimistic about the future and able to carve a niche out or trend-set. 5 brings a level of internal focus to a 4 and often becomes ‘dramatic’ or ‘withdrawn’ – there’s more of an emphasis on morbidity whenever a 5 is involved.

hi! i was wondering if you could help me with my type. i’m 90% sure that i’m an ISTJ, but sometimes i don’t feel that way. i feel that ISTJs are often depicted as cold or unfeeling, but i am definitely a kind person - generally to everyone, and especially to those i love. i can get into a “Te mode” but it isn’t constant. but i’m definitely not Fe, and i make decisions based on logic. and of course mbti can’t show my entire personality, so could enneagram could provide clarification? thanks!

My father once told me that you can’t take everything at face value, you have to look at where someone is coming from. So, if there are somewhat cold and inaccurate depictions of ISTJs in fiction, what does that tell you about the writer? They are not an ISTJ. Most likely they are an IXFP or a high Fe user, who does not understand how TeFi works, so they wind up with a stereotype of what their own low Te would be like higher in the stack (inaccurate, because healthy high Te is instinctively professional and knows how to work with people) or they think about people they have clashed with and use them for inspiration.

That aside, most ISTJs are not cold or unfeeling. They care very deeply – they just do not waltz around with their feelings on full display and feel no need to draw excessive attention to them. They show their love through Te ways – often doing kind things for others rather than gushing. Any type can be kind and I know a fair few thinkers in general who are kind, gentle, and accommodating. But their brains still process information through their specific cognitive stack, making them thinkers.

It is possible that you have a compliant Enneagram tritype, yes. A 9 or a 2 or a 6 or all three would make you a much softer and warmer ISTJ than an ISTJ with a “cold” Enneagram tritype.

Recently you said it might be difficult to determine enneagram type before mid thirties. I am curious how long we take to develop a type of that’s how it works. I could see a type 9 develop when their efforts to deal with issues are blown off. Over time they may avoid conflict? Is that possible?

It’s not that as a child, you lack an Enneagram type, but that at 35 you have enough life experience to look back on your accumulated mistakes and see what it is that you are truly afraid of or running away from. Your defense mechanisms. The younger a person is, the more arrogant they tend to be. It’s life that kicks you between the teeth and teaches you things. Like, no matter how good you are, there’s always someone better than you. Or that you can’t keep running away from your problems and expect things not to catch up to you. Or that sooner or later, you have to leave your comfort zone and get a job. Or that “perfection” does not exist. By 35, hopefully you will have gained some perspective and enough humility not to sugarcoat your flaws. That’s Richard Rohr’s reasoning – take it or leave it, it’s up to you.

There’s theories about how you develop your core type based on your parents and how you felt and what you dealt with as a child. I’m not sure whether to believe that as true or not – often, for example, the 6 profiles talk about the child growing up in an unsafe environment and an unstable home. I had a safe home, never experienced anything traumatic, and excellent parents who never fought. I never felt threatened. I just inexplicably developed 6 traits. But I could also flip it around and say that I was so dependent on my loving and generous parents that the outside world became an intimidating, dangerous place.

They say that 9′s develop in a volatile environment where they have to ignore an abusive parent in order to cope – but out of all the 9′s I know (and I know at least 5 in real life), that’s true for only one of them. One 9 I know developed in a house without much strife at all. She just decided to be in her own little world.

I suspect like all things, it’s a combination of preferred tendencies and possibly the environment. Like a little 9 child being happy and sweet and wanting to see everything with a rosy glow and then when faced with the harsh realities of life in the real world – choosing to stick with that happy, sweet place, because it’s much nicer than the cold truth. Or the little 1 child feeling better when her room is organized, like that’s something she can control in her world. Or the 2 being instinctively helpful and generous. Etc.

In short, I don’t think anybody knows where or why these things develop. There’s no actual proof Enneagram exists. It’s just a theory that we treat as the truth, because human beings want to know why people are not all the same, so they look for patterns and explanations… and this seems as valid as any other. ;)

I haven’t been able to find any information on 1w2 ENFJ. Would you be willing to explain how they might differ from the bubbly ENFJ stereotype we often hear about? Thanks!!

It’s the ESFJs (and the ESFJs mistyped as ENFPs ;) that bring a bubbliness to Fe-doms – Ni being a very straightforward, “colder” function (paired with Se) does not lend itself to Ne-ish enthusiasm. It’s more serious and driven (Obama, Neil deGrasse Tyson, etc).

That being said, an ENFJ 1w2 would develop narrow, specific idealistic beliefs about how to improve the world and set about determined to make those visions a reality. They would not shy away from conflict but be assertive in expressing their views (because the world and others need to behave themselves). Anytime you get a high Fe paired with a 1 fix, there’s often a focus on needing the outer world to get in line and agree with the FJ’s moral principles. The 2 wing lends a forgiving air and the desire to serve others, which does soften the 1 somewhat but makes them shy less away from stating their views (Fe-dom + 1) than a 1w9.

Depending on the health level and maturity of the ENFJ involved, this corrective mentality would be warm and approachable but also sure of what it wants and constantly pushing self and others toward a higher ideal (healthy) or judgmental, a perfectionist, rigid, and have completely unrealistic expectations for self and others (Ni + 1) (unhealthy).

Ok, so I have two questions but first I would like to say that I love this page and I'm really glad I found it anyways, 1) when we are teenagers we are developing our least favourite function right? So, when you type characters in movies that are teens do you use that information? And 2) (has nothing to do with the first question) I discovered my functions and that I'm in an Se-Fe loop (or Fe-Se) but I can't figure if I'm ENFJ or ESTP, do you have any tips on finding my aux? Or at least my type

Typically as a teenager you’re starting to grow into your second function, the third usually kicks in around 20 but doesn’t fully develop until later in life; your inferior function (your least favorite) takes decades to come into balance with your dominant.

I treat teens like any other character – I type them based on their motives, behavior, and blind spots. I also type kids the same way, even though technically they’re too young to type. But a good writer can be consistent enough in their writing to show a child as a complete character, complete with blind spots. (Mike in Stranger Things being a FeNi, for example, out of touch with inferior Ti.)

Which one of your functions is weaker? Which one are you using in a slapdash manner? Which one do you make the most mistakes with? Fe-doms are highly in tune with other people and their feelings at all times; they feel what others feel, they want to control the emotional environment (as judging types), and they prioritize and comprehend people’s feelings in a way no tert-Fe can even begin to emulate. Tert-Fe feels guilt sometimes for causing strife but is largely out of touch with people and their feelings, and their own feelings – which they tend to analyze rather than understand. Se-dom is much more competent in knowing the right opportunities to leap onto to make things happen or shift them in a direction that solves the immediate problem than low Se, which miscalculates, over-estimates its ability (and proves itself wrong), and makes foolish knee-jerk decisions.

A good rule of thumb is to ask yourself: when I use this function, does it make the situation BETTER / resolve the problem or cause more problems (because I handle it clumsily)?

So, lower Se = leaps into action desperate to make something happen, makes the wrong choice, causes more problems.

Lower Fe = tries to handle the emotional atmosphere, only causes greater pain / misunderstandings / founders around trying to find solid footing, leads to more hurt feelings and miscommunications.

Hy! Can you pls give more examples how the types looks like as a child? (I mean, you said they using just 1-2 function, how does this  manifest in real life?)

Already did that here. And here.

How much do you type yourself based on childhood you? How can you tell enneagram types of a child?

Overall? 10 percent. Examine it to see what still lingers in your personality and if it matches, you have a consistent pattern. But type yourself as an adult, over 18.

I recommend not Enneagram typing until you’re over 20 years old (ideally, 35). Childhood incidents may provide a basis of BEHAVIOR, but until you are old enough to consciously evaluate your motives / fears, you won’t know why you acted that way. Enneagram is all about how you react to situations (by protecting your image – heart type; by withdrawing in fear – head type; or by instant gut reactions and anger – gut type). The older you are, the more evidence you have of how you have “made mistakes” – which leads you to your E type / variants.

- ENFP Mod

[cygnetofthesea]

Absolution in You: Part IV

When Barry meets Iris under unusual circumstances, he never would have imagined just how tangled in her he would become. 

He wasn't supposed to fall for her.  It wasn't supposed to be like this.   But the fates had a twisted sense of humor, it seemed and here he was...

On AO3

Four days later he walks into Zoom's flower shop and tells him he's in.  He threatens to kill him and Darhk right where they stood if anything ever happened to Iris, but he was in.  They had succeeded in manipulating him when they left a funeral flower arrangement with Iris's name on his doorstep.  He had tore up the arrangement in a rage, watching the petals float to the ground in the mid-afternoon breeze. His blood on fire, he marches over to let them know before seeking out Iris.  

It was a Thursday afternoon, three weeks later, and he knew she would be leaving the orphanage around that time and making her way over to the park afterward.  Ever since she quit her job at the bank, Iris had taken to volunteering more full time at the orphanage while she did some freelance writing on the side. And apparently other activities that he had been unaware of.

He watches from afar as she steps out the building and walks over to the nearby park, sitting on a bench in front of the pond.  He takes a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat before crossing the street. His gaze is so focused on her that he nearly gets hit by a passing car.  He worries for a moment he’ll draw her attention and she’ll leave before he has a chance to speak with her, but mercifully she seems too deep in thought to look back.  

Ignoring the irked driver, he marches forward, his hands stuffed nervously in the pocket of his coat until he was standingbehind her.  His heart hammers in his chest and he feels as though he can barely breath.

He had been involved in numerous robberies in his life and maintained a calm in the midst of pandemonium and yet he felt as though he was gearing up to freefall from an airplane.  

"Iris."

He knows the moment she registers his voice, her body stiffening.  He walks around the bench, needing her to see his face, needing to see hers..  "Iris, please I just need to talk to you."

She stands abruptly as though preparing to leave and he reaches for her arm without thinking.  She jerks away, finally meeting his eyes.

"Don’t touch me."

He looks at her for a long moment and could see the exhaustion in her eyes.  It had been days since he last spoke to her and she had plenty of time to turn them in but she didn't.  Something in her kept her from doing so and while he wondered what it was, he was more concerned with her knowing the truth.  He needed her to know everything. And whether it meant he was giving her more ammo against him, he didn’t care. As long as she knew.  

"I'm sorry, Iris.  I'm so sorry for everything that I put you through, but I just-I just need you to know the truth.  I will never lie to you again.  Ever. "

"Yeah?  And how exactly do you expect me to believe that?"

"Because you'll hate the answers."  His eyes never waver from her face. “Anything,” he whispers.

She looks at him silently before letting out a slow breath.  "How long were you following me before you approached me?"

"A couple of days."

"How many robberies have you been involved in?"

"Six trucks, two banks."

She pauses, holding her breath.  "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"No," he says without hesitating, looking her straight in the eyes.  "We have a code."

"But you do take hostages."

He shakes his head.  "No. That wasn't supposed to happen.  It was an impulsive decision on Rory's part."

"Who's idea was it to follow me?"

"Rory."

Iris let out a mirthless chuckle.  "Of course it was. The fucking psycho."

"We don’t take hostages because it creates too many ties and makes the job bigger than it needs to be.  He saw you lived in the area and was worried somehow you'd ID us after he saw you talking to the Feds."

She nods, looking away toward the pond.  He watches her profile carefully, trying to gaugue what she was thinking.  Needing to know that she believed him.

"Iris.  I will never lie to you, I will never hurt you and if I lose you…I will regret that for the rest of my life."

Her breath hitches at his admission.  She turns back to him and the look in her eyes makes something flutter in his stomach.  There was confliction and hesitation, but the anger had abated.

"I need to know..."  Her voice was so quiet and soft that he almost misses it in the wind.

"Anything."

"Are you in love with me?"

He cautiously walks toward her.  “Yes.”

Something flickers her eyes and Barry watches her throat bob as she swallows hard.  

“Barry,” she croaks.  “What do you expect from us?  What do you think can happen?”

His heart stutters in his chest and he tries to be subtle as he takes in a deep breath, trying to ease the ache.  

“We-we can come back from this, Iris.  We can start fresh like we’ve been talking about.”

“It’s all been a lie,” she says softly, her eyes unwavering.  Searching.

He shakes his head.  “But, it hasn’t,” he says just as softly.  He looks down at the mere two feet between them and slowly inches closer.  His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to touch her. She looks down away and doesn't appear to want to close the distance between them.

“Iris,” he whispers. “Please, look at me.”

She hesistates before meeting his gaze.

“You see me, don’t you?  You must know it wasn’t a lie.  The only lie in our relationship was how we met.  That’s it. Everything else after that was all real.”

Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears.  “What about that story about your mother?  Was that even real?”

“Every word.”  

He looks at her beautiful brown eyes, wondering if there was any hope, but knowing his time was limited now  He wants nothing more than for her to trust him again, to be able to put her faith in him, but it wouldn't be a feart he could accomplish right then.  

"There's something I need to do, but I'm asking you, Iris, wait for me."

She doesn’t say anything, but he hadn't expected her to.  He nods once and takes a step back beore turning away. He gets a few feets when he hears her call out to him.

"Barry?"

He looks back at her.  She was biting her lips, clutching her coat close to her.  She scrutinizes him and there’s something akin to confusion in her eyes.  "Why do you do it?"

He shrugs.  "I owe a debt."

She looks taken aback by that and as much as he wants to remain in her company, time was running out.  

The sooner he got to work, the sooner he could come back to her.

He was strapping on his ballistic vest with Len and Rory when Zoom walks into the warehouse with Darkh.  Barry clips a couple of explosives on his belt, avoiding Zoom’s gaze as he and Darkh stops in front of them, hands on their hips.

"I can't say how proud I am of you boys. You remind me of your fathers, but wiser. Kids these days grow fast and it breaks my heart, but looking at you boys and all that you've accomplished…well, it makes this old man feel relevant."

Barry sours at the mention of his father.  Coming from the lips of the scum that destroyed his family, the words mean nothing.  He bows his head, biting back what he really wanted to say, what he really wanted to do.  

"I know there are some concerns about this job, but I'm telling you we got this in the bag.  You boys reviewed the schematics?"

They all nod.  "Good, so we have everyone in place, alibis been bought off, and we have men working on the cameras as we speak."

"Where's our backup?" Len asks.

Zoom looks at Len and gives him a reassuring smile.  "Got 'em briefed and patrolling the area."

Barry narrows his eyes, watching Zoom lay out a blueprint across the tabletop.  Even though he had spent years working for the guy, he never did quite trust him and now more than ever something feels off.

Everyone gathers around the blueprint as Zoom gives them the play-by-play when Barry feels the burner phone in his pocket buzz.  His hand moves toward his pocket in confusion, not realizing he had brought it with him.

His pulse jumps against his skin and he grabs it, discreetly checking the screen while the others pour over the schematics.

Look up, the text reads.

His eyes flash to the level above, searching, and from the shadows, Iris creeps out.  His heart jumps in his throat as Iris places an index finger on her lips.

She was hidden between boxes and he could only spot her because he knew where to look, but still, his heart bangs thunderously in his chest.  What was she doing there?

He calms his breath.  "I left some of my gear upstairs, be back."

Zoom looks at him for what felt like a long moment before nodding and turning back to the blueprint.

Barry tries to keep his gait calm and steady, making his way to the second level.  He didn’t have to walk far when Iris intercepted. He swiftly wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her against him, taking her to the far end of the level where they would be hidden behind lockers.

"What the hell are you doing here, Iris," he hisses.  He set her down in front of one of the lockers and grabs her arms gently.  "Are you out of your mind?"

She looks at him intensely. "Look, I don’t know what you have planned but I couldn't shake what you told me.  Against my better judgment, I don’t want you to go down with them, but Rory cannot get away with it.  He has to pay for what he did to Martin."

He looks at her stunned even as his heart skips a beat at her concern for him.  But he couldn't focus on that because here she was, standing in front of him while two sociopaths and their trigger-happy lackeys were downstairs.

"You need to get out of here, Iris."

"Just listen to me," she hisses.

"What exactly were you planning on doing? Come in guns blazing and take him out?  And how did you even find me?"

"I tailed you and no I don't plan on killing anyone."  She took out a recorder from her pocket and showed it to him.  "I recorded the conversation between Zoloman and Darhk while the rest of you were getting ready.  Barry, there isn't a backup team in place, they couldn’t secure one. They were fully prepared to let you guys fend for yourself even if it meant taking hits."

"That fucker."  Barry clenched his fists, stepping away from Iris.

"From what I heard, Zoloman’s not happy with you.  Barry, we need to get out of here."

"Why, what's happening?"

"I'm going to tip off Eddie and anonymously send him the recording.  They're going to find Snart and Rory too."

Barry looks at her gently before taking her face in his hands.  He stares into her soft brown eyes and if he looked hard, he could see that flicker of warmth she had held for him in the last few months.  Before everything went to hell.

"Do you hate me, Iris?"  He doesn't know why he asks the question and realizes it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be having that conversation, but he can’t help the words blurting past his lips.

Her eyes well up with tears as her jaws tighten under his hands.  "Just-fucking hell, Barry. I am so pissed at you and I don't know what the hell is going to happen after tonight, but all I know is that I can't let something happen to you.  And now is  not the time to talk about this."

He nods, he'd take what he could get.  "Ok," he whispers. "But, Iris. If I leave with you now and the Feds come for them, it's only a matter of time before they come for me.  They'll know I was connected."

"We'll cross that bridge when it comes, but right now we need to leave before they come looking for you."

Barry looks down at her, battling his loyalty to her and his loyalty to Snart.  He couldn't give less of shit what happened to the others, he hoped they'd rot in prison, but Snart was his brother.  Snart was the only family he really had in this hell-ish life. Snart was the one who had taken the fall for him that sent him to prison for five years.  He wants nothing more than to leave with her, but he needed to tie up loose ends before they could.

'Iris," he whispers.  “You need to get out of here.”

The sound of a gun cocking back jolts them and Iris lets out a gasp as she looks over Barry's shoulder.  Barry's eyes slid to the side as he carefully turns, keeping his body in front of Iris.

"So this is your sweet, new girlfriend, huh?"

Barry turns fully only to be faced with the barrel of Zoom's gun.  Zoom's grim expression showed a mix of irritation and disappointment as he looks to address Iris.  

"Here to join the fun, darling?"

Iris steps forward and Barry has to hold out a restraining arm across her torso.  "Don't," he grits out. He looks at Zoom, praying to whatever entity was out there that could make a difference.  "Don’t do this, Hunter." He knew his uncle hated being referred to his name, but he would never call him by his moniker or uncle.

Zoom exhales exasperatedly.  "Where the fuck is the respect, Barry?"

Iris levels a hard stare at Zoom.  "The likes of you don’t deserve respect."

Zoom stared at her in shock for a moment before a slow grin spreads across his face.  "Holy shit,” he says slowly. “The balls on this gal. Do you know who I am?"

"I know all about you, Hunter Zoloman.  You like to go by Zoom to cover up your criminal acts so that you can hide behind a new name and reputation as a flower shop owner.  But anyone in Central City and as far as Keystone knows who you really are. They're just too afraid to speak because you've bought their silence.  You destroyed families to keep up the façade."

Zoom narrows his eyes at her curiously and even Barry has to wonder how she knew all of this. And then he thought about the days leading up to quitting her job at the bank. Iris had told him how she had wanted to be an investigative journalist once upon a time but had dropped out to work so that she could take care of her dad after he had fallen ill.  It looked like she had returned to her roots and made good use of her newly acquired spare time.

"Who the fuck are  you ?"  He turns to Barry.  "I thought your girlfriend was a bank manager.  She definitely ain't with the Feds, I would've known."

"Don't underestimate a scorned woman, you bastard," Iris spat.  Barry had so many questions and wanted to know what else she knew, how much was she hiding from him—not that it made a difference to him—but there would be time for questions later…or so he hoped.

He never once turns away from Zoom who was still staring at Iris with a hard, questioning gaze, but he allows his eyes to scan the area, searching for a way out.

"Well, as fascinating as this turn of events has been, you darling need to go," he says pointing his gun at her.  Barry's heart leaps in his throat, hammering hard as his body jerks closer to her.

"Hunter, this doesn't have to go down like this."

"I'm afraid it does, Barry."  He looks at Iris again and gestures with his gun.  "Why don't you come out from behind your boyfriend, there?  You sure like to talk and yet you still hide behind a man."

"Fuck you," she hisses venomously.  She makes to step around Barry, who again halts her movements.

"Iris, don't."

Zoom turns the gun back on Barry.  "Iris, do," he says before addressing Barry.  "Do you really want to risk hurting her? After all your efforts in trying to keep her safe, you want to sacrifice all of that now?  Oh and sweetheart, while you're at it, I'll take that recorder too."

Barry clenches his jaws as Iris moves from behind him.  His fingers dig into her side in his continued effort to keep her still.  

“Over my dead body,” he says lowly.  

Zoom looks thoughtful, his face grim.  He lets out a sigh. “Fine.” He raises his gun higher and steadies it on Barry.

Suddenly there’s a deafening bang.  The sound reverberates within the metal lockers, echoing throughout the warehouse.

The sound pops in Barry's ears and instinctively he ducks, throwing himself over Iris and pulling her to the side.  His hands shake as he looks over her only to find her trembling slightly but without a wound in sight.

"Iris?"

She shifts and it was only then that Barry notices the handgun that she was clutching.  He whips around the set of lockers he had taken them behind and there was Hunter's body on the ground, a bright red splotch on his side.

Barry watches as Hunter groans and sits up, clutching his side.  "I'm going to fucking kill you, bitch," he seethes.

Barry leaps up, gripping Iris by the arm as he drags her to the other side of the level.  Gunshots follow in their wake, Zoom screaming in blind rage. It was only a matter of time before the others made their way up there.  As though he had summoned them with his thoughts, he hears the thundering sounds of feet racing up the steps.

He pulls Iris into a dark, secluded corner.  He quickly takes off his armored vest and straps it onto Iris, who fights off his attempts.

"Don't.  You need it."

"Iris," he says in the most stern tone he had ever used with her.  "Please, don't fucking fight me on this." And without another word, he tightens it over her.  He knows the kevlar is heavy on her small frame, but it was the best way to protect her.

He hears the shouts of Rory and Snart and his heart plummets in his chest.  Snart. He was a sinner like himself but not malicious like the others. All he wanted was a way to support himself and his mother, he never set out to hurt people the way Rory did.

"Barry?" he hears him call out.

"The bitch.  She's with him.  Got a gun." Zoom's strangled voice was barely audible as he huffs in pain.  But, if the rumors were true, Hunter Zolomon was a fucking cockroach and wouldn't be brought down with a single hit.

"The fuck?"

There’s an unease in his stomach, his mind shuttling with memories and possible outcomes in which none of them ended well.  Would he be able to save them both? There was no time to wonder because Iris was in his arms, putting her faith in him whether she wanted to admit it or not.  

"Barry!  Where the fuck are you?"

He hears movements coming in closer, he eyes taking in his surroundings. They had a different prep location before each job, not wanting to stay in the same place for too long.  It makes it easier for the Feds to find them if they have a designated basecamp. Barry searches around for anything.  

"Barry!"

"Bastards gone fucking rogue.”  Barry recognizes the graveling voice of Rory.  "I knew this shit was coming."

"Fuck up and let's find him," Snart says, his voice sounding closer than before.

Barry grabs Iris's hand and quietly weaves in between boxes and discarded lockers.  Suddenly a barrage of gunfire goes off, lighting up the darkened corners of the warehouse.

Barry throws himself over Iris before pulling her down as they reached a door at the end of the level.  Barry wrenches it open while bringing Iris’s body closer to his. The screeching metal is drowned out by the gunfire as he pushes Iris through the doorway before following behind and bolting the door.  

"Iris, look at me," he says, the sounds of gunshots echoing in the warehouse muting as he narrows his focus on her.  If only for a moment. He needs her to know because this just may the only chance he gets.

He holds her face in his hands, his long and pale fingers brushing against her beautiful deep bronze skin.  How many times had he stroked her skin, watching in wonder as his fingers drifted along her cheeks, her neck, her body?  It was always in wonder because he could never fathom just how privileged he was to be in her presence, to be given the gift of touching her in such an intimate way.  

Even as he holds her now, he misses those moments, already missing the sensation of her.  She looks at him with frightened eyes, her chest heaving with the adrenaline. But if he looked hard enough, somewhere, somehow, there was trust in her dark eyes that looked back into his.  He held onto it.

"I love you so much."

"Barry, what are—"

"I'm saying it’s not your job to save me.  I can't put that responsibility on you, it's not fair.  Only I can save myself."

"Why won’t you let me help you?"

"Because this is not your fight.  It's mine and it's all my fault that you got caught in the crossfires.”  He looks into her eyes trying to convey how sorry he was. “Run, Iris, run.  Get out of here."

She stares at him, eyes wide and filling with tears.  “I-I can’t,” her voice cracks. “I can’t just leave you behind.”

Panic spreads through his chest, creeping and crawling painfully, it’s sharp claws digging into his caverns, threatening to encompass him.  Had it been any other circumstance or setting, he would have steeled himself and thrown himself into the fray, guns blazing with an unnatural calm in his gait.  Had it been any other circumstances, he would have shoved the innocent bystander into a safe hiding spot before expertly picking off the adversary.

But it wasn’t any other circumstances and the love of his life was standing there while his family was trying to kill them.  He needed her to know that he did love her. Just once before it all went to hell and life as he knew it burned to the ground.  

“Fucking hell, Iris, please.”  He feels the burn in his nose, the thought of her getting hurt choking him.  There was a hysteria deep inside him that he fought to temper, keeping his stance rigid, his voice stoic. “If something happens to you…”

Her shaky hands come up to clutch his wrists.  “How will I know you’re ok?”

“I’ll find you,” he promises.  He doesn’t know if it’s a promise he can keep—he sure as hell would try—but he tells her so anyway.  Her eyes glitter in response with a look of uncertainty and he wonders that after everything that had been revealed, she had decided not to trust his words.  “I will always find you.”

He inhales sharply and surges forward, capturing her lips in a hard kiss.  If this was the last moment he ever felt her lips, he would take it. He swallows her gasp and pulls on her lips desperately, his brows furrowing as he tries to hold onto this moment, but knowing it can’t last any longer.  He’s surprised and relieved when she responds with fervor, her hands coming up to clutch his collar.

He pulls back with a muffled grunt, fighting to keep her with him while trying to get her to safety.  “Go,  Iris.  Please. ”  

The sound of stomping footsteps come closer and they can almost feel the ground tremor beneath them.  They look over at the door, the bolt appearing strong. But Barry knows that it’s only a matter of time before they made their way past it.  

He looks back at Iris.  “Head downstairs, once you get to the second level, get on that floor and—”

“I know how to get out of here.”  He looks at her in confusion for a moment and somehow she manages a small smile.  “I snuck in, didn’t I?”

“Right.” Even in the midst of chaos, he can’t help the pride that swells up inside him.  

Her eyes flit across his and her hands drag across his wrist as though savoring a last touch.  Then, with one last fiery look, she pulls away and heads down the stairs. “Iris,” he calls before she can get far.  She turns back. “Call the cops.” Barry doesn’t wait to watch her disappear down the stairs before he makes his way up the next flight of stairs.  

Armed with nothing more than the explosives and a switchblade, Barry has to find a way to draw them out to him and away from Iris.  He runs up to the next level and shoulders his way through the door. The layout is similar to the floor below and he scouts out the area, looking for anything that he could use.  The rest of his weapons were a floor below and with Zoom, Darhk, Rory, and Snart scouring for him, there was no point in wasting time retrieving them. He’d have to work with whatever is at his disposal.  

He spots a gas tank connected to a pipe that travels along the perimeter of the room when he hears Zoom bark orders at the others.  “You two search the lower levels, we’re going up.”

  Iris

He presses his back against the wall, his ear listening close to gauge where they were before he bangs on the metal door beside him.  The movements stop abruptly just outside the door and Barry takes a deep breath, waiting with his hand hovering over his switchblade.

The door bursts open and Barry barely flinches as it swings over him.  The barrel of a gun pokes out and through the crack in the door, he can see Zoom slide out from behind who he imagines to be Darhk, holding onto the gun.  

With the agility of a feline, Barry grabs Darhk’s arm from behind the door, swinging him around until his gun pointed toward Zoom.  Barry releases the trigger once just as he throws an elbow back into Darhk’s throat, choking him. Zoom falls to the ground and ducks behind a metal shelf, letting out a scream of rage.  

Barry pays no mind to him as he throws Darhk against the wall.  He had bought himself time to deal with Zoom with the wound.

He swiftly pulls out his switchblade and drives it into Darhk’s throat in one fluid motion.  Dark, warm blood spurts out of the wound and lands on Barry, but he doesn’t waste another moment before he lets Darhk’s body drop to the ground.  

Barry lets out a slow breath before bending to pick up Darhk’s fallen gun.  Without looking down at it, he cocks it back and walks toward the trail of blood that leads to his target.  He marches over until he’s hovering over Zoom’s slumped body.

Zoom turns to look up at him with a baleful smirk.  He weakly lifts up his hand that’s holding a gun. “You—”

Barry kicks his gun away before crouching over him and hissing,  “Who’s clipping your nuts now?” He points his gun to Zoom’s crotch and releases the trigger.    

He doesn’t spare another moment before bolting out the door and trampling down the stairs.  Just as he reaches the second floor, piercing shot fires through the air. Barry stumbles back against the stairwell, his ear ringing.  There’s a long moment where the world becomes hazy and his vision blurs as the ringing continues. He lifts his hand in a daze to his head and feels something warm and sticky.  

He barely has a moment to register the blood on his fingers before a large body barrels into him, slamming him against the wall.

Barry wheezes as the wind gets knocked out of him. Disorientated from the gunshot, his limbs flail, sliding down the wall even as the adrenaline courses through him.  His head pounds and feels heavy as he weakly lifts it to look up at his assailant, already knowing who it was.

Rory stands before him, his gun seemingly clattering to the ground when he rushed Barry.  He looks down at him with such disdain, his lips curling into a sneer.

“I knew you were up to no good,” he growls.  “I told Snart you couldn’t be trusted. But did he believe me?  No, not his saint brother. The prince of thieves couldn't possibly betray his family.”

“You’re not my family,” Barry grits while struggling to stand as Rory watches.  The ringing dissipates but only a little and Barry has to squeeze his eyes shut to press against the thrumming pain that bloomed.      

Rory scoffs.  “You got that right.”

Barry opens his eyes again and takes in Rory’s stance.  It was relaxed, but Barry knew his cues and his body language.  He was gearing for a fight and Barry would have to as well.

"Rory, look," he struggles to speak, still trying to catch his breath and calm his rapid pulse.   “It doesn’t have to end this way. We can all leave. Zoom and Darhk are gone, I took them out��”

“Oh you think it’s going to be that easy? That we’re all going to skip merrily out of here like some big happy family?”  He leans in closer and drops his voice. “You betrayed us, Allen. I’m not letting that slide.”

Hot spikes of rage bubbles in his blood.  “I didn’t do shit.  I took out the real enemies, I fell in love, but I did not betray you guys.”

“The hell you didn’t.  You chose that bitch over us and you took out our stability, our source of income.  And I don’t take that lightly.”

“He was going to kill her!”

“So you fucking let him!”  Rory steps closer and grips Barry by his arms. Barry was always on the thinner side and despite the chords of hard muscle that lined his arms, underneath Rory’s meaty and hard grip, he felt small.  He remembers the feeling all too well as a child, but that never stopped him."

He could feel Rory’s grip tightening, he felt the move coming and before he could think, Barry bashed his head against Rory, aiming right for his nose.  Within moments, Rory’s grip falls as he stumbles back with a loud cry.

Taking advantage of the momentum, Barry lands a right hook into Rory’s jaws before quickly jabbing him in the face.  In the throes of adrenaline, he barely feels the impact on his knuckles and gears up to throw another punch when Rory tugs on his shirt out of nowhere and swings him toward the stairs.  

Momentarily thrown off his feet, Barry scrambles to clutch the rails against the wall, disorientated when Rory tries to rush him again.  Ducking out of the way, Barry lands on the ground, his eyes immediately falling upon the gun just a few feet away.

He hears Rory stumbling toward him and quickly lunges toward it, his body dragging across the ground.  His hand struggles to reach it. Just as he hears steps coming closer, his fingers grip the hot Glock and he spins around and pulls the trigger. Barry watches as a bright red spot blooms on Rory’s chest who stills in his movement, his eyes wide. And then slowly as though someone poked him with a single finger, he tips backward and falls down the stairs.  

Barry lets his body sag back down on the ground, the gun falling from his hand with a clatter.  His chest heaves as he tries to get oxygen into his lungs, his mind suddenly numb as his head lolls to the side.  He had just killed his...whatever he was...and Leonard was somewhere out there. Leonard. He had just killed his cousin...

It was a shrill scream that breaks him out of his stupor, his body jerking to life at the sound.      

With energy he didn’t think he had left in him, he scrambles to stand.  His heart thumps in his chest at the decidedly female scream and he leans heavily against the rail on the wall as he rushes up the stairs to the next level.  He shoulders his way out the door and freezes at the sight.

Leonard stands just a few feet away from a startled Iris whose eyes flit over to his the moment he barrels through the door.  But he notes with relief that his gun wasn’t drawn at least.

Leonard, for his part, turns to him with a grim look.  “So I guess you won, huh?”

Barry keeps his eyes trained on the gun in his hand as he slowly tries to make his way closer to Iris.  Leonard tightens his grip on the gun in warning and Barry stops.

“I bet he did that to you, did he?” Leonard says, gesturing at Barry’s sagging body.  The words were unspoken but he knew just who he meant. He feels drained and as though he could drop down any moment, but the sight of Iris, the fear of something happening to her keeps him standing. “Not surprised to see it go down like this, really.  He dead?”

Barry swallows thickly, unable to find his voice let alone the words.  Leonards nods and looks down at his gun.

“I always believed in the saying that the ‘blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,’” Snart drawls as he flips his gun in his hands.  “Mick was my cousin, but you were always a brother to me. Scrawny little kid devastated over losing his father. I didn’t get it myself considering my own was a fucking bastard that beat the shit out of me.  Quite literally sometimes. But you...you were this broken little kid with no meat to his bones and I thought ‘This kid didn’t ask to be born into this shit world only to be chewed up and spat back out.’ That’s what it did to me, but I found a way and I had to show you too. You made me proud, Barry.  And now...”

Barry’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, aching with the fear.  But there was grief. “Leonard, I swear I didn’t mean for this, for any of it.”

“Sure, I believe that.  But here we are. What’s left of us?”

“Len, I know I screwed up so much and...you don’t deserve this, but neither does she.”

From his peripheral vision, he sees Iris turn her head and he allows himself to look at her.  “Barry,” she says softly with caution in her eyes. “The cops are going to be here soon.”

Barry looks back at Leonard, gauging whether the words had an effect on him.  But looking at his still calm demeanor, Barry wonders if he even heard them.

“The cops are coming, Len.  You either drop the weapon and come with me, or you stay and go to prison.”

Snart looks down at his gun with a rueful smile.  His hands caress the surface of it softly as he shakes his head.  “That’s where you’re wrong, Barry. The only two options for me are dead or alive, but I’m not going back to prison.  I’m done with that.”

He keeps his gaze down at his gun with a thoughtful look before shaking his head and letting out a small sigh.  “You little fucker,” he whispers. He looks back at Barry and clenches his jaw.

“Get out of here.”

Barry freezes for a moment, trying to register what he had just heard.  “W-what?”

“I didn’t stutter,” he sneers.  

Barry’s eyes flicker to Iris who looks just as thrown.  “Her too,” Snart says.

In the midst of confusion, Barry had enough sense to take that moment and get closer to Iris.  He slowly inches toward her just as Iris does the same until they’re both standing in front of Snart.  

The moment she’s close enough he scrambles for her waist, pulling her closer as his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.  She had stayed. He didn’t have time to think about the implications of her actions, but he feels it in his chest as he holds her face gently but urgently, whispering if she was ok.

She nods, her own hand trembling as it reaches for his wound at the side of his head.  

“Flesh wound, I’ll be ok,” he reassures.

“You won’t be if you don’t get out of here.”  

Barry looks over to Snart, still clutching Iris close to him.  “I-I don’t understand.”

He sneers at them with a look of disdain and disappointment.  “I’ll never forgive. And I’ll never forget. But I’m not going to kill you.”

“Then come with—”

Suddenly Snart stops and points a finger up, tilting his head as though listening for something.  “You hear that?”

Barry exhales as his ear perks, trying to catch a sound.  The moment he hears it, dread fills his body. Sirens. By the way Iris stiffens in his arms, he knows she hears it too.

“Clocks ticking and you’re almost out of time.  By my estimation, they’re about twelve minutes away.  So you either accept my generosity or you let the coppers have you.  What’s it going to be?”

“What about you?”

“Like I said, prison isn’t an option for me.”  He pauses and looks toward the doorway as the siren gets louder.  “What’s it going to be, Barry?”

“Len,” he breathes, his heart aching.  “I-I... please, come with us.”

Snart looks back at him with thin lips and Barry tries to decipher the look in his eyes.  Leonard was always hard to read, always seemed calm and collected even in the midst of a tense situation.  He took it all in stride. Perhaps it was a result of his upbringing and living with the torment of his father’s hands that desensitized him and warped his perception.  Nothing was worse than the violence in his home and perhaps everything else felt feasible to him.

But as Barry watches his brother’s eyes, there’s something akin to resolve in them.  He was sure of his fate and there was nothing Barry could do to stop him. The betrayal, the lies...they were all eclipsed by the brotherhood that always remained strong between Barry and Snart.  And it would continue for the rest of their days.

Barry releases Iris, the pain in his chest strong he felt it could choke him.  When he gets closer, he slowly reaches out to touch Snart’s shoulder, feeling the kevlar for his own reassurance.  He hands the weapons he collected over to Snart before looking up at him, meeting his cool blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  “I’m so sorry.”

Snart looks at him for a moment.  “Ride or die,” he says. “Get outta here.   Now .”

Barry nods jerkily, hearing the sirens louder than ever, and backs away.  He whirls around to grab Iris’ hands and runs toward the side door. He takes one last look at Snart who remains watching them even as he faces the front entrance.  He feels Iris tugging on his hand—his freedom, his future—and he finally looks away.

As Barry and Iris make their escape, he stops at one of the floors and searches the wall for the gas pipe.  It only takes a few hits, but he busts it open until the air hisses out. He places one of the explosives next to it, setting the timer.

“What are you doing?”  Iris asks with a look of horror.

“We have to blow this place up.”  Maybe it would buy Len some time. Maybe the explosion would distract the cops away from him.  Either way, he had to try.

“What?   Barry, it could kill everyone!”

It was a risk he had to take.  He doesn’t waste another moment before dragging her away until they’re on the top floor.  He places another one there, setting the timer.

The sounds of the sirens are deafening as Barry and Iris make it up to the roof, but he keeps them low until they’re a safe distance away.

They hold each other tightly once they are and watch as the explosions create fumes, cracking and crumbling the side of the warehouse.  They don’t know whether Snart made it out alive but there was only one thing they could do. Live.

When they make it back to her place, she settles him on the couch before rushing out with the list he had given her.  He’d be ok, but he needed medical attention sooner rather than later and seeing as how going to the hospital was out of the question, supplies from the nearest drug store would have to do.

He calls out to her before she leaves the apartment, his voice raspy with emotion and exhaustion.  “Iris.”

She turns back to look at him over her shoulder, her hand stilling on the doorknob.  

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  

She shakes her head. “I’m ok,” she says softly.  

It’s the reassurance he needed but the fear didn’t leave him as he watches her walk out the door.  He counts down the minutes until she returns safely back to him. His paranoid mind thinks of all kinds of scenarios in which she would be taken from him.  

Taken by who?  Zoom was dead and Iris had no involvement with the criminals as far as the cops knew.  No one should be coming for her, but still, he has to fight to keep calm. He finally let himself breath when she returns, arms heavy with the weight of grocery bags.  

She had brought food too and hands him a chocolate pudding cup as she gets to work.  

“Have you ever patched up a bullet wound before?”

She scoffs, her face drawn as she scrubs her hands over a bucket before drying them on a fresh towel. She slips on vinyl gloves and turns to him.  

“No,” she says dryly.  “But something tells me you have so you’re going to have to walk me through it.  Aside from Grey’s Anatomy, I know jack squat about it.”

He watches her jerky movements and he can tell she’s barely keeping it together.  He wants to ask her again if she’s ok, but the look in her eyes stop him and begins to instruct her.  He closes his hands, letting her gentle hands tend to him as he softly instructs her how to stitch up the open wound on the side of his head.  He grits his teeth in pain but pushes along and within a couple of hours, she’s cleaned him up and patched up his wounds.

She ushers him into the shower and surprises him when she remains by his side, demanding him to strip.  “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not going to let you slip and fall in my shower after everything.  So just get to it.” And without another word, he obeys. At some point, as she’s cleaning his face with a soapy towel, he watches the expression on her face relax.  Her hands tender and slow around the saran wrap she on his head, her eyes look lost in thought. He wants to desperately ask her what's on her mind, wants to know if she really is ok, but the fear of breaking this spell they were in stops him.  This spell that somehow allowed them to be calm despite the storm that was warring inside of them both.

“I’m a criminal now, aren’t I?” she whispers at one point.  He looks at her warily. By the definitions of the law, she was by aiding and abetting.  But was she like him and every other criminal out there? Never.

“You’re going to be ok.”  That much he would promise her as he lets her tend to him.

And he reveled in her touch while he could, in the soft gaze upon him.  It was more than he deserved and yet, here she was, washing away the blood on his hands like a forgiving saint.  And in this moment, while she was with him, he would savor this, stay there with her and push aside the dreadful thoughts at the back of his mind.  Push aside for the moment what he knew he had to do.

She brings her face closer to him, her eyes fluttering as she presses her lips to his cheekbone.  “I’m glad you’re ok,” she whispers.

He lets out a shaky breath, nuzzling against her cheek.  He furrows his brows as the pain in his chest tightens and his arms wrap around her.  “Why did you come back for me?” he whispers back.

He feels her shrug.  “I just couldn’t leave you.  I couldn’t have that on my conscious.”

It wasn’t exactly a love declaration, but he’d take it and while he’d like to press her for more, he remains silent, letting her be the one to reach and staying ready to take her hand when she does.  As much as he wanted to hear the words, this was enough to keep him steady and he’d carry it with him for the rest of his life. It would have to be enough to sustain him when she becomes absent in her life and he in hers.

Hours later, he watches Iris sleep in her bed, her wet hair dampening the pillow underneath her.  He kisses her lips and closes his eyes to savor the softness of them, trying to preserve the taste and imprint it into his mind.  He’d need something for the road.

Pulling away reluctantly, he doesn’t open his eyes until he sets the letter down on her bedside table where he’d left something important for her.  They had done their best to cover up their tracks and DNA, but whether Snart was alive or not, the cops knew his face and it was only a matter of time before they came looking for Barry.  And when they did, he wanted to be as far from Iris as possible where none of this would touch her.

He had already tainted her life enough and asked for more than he deserved, he would do this one selfless thing and leave her at peace. He’d have to leave her. He’d have to give her a fighting chance to live as normal of a life as she possibly could.

But no matter where he went and how far he traveled he knew two things with absolute certainty.  

One, he loved her more than anything, more than life itself.  

And two, he’d see her again.  One day, someday, he knew they would meet again.  

This side or the other.

[takadasaiko]

Breathe Again Beneath the Flames: Chapter Thirty-Two

FFN II AO3

Summary: Tom meets with the board at Halcyon.

Chapter Thirty-Two

He had spent so long fading in and out of different roles over the years that this should have been a breeze, but as Tom stood staring at his reflection in the full length mirror in a room in a house that he still couldn't drag from the depths of his memory, he felt more like he was simply playing a part than he ever had on an undercover operation. He looked like himself, more or less. Maybe a little cleaner cut and dressed a little nicer than his more comfortable jeans and t-shirt. This must have been what Christopher Hargrave was supposed to look like, if he hadn't been taken. Tom winced a little at the idea. It was the thought of walking through those boardroom doors and finally calling himself by the name that he'd been born under that left him feeling off balance that late morning. He couldn't remember anything that he should and this wasn't something that he could roll with. It wasn't a cover that he could play with the details to manipulate them to fit what he needed. This was his life. A life that he couldn't remember, but it was the life that supposedly gave him the claim on the company they needed to make this work. And if he was going to protect his family, he had to make this work.

"When this is over, we're getting dressed up more often," Liz said, startling Tom out of his thoughts and drawing his attention to where she was leaning gingerly against the doorframe leading into the room they had claimed in Howard and Scottie's house.

He shrugged his coat over his shoulders and into place, trying to offer his wife a small smile as he struggled to push down the conflicting thoughts that warred inside of his mind. "It always makes me feel like I'm going undercover even if I'm not."

Her smile lit the room and she crossed the space between them, reaching to adjust his collar. "That might be fun. A fancy dinner, dancing, a little mystery. Very James Bond style." She looked up at him and mischief danced in her eyes.

"Yeah?" he asked, finally cracking a smile of his own that felt real. "I think I could get behind that."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, still smiling. "Like when we were first dating with those clandestine meetings at Wing Yee's…." She tipped up on her toes at the same time she pulled him down into the kiss and Tom felt his increasingly tattered nerves ease a little. If she knew that he was dreading this meeting or she had just chosen the perfect moment to tease and flirt, he wasn't sure. Whichever one it was it was still working. All he wanted in that second was to sink into her arms and remember exactly who he was. That was the man that he'd chosen to be. She helped ground him.

They broke after a long moment and he followed after her, not quite ready for it to end. Her laugh was soft and she let her hands drop down to his. The smile sank downward just a little and he tilted his head in question. "Your hands are shaking," she murmured.

"They do that these days," he huffed. He pulled one free and frowned as he saw the way it trembled a little more than it had been. That wasn't good. It certainly wouldn't instill a lot of confidence in the board that he was a solid option to fill in for an injured Howard.

"Is it the new meds?"

"Maybe. This is my second day on them."

Liz's gaze fell to his wrist. "Your watch hasn't been sounding off like it did that night at home."

"It got damaged in Costa Rica."

His wife blinked at him. "Why haven't you had Dumont fix it? If the medication isn't-"

"Babe, it's fine. Gramble knows she's not getting the readouts. I have that appointment with her this afternoon, remember? She'll run some blood work and see if anything needs to be adjusted. I just need to get through this meet first. If I'm lucky, maybe you'll even still be there."

Liz didn't look convinced. He offered her a lopsided smile and pulled the hand she was still holding up so that he could kiss her knuckles. "Are you sure you don't want me there today? Gramble can wait. I'm feeling better."

"Want you there? Absolutely. I'd much rather have you there, but Howard hasn't even told them I'm coming to the meeting yet. He and Scottie think that the best way to contain it is-"

"To blindside them?"

Tom chuckled. "Basically."

"I'm sure that's going to go over great after the stunt you and he pulled a couple of years ago to get Whitehall out."

The smile stretched into more of a grin. "Yeah, we're trying to find a balance between keeping it quiet and not spooking them."

"You're going to do great, you know that right?"

He snorted. "Long as I can convince them of that."

"I'm serious." He looked at her and found his wife's clear blue eyes fixed on him. "I know you're an amazing operative, but this… running Halcyon, I think you'd be really good at it."

"Wouldn't hurt having me out of the field, huh?"

She grimaced a little. "That's not what I'm saying."

Tom's smile didn't fade as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her forehead. "I know."

"I'm saying that you told me that the Major trained you to take over St Regis. This may not be exactly the same, but you have the background for it. You'd be really good."

He waited a moment, letting her words sink in and he felt the knot in his chest loosen just a little. "What would I do without you?" he murmured.

"You're never going to have to find out," Liz answered firmly. "Now go. The car'll be downstairs any minute and you know Agnes isn't going to let you walk out that door easily."

"We may not get date night alone after this," he laughed.

"She'll be okay. Once things settle back out, she'll be okay."

Tom nodded and stole one more kiss. "I'll call you when it's done," he promised before he moved to walk out of the bedroom and down the stairs. At least he could tell his little girl in all honesty that he'd see her in just a few hours. Soon this would be over, and once the Cabal was finally gone and Garvey with them, his family would be safe.

They had put together more of a paper trail for this meeting than Tom had likely had in his lifetime. Howard flipped through the files of research from Christopher's disappearance as a small boy, adoption papers for Jacob Phelps, and a few medical and educational records that they had been able to uncover. There hadn't been many with most traces of Jacob Phelps wiped clean when he had joined St Regis. While his juvie records were probably better left undisturbed anyway - Howard knew the types of children that Bill McCready had gone after in his days as the Major and he wasn't under any disillusions that his son hadn't fit the profile - they hadn't found any trace of those in the search. There were photos that Pendergast had delivered to him over his years of searching. At the time the first photos had been taken - some five years or more now - Tom had been one of several young men that Howard's PI had suspected might be Christopher. He'd just returned from Germany at the time and already had one death certificate under the name Tom Keen, even if it had since been buried along with the annulment papers and the charges filed against him when Liz had found out that he wasn't who she had thought he was. It hadn't been until he was shot and Pendergast had used his connections at the hospital to get a direct DNA sample that he'd made the match.

"It all looks like more than one person can live through when you see it all laid out like that," Scottie murmured from the door.

"Look at our lives," Howard countered and he saw her frown.

"I've wondered if it would have been better or worse for him if he hadn't been taken."

Howard pulled in a deep breath, closing the file and turning his full attention on her from his place at the long, empty conference table. "I'd like to say we would have protected him, but…"

"But there's not guarantee of that."

"No." He felt Scottie move behind him and her hands were on his shoulders. He leaned back in the chair. "Even if we had, he wouldn't be where he is today or who he is today That life took him to Liz and Agnes, and we found him."

"You found him," she said softly.

"We found him. I think he turned out pretty good for all this. Is he on his way?"

"Should be here any time." Scottie circled around and took a seat next to him, holding out one last file. "Harold Cooper sent this over this morning. I thought it might put the board's mind at ease to have one more DNA test that didn't come from us."

"I like that man."

"He has his uses."

Howard offered her a wink. "You just don't like him because he let me out of your nut farm."

"You were dangerous."

"So were you."

His wife hummed an amused sound. "I think the world's a little safer when we're on the same side."

He reached over to where her hand rested on the polished wood and her long fingers curled around his. It felt so natural, so right. It had been for so many years, and it was easier to let everything that had happened be pushed back with only small jabs for now. Sooner rather than later this would be over, though, and they would have to face what they had done to each other and truly begin to heal. He wasn't sure what that looked like, but he knew that he wanted it.

"What are you thinking?" Scottie asked quietly.

"That when this is all over you and I should take some time. Maybe Europe? You love Paris this time of year."

"I do, but Tom-"

"Will be fine. I'm talking about us. You and me trying to get to know each other again."

Her expression melted into a tentative smile. "I like that."

A knock at the door drew their attention and Phyllis stood in the opening. "Tom Keen is here to see you and the board members are starting to come in."

"Send Tom in," Howard instructed. "Thank you."

Their son rounded in almost immediately and Howard spun his chair rather than risk putting weight on his stiff leg. Tom offered a lopsided smile and there was a calmness about him that Howard hadn't expected. It was put on, he realised after a moment, but that was just as well. The board was a whole different battle that Tom wasn't used to, but weakness didn't have any place on display there than it did in the field.

Scottie stood. "They're on their way in. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Tom answered, his gaze flickering down to the documents. "That the DNA test Cooper was sending over?"

"It is." Howard quirked an eyebrow. "They're a skeptical bunch, but four tests performed by four different labs should help ease their minds."

"Yeah, because no one's ever faked a DNA test before," Tom grumbled and took a seat.

"Your wife's experience with DNA tests may not be the best thing to talk about today, son."

That finally pulled a small, real smile from the younger man and Howard closed the file as board members started to file in. He didn't move, but instead waved and greeted them along with Scottie, their cheerful attitudes doing nothing to ease the nerves of a group of people that consistently found themselves guessing at the Hargraves' motivation.

Once they were seated, Howard stood, pulling all eyes towards him. "I'd like to thank you all for clearing your schedules for this. I know that a couple of you had to cut family vacations short, but Scottie and I didn't think it would be right to leave any of the board from this announcement."

"Nearly a year ago you gave Howard and I an ultimatum," Scottie said from her place, her voice commanding the respect of everyone in the room. "We agreed to it, and now we're going to live by it."

"Haven't you been?" Alice Washington, a board member that had been with Halcyon for decades now, asked from her place.

"Howard has decided to officially take time off from his duties because of his injuries -"

"Something he still hasn't fully accounted for," Theo Maddens grumbled.

"-and I'll be stepping down with him for the time being."

A quiet murmur stirred through their board and Howard wasn't surprised that Theo was the one to pipe up first. "And who do you expect to run the company in your absence?"

"I will," Tom answered and for the first time since they had entered all eyes turned towards him.

"And who are you?" Theo grumbled.

Tom drew in a deep breath and Howard could see his son steadying his own nerves. "My name is Tom Keen, but I was born under the name Christopher Hargrave."

The words hung in the air for for just a moment before questions erupted all at once and Howard retook a seat. It was going to be a long morning.

He had always known that bureaucrats could drag a meeting out, but Tom hadn't expected to be stuck in that boardroom until dinner. They had spent all day in that room, various men and women drilling him for information that he didn't have. Some of the gaps were easily filled in by the information Howard and Scottie had put together, but other things - details about his kidnapping, what happened to him after - were pieces of information that he didn't have. Scottie and Howard had been united on that front, though. They had both been convinced that Tom should be honest about the gaps in his memories, but as he pulled himself out of the back of the car that had delivered him to the home that he'd supposedly spent the first three years of his life in, he was regretting not tossing something out there to distract the hounds. They had ended the meeting without resolution and a lot of distrust on all sides. The plan was that they would go home and sleep on the new information and reconvene the next day. The thought of going back into that room and sitting through a replica of the day he'd had made Tom cringe. Right then he needed to get inside, see his family, swallow some food and pills, and get some sleep. Somewhere in there a shower wouldn't hurt either.

"Mr Keen?"

Tom was halfway up the steps to the front door when he heard his name and turned, squinting against the setting sun to see one of the board members that had picked every inch of the information provided to pieces over the day. Madden. Theodore Madden. Howard had said he was a lawyer. Great. "I thought we decided to put things on hold until tomorrow."

The tall, thin man tilted his chin just a little and his lips twitched downward. Tom felt like he was on display in front of him where he stood, and consciously squared his shoulders a little. He hoped that he didn't look as rundown as he felt.

"I knew Christopher Hargrave," Madden said slowly, his words deliberate and his gaze piercing. "Scottie and Howard would bring him into the office. We all felt their loss when he was taken away."

Tom blinked slowly, his expression carefully guarded as he waited for Madden to get to the point.

"I took some time to look over the files Scottie had on you in your brief time with Halcyon-"

"Yeah, where'd you fit that in?"

Madden snorted. "Scottie has a habit of leaving her files on the thin side, but I've known her long enough to read between the lines. You're a gifted operative, but a liability. You worked a brief job with our company that was classified under Grey Matters and then she brought you on full time a year later to continue working with the team that specializes in our black ops division. You then, somewhere along the way, decided to switch your loyalties to Howard, or did he send you in to begin with?"

"I just wanted answers," Tom said honestly.

"And you got them the only way you knew how?" Madden asked skeptically. "By lying and deceiving those around you. That doesn't instill confidence."

"Listen, if you think I'm…. I don't know, playing them? Or something? I'm not. Howard sought me out."

"So you didn't know when he approached you?"

Tom set his jaw a little, the phone call that had saved Scottie's life flashing across his memory. Reddington had told him, supposedly, to keep him from making a mistake that would have haunted him. Strange, considering how little care he had for Tom on his own and how he'd believed Liz to be dead at the time. "I'd heard rumours from an unreliable source," he said after a moment, "but I didn't follow up on them."

"Why?"

"Because I had a family of my own."

Madden hummed, but looked entirely unconvinced. "The board doesn't need to know our field operatives' backgrounds, Mr Keen. In fact, it's often better if we don't. That doesn't mean that we're entirely unaware of the types of people that are hired, especially in the Grey Matters division. Some are military intelligence, sure, but others - many - come from much less reputable sources all over the world."

"Are you planning on getting to a point some time tonight?"

"Our operatives don't have the clearance to do enough damage for that to be too much of a worry. Not on a large scale, but if one of these organisations put a mole in, convinced two parents - still grieving thirty years after they lost their child - that this man they've run across is theirChristopher, that would open up a lot of doors for them. Especially if that man were to take temporary ownership op Halcyon."

"The multiple DNA tests weren't enough, huh?"

Madden shook his head. "There's something about you, Keen. Maybe you faked them. Maybe you are him and are still working for someone else."

"You think I'm trying to sink my parents' company?"

"I think by your own admittance you don't have any memory of them being your parents, so why should I hang my hopes on the idea that you'd be loyal to them?"

Tom shook his head, rolling his eyes a little as a chuckle road out on a breath. He made a split second decision. "Howard saved my life. He used a drug that was developed by Whitehall's technologies to bring me back after the doctors had given up. He sat with me through my recovery and he made sure that I survived it so that I could get back to my wife and daughter. Now he's hurt, he's stretched, and he needs a break. After everything he's been through for me, the least I can do is offer him one."

"Scottie doesn't have to step down with him."

Dark blue eyes darted away and Tom reached up, running his increasingly shaky hand along the back of his neck. "You're right, Madden. I didn't have a great childhood. I was taken and thrown into one crappy situation after another. I thought, for the better part of my life, that my parents were responsible for those circumstances. That they hated me so much that they tossed me out. They found me, years later, and they didn't hate me, but they hated each other. They're trying now. Why would I want to get in the way of that?"

Madden stared at him for a long moment and Tom felt the tension building in his head, the headache that he'd only barely kept at bay during the day growing and pushing his limits. He was exhausted, stressed, and hungry. His medication was off and he was behind on what he had. He had hoped to have time to meet with Gramble that day to calibrate it, but he hadn't had the chance. The last thing he wanted to parade in front of this man was any sort of weakness. The truth could be given in small, curated bites, but he had no interest in sharing with him anything about his health.

There were some things that not even he could hide though.

"Get some rest, Mr Keen. You look like you could use it, and we're all in early tomorrow morning." With that, Madden turned and started down the path.

Tom stood there for a long moment, even after he'd gone, before he finally moved for the door. His hand was trembling as he reached for it, the key missing a couple of times before he finally fit it into the lock and turned it, letting himself in. By this point he could feel all the signs of what he thought he was over and he just wanted to find a place to lie down.

"Tom?" Liz's voice drifted in from another room. "Hey, you didn't show at Gramble's appointment earlier and I thought…. Babe, you okay?"

He blinked hard, focusing on her and suddenly she was right in front of him. "Just a long day."

"I'm calling her."

"I'll go in tomorrow." He turned, regretting the motion instantly as the floor seemed to shift beneath him. Her hand was in his arm instantly.

"Tom."

There was no arguing with that tone, and from the look on her face he knew he'd given her reason to worry. "Okay. She's not going to be at the office anymore."

"I have a feeling your parents pay her enough to come here."

He had been doing better. As long as he stayed on top of his medication and paid attention to the warning signs his body gave him, he hadn't had an episode like Liz had seen their first night back together since then. He got run down a little bit easier and was a little stiffer first thing in the morning than he ever had been before, but all in all he had been doing fairly well.

Until now. Liz frowned from her place at the bedroom door where Dr Gramble was drawing blood and giving instructions. Tom was stretched out and he looked like he was coming down with something. Maybe he was.

"Nothing we haven't seen before," Gramble told him as she tested the syringe in her hand. When she was satisfied it was ready she instructed him to make a ball with his fist and Liz saw her husband watch the needle as it slid in. "With your…. heightened activity level the dosage needs to be adjusted. This is what happens when you skip scheduled appointments and don't fill me in."

Tom shot her what might have been an innocent grin. "I hadn't exactly planned on making the board meeting an all day affair."

Gramble snorted. "You should rest tomorrow."

Tom leaned back against his pillows. "No time. You think I'll be good to go in the morning?"

"Get a good night's sleep, add a half pill to your dose in the morning with breakfast, and you probably won't look like death warmed over by the time the day's done. Probably."

"You're the best, doc."

Gramble made a small, discontented sound as she put her tools away and turned towards Liz. She motioned very subtly and the dark haired woman blinked in surprise. Funny. Gramble never had any interest in discussing Tom's health with her. She risked one glance back to see he was already slipping towards sleep before following the doctor out into the hall.

The other woman didn't say anything for a moment, but simply stood and looked Liz over. Her lips twitched downward. "He asked for you when he first came around," she said abruptly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Tom. He went into such a panic that I had to sedate him to make sure he wasn't going to hurt himself again." She closed her eyes and sat back in her chair. "He had two surgeries. One as soon as he came in to try to finish what the ER team had stopped because they called his time of death and a second a week and a half later. We kept him in a medically induced coma to give him what chance we could to let him heal, and even when he came out of it everything he did, every inch he fought, was to get to you."

Liz found herself staring at the blonde woman. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because your husband is the most stubborn patient I've ever had, Agent Keen, and I've treated his father. He fights like hell and, in part, it's why he's still alive. It's also what could get him killed."

"Tom's good at what he does," Liz said very carefully. "He knows how far to push the risks."

"He doesn't know the risks. None of us do. Whitehall's formula was cracked, yes, but he's not overseeing the process. It's different, slower, and while Dumont is fixing and reconfiguring Tom's watch, we're back to the guessing game. You didn't see him during that time."

"He's better now," Liz argued. "Further along in the healing process."

"Better, yes, but not well. The concussion he received in the car crash didn't help." Gramble pursed her lips together thoughtfully. "I don't know what you're all planning. I don't need to know every detail, but I've never been on board with putting him in the field even when his medication was balanced. I wouldn't clear him for it."

Liz watched the older woman for a long moment. "Why aren't you having this discussion with him?"

"Like I said, he's stubborn. It'd be a waste of breath, but from what I've seen, he'd do anything for you."

The memory of Tom's pained expression when she had asked him to sit out of Garvey's arrest flashed across Liz's mind. He had done it because she had asked him to. If he would do it again or not didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. They were a team and she had promised to trust him. She met Gramble's eyes. "I won't manipulate my husband into sitting this out. If you think he's in danger because something might go wrong here, fix the problem."

"I'm doing my best," Gramble promised and motioned back towards the bedroom. "The dose I gave him tonight should help balance his system out. If he's still running a fever in the morning then he needsto stay here."

Liz watched as the doctor turned and left without another word. She stood there and listened to the footsteps echo down the stairs to let herself out before she looked back towards the room, inching forward as quietly as possible so that she wouldn't wake Tom. He was dozing, looking much more comfortable than he had when he had come in a couple of hours earlier. He was still a little pale under the slight flush against his face, but his breathing was even and when his eyes fluttered open they were clear. He smiled for her. "Hey you."

"Hey," she greeted back, reaching forward and running her fingers along the side of his face. He leaned into the touched before lifting his own hand to hold onto hers. "How're you feeling?"

"Better. Gramble say anything else?"

"Just a lot of warnings."

"She's good at that."

Liz tightened her grip on his hand, taking a careful seat next to him. "She wants me to talk you out of doing what we're doing."

Her husband blinked at her. "Are you going to?" he asked carefully.

She paused a moment, letting the question weigh on her before she leaned down and pressed her lips against his. "No," she murmured, barely breaking the kiss. "I'm going to trust you, like I promised I would. If you tell me you're coming home to me after this, I believe you."

"Thank you."

"We're doing this together."

He nodded, his eyes already drifting closed. "You coming to bed?"

"I just need to check on Agnes one more time and I'll be right in."

"'Kay."

She squeezed his hand. "I love you."

"You too," he whispered and the last word faded as he drifted back to sleep.

The sun had long since set as a black town car pulled up alongside Doctor Meredith Gramble just a few steps after the taxi had let her out. Town cars in this part of town weren't uncommon on Park Avenue, but this one seemed to be creeping right along at her pace, slowing as she did, and finally pulling to the side. She should have kept walking. Everything in her told her she should have kept walking. It wasn't far to the door of her high rise apartment and whoever had been was in the car wouldn't dare follow her in there with the security that was kept. Curiosity had always been her downfall, though. It's what had brought her to Halcyon to begin with.

She stepped closer to the edge of the sidewalk and as she leaned down the rear passenger's side window rolled down as well. A well dressed man smiled charmingly at her. "Dr Gramble, I presume."

Her lips twitched downward. "And who are you?"

His smile only widened. "My name is Raymond Reddington and I'd like a few moments of your time."

Notes: I've decided I really like Dr Gramble. She began in this story as a very minor character but has stuck around. And now Reddington has a hold of her... that's never good. And poor Tom. This guy just needs a vacation. A nice long, no one shooting at him styled vacation.

Next Time: Reddington enlists Liz's help for the next step of the plan and Halcyon's board makes their decision about Tom.

[warmau]

ahh your kang daniel au was so cute, i absolutely adore all of your university au's anxiwmxomw 😭 if you wouldn't mind, could you maybe do one for ong seongwoo as well? thank you so much, angel, have a great day!! 💖

like ten people asked for ong,,,so here’s his mini college au~~ find kang daniel (here) ^^ 

major: interior design 

sports: did football team with daniel for like a week,,,,dropped it and picked up swimming instead LOL

when people first meet him they all think he’s a serious like physics major who wants to be an engineer or a doctor,,,,,like he’s handsome and smart,,,,straight from a webcomic kinda boy

bUT jokes on them he’s into interior design and likes looking at textiles and getting excited over his new ikea catalogue coming in the mail

actually despises the fact that you need to take college algebra for the major because like ugh maTH 

tried to bribe daehwi into doing his homework for him but daehwi was like 50 bucks or i suddenly cant do simple addition and seongwoo was like im bROKE

and daehwi was like hmmm too bad ask daniel or something

is bestfriends and roommates with daniel which is really funny because one side of the room is covered in drawings and designs with messy canvas bags full of fabric samples and sketchbooks ,,,,,, while the other side is strung up with posters on medical safety procedures and daniels leaning tower of paramedic course books 

but their friendship is super cute seongwoo keeps going like “bro if we’re both sad and alone at 40 lets just adopt a dog together or something-” and daniel is like “that sounds good but no dog. 12 cats.”

but again they’re both like heartthrobs on campus,,,,there’s a fanclub dedicated to gushing over seongwoo when he’s in the library studying just because everyone wants to see that handsome side profile tbh

little do they know that virtually every close friend of his has like 3943 photos of seongwoo doing the ugLIEST faces on snapchat and shit for the Memes

jisung and him are in an ongoing rivalry for who has the superior shocked face they have contests like every time they meet up LOL

you’re actually friends with seongwoo through a class you take together,,,that dreaded college algebra,,,, and one day seongwoo tells you that he likes to drum

which is ,,,,,,like a dream of yours,,,,,you’ve always wanted to learn how to play and you practically beG him to teach you

and seongwoo being seongwoo is like ,,,,,,,, give me the answers to this weeks homework and i will

and ur like FINE but ,,,,idk if the answers will be write and seongwoo shrugs like it doesn’t matter as long as i don’t need to look @ numbers,,,,im good

so you agree to meet up in the music department later like at 8 and when you get there thankfully the drum set for the college band is free

and you sit down eagerly,,,,trying to do a flip of the sticks before seongwoo takes them away and you’re like HEY and he’s like “first things first - cool drummers dont flip their sticks in the air like fools”

and ur like -____- fine whatever where do we start then

and for a couple of weeks you and seongwoo meet up in the evenings so he can teach you

and at first it’s super casual and fun,,,you guys talk about how much you hate college algebra,,,how you keep seeing minki’s face on flyers for student government elections,,,,,how the lights in all the dorms flicker for like a good three minutes before actually turning off

like the usual,,,and then one day you’re sitting,,,,trying out a technique seongwoo showed you but you keep skipping a part

so he comes over,,,,,putting his arms around you from behind and settling them on your wrists so e can guide your hands

and for the first time,,,,,you’re hyper aware of how,,,,,close seongwoo is

how he smells like fresh laundry,,,,how the vein running up his arm looks,,,,and when you make the mistake of turning your face to see him 

,,,,,,you highlight the sharp curve of his jaw,,,his dark and alluring eyes,,,,the perfect slope of his nose,,,,and his neck,,,,,

the warmth of his body makes you suddenly freeze up and when seongwoo notices how tense your arm has gotten he lets go,,,,

and for a second neither of you say anything 

seongwoo opens his mouth but you just shake your head before he can speak 

and you’re like “no, i know. don’t say it,,,i know you,,,,aren’t interested,,,,and i made it awkward,,,,,im sorry- im going to go-”

and seongwoo seems like he wants to grab you before you can go but you escape his outstretched arm just in time to run out

seongwoo left standing in the room,,,,,,confused and hurt as you make your way toward the dorms telling yourself over and over

that you ruined it,,,,a good friendship,,,,,with the sudden realization that you didn’t want just friendship at all did you,,,,

and it’s not like you skip college algebra because of seongwoo noooo haha you totally got sick and had to not come

but,,,,,,you know sooner or later you’re going to have to see him but you really r e a l l y dont want too

unfortunately,,,, it comes even sooner because someone knocks on your dorm and you think it’s your roommate,,,but when you open it 

seongwoo is there,,,,

and you’re like “w-what is it?” and he’s like looking down but when he meets your eyes he gives you that smile,,,,the one with the dimple and it makes your heart hurt but he waves the textbook he brought with him and he’s like “since you were sick,,,,i thought i should come and help you catch up?”

and you know seongwoo hates that class,,,that he’d never tutor someone else in it,,,,,let alone you so you want to shut the door and tell him you’re still sick

but seongwoo pulls a mask out of his pocket and is like ‘i can wear this so you don’t cough on me!!’ and you cant tell if he’s being silly or if he really just wants to talk to you

so you end up sitting beside each other on your bed and it’s,,,,,awkward until seongwoo finally takes a deep breath and turns to you

“you said you knew i wasn’t interested,,,,,but how could you say that?”

you kind of frown and you’re like,,,because we ,,,,,are just friends? you’ve never made any moves and you’re swarmed by people liking you all the time what is there-”

but seongwoo puts up his hand and is like “ok, but do i devote my time to those people? to teach them to play drums? to laugh with them in class? outside of class? do you know i blew of daniel for you,,,,,that’s a lot coming from me that dudes my soulmate”

and ur like ?????? wait so is it daniel or - and seongwoo is like nO like my bro soulmate but you,,,,,,it’s different i,,,,

he seems to suddenly get shy,,,,scratching at his cheek and you’re like ??? and he’s like “when i was,,,,,teaching you,,,with my hands on yours,,,,,,,i wanted to,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,it’s hard to say this but i wanted to pull you closer,,,,,,,,god this is embarrassing,,,,,”

and you’ve never seen seongwoo blush until now and like,,,,,it’s so fREAKING cute that you just need to scoot closer

and seongwoo is like ! 

and you’re like “,,,,,i,,,,,wanted you to hold me closer too.” 

with a small smile he turns his body toward you,,,opening his arms and he’s like “well,,,,i can still do that. come here.”

and you can’t believe it but you and seongwoo fall back onto your bed,,,,you in his arms laughing at how silly this is

and seongwoo leans down,,,,brushing your hair from your face and he’s about to kiss you when the doorknob turns and you’re like mY ROOMMATE

and you throw him a bit and soengwoo ends up on the floor,,,hair a mess and eyes wide and you’re like sitting on the bed and ur roommate is just like oh,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,ill come back in twenty bye

and with that you and seongwoo let out a sigh but he climbs back up on the bed and starts tickling you because oW thrOWING HIM OFF WAS thaT NECESSARY 

dating college!seongwoo: he totally misplaces everything like he cant even find his own notebook so you’d probably have to be the one to be like seongwoo no no your laptop is under the desk drawer and your sketch book is on the shelf no no not the bottom shelf babe listen to me-, he looks extra fluffy in the mornings when he’s still got his hair uncombed and his eyes are sleepy but he’s also super soft because his voice gets lower and he just wants to cuddle, like seriously seongwoo just always wants to cuddle and hold hands, you could both be sweltering out in the sun on the quad and no matter how sweaty your palms get he’ll be like no we need to hold onto each other i need everyone to know you’re with me, pretends to not know that he’s being sexy when he’s laying down and his shirt is pulled up a little and he keeps pocking his tongue out to run across his lips and ur like seongwoo dont do that i need to study and he’s like do what~ and ur like oh my god,,,,,sends you random close ups of parts of his face and is like am i handsome~ do u still love me~, is a lil jealous that you and daniel get along so well but also is really happy because whenever you guys hangout together it’s a blast, does the occasional corny thing like buys you a big teddy bear that he names after himself or does a dance to try get you to give him extra kisses but it’s all worth it because he’s adorable, wants matching sweaters soooo bad and keeps dropping hints, likes when you sit in his lap and he plays with your hair while you read outloud to him, whenever you’re a little upset or scared he sings gently against your ear and it calms you down, when you can you take baths together and he keeps trying to get you to make him a bubble beard LOL