#It makes cross searching images so much harder it's awful

[kyouka-supremacy]

Does anyone know where I can find the good quality version of this image? It's so frustrating because when cross searching on google it'll tell me the original quality is 850x478, but I can't find a way to download it in that quality. This is another version of the image (I'm guessing it's Mayoi promo art):

But I liked the clean white background one...

[amitlee]

I love you're writing ! And been wondering for a while if i could send an ask so here i am!, I was wondering if you could do young tommy and techno if ya haven't! <3 it would be adorable¡ Thank you for your time!!! :)

Treasure Unimaginable

Warnings: none

Summary: Tommy gets left with Techno and has attachment issues to Phil. Techno is left to comfort 7 year old Tommy

Thank you so much for the request, I hope you all enjoy it💕

———————————————————————

Phil walked down the hallway to Technoblade’s room. He and Wilbur had to go into town today and wouldn’t be able to take Tommy, so someone had to watch him. Phil knew Tommy had a hard time being away from his father, which is why he was going to tell Techno a little in advance. He knocked on the door three times. “Tech?” He called.

He heard a muffled noise telling him to come in and opened the door. He stepped over the threshold into the room, taking in the tidy appearance. Techno’s room was rather empty, his style being close to minimalism.

“Hey, Tech. You busy?”

Techno set his book aside and turned his full attention to Phil. “No. Why?” He asked.

Phil smiled. “I’m going into town with Wil. Do you mind watching Tommy until we get back? It won’t be long.”

Techno sighed, thinking about it for a moment before looking back at Phil. Phil was basically pleading with his eyes. Techno looked away quickly, but couldn’t find it in his heart to say no. “Yeah. I guess that’d be alright.”

Phil beamed, happiness radiating off of him. “Thanks, mate! He’s asleep right now, so me and Wil are gonna run. He’ll probably be up in half an hour or so.”

Techno grunted, picking his book back up and settling back down in his bed. “Alright. See you later, dad.”

Phil’s smile got even wider and he held himself back from emitting a happy trill. “See you in a little, son.” He closed the door and went to collect Wilbur.

If Techno was honest, he’d completely forgotten he was supposed to be watching Tommy until a small voice came from the hallway.

“Phil?” A sleepy voice called.

Techno sat up and yelled back, “In here, Tommy.”

After a moment, the thudding of feet was heard and Tommy carefully opened the door. He looked wearily at Techno, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The seven year old was the embodiment of adorable. He had clearly just woken up, with his hair resembling a bird's nest, he had a blanket draped over his shoulders, and was holding onto a bear plushie.

Tommy looked around the room, noticing the absence of his father’s presence. He looked back to Techno, now a little more awake. “Where’s Phil?” He asked.

“He left to go to town with Wilbur. They’ll be back soon.” He watched as Tommy tried to understand and act tough in front of his oldest brother.

“Okay.” Tommy said with a wobbly voice.

Techno’s head shot up to look at the boy, he was still wiping his eyes, but there were tears coming out instead.

“Hey.” Techno said as gently as he could, which wasn’t very gentle but was a good effort, “Come sit.” He patted his bed.

Tommy looked between the door and Techno. His bed looked soft. What he lacked in room decor, he made up for in comfortable blankets, pillows, and even a few plushies.

Eventually, Tommy closed the door behind him and came to sit on the bed. Techno sat up to sit beside Tommy. They sat in silence. It was slightly uncomfortable. Techno was pretty sure he could hear his own blood running through his veins. “So.” He said, hoping Tommy had something to say.

He did. “Do you know when dad will be back?” Tommy asked, looking up at Techno with saddened eyes.

Techno smiled, “Miss him already?”

Tommy nodded.

“I’m not really sure.” Techno hummed, “It won’t be long, there isn’t much to do in the town. I’m sure they went for groceries.”

Tommy wasn’t satisfied by this answer, still looking for a time.

Techno thought on his toes, “They may have gone to the dentist. I think I heard dad talking about Wil needing to get a shot or two.” It was a complete lie, but if it made Tommy glad he was here instead of with them, it would be worth it.

Tommy’s eyes widened. Techno chuckled at the reaction, laying on his back. “Yeah.”

Tommy followed, laying next to Techno. They fell back into silence, this time a little more comfortable. Techno was actually just about to fall asleep when he felt something rest on his arm.

It was Tommy, he’d gotten closer so he could cuddle up next to Techno. Techno had no idea how to react, not very used to physical affection. His brooding personality and figure pushed the possibility of him being vulnerable into the back of his mind.

Images flashed through his mind. Him being a younger and having Wilbur practically attached to him at all times. Wilbur was a very affectionate person, while Techno preferred to show his love through gifts and acts of service.

He didn’t have much experience with giving affection either, so he was rather cross at what he was supposed to do to help calm his little brother.

He patted Tommy’s head gently a few times, awkwardly. This, surprisingly, got a giggle from Tommy.

“What are you laughing about?”

“It’s just so weird.”

“What’s weird?” Techno had thought he’d done pretty well.

“You!” Tommy said, without realizing what it sounded like.

Techno hummed. “I think you,” he poked Tommy’s stomach to emphasize, “are pretty weird too.”

Tommy giggled again, “Am not!” He said, snuggling closer.

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Not!”

“Are!”

“Not! Not not not nohohot-“

The playful argument was cut off when Techno spidered around Tommy’s stomach. Making the child squeal and curl up.

“That’s a little weird. Do you hear something, Tommy? Tommy, where’d you go?” Techno made a show of trying to find Tommy. He lifted the boy up slightly by his hips, squeezing them gently as he went. He pretended to check under Tommy, to find Tommy, only to come up empty handed.

“Oh no, what’ll I ever do. Phil will be so upset I lost him.” Techno said. He wiggled his fingers over Tommy’s ribs, delighted by the sound of his slightly hysterical laughter.

Tommy was feeling much better, he’d never gotten to be playful with his brother like this. The tingling sensations were very pleasant, even though they were intense. His ribs had always been a bad spot, Phil had made sure to use it against him a few times.

Techno moved down to Tommy’s sides, gasping, “Tommy! There you are!”

Tommy’s giggles died down but became more hysterical at the playful tone Techno had acquired.

“That’s weird, you got all giggly all of a sudden. Is something wrong?”

Tommy laughed harder, “Yohohou’re tihihickling me!”

Techno slowed his fingers, “Oh. Am I?” The awkward atmosphere was completely gone, now replaced with a relaxing, loving feeling that swirled around the room.

“Yehehes.” Tommy said, catching his breath with a smile still stuck to his face.

Techno stopped his movements completely, now just resting his hand on Tommy's stomach. “My apologies.” He teased, poking his sides once more before retracting his hand.

“It’s oKAY, Tehehech.”

The peaceful silence encased them once again as the two calmed down. Tommy, even though he was content, couldn’t help but think that his father and brother weren’t here. It made the house feel empty and his heart a little heavier.

“Tech?” He called.

Techno looked down to make eye contact with Tommy, “Yes?” He answered.

“Can you do it again?”

Techno wasn’t really sure what he meant.

“Tickles, please?” Tommy asked. Techno mentally awed, the boy was still young enough that he had no idea of shame or embarrassment. The purity of the situation made Techno have a strong urge to protect Tommy from anything that may befall him. He promised himself that no matter what, he’d never let anything happen to Tommy. The bittersweet future would simply have to change for him.

“Sure. You want to hear a story?”

Tommy smiled, butterflies erupting in his stomach. “Yes.”

Techno smiled. “Long, long ago. There was a traveler named Rincewind. He went to the faraway lands of Anhk to search for buried treasure and guess what he found?”

“What?”

“A map.” Techno paused. He rested his pointer finger on Tommy’s belly, beginning to trace the outline of a simple map.

“The map was very big,” he circled up to Tommy’s ribs, tracing around the bones. Tommy giggled, wiggling despite trying to stay still.

“And in the center was an X,” Techno wiggled a finger in Tommy’s belly button quickly, eliciting a loud squeal followed by peels of laughter. He withdrew it and continued to make out the map.

“The X was the final destination for Rincewind. There he would find treasure unimaginable. But he had to get there first. First, he went over the sea,” Techno swirled his fingers to make the motion of waves. Tommy squirmed away, only to be caught and put back with Techno, “Ah ah ah, we’re not done yet.”

“Ihihit tihihickles!” Tommy giggled out, hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh! There’s the next obstacle, the cave of darkness.” Techno shot both hands into Tommy’s exposed underarms, wiggling his fingers softly.

Tommy screeched, “TEHEHECHNOHO! NAHAHAT THAHAHAT! GEHEHET HIM OHOHOUT OF THEHEHERE!”

Techno laughed with him, “Alright alright,” he withdrew his hands, leaving Tommy panting, “His visit to the cave was cut short, so he headed down to the treasure.”

Tommy giggled in anticipation as Techno began circling around his belly button, getting closer with each circle.

“’Finally’, Rincewind said, ‘I’ve waited years for this treasure. Delicious, yummy treasure.’ And he began to dig up the treasure.” Techno narrated as he slowly pulled up Tommy’s shirt to expose his belly button.

“And at last, he was able to dig into his treasure of,” He paused for dramatic effect, “raspberries.” He took in a large breath and blew a raspberry right over Tommy’s belly button. Causing the seven year old to fall into laughter immediately. He blew another, making Tommy buck his hips and begin squirming.

In the midst of the raspberries, he began to scratch at the sides of Tommy’s stomach. Tommy's laughter became intermingled with hiccups and his squirming became slower. Seeing this as a sign to stop soon, Techno blew one final raspberry, shaking his head into it and then pulling the boy’s shirt back down and patting his stomach.

“Rincewind decided that the treasure he found that day was his absolute favorite.” Techno concluded the story and gave a small bow.

———————————————————————-

GUYS I GOT RANBOO MERCH. THE GENDER MAN NOW HAS APPROXIMATELY $65 DOLLARS FROM ME SMH MY HEAD BUT IM LITERALLY SO EXCITED

Anyways…I hope you liked the fic! Thank you so much for the request and the compliments! They mean a lot 💕💕

[fallinfl0wers]

19 with xiao, romantic, den reader, hurt comfort ? For that event of yours ! I’m looking forward to it, babe !

19. “No matter what road I take, they will always lead back to you.” Crossroads - GFRIEND from the lyric prompt list! thank you for your request!! it's sad xiao hours again;; and i had trouble since i couldn't quite get what i wanted to do with this at first and don't know if i did it right... >< but it has a happy ending (somewhat???) so that's good! i hope you enjoy! warnings: gn reader, hurt/comfort word count: 843 words

At this point in his life, time means nothing to Xiao.

At this point in his life, time might as well be frozen as he is while standing on this same spot again.

Be it the wind, time, or even life itself; it was all frozen in place for him as he stood under the pouring rain at night, looking up in search for the glint of a star, looking forward in search for a glimpse of your figure as he tries to recall how your fingers felt when combing through his hair, how your warmth felt when you enveloped him in your hugs, how your voice sounded like when you called his name.

"Don't go somewhere I can't follow," he said to you once upon a time.

And though he may be uneducated in human ways, Xiao is not naïve. He knew that was only his selfish wish; a selfish desire of having you only for himself to keep even if for just a brief instant which would never come true. Xiao might not know much about human feelings, but he knows human hearts flutter and change faster than he can move.

He cannot make your world come to a stall, he cannot keep you close to him.

As a human, you're bound to move on to the next better thing, he knows. You're bound to keep evolving and find home with others of your kind, leaving his sad existence as but a mere memory you might look back with nostalgic awe, amazed at the fact that you even managed to get his friendship, but that would be it.

Xiao had no place in your future, because he himself couldn't have a futre of his own.

So Xiao keeps on moving, walking through the vast lands of Liyue with all those heavy, karma-induced feelings on his heart and mind, trailing after him and keeping him chained down to that same place. There's no single place in Liyue that doesn't bring back thousands upon thousands of scary, dark memories to his mind, and at the same time, fill him with images and memories of the time spent with you.

Everything is filled with you, he'd come to notice at some point. The flowers on full bloom, the raindrops that dissolve into the ground as they fall, the leaves of every tree and each and every single spot is filled with you everytime his eyes wander around.

His time has come to a halt, this much, he understands, as he understands your own time keeps moving forward and leaving him trapped in this soon to be forgotten timeframe forever. He gets lost in his longing as he wanders the same places every day, wondering about the what-ifs.

What if he hadn't let you go so easily? (what if you hadn't given up back then?)

What if he had gone with you back then? (what if you had stayed back then?)

...What if he reached out to you, right now? (...what if you were to reach out to him, right now?)

As much as he likes to drown in self-hatred and longing for the brief peaceful moments you two shared before, Xiao wants to reach out.

Xiao wants to find you.

Even if you keep on crossing each other, if you keep on going through different directions, he trusts he'll go back to you. Even if he doesn't know how long has it been for you because he's been frozen in the same moment you walked away that day, still hurt and still regretting not trying a little harder to stay with you, fearing you may have forgotten him, he wants to find you. (you're looking for him, you're longing for him as much as he longs for you).

Your voice, your unmistakable voice reaches his ears as he stares at you with widened eyes.

"No matter what road I take, they will always lead back to you."

Xiao gives in to his impulses, holding your body close to his as if you were about to slip away if he didn't.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I couldn't come back earlier." Holding back tears, you hug him with all your might as you speak your next words. "I'm sorry I left you."

"...No. I'm sorry I didn't go with you." Xiao rested his head on the crook of your neck inhaling your scent and trying to order his thoughts. "I'm sorry I didn't go after you."

Mumbled apologies come out from both of you, as you relish in each other's warm embrace.

And now Xiao, feels like his time has started to move forward again, along with yours, as your paths intertwine yet again as your fingers do with his. And even if they were to be torn apart once more in the near or far away future, he knows he will always remember you and reach out to you again.

Every turn in every road the two of you take will always lead back to each other, and that's the only truth of this world.

[clusterbuck]

i can't breathe without you (but i have to)

(2k words, rated T, complete) read it on ao3

trigger warning: minor character death (on a call)

@911week day 6: "please don't leave me" + angst

The call is rough. They always are, when someone dies, but this one hits harder than most. It climbs inside Buck and makes a home within his ribs, and he knows he’s going to carry it with him for a long time.

It’s their first call of the day, a head-on collision on one of the twisty little roads that line the coast. Someone had come flying around the corner a little too fast and crashed into an oncoming car. These roads are usually empty, and the fact that these two cars had happened to cross each other in the worst possible place is just bad luck. A freak accident.

The driver of the speeding car has barely a scratch on him, and at first, Buck thinks everything is fine. But then he looks over to where Eddie is checking on the other car, just as Eddie looks up at him and shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

Buck leaves his driver with Bobby and hurries over to Eddie. He knows he probably won’t be much help, but Bobby doesn’t need him either, and there are two passengers in the other car.

The second he reaches Eddie, he can see that it’s bad. There are two teenagers in the car—a girl, conscious and sobbing in the passenger seat, and a boy slumped over the steering wheel. Blood flows from a gash at his hairline, staining his blonde curls a deep shade of rust, and his neck is bent at an awkward angle.

Eddie takes a step back and tugs at Buck’s wrist, pulling him back with him. “I already checked, he doesn’t have a pulse,” he says in a low voice. “Looks like he hit his head and the impact broke his neck.”

Buck looks back at the car, where Hen is trying to help the girl out of the car. She’s inconsolable, straining against Hen’s arms and trying to get to her friend. He can’t imagine what she must be thinking. Her entire life has changed in the blink of an eye.

Chimney comes over to start extracting the boy’s body, and Buck goes over to help Hen. He doesn’t think there’s anything he could say to comfort the girl, not when she’s just watched her friend die in front of her, but the least he can do is distract her so she doesn’t have to watch as they manoeuvre him out of the car.

“Hey,” he says, crouching by the door. He takes one of her hands in his, hopes it grounds her, even a little. “I’m Buck. What’s your name?”

The girl blinks, and for a moment Buck thinks maybe she’s so in shock she didn’t understand him. Then she takes a gasping, shuddering breath, and wipes at her eyes. “Sarah,” she whispers, hoarse and watery.

“And your friend?” Buck doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to bring her attention back to him, but—she keeps looking over anyway, frantic glances every few seconds like she doesn’t know how to exist without him at her side.

“Jordan,” she says. “His name was Jordan.” Fresh tears spill from her eyes, but she isn’t wracked with sobs the way she was a few moments ago. “And he’s not just my friend,” she continues. A laugh breaks free, hollow and humourless. “I’ve been in love with him since the seventh grade. I was going to tell him today.”

Buck’s blood runs cold, ice spreading from his chest to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He can’t grasp the enormity of what Sarah has lost, what’s been snatched from her in the blink of an eye on what was supposed to be one of the best days of her life. He’s looking around before he knows what he’s doing, gaze seeking out Eddie, and something inside him settles just a little when he sees Eddie talking to Bobby over by the ladder truck. He stares at Eddie just a little too long, reassuring himself that Eddie is fine.

His attention is pulled back at the sound of Hen’s voice, giving Sarah her condolences in a gentle tone as she looks the girl over. She seems satisfied that Sarah isn’t injured, but it’s protocol that all car accident victims get taken to the hospital for examination, so she turns to direct Sarah to an ambulance.

That’s when Buck notices there are only two ambulances, and they have three patients. Sarah is going to have to ride with her dead best friend, or with the man that killed him.

“I’ll go with Jordan,” Sarah says, and her voice is small but there is steel in it. “And I should—I need to call his parents.”

“They can do that at the hospital, if you want,” Hen says softly.

“No, it’s—I should do it,” Sarah says, and Buck watches as she straightens her spine, visibly pulls herself together before climbing into the ambulance beside the black body bag.

He looks on in awe. For three seconds, he lets himself consider how he’d react if he had to zip Eddie into a body bag and climb into an ambulance with it.

He doesn’t think his body would hold him up long enough to do it.

The rest of the day drags on, an odd contrast to the heaviness of their first call. There are barely any calls, and by the time day starts fading into night, Buck is dozing off on a sofa in the corner of the lounge.

One moment he’s in that halfway place between waking and dreaming, and the next he’s right back on the cliffside from this morning, except this time he’s the one in the car. He is the one in the car, and Eddie is slumped across the steering wheel next to him, blood smeared around lifeless eyes that stare at him, unseeing.

And on some level, he knows he’s dreaming, but that doesn’t stop him from surging across to Eddie, examining the wound on his head as if there’s something he can do about it. He finds the source of the bleeding, but every time he manages to plug it, another wound opens, and there’s nothing he can do to keep Eddie’s blood inside of him.

Not that it would matter, anyway, because Eddie was dead long before he ever started trying.

Buck is still frantically trying to hold Eddie’s body together when he jerks back awake, so suddenly it takes him a moment to understand what’s happened. There’s someone in front of him—Eddie, he realises—with one hand on his shoulder, and the other pushing his damp hair back from his face.

“What—is there a call?” Buck asks, looking around. He can’t see any of the typical rushing around that comes with the alarm, but then he can’t see much of anything else either, because everywhere he looks he sees the image of Eddie bleeding out.

“No call,” Eddie says. “You just—you looked like you were having a nightmare.”

“That’s definitely a word for it,” Buck mutters, and Eddie frowns.

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” And Eddie looks so concerned, so open, that for a second Buck wants to tell him everything.

Then he takes a breath, and reminds himself of the truth that sits heavy in his chest like an anchor. The truth that keeps him weighed down, keeps his feet on the ground when his head threatens to float into the clouds. The truth that keeps him from doing stupid things, like pouring his heart out to his best friend in the middle of the firehouse in the gathering dusk.

The truth is this: Eddie is with Ana. The truth is this: Eddie is with Ana, and he is—well, Buck doesn’t know if he’s happy, but he’s definitely content. He’s content, and settled, and in a stable relationship, and Buck can’t be the one to take that away from him.

“Just the usual,” he makes himself say, and he thinks he pulls off a somewhat passable grin. “I’ll manage.”

“If you’re sure,” Eddie says, and it looks like he’s about to say something else, but then the alarm really does go off and they’re both scrambling into action, everything else temporarily forgotten.

Calls start picking up again after that; they usually do, once night rolls around, almost like darkness doubles people’s propensity to do stupid shit. Eddie doesn’t try and ask him again, but every now and then Buck catches Eddie watching him like he’s worried.

Eddie follows Buck home after the shift, like he often does when they have overnights and get off work mid-morning. He doesn’t usually stay long—they’ll have breakfast, maybe play a couple of rounds of a video game, and then Eddie will head home to try and get a couple of hours of sleep before Christopher gets home from school.

But today, the thought of Eddie leaving—the thought of being all alone in his loft—feels suffocating, so every time Eddie looks like he’s about to leave, Buck comes up with something else to do. And it works for a while, but eventually Eddie looks at the time, and he frowns.

“I should really—”

“Stay,” Buck cuts him off. “I just—I don’t want to be alone right now. Please don’t—don’t leave me.”

And he doesn’t know who he hates more: himself, for the way his voice cracks, or Eddie, for the way he immediately softens and settles back into the couch.

Ana, Buck reminds himself. It doesn’t mean anything.

“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks. “You’ve seemed a little off since I woke you up earlier.”

“I just keep thinking about the call this morning,” Buck admits, because it’s as close as he can get without touching on the real heart of the issue.

“Yeah, that was a rough one,” Eddie agrees.

“I know we see a lot of shit,” Buck says. “I know it comes with the territory. But those kids today—they were so young, you know? They were supposed to have their whole lives ahead of them.”

Eddie’s quiet for a while, and then: “She’s going to regret it for the rest of her life. Not telling him.” He looks over at Buck, just a quick there-and-back dart of his eyes.

And what the hell is Buck supposed to do with that?

Ana, he reminds himself again.

He searches for something to say for so long that Eddie clears his throat and starts talking again. “Want to play Mario Kart to distract yourself from the random cruelty of the universe?”

And Buck agrees, but he can’t help but feel like he missed something. He just doesn’t know what, and now that Eddie’s moved past it, he doesn’t know how to ask about it. It sits between them on the couch as they race each other’s virtual characters, and over the course of the day it calcifies around his ribs, is added to the pile of things he can’t talk to Eddie about.

Eddie stays late into the night, and for scattered moments here and there Buck forgets that this isn’t what they do. That they don’t have the kind of life where they spend hours together just doing nothing. Because Eddie has Christopher, and he has Ana, and he has a whole life outside of Buck. Because Eddie doesn’t want Buck the way Buck wants him.

But every time he forgets, the anchor in his chest is there to remind him; the weight of it is as familiar to him as his own skin. And finally, Eddie leaves, like he always does. And this time Buck doesn’t ask him to stay, because that request isn’t his to make.

[rvmmm21]

I would like some soft things 🥺 More Jindo!Wannie?

look at all this [spits] self-indulgence. also that pink fever medicine i have a personal vendetta against. it was an actual thing from my childhood and it wasn’t pretty.

– – – – –

The vampiress knows something’s up the minute she stirs to the sound of soft sniffling and clogged breathing. She glances a sleepy gaze down at where there’s slightly too much warmth radiating from the little body curled into her front. Something pulls at her heartstrings hearing her baby let out shivery whines as her body fights a temperature. Poor puppy isn’t having the best of luck in the health department, it seems.

But, it’s just a small cold, nothing to fret about! A spoonful of fever medicine, some butter biscuits and an extra heap of mummy’s love is all the TLC she needs, right? It’s not the end of the world—

— is it?

From the grippy hands and the pleading whimpers when she tries to get up from the bed, it kind of sounds like it is. Curse everything for always being so far away.

“No leave, mummy,” Seungwan hiccups out, blinking wide, shiny eyes. She sounds like she’s at death’s door and Joohyun tries to hold in a laugh at her poor, painful baby, cruel as it may seem. “Wannie… h-hurts…” 

The way the tears burn a bit more than usual only makes Seungwan want to cry harder. Joohyun coos, reaching over to grab a tissue from the bedside table to tenderly dab at tear-streaked, cotton-candy cheeks. “Shh, it’s okay, puppy. Mummy’s just going to get things to make Wannie feel better, don’t need to cry. Be a big girl and stay here for me, okay?”

Joohyun darts her eyes to a small friend peeking out from the edge of Seungwan’s pillow. A small smirk tugs at the corners of her lips as she readies herself for her Emmy Award Winning role as Loving Vampire Mum, co-star to Seungwan’s melodrama and fever tears. Pippin finds himself plucked from his regular cozy spot and held nose to nose with his creator.

“Oh Pip,” Joohyun makes sure she sees those chocolate ears twitch in response to their second favourite name in the world before continuing to instruct, “Wannie isn’t feeling very well today. She’s very strong and brave, but she still needs lots of love while I’m gone, okay? Can you do that for me?” From the corner of her eye, a tiny arm outstretches in the direction of the mouse to lightly grab at the cotton tail dangling from her grasp. Her smile softens and she delicately places him in Seungwan’s open palm before swiftly making an exit, all too eager to return for an all-day cuddle. 

Left all alone and too sickly to even formulate the words, Seungwan simply presses his tummy beans to her hot forehead, hoping her best friend can read her mind.

Is Wannie gonna die?

Pippin can’t answer that, he can’t really say much. He would say ‘no’ if he could, give her kisses if he could. But he just looks at her through his criss-cross button eye and offers his poorly owner a soothing scent and a comforting squeeze. Seungwan gratefully accepts, giving him a weak little sniff before snuggling back down into the duvet, burying her nose into Joohyun’s pillow. 

A few moments later, the vampiress returns to a frowning puppy, eyes closed and cradling her stuffie. Moving as silently as she can, Joohyun sets the tray of medication and biscuits and milk down on the table. She catches a fluffy ear tip between her fingers and then sandwiches the warm thing gently between her palms to gauge the fever level. 

Oh, ouch. Poor baby. You definitely need a spoonful.

She looks down at the bright pink bottle, then the snoozing pup. Her next challenge is taking the gamble with Seungwan’s cooperation. Medicine time doesn’t usually sit very well with Seungwan, and Joohyun definitely knows this. Come on Wannie, be a good girl today. 

She can only breathe a sigh of relief when Seungwan sits up all by herself, hanging her head that weighs as much as a bowling ball, mocha-latte ears drooping so lifelessly they almost disappear into messy locks of golden-brown. Despite this, the girl instinctively begins mumbling nonsense when Joohyun leans down to press loving kisses to the base of her ears. 

“Okay baby,” Joohyun whispers right into a sad ear between kisses, soft breaths ruffling the fur. “You ready? It’ll be over before you know it.”

The slightest nod.

“Alright Wannie-ah, here it comes.”

Seungwan screws her eyes shut and holds her breath. It tastes awful— and then it’s over.

Watery eyes unmistakably sparkle when her treat for being such a well-behaved pup is held up to her nose. She takes a couple of mandatory, searching sniffs to absorb the thrill of a butter biscuit before excited crunches fill the room. Joohyun’s eyes fall to the intermittent puffing from underneath the duvet accompanied by small, dull thuds.

“Wannie! Happy tail already?” A smile caresses her lips as she lifts the weight off Seungwan’s legs to allow wagging fluff to spring free. 

Seungwan distractedly murmurs a stuffed-cheeked thank you. “Mm, luv yu mummie.”

Joohyun gets back into her side of the bed and looks down at a puppy who’s definitely already starting to feel better. “Gift-wrapped?” She asks a question she surely knows the answer to.

Crescent moon eyes form as soon as Seungwan gets the duvet snugly tucked under her. ‘Gift-wrapping’ was a term coined by Joohyun as a fun way of satiating Seungwan’s curiosity as to how her Christmas presents must feel waiting under the tree all night. But secretly, it’s Joohyun’s way of letting her Wannie know how precious she is to her. More than any gift in the world.

After the initial worming around has settled and Seungwan feels herself succumb to sleep again, Joohyun picks up a patiently waiting Pippin from the edge of the bed and tucks him in with Seungwan. He’s nice and toasty warm, nestled safely right under her chin so she can sniff him whenever she needs to. 

Joohyun’s heart melts at the way those fluffy triangles are starting to flick fondly at being a puppy burrito snuggled in bed with the two loves of her life. Suddenly, Seungwan squirms to reach for another dino biscuit, ruining her burrito slightly. She fixes it with a predatory gaze before obliterating it to crumbs.

Well, three loves.

– – – – –

vague image of what i imagine Pippin to be like.

[candyopala]

Stuck in his ways, Chapter 6

Chapter summary:  Obito follows Kakashi’s advice and tries to find out more about Y/N. When things don’t go his way, he finds himself lost and on Y/N’s house in the middle of the night.

Words: 2.3k

AO3

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It’s almost time for work and Obito hasn’t slept yet. Despite the weird act, Kakashi gave some actually useful advice to him. He said that he manages to get team seven to work harder by playing with their goals, using their objectives as something to incentivize them through a tough mission or a hard exercise. Especially with Naruto, who can get a little lazy sometimes, bringing up his objective to be Hokage as his father seems to always work like a charm.

The thing is: Obito knows virtually nothing about Y/N. Besides what he has on her personal file, he knows nothing about her personal life and objectives. He spent too much time acting like an asshole to the girl instead of trying to get to know her. He keeps on going through her files maniacally while his mind gets lost in thought.

Don’t get him wrong, Obito hasn’t put any effort to meet new people since his accident. In addition to his insecurities with his appearance, his social skills get worse by the day. Okay, Kakashi does make him go in blind dates from time to time, but those always end up in failure, since he refuses to actually give any girl a chance. He tends to get lost in his thoughts while they talk and he usually ends up straight up ignoring them, which would make anyone reasonably mad.

His face still hurts when he remembers about that time that Yamanaka lady slapped him right on the face after he yawned while she talked. Or that time Kakashi ended up going home with both girls and he had to help take Gai into the hospital, after the fool hurt himself in a bet with their friend. Not to mention that time Kakashi tried to hook him up with a lady fifty years his senior. He would have been actually okay with it if she had not called him “grandson” twice. Obito shivers at the thought. Truth is, Obito actually has not given a chance to himself since the accident and Rin’s passing. Obito shakes his head to make the thought go away once his mind mentions his former teammate’s name.

Give me a break for once brain, right?

He finally gives up on the files and goes to lay in his bed, only to be instantly scared by the alarm clock, letting him know he should be waking up. He goes through with his morning routine on autopilot, putting on the jonin vest and heading out to meet Y/N on the training field. For the first time in ages, he arrives on time. He was so into his head that he did not get distracted on the way. He needs to learn more about Y/N today, one way or the other, so that he can get this whole deal to end soon.

Y/N arrives shortly after, looking sleepy and grumpy.

“You’re on time; did you die and get replaced for someone responsible?”

“Ha, funny. Why the grumpy look?”

“I had a little trouble sleeping tonight”

Come on Obito, what’s the best way of trying to connect to someone and to learn about them? Right, through empathy, being relatable!

“Ugh, me too, totally. What’s on your mind?”

“Lunch and dinner. Come on, let’s start.”

“Ouch”

Fuck, alright, this is bound to be tough.

Obito starts today’s training with some blade technique. Y/N is admittedly really good with hers, but she could use some refinement if she is going to be a shinobi now. He corrects her stance first, also focusing on not letting her leave her defense open.

“Raise your arm like this” He shows to her the things he learned from his family during his childhood.

Their treatment of him at that time was… harsh. Being a direct descendant of Madara made everyone treat him like a potential fuckup, and his abilities before the accident corroborated that. They only opened up more to him and begun to treat him with respect after he became one of Konoha’s finest jonins and one of the few ones to awaken the mangekyo in the whole family. Remembering this makes Obito feel a little cramped on the inside, making him want to go back to his current objective with Y/N.

“Right”

“So… when did you learn to use your sword?”

“On the road”

“And?”

“And I think it’s cool”

“Nice… I guess…”

Fuck fuck fuck.

They both go on for the rest of the morning with Obito not being able to make any progress. His difficulty with social situations is making an already hard situation get even tougher. Y/N refuses to respond to any prodding, only talking back to crack jokes at his expense and to cut him off.

“Want to go get some barbecue for lunch?” He asks hoping for her to accept, as a last desperate attempt to approach her somehow.

“Can’t do Uchiha, I have a reunion with the Hokage, later”

She leaves him in the field alone, a sense of hopelessness eating him up by the second. Then comes the explosive frustration of not getting what he wants. He just needs to make this end quicker; he needs to go back to relevant missions to make his objectives come true. He cannot be left behind, he has to make his promise to her come true, he needs to change it all and he can only do that by becoming the next Hokage.

Tears prickle up at his eye, hurting his heart more than his pride. He gets angry at this completely ridiculous situation he put himself in, he had lost focus lately, he got lazy. He had lost the fire that once burned inside him, only leaving him a pile of sadness and old regrets.

It all explodes within him, driving him to start training in a maniacal way, trying to create something new with kamui and kunais at all costs. He has been trying to develop a new jutsu for a while, but he always ends up stumped. The thought of failure is the last straw, he starts to attack the training posts with all he has, not noticing the pain consuming his arms as the hundreds of knifes coming out of his other dimension go through them in a whirlpool of time and space.

It’s the middle of the night when his body achieves its limit, he spent the whole day training and rampaging on the field. Obito falls down on the dirt face first as exhaustion and blood loss finally hits him. Still filled with adrenaline, his last thought is to head to Y/N’s house to get that information, one way or the other.

 ~”~

 A rushed couple of knocks wake Y/N from her slumber. Confused, she looks around the small apartment in search of the noise’s origin. She hears them again, coming from her front door. She looks over to the clock on the kitchenette; it shows that it is around two in the morning. She knows virtually no one in the village still, who could it be?

She grabs her trusty sword at the entrance area and heads to the door, expecting it to be some scammer or maniac. Without turning the lights on, she opens it only to find a tall figure, with broad shoulders and that forlorn look on his face… Obito.

What is he even doing here?

Upon further inspection, she notices that his figure seems a little bit off, worn out even. She finally turns on the lights, only to be met with a grizzly sight: he is covered in dirt and his arms are all bloodied, his shoulders are slumped and his signature messy hair is even unrulier. This image brings her an awful distant memory.

“Want to go for that barbecue?”

“Obito, what happened?”

“Don’t worry about it; we can talk it out on the way” The man speaks in a catatonic way, fully running on his impulses and on the verge of exhaustion.

Those unwanted memories rush back into her mind: a bloodied hand touching her face delicately, a catatonic smile, foggy eyes, a goodbye that came too soon. Her head rushes with rage, rage at her own mind for reminding her of that, anger at him for leaving so soon, anger at Obito for doing whatever he did to do this to himself.

Before she can even think, she pushes the man into her house with force, guiding his almost limp body to her tight bathroom, sitting him on the rim of her bathtub. He does not respond, his eye is directed at nothing, he just lets out a small wave of breath when he sits down. She grabs her first aid kit from under the sink, kneeling down to face him as best as she can in the small space.

“What happened?”

“…”

“Obito!”

She snaps her fingers in front of his face, taking him out of his trance. He gets startled, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.

“Sorry, I’ll be going, okay?”

He tried to get up again, only to be swatted by Y/N and forced to sit back down on the tub.

“We have to tend to your wounds; you look like you lost a lot of blood already. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me what happened, but I’m not letting you go like this”

“I’ll just go to the hospital”

“The hospital is on the other side of the village, dumbass”

He flinches and tries weakly to tear his arm away from her grasp, once her hand touches an exposed bit of his bicep. Y/N does her best to rip away the ripped fabric that covers the wounds, trying not to pull the parts that are stuck together with the cuts. She rips his sleeves away, exposing a mass of cuts in all directions all over the length of his arm.

Y/N bites her lips at the sight, her brain working against her again. Tears threaten to well up on her eyes, so she tries to make go away as best as she can.

They stay silent as she cleans his wounds, still having to hold him in place from time to time. He manages to be stubborn even in times like this, incredible. Once she finishes up bandaging him up, she just sits by his side on the tub.

“Obito…”

“Thank you”

“Is there something going on?”

“A lot”

“… I get it”

They cross looks quickly, Y/N immediately cutting the contact away as soon as it happens.

“I promise I won’t ask anything else… just… did you do this intentionally?”

“No”

“Alright”

A couple of extra minutes passes, only the sound of their breaths filling in the room. Obito looks up again and faces Y/N’s direction. She looks back at him, completely lost in all that is happening. First, he seems to loathe her, treat her like a chore, and now he appears at her door in the middle of the night like this…

Obito opens a small smile in her direction, a genuine one. It’s the first time she sees wrinkles around his eye sockets. He still has that sad look deep down, but he seems to be trying to honestly lighten the mood and say that everything is okay. Y/N lets out a little bit of her tension go away, letting her shoulders relax a little bit more, but not completely.

“Did some granny stab you Obito?”

“Yup, they stole all my money and dignity also”

“Maybe I’m the one who’s babysitting someone huh? Seems like I’ll have to be around to look for you”

Cracking jokes is Y/N’s way of trying to lighten the mood, but it does not seem to work. Obito suddenly gets that really sad look back up on his eye again, looking back down. Y/N can just make out a single tear rolling out of his right eye.

Did I say something wrong?

“Obi-“

He interrupts her by starting to break down, crying loudly and closing his fists with force on his thighs. Y/N instinctively grabs his hand and forces it open, holding his hand with her own with some degree of strength, to try to calm him down. She feels the heavy texture of his palm on hers, a sign of closeness she missed a lot for the past couple of years, something she refused to admit she… longed for. She comforts him like this for the next couple of minutes until his cries diminish to some uneven breathing.

“Thank you, Y/N. I guess having you around… is… uhm… forget it”

Despite the weirdness of his words, she eventually convinces him to go to the hospital to get his wounds healed, letting his warm hand go and realizing she might have done something wrong. She accompanies him to the door, thoughts flooding her mind while they both must up the courage to say something.

You should not be getting this close; you know what happens when you do that. Why did you do that?

“Promise me you go straight to the hospital?”

“Sure…”

“Obito…”

“What, Y/N?

Despite all that, she feels the urge to give him a hug. She is conflicted, she feels that he needs it badly, but she also feels like getting this close is far too dangerous. She should not be opening up like this to someone she barely knows, to someone that might not even like her as person. There is something that drives her to him, something she does not understand. He seems hurt, he seems like he needs a friend, someone by his side.

No, shut up. I didn’t come here for this, I can’t live all that again.

All she can muster up is a weak goodbye before rushing back in.

What the hell even was all of this?

[inkjam-moon]

Code of Silence Ch 6 - The Set Up (M)

Genre: Mafia AU, light fluff, smut

Member: Min Yoongi

Word Count: 6.4K

TW: swearing, mafia talk, hospital talk, blood mention, sex talk, blowjob mention, shooting, death mention, stitches mention, tiny argument, riding, fingering, breast play, accidental creampie

.

.

“Yoongi cut it out.” You giggle as Yoongi’s lips ravage your neck, his hands sliding all along your body until they land on your ass, squeezing it roughly. He’s had you pinned against the door to his office for the last five minutes, his hips pressing against you so you can feel just how hard he is, the feeling driving you insane with want.

“You still haven’t answered me.” He growls. “Where were you this morning? I rolled over to say good morning only to find the bed empty.” He lightly nips at your collarbone.

“I told you.” You gasp. “I had to help Taehyung and his mom this morning.”

“Is Taehyung so important you couldn’t say goodbye?” He whines.

“It’s the first full night of sleep you’ve gotten in a week.” You chide, pushing on his chest to stop him for a moment. “So yes. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Next time wake me.” He pouts. “I don’t need sleep.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yes you do. Otherwise you get grumpy.”

“Grumpy?” He scoffs. “What am I? Five?”

“Why do you think we haven’t had sex all week?” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Now who’s grumpy?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can say anything, there’s a knock on the door that you’re pressed against.

“What is it?” Yoongi barks, clearly upset at being interrupted.

“Boss? Um, we’ve got some intel that a couple boys from Busan are at the south docks. Do you want us to send someone out?”

“Shit…” Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “How many?”

“Just two or three.” You can tell from the voice now that it’s Namjoon.

“Alright. Get five ready, I’ll be out in a second.”

“Got it.” Namjoon states before you hear his footsteps disappearing.

“Sorry baby.” Yoongi presses a kiss to your shoulder. “This is going to have to wait a bit.”

“Yoongi,” You grab him by the lapels of his jacket as he turns to leave, stopping him. “Be careful.”

He smiles and cups your cheek. “It’s just a check. I’ll be home before dinner, alright?” You nod and let him go, watching as he goes over to his desk and grabs his gun, hiding it in the holster under his jacket before walking back over to you and placing a kiss on your lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Soon.” You nod. Stepping out of the way and watching Yoongi walk out the door and down the hallway, disappearing down the stairs. Soon. It’s his promise, it has been in the month since you started sleeping together.

Since you and Yoongi are closer than ever, you can’t help but worry every time he goes out on patrols or checks; with Busan encroaching farther into Daegu territory, it gets more and more dangerous every time he goes out. You don’t like saying goodbye when he leaves; there’s too much finality to the word; so he started promising to ‘see you soon’, letting you gain comfort in the thought that he promises to return to you, safe and sound.

You sigh as you lean against the door frame before heading over to Yoongi’s desk and grabbing your bag off his chair where he threw it as soon as you walked in the door. You can’t lie, the lack of intimacy in the last week or so has gotten to you too; having become accustomed to sleeping with Yoongi three or four times a week minimum, the lengthy absence is driving you mad with an unquenchable thirst, an overwhelming desire to be touched, but because Busan is trying harder to creep in, Yoongi is out more, sleeping less, and hardly around the house or his office. You miss him. 

You close the door to Yoongi’s office behind you and lock it as a familiar face pops it’s head around the corner of the stairs. 

“Y/N! Just who I was looking for.”

“Tae, you saw me this morning.” You remind him as you walk toward him. 

“I know.” He nods. “But I have news I didn’t have this morning.”

“You can tell me on the way to the car. I have to get home and start dinner.”

Taehyung sighs. “Doll, you know he’s probably not going to be home in time. I just saw them all leave, seemed pretty serious.”

You shake your head as you reach the bottom of the stairs and head over to the bar, checking sales as Taehyung comes up behind you. “He promised me it was just a check.”

“So were the last three…” Taehyung reminds you, making your heart sink in your chest.

“Taehyung.” You growl, alerting him to stop before he pisses you off. You hate to admit it, but he’s right. It always turns into something bigger, more urgent.

“Alright alright fine. This isn’t about you anyway, it’s about me.” He huffs crossing his arms as you say goodnight to the staff and make your way through the kitchen and out the back door. 

“What is it Tae?”

“I’d like to formally invite you and Yoongi out to dinner tomorrow night.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Did I forget something? It’s not December, so it can’t be your birthday.” Taehyung shakes his head, a wide grin scrunching up his face. He looks like he’s about to burst. “Do I have to guess?”

“I want you guys to meet my new boyfriend!” Taehyung squeals.

“New- Oh my god!” You squeak, clapping your hands in excitement. “What the fuck, why didn’t you tell me this morning?” You ask, smacking him on the arm. 

“I wanted to make sure it was okay with him! We’ve only been together for a month or so, but I asked him this afternoon if it was okay to tell you and he said he wanted to meet you!”

“Aw Tae!” You grab him and pull him into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you. Of course we’ll have dinner with you. Why don’t the two of you come over to our place?” You pull back and see Taehyung’s eyes sparkling. You haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.

“You’re the best doll. Wanna say… Seven?”

“Seven sounds perfect.” You smile back at him.

“Alright, um… Do you want some company tonight?” Taehyung asks, worry written on his face as he looks at you.

You can’t help but smile at him. “Why not? The least you can do is distract me.” You state, unlocking the car. “Hop in.”

Taehyung grins widely as you both jump into your car before you pull out of the parking lot and out onto the street making the drive back to your apartment. When you arrive, you shut the car off and you both get out, making your way up the walk, into the building, and up to your apartment. 

“I’m going to go change, do you want to see what we have in the fridge?” You ask, walking over to Yoongi’s room.

“I’m on it!” Taehyung cheers as you disappear into the room.

You change into a pair of shorts and one of Yoongi’s old sweatshirts that he never wears anymore. You don’t think you’ve seen him wear comfy clothes since you got married, just a lot of stuffy suits and dress clothes. You remember when you first met; all he wore were sweatshirts and jeans. You shrug as you grab a hair tie and pull your hair into a messy bun as you walk back out to the kitchen, seeing Taehyung has already turned on the stove and is chopping something on a cutting board. You decide to voice your observation to Taehyung as you flick on the tv for background noise.

“Do you ever notice that Yoongi never wears anything except suits and dress clothes?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen him in less.” Taehyung smirks.

You smack his arm as you walk up to him and lean against the counter next to him. “I’m serious. I don’t think I ever see him in just a t-shirt and jeans anymore. Honestly, I don’t even know if he still owns jeans…”

“Of course he’s always dressed up.” Taehyung laughs, handing you the knife in his hand. “Here, chop.” You move to stand where Taehyung was and start slicing up vegetables for him as he continues, moving to heat up a pan on the stove and turning on the rice cooker. “Think of his job doll. Do you think people would take him seriously in a t-shirt and jeans? Your dad taught him better than that. It comes with the title.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You ponder the thought for a few moments as you continue chopping before changing the subject. “So, tell me about this boyfriend.”

“You’re going to meet him tomorrow.” Taehyung grins, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“Excuse me. I need to know details!” You exclaim, grabbing the pork belly and laying it in the hot pan with a bit of oil. “Where did you meet?”

“Uncle Min’s party actually.”

“Really? Do I know him?”

“I don’t think so. He’s not in the family, I think he just happened to be there that night.”

You nod as you listen, adding the vegetables to their own pan. “So what’s his name?”

“Jimin. Park Jimin.” Even though your back is toward Taehyung, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“And do I get to see a picture of the mysterious Jimin?”

“Mm.” Taehyung searches his pockets for his phone, pulling it out once he locates it, and scrolls through his photos until he finds the one he’s looking for. He holds it up for you to see and you smile. It’s a picture of Taehyung with his eyes closed, his nose pressed against the cheek of an attractive boy with plump lips and an adorable eye smile.

“Aw, Tae you look so happy. He’s cute too.”

“Isn’t he?”

“So tell me more about him.”

“Um… He’s a few months older than me, but he’s a lot shorter. He likes to dance and is part of some contemporary group thing. His laugh sounds like an angel’s, he’s got deliciously thick thighs, ugh…” He trails off, taking the food off the stove and placing it on the plates you took out.

“And since I know you’d ask me this, what’s he got between those thick thighs?” You tease.

“Oh come on doll, it’s not like that.” He giggles.

“Don’t lie to me in my own house Tae.”

“Well,” He blushes harder. “We haven’t gone all the way yet, but let’s just say it’s a monster and I’m glad he’s a bottom.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Thick thighs don’t lie.”

“I’m telling you, this thing is huge. I could barely get my mouth around it.”

“And that’s an image I definitely didn’t need.” You smack Taehyung’s chest, grabbing the plates and setting them on the table before walking over to the fridge to grab drinks. As you grab a bottle of wine, you hear the newswoman say ‘breaking news’ and can’t help but tune your ears to listen.

“Shots fired at the southern docks, leaving three dead.”

The bottle falls from your hand and crashes to the floor, shattering to pieces as you walk over to the tv and turn it up.

“Police are currently investigating a shooting at Daegu’s southern docks that happened only moments ago. Our field reporter Woo Chisun is on the scene. Chisun?”

The video cuts to the on scene reporter as you feel Taehyung kneel down next to you and wrap his arm around your shoulders, holding you tight.

“Thank you Hae Im. Police responded to a civilian 911 call stating that they heard shots fired at the southern docks. Witnesses say they heard a loud argument before at least ten shots were fired in quick succession, followed by the sound of tires squealing. Though the deceased have not yet been identified, we do know that there are at least three victims, and several blood trails that suggest one or more of the assailants may be wounded. With no leads on any suspects, we can’t help but wonder; will Daegu sleep safely tonight?”

.

Yoongi steps out of the car and pulls out his gun to check the rounds in his magazine before clicking it back into place. "So how many are supposed to be here?" He asks.

"Just three, boss."

"Alright." Yoongi stops and turns to face the group. "Joon, Big Kim, I want you on the left. Ji Ho, Dad, on the right. Jin, you're with me. Let's get some eyes on them, see what they're up to first. Then we'll go in and get them off of our turf."

"Hell yeah."

"Let's do it."

The rest of the men voice their agreement. "Alright. Remember, keep it quiet, keep it low, you know the signal. Let's go."

They split up and head down separately through the maze of cargo containers, Jin following closely behind Yoongi as they sneak along the path, ducking around corners to check for intruders. They finally make it up to the marina, not having seen anyone else so far. Yoongi turns to Jin, but before he can signal to him, he hears a sudden commotion and then the sound of gunshots.

"Yoongi!"

That sounded like Namjoon. Shit. Yoongi turns the corner to investigate and sees the cause, a piece of shit with a gun, aiming to his right where Namjoon and Big Kim are located.

"These mother fuckers." Yoongi grunts, aiming his sights, and then pulling the trigger, quickly incapacitating the Busan gunner, but mere seconds after Yoongi pulls the trigger he feels an unbearable pain in his side. "Ah, fuck!" Yoongi clutches his abdomen as he leans against the cargo container.

"Boss!" Seokjin yells, immediately taking out the gunner on top of the container that shot Yoongi. "Shit, hang in there Yoongi." He crouches down beside Yoongi. "We've got one out of the nest!" Seokjin yells to no one in particular. There are a few more gunshots before everything goes quiet.

"Seokjin?" Someone calls.

"Over here!" Seokjin responds. It's a few seconds before Min rounds the corner.

"Shit. Yoongi." Min crouches down beside his son. "We've gotta get out of here, this place will be crawling with cops in a few minutes. where were you hit?" He turns to Yoongi.

Yoongi reveals his bloody abdomen, wincing. "H-here."

"That looks bad." Namjoon states, leaning over his brother's shoulder.

"Namjoon, call the hospital; Seokjin, get the car; Kim, help me get him."

Big Kim and Min both scoop up Yoongi, but as they get him to his feet , Yoongi collapses.

"Yoongi!"

.

“Y/N, breathe.” You let out the shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding as tears fall from your eyes. “Let me call and see what’s going on. Stay here.”

You can’t move, you can hardly force your lungs to keep breathing. Your mind is blank and whirring with static until it lands on one singular thought: Yoongi. You lunge for the coffee table where you left your phone earlier and immediately press his name. It rings. It rings forever until you get his answering machine. You hang up and try again, and again, and again to no avail. You don’t realize it but you’re quietly chanting Yoongi’s name, over and over to yourself as you try to reach him.

“Shit…” You hear Taehyung next to you. “I… I can’t get a hold of anyone.”

“Yoongi… Yoongi… Yoongi… Yoongi…” You mumble to yourself, dialing and redialing his number, getting his voicemail every time until Taehyung squats next to you and grabs your shoulders.

“Doll, look at me.” You ignore him, trying to grab your phone which he knocked out of your hand. “Y/N… Y/N!” Taehyung snaps, shaking you.

“I can’t- I can’t go through this again Tae. I can’t do this again. I can’t lose him too. I can’t… I can’t lose him!!” You burst, tears now flooding your vision as Taehyung pulls you flush against his chest. 

“It’s not him. It’s not, it can’t be. He’s okay Y/N-ah, he’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“I can’t lose him too…” You whimper, hyperventilating as Taehyung holds you close. The two of you stay like this for what feels like mere seconds, but it’s been an hour, and you still haven’t heard anything, not even from the tv. You cry into Taehyung’s chest as he shushes and attempts to soothe you until you hear a buzzing. Taehyung’s phone. He grabs it off the couch and answers it.

“Hello? Yeah I’m with her… Got it. We’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up and stands, lifting you to your feet and you wince, falling back on the couch, looking down at your feet to see them all cut up and bloodied from the shattered wine bottle. Taehyung shoves his phone in his pocket and then lifts you up bridal style, grabbing your keys and then carrying you out the door and down to your car. He places you in the passenger seat before shutting the door and then climbing into the driver’s seat, quickly pulling out of the parking lot and speeding towards the center of town.

You want to ask what’s going on, but you can’t speak. You can only sniffle. Taehyung wouldn’t answer anyway, he’s too focused on driving, and in a matter of minutes you arrive at your destination. The hospital.

He parks around back, getting out and picking you back up, carrying you in the ambulance entrance where Big Kim is waiting for you.

“Is she okay?” He asks when he sees you’re being carried. 

“She’s got glass in her feet and she’s pretty shaken. She might be in shock. Where is he?”

“Come with me.” Big Kim takes you out of Taehyung’s arms and carries you over to a back elevator with Taehyung close behind. You all get in and it takes you up to the third floor where he walks you down a long empty hallway to the back wing of the hospital where all of the private rooms are located. He brings you into room 337, the same room where your father died, and you see Yoongi lying in a hospital bed, unconscious, covered in bruises and bandages. “He just got out of surgery.” Big Kim states, placing you in the chair next to Yoongi’s bed. 

“What happened?” You ask, scooting as close as you can to Yoongi and grabbing hold of his hand.

“Busan.” Uncle Min’s voice comes into the room. “We were ambushed at the docks. It was all a set up.” He walks over to you and puts a hand on your shoulder as he squats down in front of you. “Breathe joka, he’s going to be okay.” He nods, looking over at Big Kim he adds, “Go find a nurse for me,” before turning back to you. “Yoongi took a bad hit, because something blew his cover, but it missed all of his major organs and muscles, he’s going to make a full recovery.” A weight seems to lift off your shoulders at Min’s words. “And except for Yoongi, no one got hit.”

Just then, a familiar face walks into the room, it’s Hye Soo. “Y/N, I was wondering when you’d get here.” She greets you warmly.

“Hye Soo, I think our girl here might be in shock, and her feet are cut up pretty badly, would you mind taking a look?” Min asks.

“Of course.” Hye Soo grabs some supplies from the cabinet in the room before walking over to you. She does a basic check on you; blood pressure, pulse, oxygen level; before putting an IV in your arm and hooking you up to a bag of fluids as well as injecting a relaxant into your IV before moving onto your feet; cleaning them, removing the glass shards, and then bandaging them. She talks to Min the entire time, knowing that the only thing you’re focused on right now is Yoongi.

He’s so still, so calm, he’s never this motionless in his sleep, so they must have him on some heavy sedatives. You bring his hand up to your mouth and close your eyes, placing a kiss against his fingers. After a few minutes you and Hye Soo are the only ones left in the room as she finishes bandaging you up. 

“I didn’t want you to get hurt. Why does everyone close to me always get hurt…?” You whisper against Yoongi's hand. 

“Don’t blame yourself.” Hye Soo states as she stands. “Yoongi chose this life. He knew what was at stake. He knows the risks and he’s willing to take them. It’s not your fault. Besides, he’ll be up soon. It’s mostly artificial.” You only nod to show you heard her before she pats you on the head and leaves you alone with Yoongi.

You know that. You know he’s going to wake up. You understand what she’s trying to say, but the more you sit here, the more you realize that Taehyung and Yoongi are the only things in the world that you have left; and to see either one of them hurt, artificial or not, shatters you into pieces.

Silent tears slip down your cheeks as you clutch Yoongi’s hand between both of yours, your forehead pressed against your hands as you mumble to him. “I never wanted you to get hurt… I’m so sorry… It should be me…”

“Y... Y/N…” Yoongi mumbles, causing your head to bolt upright. “Y/N-ah…?” His eyes flutter open and slowly focus on you.

“Yoongi…” You gasp, elated beyond words at the sight of his beautiful brown eyes staring back at you. 

The corners of his mouth turn up in the smallest smile as he sighs deeply. “Did I miss dinner?”

A choked laugh comes from your throat as you release his hand and wipe your tears away. “Just by a few hours.”

“Damn. I was really looking forward to it too.” He grimaces as he attempts to sit up, but it’s obviously too painful for him. 

“Yoongi-”

“I’m alright.” He states, laying back down against the pillows before he reaches out to take hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Why the tears?” He asks, concern in his eyes.

You reach your unoccupied hand up to your cheeks to feel the wetness of tears on your cheeks again. You hadn’t even realized you were doing it. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” You mumble, wiping the tears away.

“I’m not going anywhere jagiya.” Yoongi whispers. Your heart races at the pet name and you’re thankful Yoongi’s eyes are shut again so he can’t see the hot blush on your cheeks. “They’re going to have to try harder than that.” He smirks.

.

Three days later, Yoongi is allowed to return home on the condition that he takes the rest of the week off to rest and heal and Yoongi agreed; although, you believe he would’ve said anything to get out of the hospital.

You and Taehyung help Yoongi up to the apartment before Taehyung says goodnight to go on a date with Jimin. You wave goodbye and shut the door, helping Yoongi over to the couch to get him settled before walking over to the kitchen to get his medications sorted out for the next few days. Yoongi’s father agreed to watch over things until Yoongi gets back on his feet, so the two of you can relax for a few days until Yoongi gets restless, which you know he will; he can’t stay away from work for too long.

“Y/N-ah?” Yoongi calls to you, interrupting your thoughts.

“Hm?” You turn to face him to see him watching you intently.

“Can you help me up so I can take a shower? I need to wash off this hospital funk.”

“O-oh, sure.” You nod, putting down the last bottle of medicine before walking over to him and helping him to his feet. He can walk on his own well enough, it’s the getting up and sitting down part that he’s not great at because it still hurts his abdomen. With one arm around his waist, you walk him into his room and then into the bathroom and start the shower, turning to see him standing there a bit awkwardly.

“Would you um…” His cheeks turn pink as he speaks. “Can you- I still can’t lift my arms well… Would you mind?” He tugs at his clothes.

“Right, of course.” You giggle as you walk over to him, wondering why he’s suddenly so shy. You very carefully lift Yoongi’s shirt up off his body and deposit it on the floor, but when you go to reach for his belt, you stop, coming face to face with the sight of his injury for the first time.

You can’t help but stare; the way his beautiful pale skin is puckered and pink around the stitches, still tender by the way his abdomen flexes as you brush your thumb against his hip, not even touching the wound.

“It’s hideous.” Yoongi states, catching sight of himself in the mirror and walking closer to inspect.

You shake your head, walking up behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “It’s you.” He smiles at your words in the reflection and the two of you stand like that for a moment before you shake your head again. “Come on, you’re wasting hot water.” You scold as he turns to face you. You grab his belt again and move to undo it when he stops your hands, grabbing your face and pulling you towards him for a soft kiss. 

“I think I can take it from here.” He mumbles against your lips, making you giggle. 

“Right, I forgot. ‘No unnecessary exercise’.” You quote the doctor’s words. “I’ll go start dinner. Yell if you need me, yeah?”

“Of course.” Yoongi kisses you once more before letting you go, watching you walk out of the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Yoongi’s doctor tried very politely to tell you no sex until Yoongi was better, but didn’t want to say it in front of Yoongi’s mother, so he just said ‘no unnecessary exercise’ and then winked as if your mother-in-law was clueless.

You head back to the kitchen and take one of your own prescribed pain medications for your feet; while the scrapes have mostly healed, they’re still a bit tender to walk on; and then you start dinner. You don’t make anything special, just some jjapaguri with steak; you’re honestly too tired to do anything else. Even though you haven’t been doing much at the hospital, just being there has taken so much energy out of you.

Just as you’re filling two bowls up with the delicious noodles and meat, you hear footsteps coming out of Yoongi’s room. Perfect timing. You grab the bowls and some chopsticks and meet Yoongi in front of the couch, placing the bowls on the coffee table before helping him sit down. He nods gratefully as he accepts the help and then the warm dinner you hold out to him before you grab your own bowl and take your normal seat on the other side of the loveseat. You flick the tv on and the two of you sit in silence as you watch reruns of an old game show.

As you slurp up your dinner, you can’t help but feel an awkwardness in the air. Since sex is off the table, it’s as though the two of you are back to square one; two strangers stuck in an arranged marriage, neither one knowing how to act around the other. You thought you were making progress with Yoongi, but maybe you really weren’t? Was sex actually making it harder for you to get closer to him? Have you even had an actual conversation since the two of you started fucking? Is sex all he wanted? Was that the whole reason he tried to get close to you? Maybe he actually cares… Are you overthinking it?

You don’t realize how far you’ve zoned out until Yoongi gently squeezes your arm, snapping you back to the present.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Y-yeah.” You nod, shrugging him off. “Just… thinking about some stuff.”

Yoongi seems concerned, but he doesn’t press the matter. “I’m here if you want to talk.” He assures you. You nod and go back to your noodles. 

When you’re both finished eating, you take your dishes to the kitchen and clean up after yourself before heading back over to the couch. Yoongi pats the cushion closest to him and you can’t help but smile, taking a seat on his good side as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. After a few moments you hear him inhale deeply and look up to see what he’s doing.

“You smell good.” He shrugs. 

“Thanks? I showered this morning.”

“I missed the way you smell. Smells so much better than hospital.”

“Most things smell better than the hospital." You giggle when he inhales again.

"Just let me enjoy this please?" He asks. You simply nod as Yoongi buries his nose in your hair, smiling against you as he does.

.

It's been four days since Yoongi came home from the hospital, and just as you expected, he's as restless as ever. He's constantly pacing around the apartment on the phone with various people from work who all tell him the same thing: "Get some rest boss". The only person who updates him is his father, and even Min is tired of Yoongi's phone calls , frequently ending them with "Go relax" even though he knows Yoongi will call him again in an hour.

The last time Yoongi called him, he only said "Go spend time with your wife" before immediately hanging up. So here you are, trying to watch a movie while tension radiates off Yoongi in waves. You've tried everything to calm him down; board games, video games, movies, relaxing baths, cooking , baking; but so far, nothing has worked. He's just so unbelievably wound up and you feel like there's nothing you can do.

You sigh as you get up , walking over to the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Yoongi, do you want anything?" You ask as you hold the fridge door open.

"I want to go back to work."

"I meant to drink." You grumble.

"No."

You shut the door, albeit, a bit aggressively, before walking back over to the couch and flopping yourself down on it. "So how much longer are you going to be an asshole? Because I can just leave if you want."

Yoongi sighs this time, grabbing your arm. "Don't go. I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm so frustrated."

"No kidding." You scoff, unintentionally reverting Yoongi back into irritated silence. You turn to face him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I should be in Busan right now, fucking up those pricks for what they did!"

"So you can get shot again? I don't think so."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Let it go?"

"No." You shake your head. "You make a plan. Before you go in there guns blazing and make a mistake. You need a plan."

"A plan..." Yoongi ponders this.

You nod. "They set you up, so you figure out how to give it right back to them. Like you always do."

"What do you suggest?" Yoongi inquires.

You think for a moment. "How about a seizure?" Yoongi's eyebrows quirk up in obvious interest, asking you to continue. "We know drugs are their main export, so we get in there and we either take it and dump it, or we make it unusable. I remember abeoji talking about when he did it once. It pissed them off, but they were quiet for a long time so they could rebuild their stock and pay off their debts."

"Y/N-ah... You're a genius." Yoongi smiles for the first time in days. "But how do we get information?" He rubs his chin in thought.

"We send someone in."

Yoongi's eyes snap back up to meet yours. "What?" He asks in disbelief.

"We have to infiltrate, to get someone in there to give us information. It's the only way."

"Unfortunately, I think you're right." Yoongi agrees. "I'll make some calls-"

"Ah!" You push Yoongi back against the couch when he tries to get up. "You go back to work in two days. It can wait." You chide.

"Y/N, I-"

"No." You shake your head. "Just think about it for now. Get it figured out in your head first, then you can start organizing it when you get to work Tuesday."

Yoongi smirks. "You know you're just like him."

Yoongi's comment catches you off guard. "W-What?"

"Especially when you're scolding me. You have the same tone." He chuckles softly, squeezing your side as he scoots closer and puts his arm around your waist. "I'm sorry for being unbearable this week." He mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Unbearable is putting it lightly." You tease.

"Mm." Another kiss. "And yet you kept me around."

"I couldn't just throw you out. You're injured. Which reminds me, if you ever get shot again? I'll shoot you."

Yoongi sighs with a soft laugh as he rests his forehead against your temple. "What I wouldn't give to be able to actually move again."

"You don't need to move, you've been pushing it as is." You scold once more. Suddenly Yoongi tilts your face toward him and this time, places a kiss on your lips, making you giggle. "What was that?"

"Every time you scold me I'm going to kiss you to make you stop."

"Oh is that so?" You ask. He nods. "Well it's true, you need to re-" A kiss. "It's the doctor's orders-" Another. "At least until you get your stitches-" One more, except this time his lips don't leave you, they stay pressed against yours.

It isn't long after that he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. After a few more moments, his tongue flicks out against your lips, but you hesitate. 

“Yoongi, your doctor said-“

“I don’t care.” His lips find yours again and this time you give in.

Having not done anything for two weeks makes you feel a bit more desperate than usual, and you quickly become a bit aggressive, pushing back at his tongue with your own as you lace your hands in his hair and tug on it.

"Ah~" He whimpers. "Not so hard." He smirks at you before leaning forward a bit to place a hot kiss against your jaw.

"Mm. My bad." You tug softer this time.

"Did someone miss me?" He growls in your ear.

"You have no idea."

Yoongi chuckles at this before he pushes you back and tries to climb on top of you, but then he hisses in pain. "Aish..."

"Are you alright?"

Yoongi grimaces as he leans back against the couch. "Yeah, I'm okay." He sighs. "Just didn't think it would hurt that much. I guess..." Another sigh. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't think-"

"Oh no, hold that thought." You stop him before he can turn you down and climb into his lap. He stares up at you in awe as his hands find your hips and then reach down to squeeze your ass.

"This could work. You look good like this baby." He grabs your shirt and pulls it off over your head to reveal that you went without a bra today. "Even better. Goddamn you are sexy."

"Thanks, but if you don't fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I'm gonna be sexy and angry." You state, pulling his sweatpants down his hips.

"Anything for you jagiya." He unties the string on your shorts and as you stand up he tugs them and your underwear off before slipping out of his own boxers and then tugging you back into his lap where he immediately slips two fingers inside you.

"Ah, Yoongi~" You gasp, gripping his shoulders.

"Gotta get you ready for me baby. It's been a while."

"Yoongi please just fuck me I can't wait any longer."

Yoongi grabs your thighs and pulls you close before rubbing his length against your entrance. "Whenever you're ready." He presses against you and you quickly sink down on to him with a satisfied groan.

"Fuck, hnng Yoongi." You dig your fingernails into his shoulders.

"Jesus you're tight." He hisses through his teeth.

Even though it's still a bit much, you start moving, desperate for the feeling of him moving inside you. He feels amazing, so amazing. You throw your head back, already lost in the pleasure between your thighs.

"God you're beautiful." Yoongi mumbles, running his hand up your side.

"Y-Yoongi..." You blush as his hands move to your breasts, squeezing them enough to make you even needier. You bounce faster in his lap, but even though you've always been confident in yourself, his comment makes you want to cover yourself up, but makes your core tighten around him at the same time.

"So fucking beautiful." Yoongi smacks your ass. You move your arms to try and cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. "Don't you dare cover yourself." He growls, moving your arms out of the way. "I want to see all of you like this."

Yoongi holds your wrists as he watches you fuck yourself on his length, mesmerized by the sight. The look in his eyes makes you feel hot, and it isn't long before you feel your high approaching.

"You've never looked this sexy baby."

"Yoongi I-I..."

"Fuck I'm so close." Yoongi moans. "Go harder for me." He commands. You obey, smacking your hips against him harder as he lets go of one of yours wrists and brings his hand down to play with your clit. "So fucking beautiful jagi , I love you."

"Ah~!" Your orgasm slams into you as your hips falter, your hands gripping Yoongi's shoulders again as pleasure shoots through your nerves. The tightening caused by your orgasm sends Yoongi into his own high , not giving him time to pull out before he fills you with his hot release.

The two of you sit for a long time, trying to catch your breath as your highs recede. You sit up, peeling your sweaty, sticky chest off of Yoongi's as both of you shiver from the overstimulation it causes. As your brain regains cognizant function once more, you realize something.

"Wait, what did you say?"

Copyright © Inkjam-Moon 2019

[yelenasdog]

it was a pleasure to burn (spencer reid x fem bau!reader)

genre: fluff i think even though the name is v angsty LOL it’s a literal screenplay with the amout of dialogue i wrote LMAO so idk

summary: a particularly rough and disturbing case gets to reader, and spencer and reader are brought together by this.

words: just about 6k (my longest fic ahhHH)

warnings: typical criminal minds gore and violence just up a notch, they get on a plane at the end, somebody gets ~shot~, somebody gets ~bonked~, cursing, mentions of reid’s addiction, and i think that’s it. also the reader wears reading glasses but that’s the only predetermined factor of appearance. btw i don’t think i used any pronouns in this but i apologize if i’m wrong. 

a/n: LMFAO i was outside awhile ago celebrating litha with a nice lil hike and i saw a butterfly and i had just started watching cm and was like hMMm... killer who’s obsessed with symmetry??!1??!? y Es. enjoy 😼 EDIT: THERE IS SO MANY PLOT HOLES OMG FBREHJBFHEJFRE IM RBFBRE

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

Present Day, Central Park, New York

“Aren’t they just stunning?” The unsub spoke, keeping her eyes trained on the butterfly sitting happily on her finger. The brightly colored creature fluttered off her hand that was dripping scarlet, flying around her curly head of brown hair. Her, formerly white, blood-stained dress flowed around her as she followed it, watching in awe as it soared about. She giggled, plopping down on the grass in the middle of a circle of her victim’s pale, lifeless bodies, all of them with ironically morbid butterflies resting upon the frail skin of the corpses.

“Aren’t they, agents?”

She slanted her green eyes, gripping the grass a little harder. I flicked my tongue over my lips nervously, looking over to the lanky man on my left. He simply shrugged, just about as sure of how to handle the situation just as much as I was.

“If I knew you all were coming, I would have cleaned up, I really would have, I promise.”

We slowly walked towards her, twigs and leaves crunching under our feet. It could have been comparable to a hunter stalking its prey, but it unfortunately was quite the opposite.

6 days earlier, Quantico, Virginia

“3 bodies, all found within the last 48 hours in rural New York. So far, the first body has revealed that although it was dumped upstate, the victim was murdered in the city, and the same most likely goes for the other bodies as well. Nails well manicured, no drugs in the system. They aren't junkies, we’re dealing with upper class citizens.”

My face contorted as I took the photos from Reid’s hands, his large and tanned one surprising me by how soft it felt as it accidentally brushed against mine. I blushed like a madman, looking to see him doing the same thing. I cleared my throat getting Rossi’s attention.

“Why are we only now hearing of this?” I questioned, flipping through the images as I did so, my confusion only growing. I didn’t recieve an answer, leaving my curiosity to bloom.

“Wait, how did you say they were killed again?”

Morgan looked up, taking the photos from me. “He didn’t.”

I sighed, pushing my glasses up on my nose.

“Is there at least any correlation between the bodies and the butterflies?”

Our attention was shifted to JJ, the resident expert on the insects.

“Actually, the ones being found with the bodies are from the Amarynthis family, all native to Latin America. They weren’t there by accident so yes, they’re somehow related.”

Rossi stood up, grabbing his coat.

“Well, none of this is nearly enough for a profile, so pack your bags and tell the others, wheels up in an hour. We’re headed to New York.”

4 days earlier, F.B.I. Field Office, New York, New York

“The final report from the latest victim is in, all the autopsies are clean. They show no signs of struggles, no marks, no blood, no anything. The eyes weren’t bloodshot, so suffocation is ruled out, and that was our best bet.”

I sighed, sliding the case file across the glass table to Spence as I took my seat, sinking into it and allowing myself to be consumed by its warmth.

“So what your saying is that we’re back at square one.”

I looked up at Hotch from where I sat, running my hand through my ponytail.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

Just then, the young Doctor spoke up as he flipped through the pages.

“The eyes weren’t just not bloodshot, there was barely any blood left in any of the victims bodies, only about 3% of the volume left. The killer drained them.”

Morgan gave me a shocked expression, silently asking for an explanation.

“Which you failed to mention, Y/n.” Aaron spoke, agitation once again present in his voice.

I looked at the ceiling, crossing my arms in front of me before turning to face Hotch once more.

“Yeah, well, I thought it was obvious when I said no blood.” I stuttered out cautiously.

“On the bodies! Not in the bodies!” Morgan exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in what was in my opinion, very childish. Everyone else in the room aside from Spencer was either shaking their heads or pinching the bridge of their noses, and reasonably so.

“Look, I’m sorry I just didn’t see it in the report, plus, In the scheme of things, it just doesn’t seem to matter.”

I soon regretted my words, realizing how ill-fit they were for the current conversation I was having. Spencer looked up, tilting his head.

“Doesn’t seem to matter? How? There’s an endless amount of possibilities now that we know this. If we had known it sooner we probably could have figured out the pattern and caught the one doing this!” He harshly spewed, his voice acting like a crescendo of sorts, quiet and calm and moving towards a loud and violent tone. Tears began to prick at the corners of my eyes and I was starting to feel guilty, not to mention absolutely stupid as could be.

“I’m- I really am sorry guys, truly.”

Hotch locked eyes with me, taking a stern tone that one would usually take with a disobedient child, perhaps even Jack.

“I hope that’s a comfort to you when another body shows up. That’s their blood on your hands.”

I was frozen, the gravity of the situation taking its toll.

In the background I heard him say something to Morgan about a new profile having to be made as there were many new things to be known from this revelation. But it all went in one ear and out the other, just unpleasant white noise.

As I clumsily stumbled out of the room, I felt Reid’s eyes burning holes into the back of my brain. I was quick to turn my head to meet his glance, causing him to look down. I felt bad, the weight on my chest growing heavier from the interaction.

I sat down at my desk, turning on my computer and immediately going to google. I typed in “hypnosis” and let the info trickle in.

About 30 minutes later, I still felt absolutely horrible, but I had also put together a valuable profile in the time that had passed. I shut the newly finished file, blowing an abandoned strand of hair out from my eyes. I had to do a double take when I saw Spencer staring once more, his deep hazel eyes meeting my own. I gave him a small smile before standing up and walking to Hotch’s makeshift New York office. I pushed open the heavy door, placing the folder on his too-clean desk.

“What’s this?” He asked, taking it in his hands.

“My theory about the unsub. I think I know what she’s been doing. You can tell the team if you want, I’m not sure if they would wanna hear it from me. ”

He gave a small smile, pushing the file back over to me.

“You get the team together and I’ll get the local PD caught up. You tell them yourself.”

A few minutes later, everyone except for Reid had gathered in the meeting room. I peeked through the half closed blinds that allowed a line of vision to his desk in an attempt to locate him. He was positioned there, staring blankly at his laptop that appeared to have nothing on the screen. I knocked on the window lightly to catch his attention, his glazed over eyes looking in my direction. I tilted my head at him, silently beckoning him to join me. He only shook his in response, shaggy brown locks swaying back and forth. I sighed, frowning at his action. I turned to the group, clasping my hands in front of me.

“Everyone, this will just be a second if you’ll excuse me.”

With a raised eyebrow from Hotchner and a jab in the direction of Spencer’s workspace, I swiftly walked out of the crowded room.

“Spence, care to join us?” I asked, resting one of my hands against my hip, the other on his orderly desk.

“No, I don’t think I will. I need to try to figure this out before she finds her next victim.”

“What makes you think the unsub is a she?” I searched his eyes that had seemingly become brighter at my piqued interest in his hypothesis.

“Well, the unsub seems to be obsessed with symmetry, all the bodies being found in obscure yet symmetrical positions. This could suggest she had some sort of deep rooted insecurity, possibly from some sort of bullying from growing up in a small town where she was looked at as a superior for subpar looks. She moved to the big city, expecting a big break. Instead she was shunned for being less than average. She grew frustrated and as a result, she began her killing spree. The stresser could have been one too many insults that made her snap. Plus, that would account for the butterflies left on the scenes that are used in modern examples of both femininity and symmetry.”

I smiled widely at his words.

“What- why are you smiling, what are you smiling at?”

I tapped his desk, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth. I headed back towards the conference room, looking over my shoulder.

“Because, I’m glad we’re on the same page, Dr.”

——————

“So, our girl, as Dr. Reid has explained to us, is obsessed with her appearance. She’s an organized killer, no mistakes and no signs of blood or anything of the sort on scene. She has practice, she does this sort of thing every day. She is most likely in the age group of 23-30, and has a job in the cosmetic industry, our guess is in plastic surgery. She probably volunteers weekends at local butterfly sanctuaries or zoos, finding comfort in their perfection that those in her life, or formerly in her life, cannot and could not provide.”

“Which would explain to her easy access to non-native species of the insects. She has an absolute infatuation with symmetry, which yet again, links the butterflies on the crime scene to her MO.”

Spencer and I were vividly explaining our shared theory to the team, as well as local law enforcement. He was excited by his discovery and the lead on the killer, and his energy was contagious.

“She kills without remorse and out of jealousy, picking victims who all have one thing in common.”

Spence pointed to all of the images pasted on the board in the center of the room, all of them split in half and reflected, creating a perfect mirrored portrait.

“They all have perfectly symmetrical faces, as well as strong jawlines and high cheekbones. As most of these victims are models or those searching to start a modeling career, we believe she is luring them in with a photographer trope, promising to make their dreams come true.”

I nodded, taking a moment to study Reid’s own sharp yet somehow soft features. I allowed my eyes to wander over his sunken in, kind, and curious eyes; his pillowy pink lips that are in dire need of some chapstick.

“Agent?”

I turned my head, snapped back to reality by Rossi calling my name.

I gave a tight and quick smile, returning to the topic at hand and tactics to catch the unsub. But of course not before Emily gave me a crooked smile, resulting in me rolling my eyes.

“Physically, she’s nothing special, most likely a mundane appearance or one with quite obvious surgical changes. No in between. Check all of the plastic surgeon offices in the area for both employees who fit our description, as well as a patient who has gotten any serious facial mod operations. Do the same for any weekend volunteers at local zoos and animal sanctuaries, specifically working with any insects.”

It was an NYPD officer then that spoke up this time, raising her hand briefly.

“But, you still haven’t mentioned how she’s killing them?”

“Hypnosis.” Reid and I both spoke at the same time. He looked to his black Converse, sliding his hands into his pockets. I observed the room and all of the skeptical faces filling it.

“Even if it may sound far fetched, we saw no signs of anything that indicated a struggle or even any marks or wounds. This led us to believe that some form of hypnosis was used to allow her an easy kill. This means extra caution will have to be taken when actually handling the unsub. Even though we’re positive she’s using hypnosis, which method she is using to actually kill them after the fact is what we’re unsure of.”

I turned to Spencer, handing off the explanation to him.

“We think that because of her whole thing with symmetry, she wouldn’t want to disturb the natural state of the victims and their faces, even if she would do the same to her own.”

“Which means?” JJ asked, her blue eyes slanted and glossed lips left ajar.

“It means that the unsub wouldn’t want to leave any large marks like stab or gunshot wounds.” I nodded at Prentiss, who had made the assumption, confirming she was correct.

“With her presumed background in plastic surgery, we believe she was able to make small incisions that made no visible scars. We’re having the coroner look back over the bodies as we speak.”

“She drains the body’s blood 97% of the way before closing the holes up. What she does with the blood, we don’t know. Another Eddie Mays, perhaps.”

I looked over to Spencer, raising my brows at his comparison. He was quick to defend himself, shaking his hands left to right and mouthing “No” while simultaneously shaking his head the same way, something he seemed to be doing often as of late.

After we had finished consulting with any officers who had remaining questions, we branched off to conduct our own routine investigations. We found that the only thing they all had in common apart from the symmetrical faces, is that they all had visited the Central Park Zoo in the 24 hours before they were killed. We received a phone call from Garcia not long after we put together those pieces, being alerted that there was one girl who had, in her words, “Hit every mark there was to hit, sunshine.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

“Her name is Alessia Copelas, she works weekdays as a surgeon's assistant at Premier Cosmetic, and weekends at Central Park Zoo from 4-8 p.m.”

I smiled at the new info from the blonde bombshell known as Penelope, turning to Reid who was still looking at me quizzically.

“Alright, thanks babes, you’re the best.” I spoke into the phone, a comical “Mwah!” made from either side as we hung up.

He shook his head, keeping the odd look on his face.

“I swear, you guys have a weirder relationship than her and Morgan.”

I laughed, sliding my phone into my back pocket.

“Oh, please, Spence.” I gingerly placed a hand on his cheek, patting it twice.

“You’re just jealous.” I made a pouty face, letting my hand linger before walking off. “Come on, we’re going on a field trip.”

“Where to?” He asked, gripping the door frame, using it as leverage to swing himself closer to me. He took long and quick strides, catching up to me in no time.

“You like animals, right?”

———————

4 Days Earlier, Central Park Zoo, New York

As soon as we entered the zoo, our ears were filled with the sounds of the loud screeches of birds and monkeys alike. Reid covered his ears, cringing and making his displeasure known with an “Ahh!”

I smiled at his geeky behavior, admiring the animals in the enclosures. I paid special attention to a particularly impressive species of tarantula, leaning down to admire them. A few moments later I looked to my left and saw Spencer doing the same thing.

“Did you know that arachnids have asthma which is why they don’t run for extended periods of time, similarly to cheetahs?”

“Yes I did.”

His face scrunched up in an adorable manner, causing an involuntary giggle to fall past my lips.

“Well did you know that-“

“Ma’am?”

I turned to see a young woman with flaming red hair and a freckled face smiling at me, her green collared uniform top complimenting her eyes of a different shade wonderfully.

“Oh, hi, I’m Agent Y/l/n and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.”

Her expression shifted to a more confused one, her smile not leaving her face.

“What can I do for you two?”

“Is there an Alessia Copelas that works here, maybe volunteers on the weekends?” Spencer asked, his puppy dog eyes immediately warranting a response.

“Yeah, she volunteers here, she seems nice. Is she helping with an investigation?”

“Well we think that she may have some part in a series of murders.”

Her smile disappeared this time, turning into a cement frown as panic flooded her body.

“Oh God, was she- Is she a killer? Have I been working with a killer for all this time? I mean, I never had any shifts with her but from what I heard I thought she was so sweet-“

“Look,”

Reid glanced down to her name tag that read “Lillian” before meeting her eyes. His tongue darted out, licking his lips, a nervous habit of his I’d picked up on.

“Lillian, we aren’t sure if she’s the killer we just needed to get a feel on her and get some information regarding her personal life.”

She started frantically nodding her head, more trying to convince herself she was okay rather than ourselves. I looked over her shoulder at some exhibits, thinking to myself how this would end up being a waste of our time if this poor girl couldn’t get a grip on herself.

I was soon proven wrong when I looked over to see a young girl wearing an identical uniform to Lillian, probably somewhere between 23 and 24. She had untamed chocolate locks with bangs that stopped just above the shoulder, blemishes covering her T-Zone, and a rounded face to go with it.

The cherry on top? Under her arm she carried a small enclosure with what appeared to be amarynthis meneria, the same butterflies found on the victims.

I tapped Reid on the shoulder once as discreetly as possible, catching his attention. I heard him mutter a small “Oh God” before he told Lillian to walk away calmly and quickly. She ignored his request, turning to look at Alessia, letting out a blood curdling scream and sprinting the other direction.

“Shit.” I cursed, beginning to walk towards Alessia, Spencer by my side. I smiled at her, trying to appear friendly. Reid spoke up as we got closer.

“Hello, do you by any chance-“

wham!

“Spence!” I exclaimed, reaching down to help him up from where he had fallen from being whacked by the 4’2 pyscho that was Alessia Copelas.

“Did she get away?”

I turned to see her gone, the only sign she was even here being the forming bruise on the Dr’s face.

“Yeah. She did. I’m sorry, Reid, that was really stupid of me.” He shook his head, running his own hand over the raw skin.

“It’s fine, I would have done the same for you.” He looked up, and I wasn’t sure if it was my school-girl esque crush on him or the fact I just had another experience with a serial killer, but my heart was racing nonetheless.

————————

F.B.I. Field Office, New York, New York, 1 Day Earlier

The stress levels in the room were high.

Despite our best efforts, several more bodies had been found, New York’s narcissists were in a state of panic, and the spirits of the BAU were down to say the least.

“What? Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, looking at Hotch in disbelief.

He rolled his chocolate eyes, fanning the folder containing the new information we had gathered on Alessia.

“I wish I was, Y/n. She’s off the grid completely, her apartment is empty, phone and credit cards have been deactivated, and the surgeon’s office hasn’t heard from her for 5 days. And the media has decided to give her the name ‘Butterfly Baron’, so she’s probably been fueled even further. We need a new lead before she strikes again.”

I scoffed, standing up and pushing my chair away.

“This is unbelievable. How many times do we have to reinforce the idea to local PD! Especially when the unsub is a self absorbed psycho, do not give them a name! God, I really cannot fathom this.”

I reached up, letting my hair down from where I had messily thrown it up upon my arrival to work that morning.

I stormed out of the room, my heels clicking behind me. I ignored Hotch’s calling of my name, making my way to the closest restroom.

I went in, locking the door behind him. I ran my hands through my roots, tugging just enough to where it hurt.

Turning the water to the left all the way, I splashed it from the stream leaving the faucet on to my face. I scratched my fingernails against the skin, wiping away the tears that had escaped.

“This is all your fault, y/n.” I whispered at myself in the mirror, doing my absolute best to engrain the message in my brain. I had my head hung in shame when a knock rang out.

“Y/n?”

It was Spencer. My mind started going a million miles a minute, thinking about why he could be there. With my voice raised a few octaves, I tried to scrape up a response.

“I’ll be out in a few, Spence.”

It was quiet for a split second, leaving me to foolishly dance around the idea that he had left me to wallow in my sorrowful thoughts.

“Y/n, Hotch wanted me to check on you. Are you ok?”

My heart slightly sank at the idea that he might’ve just come to check on me because he himself was worried. I discarded the thought, bringing myself back.

“Y/n can you please answer me? If you don’t open the door I’m gonna send in JJ or Emily.”

I sighed, wiping under my eyes where my mascara had smudged, begrudgingly walking over to the door. Just as my hand landed on the silver handle, his voice that was constantly playing in my head echoed out once more.

“Y/n, please? I need to know you’re okay. I’ll come in there myself.”

A soft smirk graced my face as I turned the handle to reveal a worried looking Spencer.

“Y/n, oh God, you had me worried.”

He was quiet when he spoke and his hair looked messy, like he had been running his slender fingers through it in a stress filled state.

I sniffled, attempting to still keep back tears that were still threatening to spill.

“I’m alright, Spencer. Really, I’m fine.”

He gave me a small smile, his eyes meeting my own.

“I know, it’s just that when I had my Diludad problem,” he hesitated.

“I would lock myself in bathrooms to shoot up, and I know you aren’t having a problem like that but I just was worried about you- what are you doing?”

I cut off his rambling by throwing my arms around his middle. He tensed, but quickly melted. He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and my waist, laying his head on mine.

“Y/n, I promise you, you’re doing your absolute best to stop Alessia. We wouldn’t even be where we are right now if you hadn’t made the connections. Those deaths are not your fault.”

My tears finally began to cascade like a waterfall, staining his shirt.

“I know, but it’s just like it is all my fault! I could have paid closer attention, or-or, I could have went after her at the zoo, it’s all my fucking fault, Reid.”

I sobbed into his shirt, my hand gripping his shirt like my life depended on it. Like if I let go I would fall into a deep, deep, endless hole.

His hand on my waist moved up to cradle my head.

“It’s not, I promise you-“

He was cut off mid sentence by the ringing of his phone.

“I am so, so sorry-”

I pulled away, breifly touching under my nose with my wrist, then moving a hair behind my ear.

“Nope, it’s fine, don’t worry.” Our words almost had overlapped each other as we clambered to fight the tension that had risen. I closed my eyes, tilting my head up, thinking about how unprofessional yet intimate our previous position had been. How wrong, yet how right it felt.

I kept running the moment through my head, the feeling of his warm figure encasing mine on replay.

His phone call played as background noise to the film playing in my brain, his voice calming me to an extent.

“Yeah, we’re on our way. Thanks, Morgan.”

He closed the phone with a snap, also snapping me out of my trance, putting the movie on pause.

“They’ve got a hit. Copelas was seen dropping by her old apartment.”

And for the first time since that Goddamn case had started, I smiled genuinely.

“Let’s go get her.”

————————

15 Minutes Prior, Central Park, New York

“Hotch?”

“Yes?” He looked back from where he was driving, following our lead in a rushed manner.

“What will we do if she...” I trailed off.

“Hypnotizes one of us?” He finished for me. I nodded solemnly.

The look on his face was conflicted and it took him a moment to come up with a response.

“We kill her before we have to kill one of our team members.”

He saw a look of uncertainty on my face and spoke up once more.

“And that’s an order.”

I nodded again, making eye contact with him through the rear view mirror. I fell back into my seat, closing my eyes briefly.

After a few more minutes on the road, we had arrived.

The doors all slammed to the SUVs, one after the other as we stepped out.

“The letter said that she would be here, somewhere here.”

The voice of Morgan was channeling through my earpiece, referring to the letter found at her apartment that she had left just for us.

“We ordered evac on citizens, correct?”

The unsure voice of JJ was also heard through the earpiece, her uncertainty quite unusual to hear.

“Yes, it was the first thing we did, Jayj.”

I whispered, a sly smirk from Spencer forming at my behavior.  

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

snap!

Our senses adapted, becoming dialed to 11 at the sound of a twig snapping under someone's feet.

“Was that you?” I mouthed to Spencer. He shook his head no and I silently cursed to whatever force was listening.

I nodded, which he then reciprocated, the pair of us slowly walking towards the source of the sound after he did.

“They’re going to remember me, I’ll go down in history.”

The voice was sing-songy and quiet, floating through the air. I took a shaky breath, continuing my steady pace.

My breathing momentarily halted soon after.

Different variations of “Oh my God”s, and loud gasps from almost everyone on the team flooded my ear canal at the horrifying sight in front of us.

Red. So much of it.

“Guys, I think we know what she’s been doing with the bodies’ blood.”

“No shit.” I muttered under my breath.

She was bathed in the blood, it looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

“Alright everyone, I want you to approach her as quietly as possible, Morgan, if you get the chance, corner her.”

Hotch’s voice was a stark contrast to her own, Derek’s response all the same.

—————————

Present Day, Central Park, New York

“But Agents, you still haven’t answered my question. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Alessia Copeleas, FBI, come on, get up, lets go.”

Derek’s voice was stern, not asking, but demanding that Alessia come with us.

“I’m afraid I just can’t do that, Agents.”

She stood up abruptly, causing all of our weapons to rise. The sun reflected off of the silver metal of Reid’s gun, sparkling in a stunning way that caught me off guard.

We all were trying to act as if we were in total control of the situation, but we could tell that us nor Copelas really believed that. Her words were her weapon, and this was the one time where words could hurt, but sticks and stones had virtually no power.

“Take another step and we will have no hesitation to fire.”

She smirked, rolling her eyes.

“If you do, will I be famous you think? You think they’ll hear about me back home?”

Her curls softly blew in the wind, making her appear almost harmless, maybe even endearing, if it wasn’t for the hardening coat of human blood soaking her clothes and seeping from her skin.

“Is that what you want? The kids back home and everyone here to hear about you? You want ‘Butterfly Baron’ written on every billboard in Times Square, your picture painted in museums, films to be made in your honor?” Reid was the one who spoke up this time, his voice remaining strong. Her eyes shone with a sickening excitement at what he said.

“You want to be famous?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Too bad.”

My eyes widened, surprised at the detour the conversation had taken.

“What-what do you mean?”

“Please, the only thing people will hear about is a sad, boring little girl from a small town who killed to feel better about herself. They’ll forget about you in a week, who knows, maybe they’ll even grow an infatuation with your town, someone you went to school with may get as lucky as to catch their big break!” He laughed, while Alessia looked absolutely devastated.

“You? You’ll be a nobody.”

“That’s not true! I’ll go down in history, and they won’t! I’m the fucking butterfly baron for hells sake! All these people?” She gestured towards her field of bodies.

“You won’t remember their names, maybe not even their pretty faces, but me? I’ll live forever.”

Her nostrils flared and she strode over to Reid with purpose. The safety on my glock clicked off, but Spencer motioned for me to wait. So I did.

“You know, Agent-“

“It’s Doctor.”

This visibly agitated her even more as she started her sentence over again.

“Doctor, you have a beautiful bone structure. Absolutely perfect. Symmetrical, not to mention just flat out stunning.”

A glaze formed over Spencer’s honey eyes at her words. He lowered his gun momentarily before turning towards me, Copelas doing the same.

“And you, Agent. Wow. I feel like I’m in an art exhibit, you’re gorgeous. I think the Doctor man here would agree.”

As he lifted his revolver at me, the situation became all too real as I understood what was happening.

I either had to shoot the man that I was struggling to admit I was beginning to love, or died at the hands of the very same man.

Tears flooded my eyes, all safeties were turned down, and all guns were pointed at Reid.

“Spence, please.”

My voice was weak, something that seemed to bring Alessia lots of joy.

She laughed before talking again, commanding Spencer.

“Pathetic, really! Spence”, she mocked,“shoot her.”

“No!”

bang!

whack!

--------------------- 

Present Day, Somewhere In The Sky, The Jet

I opened my eyes from where I had been tackled to the ground by Hotch, surveying my surroundings to see Alessia laying on the grass, the source of her gunshot wound non-distinguishable from the previous blood on her body.

I looked to the right to see where Spencer had crumpled to, his frame bent in a discombobulated position.

“Spencer!” I cried out, crawling over to him like some sort of dog,

“What happened to him?”

“Y/n, he was going to shoot you-“

“I don’t care you should have let him!”

I cradled his head in my lap, allowing my pent up tears to fall.

“Y/n?”

My eyes snapped open for real this time, my mind calmed at the sight of Spencer sitting next to me on the couch, gently shaking my shoulder in an attempt to wake me from my nightmare.

“Spencer! Sorry, was I too loud?”

He chuckled, gesturing to the rest of the sleeping plane around us.

“You’re fine, I wasn’t sleeping, I decided to reread ‘Fahrenheit 451’ for nostalgia purposes. And you weren’t that loud, you just looked like you were having a bad dream.”

I chuckled at the not-so outlandish idea in an attempt to diminish it from his mind and move on.

“I’m fine. But fun fact, I did have nightmares after reading ‘The Veldt’. Seriously, I don’t get how you can just reread Bradbury’s stuff all the time.”

The genius scoffed, starting a rant on how Ray Bradbury’s storytelling was just classic literature and deserved to be reread, thus successfully changing the topic as I hoped my statement would. Although soon after, he caught on much quicker than I would have liked him to.

“And not to mention, The Veldt alone could be seen as a forewarning to the 21st century and beyond, even Bradbury himself supported that interpretation-‘

I gave him a tired smile, enjoying his rambling like I always did.

“-and you totally just got me to change the subject.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna catch up.”

“Hey!”

He laughed as I rested my head on my hand, trying to fall back asleep.

“Really, I can tell those nightmares are bad. What’s going on?” He questioned, his tone empathetic and compassionate.

“It’s nothing, Reid. I just keep seeing in the park, when Alessia got shot and you-you got hurt but instead of getting up like you did in real life, you just…”

I trailed off, not wanting to relive the negative dream any longer for fear of the tears that were pricking my eyes escaping.

“It’s okay, that didn’t happen, I’m right here.”

He pulled me into a hug, allowing me to bury my head in the crook of his neck, his warmth consuming me once more, a sequel to the film from earlier.

“I know, but what if it hadn’t?” I asked as I pulled away.

He shook his head, reaching for his wallet.

“In this job, this course of work, we can’t focus on ‘what if’s’. In this job, we also get nightmares, all of us. It happens.”

He slid a picture over to me, it was of a happy family. The edges were worn from years of being carried, but the picture seemed loved.

“Gideon gave me that when my nightmares started. He told me about how those families we save everyday, and how that’s what makes what we do worth it. And I know you didn’t know Gideon personally, or the work on the specific case with that family, but I want you to have it anyway-“

I cut him off by throwing my arms around his neck, attempting to speak despite being muffled by his fluffy sweater.

“Thank you, Spence. Truly.”

I smiled, and I imagined he was doing the same.

“No problem y/n. Anytime.”

I moved my legs over to be tucked underneath my arms, leaning into Reid. He wrapped his arm around me, also leaning in. We both managed to fall asleep for the remainder of the ride in our state of content, but not before he managed to sleepily call out my name.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“When we land do you wanna go on a date or somethin’?”

I smiled at him, separating from his form just long enough to see that beautiful face of his.

“Without a doubt.”

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

AHAHAHHAHAHAHA I’M WAY TOO HAPPY WITH THAT LMAOOO but anyway chile- 

i don’t have some long ass paragraph to write this time omg wig, i’m just proud asf of my work for once (except for the zoo part ngl kinda didn’t like it😳) 

😛✨vibes✨ love u, xx hj

[olligreen]

No Bad Student | 6 -- You're Alright, LaRusso

{x}

Pairing: Lawrusso (Daniel x Johnny) Genre: Angst Warnings: None Word count: 2287 Summary: KK2 AU in which Johnny ends up living with Miyagi and Daniel for the summer. Inspired by nadianecromancer’s comic, but I’ll try to avoid making any scenes similar to the ones they already did! Notes: This was originally posted on Ao3 here.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon)

They both shared a sigh of relief, though Daniel’s was perhaps more desperate. Silence filled the room again and both were just as unwilling to venture a glance toward the other. The pause seemed endless. It was like they’d be stuck in this awkward limbo for the rest of their lives. Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, Johnny started laughing. At first a little stifled chuckle, then, as the bedframe came down gently on its new legs, it turned to an all-out fit.

The sound brought up sharp, sudden rage in Daniel, who looked on with a scowl. “What?! What’s so funny, huh?”

“I--... Sorry, I just--...” He stifled the last remaining mirth, catching his breath. “That was just so fucking weird, man.”

“What was weird about it?” Daniel said before he thought.

“Are you kidding me? That was weird as fuck. Like… I never thought I’d be that close to you without like… kicking your ass right after.”

“Right, like you could.” Daniel got away with the first word-vomit, but, from the way the mood shifted in that instant, he was sure he wouldn’t get away with this one.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, LaRusso?”

He decided to think a bit before he spoke this time. “Look, man, I just--”

“Don’t go backpedaling now, man. You think you could take me in a real fight, you’re dead wrong.” And just as quickly as they separated, Johnny stepped within a foot of Daniel, glaring down at him with deadly ire.

They weren't quite as close, but Daniel’s restless heart couldn’t tell the difference. He kept his gaze downward, avoiding Johnny; though, despite his efforts, Johnny's imposing figure took up much of his vision.

“You think you’re hot shit now that you won one fight? Nah, man. Just cause you have Ali doesn’t mean you can--”

“I don’t ‘have’ Ali.” He interrupted, some new rage burning in his words.

Johnny’s intimidation blunted, sending him back a few steps. “What?”

“We broke up a month ago.” His words were pointed but his expression was blank, as it was before. It was like he was confusing him on purpose.

“What’d you do?” Johnny responded without time for thought.

Daniel looked up with a scowl. “What the hell do you mean, ‘what did I do?’ Why’s it gotta be my fault?” Anger was a fine emotion to show him, apparently.

“‘Cause I know Ali, asshole. Now, what’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! She ran off with some football player from UCLA!”

There it was again, that laugh of his, like a cup of gasoline on an open flame.

“What?! What could possibly be funny about that!?”

Johnny replied firstly with a cruel grin, though there was something off about it. “Now you know what it’s like.” He said, softer than he should have.

Daniel turned away, his face flushing. “No! No, that’s not the same thing.”

“Oh yeah? How is it any different?”

“You hadn’t talked to her for weeks, man! You were done!”

“Two weeks.”

“She wanted nothing to do with--... What’d you say?”

Johnny’s words were spoken underneath Daniel’s -- quiet, solemn, same as before. “We were split up for two weeks, then you showed up.”

Daniel stopped at once, brown eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Y’know how long we were together?” He smirked, reveling in Daniel’s pain, but in his eyes, it was clear he wasn’t the only one hurting. “Two years.”

He was still too close. Anywhere in the room was too close. He stepped back, but couldn’t escape the horrible feeling bubbling up in his chest. He searched desperately for something he could throw back in his face, but how do you even respond to that? Eventually, he settled on the least volatile. “Oh,” he breathed out, eyes trained on the ground.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Johnny wandered over to take another defeated seat on his bedroll, though it felt more like a pyrrhic victory than a pure loss.

“Well, but--... But that doesn’t--”

“It doesn’t excuse what I did, I know.” He mumbled, absentmindedly twisting the cloth between his fingers. “But don’t you wanna go find that UCLA douche and kick the shit out of him?”

Daniel breathed a quiet laugh before he could stop it, erasing his smile as soon as he could manage. “Well, sure, but I’m not gonna. That’s not what Miyagi taught me.” He sat across from Johnny, legs crossed on the wooden floor.

Johnny’s eyes moved to the door momentarily. “What’d he teach you?”

“Karate’s for defense only.”

“Well, there ya go. I wasn’t taught that pussy shit.”

“It’s not ‘pussy shit,’ it’s real karate. Not like that garbage Kreese was teaching you.” Just as the words left his mouth, he thought back to the first time he brought up this same topic. He braced for impact.

But the impact never came. Johnny just sat on that bedroll, staring at the floorboards, solemn and silent.

Something about that hit Daniel harder than an angry outburst ever could. There was that image of him -- sitting on the curb, broken glass sparkling on the ground around him. It matched up perfectly. It wouldn’t leave his mind. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, just loud enough to break the silence.

Johnny’s eyes met his, puzzled. “For what?”

“I saw what happened with your sensei, I shouldn’t have mentioned him,” Daniel explained.

But the confusion didn’t cease. “Why do you care?” The words were spat out but were meant genuinely.

“Well ‘cause--...” Daniel started, then took a moment to consider his words carefully. “Mr. Miyagi says there’s no such thing as a bad student, just a bad teacher, right? So--... So I mean, you gettin’ all aggressive and acting like an--... Well, acting the way you did, that’s on him for how he taught you. Y’know what I mean?”

Johnny’s stare was unending as he tried to pick his words apart, his expression hopeful, then fearful, then ultimately clouded by rage. “And what about what you did, huh?”

“What? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, not leaving well-enough alone? I was gonna call my guys off before you pulled that shit at the Halloween party."

“Oh, come on, Johnny, you and your stupid biker gang were kicking my ass every other day. You weren’t gonna stop. What am I gonna do, just sit and take it?”

“Well yeah, maybe! I mean, you were asking for it. If you would’ve just left Ali alone--”

“What, and nobody’s supposed to date her ever again?”

“Two weeks, man!”

“Yeah, and you had to be the one to tell me that!”

“Did you even ask?”

“Of course I asked! She said ‘weeks,’ that’s it. If she had any intention of getting back together with you, she would’ve said so, Johnny, but she didn’t. She said ‘weeks.’”

The tension in the air only heightened as Johnny considered his words. His lip curled up in disgust, but his glare faltered, and he was left staring at the floorboards again.

“I tried, man. I tried to just talk to you. I tried to tell you that guy was bad news, but you wouldn’t have any of it.”

“You don’t understand, man. You don’t get how much you took from me.” Johnny growled, desperate to shut him up.

“Goddammit, Johnny, I didn’t take anything from you! You lost!” Daniel half-screamed, the energy of the phrase lifting him from his seat.

Johnny followed. “I lost one fight and now, what, I deserve to be miserable? Maybe you’re a lot more like my sensei than you think you are.”

“I’m not talking about the fight, Johnny, for fuck’s sake, can you consider something other than fighting for once?”

“And what else am I supposed to consider, huh?”

“You lost Ali! You did! I didn’t ‘steal’ her from you, she stopped talking to you because you stopped being a person she wanted to talk to.”

“You got no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“What, you think her snobby Encino friends ever stopped talking about how ‘great of a boyfriend’ you were? Do you know how many times I had to hear your name after that tournament was over? I probably know more about that breakup than you do!”

“Fuck you, man.”

“Fantastic argument there, Johnny, good one.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?! That I’m sorry?!”

“That’d be a start!”

“Well then, I’m sorry, alright?! God, of course I’m sorry! You think I feel good about beating the shit out of a person half my size? About lying to my mom about why my clothes were covered in your blood? You think I don’t hate myself just as much as you do?”

The room deafened. The adrenaline in each rival’s mind dissipated, giving way to fear, regret, and sadness. Then, as Daniel’s breaths became heavy, he noticed a glint in Johnny’s eyes that brought him both serenity and pain.

“I just--... I saw you with her. I saw how happy you were and--... and how happy you made her. And--…” His eyes widened to keep in the tears, focused forward, but still, they fell. “And I just thought… ‘I need to make him feel pain...’ God, that sounds awful when I say it out loud like that.”

His words still frightened Daniel, but not enough to prevent him from taking a few steps closer.

“What if--… LaRusso, what if your Sensei was wrong?” The rage was long dead. His eyes were wide, desperate, terrified. There was no less fear hidden in his icy blue gaze than there was in Daniel’s not a few hours before.

“About what?” Daniel said cautiously.

“What if it’s not Cobra Kai? What if it’s just me? What if I’m just a bad person? I mean, what if there’s something wrong with me?”

Daniel shook his head immediately, refusing such a thing without a second thought. Was it that he didn’t think Miyagi could be wrong, or that he saw hope in Johnny’s fearful expression? Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was that feeling, the one he couldn’t explain, pushing his breaths out faster, pulling his arm out to touch Johnny’s shoulder.

He looked at the hand, fear fading to confusion. “I--...” He started, but his mouth fell closed.

“It’s alright, Johnny,” Daniel said softly, then pulled him into a hug.

The warmth shocked him. It took a few seconds before his body relaxed, then his arms climbed across Daniel’s back, holding him the same way he was held.

“You’re not a bad person. Miyagi can help you, alright?” Daniel’s voice was muffled into Johnny’s chest.

“I’m--... I’m sorry.” Johnny repeated.

Finally, Daniel pulled away, keeping that same hand rested on his shoulder, maintaining all the warmth and comfort he could provide in a smile. “I got that part.”

Johnny laughed through his tears, a welcome sound, now.

“Now, you’re not planning on kicking my ass while I’m sleepin’, are ya?” Daniel said as his hand dropped, warm smile falling to a grin.

The grin was matched. “Depends,” he started, his voice still strained, “are you as much of a cocky little shit asleep as you are awake?”

Daniel laughed, audibly. Imagine that. Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence, smiling and laughing at the same time for once.

“I’m not gonna fuck with you anymore, man. I shouldn’t even be here. I won’t push my luck like that.”

“Why do you need to stay here tonight anyway?”

Johnny’s shoulders tightened, his fatigued smile falling, but not gone. “Got kicked out.” He regained his seat on the bedroll.

“Why? You do something?” Not a moment passed before Daniel plopped himself down in front of Johnny, leaning his back against the bedframe.

“Nah, my stepdad just wanted to get rid of me.” He said casually as if it were a joke. “Now you gotta deal with me instead.”

“So it’s not just gonna be tonight, huh?”

His smile dropped.

“Oh! Well, it’s not--... I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I get it. I’ll try to keep it as quick as possible.”

“Johnny, no, really, it’s fine. I’m not gonna--”

“Dude, you fucking hate me. I understand. You don’t need to pretend not to just ‘cause I cried like a bitch in front of you.”

“I’m not pretending. I really think Mr. Miyagi can help you.”

Slowly, that smirk of his returned. “You’re alright, LaRusso.”

Fear washed over Daniel for just a moment but was gone as soon as it came. He gave a warm smile back to him. “You said that before.”

“Oh yeah.” Johnny looked off, recollecting. “It was a fun fight, I’ll give you that.”

He hummed a laugh. “Glad to hear my terrified flailing was entertaining to you.”

“Nah man, that wasn’t flailing. You’re a good fighter.” Johnny fell back on the bedroll, blonde hair puffing up as he did. “Not as good as me, but pretty good.”

“Oho! Somebody need a reminder of who won that fight?” Daniel grinned.

Johnny chuckled lowly, his eyes fluttering closed. “Nah, man, I wasn’t prepared for your shit then. Rematch.”

“Oh, what, you think that’ll change anything?”

“Mhm.”

Daniel let a quiet laugh fill the lapse in conversation, then stood and began to pace. It was getting dark out, the last red-orange glow of the sun the only light in the room. It felt strange. It was like he was in a liminal space, or a dream: quiet, calm, but somewhat offputting. Still, a determination filled his spirit that wasn’t present before, at least not with a source like this. Finally, he decided. “Y’know what, you’re on.”

But by the time the challenge was accepted Johnny was taken by the coming night, curled up on the bedroll, silent and serene.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon)

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/82993969

Chapter 77

Arthur and Nick spent the rest of the day with each other. Arthur made an effort to comfort his lover and Nick gladly accepted his efforts. They made good for the meal they had missed and thanks to Arthur's supplies it didn't consist of porridge alone. The next day, Nick was simply happy about waking up with Arthur. He wasn't in a rush and very sorry when his lover eventually went out of bed. “I see you need your coffee”, Arthur teased the former rockstar who didn't move a muscle. Nick stretched out a hand. “Actually, I need more Arthur”, he admitted, even though he found it sounded desperate. His lover came back and sat down on the bed, leaning over to kiss him. “My poor darling...You've been alone for such a long time...” “I thought I lost you down there...” “Please, stop torturing yourself with it...” “I dreamed of it...” Arthur hugged him. Nick couldn't imagine a better place than the crook of Arthur's neck.

“I wish we had more time...but there's still so much to do...” “We'll have time soon, Nick...”. Arthur feared that they would have more than enough of it, being trapped on this island. This perspective made his intentions for today look like he was hopelessly dwelling on the past. “I don't want to leave you alone again, but I also need to know if any of my friends forgive me...”, Nick cut off his train of thoughts. “Just go then. I have to get something done today too...I may be gone for longer, but I'm back no later than in the evening.” Nick sat up. “What are you going to do?” Arthur took a deep breath. “I have to go to the Executive Committee...Only they can tell me where my brother is. If any of the workers there is still alive...I hope they still have the documents...” He ran a hand through his hair. “At a pinch, I'll search every drawer and shelf I can find.” “Good luck, Arthur. I hope you find something”, Nick said softly. “Thank you.” “I'll come and help you when I'm done.” “You don't have to...Just take your time with your friends...Stay longer if you must...” “Okay...” Nick mused. “Do we still have time for a coffee?” Arthur agreed. Strengthened like this, they hugged each other goodbye. “Take care, my hero”, Nick whispered. “You too, Nicky...Remember that I believe in you...that you are worth loving...” “Oh, Arthur...” “You won my heart, Nick. Don't forget that.” “Perhaps it was the other way around.” They laughed at that.

Later, Nick reached the house of his former band. Matt answered the door and for a while he looked like he had expected someone else. “Oh, it's you...”, he said hesitantly. “Come in...” Nick went in, once again wondering if it had been a good idea to come here. "Did something happen?", he asked because of Matt's expression. "Chris left again...", the other man said gloomily. "Did you fight?" "Brad and him keep quarreling." Matt shrugged, but he didn't look incurious at all. "It's because of me, right?" Nick leaned against a wall and sighed deeply. "You know, you have every right to kick me out..." Matt shrugged again, more helplessly. "I don't know...I fear I'm losing my head, Nick..." He started to walk around the room. "I don't know what I'm supposed to think of all this...Since I'm off my Joy, more and more memories are coming in and...it's all crazy!...It's been ten years of our lifes! Ten years that some...crackpot stole from us! And why? We don't even know who started all this! It just popped up and now it's gone! We're left with nothing but ruins and we're about to starve! And freeze! What if we never get out of here? What if we run out of supplies? People still help each other for now, but if shit hits the fan, they'll freak out again! It's gonna be winter soon!" He shook his head. "Why did we have to stop taking Joy? What did we win?" He gave Nick a sad look.

"A chance", Nick offered. "We won't starve so easily, we still have a lot of supplies. Victoria Byng took care of that, I know that from Arthur. And perhaps we don't have to leave. We could grow plants in the Garden District again. There's still hope. With Joy, we would've starved for sure." "But we would've been happy...." "It was a lie!" "But it was our life! I wouldn't know how everything changed, I wouldn't remember who died...Virgil would've never really left us...and Morrie..." He breathed in deeply. "Do you know what's worse? That he never knew the truth...He died with this lie." Nick eyed the floor. "Right...shit..." "And was he worse off than us? He could live the life he was used to until the end. He was always a Make Believe and had nothing to worry about than his music...But us...We're lucky if we'll ever be a real band again!" "Why shouldn't you?" "Nick...who's gonna spend money on us? We have to become goddamn farmers to survive here!" "Hey, you will be heard, don't worry. I felt it too when I played my guitar. People miss their old life and they want to hear the music. There'll be gigs in the future, only without Joy."

Matt finally took a rest on the couch and looked up to Nick with a tired expression. "Could you do that, Nick? Could you continue playing our songs without Morrie?" Nick fell silent for a moment. "I couldn't stop...I you still wanted this, I wouldn't hesitate to keep this up." Matt pondered. "Did Morrie ever have a chance?" "Yeah..." Nick sighed. "If I never met him, if we had never been together, then yes...I didn't do him good." Nick blinked. "But believe me, I was loyal before I took Joy. It wasn't easy, and sometimes Morrie had to bring me back to my senses..." Nick had to smile at the memory. "...but I made him happy...I think..." "You did", Matt said firmly. "Morrie swooned over the old days and always wished you would come back like this...The poor thing! He never understood what happened and I can't explain it to him anymore..." Nick sat down next to him. "I'm sure you've been a good friend to him...Gosh, I never thanked you for this...er, thank you." "I wasn't a much better friend than you...That evening you fought with him because of Arthur, I should've comforted him, stopped him from following your or coming along, but I was too busy comforting myself wiht Joy and scotch..." He gulped heavily. "We've been awful people, haven't we?"

"Unlike me you've all been saints", Nick said. "You couldn't know that there was a mass murderer on the loose who killed my friends and loved ones out of jealousy." "No...but I should've helped him..." "I'm sure Morrie wouldn't reproach you with this if he knew what was going on. He also took a high risk going outside at night. He wasn't allowed to. He could've ended up in a Jubilator...I shouldn't think of that..." "Oh, dear, thanks for the image...", Matt moaned. "Sorry...See, it wasn't all sunshine and daisies in our old life." Because Matt continued to silence, Nick dared to pat his back. "Hey...I'm sorry...I should keep my bloody mouth shut." "I don't know...Sometimes I think we had some bad luck, and sometimes I could give you a thrashing...Why did you have to betray him? Why did he have to die for this?" "He would've been a target for James, either as my enemy or my lover...Arthur didn't chance that", Nick whispered. Matt closed his eyes shut. For a while, they sat together in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I understand why we took Joy...", Matt said some time later. "Not being able to forget, having to live with all this...it's...it's" He clenched his fists and tensed up. Nick was searching for words when Matt finally relaxed again. "Brad is right, it would be easy to blame it on you. In the end, you've been just a poor sucker like us." "You don't have to take me back, though...not ouf of nostalgia or anything..." "But you would like to...?" Matt eyed him from the side. "Sure...What a question is that?" The bass player stretched himself. "Well...you have to persuade Chris." "He'll come back, right?" "I think I know where he is." Nick hesitated. "Is it a good idea to be alone with him?" “Well, it's your only chance. In here, he feels cornered. Alone, you're at his mercy but he'll most likely listen to you.” Nick sighed. “Okay...I'll try...By the way, how's Brad?” “He needs some time for his own, too. I'll take care of him as good as I can.” “Just tell him I said hello.” “Alright...Now listen...”

After that, Nick made his way through the district up to the bridge to St. Georges Holm. He didn't cross it, though, but climbed over the railing and continued his walk on the grass. From there, he could walk past the town through the landscape where he approached the cliffs. They were a perfect spot to seek solitude. Nick understood, that the view was soothing. He had learned that from Arthur. While Nick's gaze wandered along the rugged scenery, the wind blew harder than in town and brought salty, wet air. When he noticed a figure in the distance that looked like his missing friend, he was unsure if he should disturb him like that. Chris sat on a rock and stared at the horizon. Nick could only guess what he thought. But if he didn't try it now, he wouldn't need to ever come back, so he carefully approached him. Then he stopped again, because he noticed that Chris didn't hear him. The grass dampened his footsteps, so he shuffled along a rock with his heel. Alerted, Chris looked around. Nick didn't move and let the other man stare at him. Chris then left his rock.

“You're getting everywhere, isn't that so, Norbert? I'm nowhere safe from you...and it never crosses your mind that you might be unwanted...” The guitarist's voice was full of bitterness. Nick's face fell. “I'm not that stupid.” “Then why are you here?”, Chris snapped. Something occurred to him. “Brad sent you, right? Not even he can leave me alone! What did I do to deserve this?” “Brad has nothing to do with this!” “Who else? Matt? Sure, you talked him round already...Incredible...You kill his friend and he forgives you just like that...” “You know that this isn't what happened!”, Nick shouted against the wind. Chris shook his head, smiling unhappily. “It's always easy for you Norbert. Again, nothing is your fault...and the others fell for you...Now it's three against one...” “That's not how it is!” Nick came closer. “Don't think they're on my side now! They might forgive me, but that doesn't mean they would miss me! You are a part of the band, not me! I can only ask you to let me leave on good terms!” Chris fell quiet for a while, watching the waves.

“You know, I had the choice back then...”, he said almost calmly. Nick came closer to hear him. “It was my idea to form a band. Mine!”, he added with emphasis. “I could have made you dance to my pipe as a band leader, but I thought: 'No let's be friendly, a band isn't a military troop.' He laughed unhappily. “I guess it's still war.” “It was the right decision. We all thought highly of you, more than you noticed.” “And more than a certain someone noticed...” Nick had no idea what he was getting at. “It should've made me suspicious that Virgil spoke to you first and not me...” Nick sensed that there was some truth in that. Still, he said: “It could've been a coincidence.” “Huh! Sure...After watching us all, he coincidentally decided to approach you of all people...He knew exactly what he was doing.” “Even if so, it was his decision, not mine!” Chris made another pause that Nick spent racking his brain, trying to find a way to make him understand that he didn't scheme against him, but how would he prove that?

“I underestimated you, Norbert”, Chris spoke again. “Do you remember when you needed me to buy you a beer because you looked like a bloody twelve-year-old? I never thought anyone would pay much attention to you.” That actually hurt. “Do you want me to apologize because you took me for a baby?” “Well, I didn't take you for a traitor...” Chris kicked a stone off the cliff. “But now you do.” “What am I supposed to think of you? Tell me.” He looked down at Nick who struggled for words in frustration. “I didn't know any of Virgil's plans! I never viewed myself as the only star! And I never thought Virgil could be fixated on me! Sure, sometimes I wondered why he was so harsh especially to me, why he wanted me to be perfect. He didn't seem to do that to any of you. But on the other hand, I was the most problematic. I needed Joy, not you. I guessed he only wanted everything to work well.” Chris looked back at the ocean, seemingly disappointed. “So, you've been simply dumb?” “Not dumber than you, or else you would've found a way to get Virgil's attention.” “But when you kicked us out of the band, didn't you notice it then?”, Chris snapped. “It was never meant to be this way!”, Nick shouted desperately. “I've already told you it was meant to be a workaround until we reunited! Later I just forgot...I went from gig to gig and happening to happening, until I couldn't even to that anymore.”

“And you had a lot of fun doing it.” “Believe me, I would swap it all for a moderate life with you and the guys. You could've played the star if you fancied yourself as one.” “What's that supposed to mean?” “Just what you said! It's not nice hearing that you didn't trust me with anything! That you thought I'm a pip-squeak you can push around!” “I didn't say that!” “But that's what you thought, be honest! That must be it, otherwise I didn't have to take revenge on you! Right? That's what you're trying to turn this into! A revenge plot! I must admit it would've been a much better story because it would make sense.” Nick sniffed. “Now, don't cry, little one.” Chris looked at him. “Why not? What's in it for me if I don't? It's only appropriate for shattering my dreams. You're right, I am dumb. I thought we were friends.” “But we were friends!” “Then you have a weird conception of friendship! If you pushed me around as a band leader, it would've been at least honest!” Chris sighed. “Norbert, now you're exaggerating. I just phrased it a little unflattering...” “And what does the flattering version sound like?” “I just never thought you'd betray me...” “I didn't!”

Chris silenced again and Nick gloomily stared at the waves. Some time later, Chris searched his gaze. When their looks met, Chris made a gesture as if he offered him a seat on the rock next to him. Nick took the risk. The other man didn't seem to mind. He looked back at the horizon and sighed. “You know, this place could be beautiful, also without Joy”, he whispered. “Why did it have to happen here? Why to us?” “Bad karma?”, Nick guessed. “Ah...The Very Bad Thing...”, Chris recalled. “Did you have siblings?” “No...” “Me neither...Well, if I didn't repress it. I keep seeing this little girl...maybe three years old...” He shook his head. “Could've been the neighbour's daughter.” Nick nodded. “Lucky bastards”, he tried a joke. “They get to see the world outside and we're trapped in here.” Chris even adumbrated a grin. “Oh...If you put it like that...Yeah, perhaps they're better off...” He sighed deeply. “I guess we have to make the best out of it.” “We...you mean...including me?”, Nick asked carefully. “Don't be such a drama queen, Nick. Perhaps that's what Virgil went for...drama queens.” “Funny, he should've taken you then.” “Impertinent brat.” “Just look at the setting!” Nick widened his arms. “Shakespeare would've done it any better.” Chris gave the ocean another look. “You know what?”, he asked after a while. “It sucks. I'm cold and wet. Let's get back home.” Nick climbed after Chris, barely able to hide his happiness.

Back home, Chris promptly took off his shirt. “You must be really fond of me again”, Nick remarked. Chris grinned at him. “Don't look if I'm too much to handle for you. Anyway I need to get out of these wet rags.” “What have you been up to?” Brad suddenly appeared in the corridor. “Did you go for a swim?” “It's not forbidden”, Chris said and walked past him. Brad looked at Nick who seemed to be pleased with himself and gave his shoulder a slap. That made him notice that also Nick's clothes were wet. “You should change too.” “Sure, but that's all I have.” Nick shrugged. “So, it's time for you to get out of this funeral gear”, Matt commented, entering the scene. “It doesn't match your style at all.” “Hey, I've just come back and you're already hot for my knickers!” “Don't you like it?” They broke out in laughter. It was a precious moment to simply laugh out loud like that, without Joy.

“I could go back to my place in Hamlyn and change...”, Nick said not very excitedly. “Or we see if Davey has something to spare for you”, Brad offered. “He's still around?” Nick widened his eyes “Yeah, he was the first one we visited after the breakdown. He sat it all out in his hiding spot, the bright spark he is.” “He's not living in luxury right now, but he keeps his shop and hopes for better times”, Matt added. “He'll be happy to see you alive.” “These are good news...”, Nick stuttered. “Then...what are we waiting for?” Chris came back in a new outfit. “What did I miss?” “We pay Davey a visit”, Brad answered. “Good idea.”

Later, they entered the studio of the famous designer and the band called out for him. “Davey, are you there?” “You have customers!” Soon, the wanted person hurried into the shop. He was without his mask, just like everyone else, but other than that he looked as spick and span as ever. “I can't believe it! My favourite band! How are you, boys?” “Pretty good despite everything”, Brad answered and they shook hands. “We brought you someone”, Chris added and pointed at Nick. Davey eyed him, trying to figure out the new face. “Well, do you recognise me without my mask and everything...?”, Nick said a bit self-consciously. Davey recalled the voice. “Nick?” Promptly, he pulled him into a hug. “You made it! Of course you did! You're tough like that!” “Careful!”, Nick warned him. “I'm soaked.” Davey eyed his outfit then. “Is this your new style?” “I thought I'd try something new”, Nick joked. “But I'm not quite feeling it...Perhaps you could assist me with that?” “With pleasure, my dear. Let's have a look, shall we?” To the band he said: “Please make yourselves at home. Feel free to fit something on if you like.” “Gladly, as long as you make Nicky presentable again. He's painful to look at like this”, Chris answered. “Is it really that bad?” Nick looked at himself. Davey waved them off and dragged Nick with him into the depth of the shop. Nick had to admit that he liked his bright colours more than black.

When he had made his choice, he asked: “Say, how can I make it up to you? Really?” “Just tell everyone where you bought this.” “No, I mean...how do I pay you? What use are Sovereigns?” Davey was quiet for a while, then he said: “Let's not lose all hope, alright? Consider it a friendly turn. Just because we're low on food, it doesn't mean we have to dress like scarecrows.” “You're right about that. I'm already feeling better.” Nick admired his new look. “If you like to give me something other than money, just go on, surprise me”, Davey said and walked closer. “I'll think of something”, Nick promised. “I'm excited.” Nick looked around the shop, pondering. “May I ask you for another favour?” “Of course.” “Do you remember Arthur Hastings? The one you took for a model and then turned out to be a reporter?” “The tall lanky with dark hair?” “Yeah, exactly. Could you help me pick out something for him?” Davey understood. “Follow me”, he said.

Eventually, they found something Nick was excited to see Arthur in. Davey wrapped it up like a present with a big ribbon on top and handed it to Nick. “There you go. Say hello to him from me, will you? Tell him I'd hire him on the spot if the reporting business goes down.” “I will.” Nick looked at Davey. “It's nice to see you again.” “Bad weeds grow tall”, the man said tenderly. “That applies to both of us.” “But it wasn't easy.” “No...” Davey thoughtfully adjusted his hair. “Hey, if you need help, pay us a visit. We...I mean the band has a home for themselves...I'm living with Arthur.” “I'm happy for you.” Davey smiled. Nick apologetically smiled back. “It's never fair, isn't it?” Davey now smirked. “Don't take it amiss, but I wouldn't marry you. Too vigorous.” Nick laughed. “And that coming from you!” Davey gently touched his arm. “You can visit me anytime, Nick. You and the boys. We have to stick together.” Nick returned the gesture. “Thank you.”

“By the way...someone else asked for you a few days ago, heartbreaker...”, Davey went on. “Why? Who was it?” Nick was alarmed. “No one else but Birdie Callagher. Ring a bell? She looked worried.” Nick felt caught red-handed. “We got to know each other right before Memorial Day, that's all. Virgil's death did throw us both off the track.” Davey became serious again. “Oh, my...I still didn't realize that...” “He looked ravishing in your suit.” “Huh...yeah...it's a shame I never saw him in it.” “I'm sorry...” “Anyway...Birdie is also one of my friends. Can I tell you you're alive  and well?” Nick looked at him. “Where is she? Perhaps it's better if I talk to her myself.” Davey told him her address and then gave him an intense look. “What?” The designer relaxed again. “Ah...nothing...Let's go, the boys are waiting...” When they met with the band again, Davey received praises for Nick's outfit. They stayed for longer, joked around and chattered like old times. Nick noticed that he didn't need Joy to forget about his worries for a while and there was nothing wrong with that.

They left Davey in an unusually good mood. Nick regretted that he had to say goodbye yet. “Guys, I'm sorry, but I have to leave you now...I can come back, right?” “Well, if you keep behaving yourself like that...”, Chris offered. “You can bring Arthur along”, Brad said. “I will. He'll be happy to see you all again.” “U-huh, he'll start writing an exclusive story about our survival...”, Chris guessed. “That's not a bad thing.” Nick chuckled. “I wonder, what's life with him like?”, Matt asked. “I imagine him taking notes whenever you talk...” Nick laughed out loud. “He's not like that!” “He taking embarrassing photos of you in secret...”, Chris added. “No!” “You'll always feel like a celebrity around him, that's for sure...,” Brad pointed out. “My Arthur is a completely normal person!”, Nick protested laughing. “How boring”, Chris remarked. “There must be something up with him if he made you fall for him.” “Well, there is, but this story is unsuitable for the public!”

Like that, they said goodbye in a friendly way. After that, Nick firstly went home to hide the packages and sneak back outside. He felt sorry that he had to be so secretive, but he needed to get something else done.

Arriving at another house, he rang the bell on the off chance. He was lucky. Someone opened, and that someone looked exactly like Birdie, only without her mask. Despite that she had kept her dignity. Her makeup was flawless and her clothes were clean. Nick was happy he had been with Davey before because he would've been horribly underdressed for this situation. Still, it was obvious that she didn't recognize him. “Hello?” “Hello, Birdie. It's me, Nick.” Her eyes widened. “Nick?” “Yeah...I guess I changed a little...but only on the outside, I promise.” “Oh, Nick!” She fell into his arms. “Where have you been? I suddenly lost sight of you and then everyone freaked out. If it hadn't been for Davey...” “I'm afraid I freaked out, too...”, Nick said quietly. “But that's over.” “Now many things are over”, she said and parted from him. “How do you get along?” “I found my band again...or better, they found me. We don't have a plan yet, but we're alright so far. How do you do?” She shrugged. “Most of the time, I'm helping the doctors. I'm a jobbing nurse now. At the same time my new manager tries to contact the mainland.” “Oh...wow...Did you have medical training, or...?” “Not a bit...” She chuckled. “But there's easier tasks I can manage, where I can't do any damage to the poor souls...” Nick was impressed. “Seeing all this misery must be hard...” “It takes a while getting used to, yes. But I'm getting better. The fight is over, there aren't many terribly wounded people left...Still, not all of them are making it...” She took a deep breath. “I'm sure you're doing your best.” “Of course...like all of us...Honestly, I'm more afraid of getting used to it...Seeing this and just thinking 'Oh, it's another completely normal day in Wellington Wells'...” He nodded. “I know what you mean. Did you see the corpses? They are so many...” “Gosh, yeah...” She dropped her gaze.

After collecting herself, she waved him in. “Come, let's have a nice, hot cup of tea as long as the Motilene pipes still work.” Nick liked the idea and followed her inside. “Is this your pad or did you...borrow it?” She smiled. “It's mine. I got it shortly before Memorial Day.” She huffed. “What a bad investment! Now I could get it on much better terms.” “We'll be happy if we ever miss our money again...” “That's true...” She turned on a plate. “Yes, it's working!”, she cheered at the sight of the red lamp lighting up. “All hail to Motilene!”, Nick said and looked around in her kitchen. “Do you have some dishes I can smash in the meantime?” Birdie laughed. “Yeah, I have enough of that stuff in this cabinet. Just help yourself.” Nick picked two cups and saucers and put them on the table. Birdie later joined him with her teapot. Sighing, she fell on her chair. “Sometimes I really don't know where I'm at...” She wiped her forehead. “Sorry...since I'm off my Joy I keep whining...” “For a stressed out nurse you're looking fantastic”, Nick tried to cheer her up. “Oh, thank you”, she said gallantly and looked at him. “But I think I should be honest with you, since you are honest with me...” She grabbed her blonde mane and pulled it off her head. Like that, she revealed a tuft of dark brown hair that was cut into a bob and neatly framed her face. She threw the wig at a chair in the corner. Nick stared at her. “So...what do you say?”, she asked him quietly. Nick ripped himself out of his stasis. “I'm...I'm gobsmacked, really...but you're still pretty...” She smiled. “I hoped you would say that...” Nick felt a tickle running through his body. The reason why he came here...he needed to do it now... He nervously wiped his knuckles while Birdie served the tea.

“Birdie...I don't know how to say this...”, he began, searching for words. “This is completely new to me...” She listened carefully. “Do you remember when I said I lost someone who was close to me?” She nodded. “Something happened...something I didn't think was possible...He  came back to me. I'm living with him now. We want to start over.” “Oh, that's...” Now she was stammering, putting the teapot down. “I'm happy for you of course...” “I'm sorry.” Nick avoided her gaze, bracing himself. But Birdie remained sitting on her chair. “You don't have to be...After all, it's a gift. So many people lost their loved ones...Plenty are still missing...Without Joy, some people only remember now that they lost someone long ago...And you found each other in all this chaos...that's beautiful.” “I'm just so sorry I dragged you into this...” Nick sighed. “You didn't drag me into nothing, Nick Lightbearer! I'm not a helpless little girl. It was my decision to follow your invitation”, she said firmly. “But you didn't know what a mess I am.” “Oh, I did...For a long time, there was barely anything nice about you to read in the papers.” “Oh...” Nick slumped down. “I forgot about that.”

“Now I'm sorry”, she said and put her hand on his. “I have to say you were a pleasant surprise.” “Until now.” “Don't be silly. We had fun. And you comforted me. Without you, I would've gone crazy over Virgil's death...You have no idea how much I needed you.” “I needed you too...” Nick whispered. “I mean...I didn't use you!,” he quickly added. “I like you...just not like that...First, I had too much of a broken heart because of Arthur but I needed you and I was afraid of sending the wrong signals...And now I just don't want to play with you.” “I'm glad...Really, I'm thankful that you told me the truth.” Birdie's voice was soft. “I know you could've easily played with me.” “Yeah, well...” He took a deep breath. “I'm thankful too...You could treat me much worse...Scream at me, beat me up, throw your stuff at me...I've experienced it all.” “The truth didn't go down well in Wellington Wells”, she said bitterly. Nick had never seen it that way. “No...not at all...” “I'm glad I met you, Nick. You've been the first I could really be honest to...” “You can still trust me, Birdie. I'll never tell anyone your secrets, cross my heart!” “I believe you.” She smiled. “Arthur is lucky to have you.” Nick looked a bit puzzled, then he recalled he had said his name. “Well...I'm doing my best...” He scratched his neck. “I wish you and Arthur the best of luck.” “Thank you. I wish you all the best, too...I keep my fingers crossed for your manager. Perhaps he'll find a working phone booth.” “Let's see. At a pinch, maybe smoke signals will do.” They burst out in laughter. Nick finally left her, feeling much better than he had feared. The big drama never happened and he felt relieved of a huge weight he had been carrying in his heart. Now he pined for meeting Arthur.

Back in their house he found Arthur in the kitchen and greeted him with an eager kiss. Calming down, he rested his head on his lover's shoulder and sighed happily. “Hmm...my hero...” Arthur ruffled his hair. “What did they say?” Nick gave him a blissful look. “It worked. We're friends again.” Arthur eyed him up and down. “I'm sure they couldn't resist you, looking like that.” Nick's eyes widened. “Oh, that...I had to get rid of James' suit and that's why we visited Davey Hackney. He still has his shop, it's incredible! You must've made an impression on him, because he told me to say hello from him. He'd take you back as a model, too.” Arthur laughed. “Better not. This job is too stressful for me...” “More stressful than breaking out of prisons?”, Nick teased him. “Definitely.” They grinned at each other. “So many good things happened today, I can't believe it! I feel like a new man!” Nick rejoiced.

His lover's cheerfulness took a load off Arthur's mind. “I'm so happy for you.” Nick hugged him again. “Thank you for giving me the courage to do this...I was running on empty...and now I feel almost like the old days.” Something occurred to him. “Wait, stupid me, I forgot something!” He ran back to where he had hid the packages and came back with Arthur's present. “There you go, my hero.” He proudly handed it over. “You brought something for me?” Arthur eyed it in surprise. “U-huh,” Nick said nodding. “You're such a treasure! You're still thinking of me despite everything...” The tall man was clearly overwhelmed. “It's nothing compared to what you did for me.” Nick was once more ravished about how humble Arthur was. His lover put the present down on the kitchen table, suddenly deep in thoughts “This is making it much harder...,” he said wiping his forehead.

“What?” Nick came closer to see that Arthur was struggling for words. “Speak up, my tall boy.” He became more serious when he recalled something. “Is it about your brother?” Arthur gave him a meaningful look. “I found documents...They say that they brought the children to certain...institutions...” “In Germany?” “Yes...Although I don't know to which they sent Percy...There should be a list that assigns the places for each of the children, but I didn't find it...” “But you found the names of the places?” “Yeah...” “So, there's hope!”, Nick urged him. “You know where to look!” Arthur meekly eyed the floor. “It's gonna be a  far and difficult journey...”, he muttered. “Or you're lucky and hit the bull's eye at the first try!”, Nick eagerly replied. “Chin up, Arthur, you taught me to never give up! Where's your courage now?” Arthur avoided his gaze, only eyed him from the side. “It's not that I don't want to try. Of course I'll search for him as long as I need to.” “That's the spirit!” “But...is that also what you want?” “Yes...” Nick was puzzled.

Arthur turned around to face him. “You have your band now.” “You made me talk to them!” “Because I knew that this is your dream...your life...”, Arthur explained carefully. “It's what makes you happy.” “Arthur, this is my past!”, Nick blurted out. “Now you're my priority! I want to life with you! I'm glad I made up to the lads, because they are my old friends, but that doesn't mean I want to stay with them forever!” “You rather travel aimlessly in a foreign country without knowing if you achieve anything with this?” “Come on, it's gonna be an adventure.” Nick gave his arm a pat. Arthur didn't cheer up. “I don't even know from what to make a living...It's gonna be very uncomfortable.” “Arthur, don't make me look more spoiled than I really am! I can take it! You didn't live in the poorhouse before turning Downer and you got used to the streets! Also, what if the Germans also like music? And you aren't talentless either.” “Wouldn't you miss your friends? And don't they count on you to join them?” “They know that I have you! I didn't make it up to them to lose you in return!”, Nick shouted. “I don't understand this, Arthur! Do you want to leave me here?” He pointed at his face. “Is it because of my looks? Are you disappointed? Do you feel betrayed?”

Arthur turned away again. “That's not it...I just want you to be happy.” “But I am happy with you! Really, Arthur, if there's something you don't like about me, tell me!” “I like everything about you!”, Arthur affirmed. “I just don't want you to be disappointed.” “I won't! Trust me, please, everything I want is you! After cheating death, I'm happy that you gave me a new life! Now I want to make you happy too!” “Oh, Nick...You're always so eager to help”, Arthur said shaking his head. “But you don't know what you're getting yourself into...” “But you do? Have you been in Germany before?” “No, but  I have no choice...” “Me neither.” Nick came closer and took his hands. “Here and now, I swear I'll be faithful to you until my dying day. I'll accompany and assist you until the very end. You'll never be alone again.”

Arthur sighed, trying to hide how much he craved for this. “You don't know what you're talking about...”, he said quietly. “Yes, I know!” Nick was upset. “Do you think I'm that naïve? Do you take me for a baby, Arthur?” “No...” “So you think I'm too stupid to learn? I know what faith is!” Arthur squeezed his hands. “You said you love many...” “Yes, but I know how much pain I caused! I don't want this anymore! I don't want to lose you!” “And you? Wouldn't you suffer?” “I thought it was worse than it actually is”, Nick said truthfully. “I broke first ground today. I gave someone a knock-back, so to speak, and see, I'm still alive.” Arthur looked at him. “You quickly find other options...”, he whispered. “That's not what I was getting at!”, Nick flared up. “I rejected someone just for you!” “This must've been hard for you...” “It wasn't fun, but it was worth it. I'm sure I'll do it again.” Arthur was speechless for a while. “You really are stubborn as a mule, aren't you?”, he then produced.

“Indeed. Now look at me for once! Don't you like my face anymore?” Arthur lifted his gaze from the floor but still didn't dare to look Nick in the eyes. “Is it the hair colour?”, Nick asked waving his hands. “I'll grow the moustache back in case that's what's bothering you. It's just that I couldn't wear it under the mask. The bloody thing didn't hold on facial hair and kept falling off..” Arthur had to laugh against his will at the image. He finally met Nick's eyes, viewed every inch of his face. “Yes, I like you...”, he whispered. “And that's why...” He stopped and fell quiet. “I think we should take counsel with our pillows about that”, Nick said placably. Arthur looked doubting, but he also ran a hand along Nick's back.

Nick finally grabbed him by the hips and threw him over his shoulder. “Come on, let's get to bed.” Arthur uttered a yelp. “Nick! I swear, you're gonna break something!” “Yeah, my heart, if I keep listening to you!” “I'm serious! Put me down!” “Stop with the antics already, or I'll get really mad! If you don't want me anymore, you can just as well tell me in the morning!” “Oh, Nick...” Nick put Arthur to bed and was gentle despite everything. He lay down next to him and pulled the blanked over them. “May I sleep by your side or don't you like that either?” Arthur wordlessly pulled him closer.

[thesues-scamander]

You Are Enough (Theseus Scamander x Reader)

Summary: Theseus suffers from PTSD due to his time serving in WWI. His symptoms grow worse as the years go on. One night he wakes from a particularly bad nightmare and the reader helps him to finally confront and cope with his past. 

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, war, people dying in the war (nothing too bad)

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: This fic alternates back and forth between the reader’s pov and Theseus’ pov (tried to make that clear with the break lines). There’s a lot of angst in the beginning but I promise it has a fluffy ending :) 

Theseus shot up in bed, gasping, panic coursing through his body. You woke with a start from the sudden noise, and turned over to see Theseus panicking, clutching his chest and gasping, eyes wide with terror. 

“Theseus?” you asked dazedly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You squinted  at the clock across the room, your vision slowly coming into focus. It was 2:23 in the morning. This was the third night in a row that you’d been jolted awake in the middle of the night by one of Theseus’s episodes. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t more than a little concerned about him. You scooted over on the bed to sit next to him, placing a hand on his back. “You okay?”

He swallowed hard and nodded but you could tell he was very shaken by whatever nightmare had woken him so abruptly. It scared you to see him like this, waking up in a cold sweat and panicking as though he was in life-threatening danger. You’d known him to have nightmares before, but they had never been so severe like this. 

“Theseus?” you tried again. “Thes, what happened?” You watched as he leaned back against the bed frame, eyes closed, visibly forcing himself to calm down and take deep breaths, though he continued to tremble all over.

“Just a little nightmare, love,” he said giving you an unconvincing smile, “nothing to worry about”. He closed his eyes again, struggling to regain his composure, and you could see his hands still shook. 

“Theseus, don’t lie to me,” you pleaded. It’s what he always did, pretending to be fine when he clearly wasn’t. Always too stubborn to admit he needed help. It was frustrating, to say the least, when it was so clear to you that he was in serious need of help. 

“I’m fine love, really,” he replied shakily. “It was just a dream. No reason to get all worked up”.

You bit your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to push him, but you knew that something was very wrong. ‘It’s not normal to have nightmares like this every night’, you thought. Something was haunting him and you couldn’t bear to see him like this any longer. It wasn’t just at night that he acted strange. It seemed that his demons, whatever they were, had started to plague his mind during the day as well. He had started to become distant and far off, repeatedly zoning out and forgetting things, which was very unlike him. 

In that moment, you made up your mind. You weren’t letting this go until you got some answers, no matter what. You cared about Theseus too much to let this slide.

You scooted over so that you were sitting cross-legged in front of him and took hold of his hands. “Theseus, we need to talk”, you said seriously. He looked up at you apprehensively, and you could both feel the tension in the air. 

“What’s there to talk about?” he asked. You knew he was trying to play dumb in order to get out of any confrontation.

“Thes,” you said gently, “I’m not stupid. The nightmares…..they’re getting out of hand. You barely sleep at night. Even during the day you seem distant and you always have this strange look in your eyes. It scares me Thes,” you said honestly. “I know you’d rather not talk about it, but Thes, I’m really worried”. You squeezed his hands and looked earnestly into his eyes, searching for any sign acknowledgement for what you said. You knew that he knew you were right - it was just a matter of getting him to admit it.

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Theseus felt himself shrink under your gaze and looked away sheepishly. He’d never meant to worry you. In fact, he’d been trying to do the opposite. Theseus had hoped that you wouldn’t notice because he hated feeling like a burden. To be honest, he thought he’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding his issues - minus the nightmares. Unfortunately, you were much more observant than he’d given you credit for. It was so like you, he thought ruefully, always noticing the little things that no one else saw.

Theseus sighed and looked up at you. He hated to see that worried look in your eyes. He hated even more that he was the cause of it. ‘I’m supposed to be the one worrying about her,’ Theseus thought, feeling even more ashamed of himself. ‘I'm supposed to be the one comforting her, but here I am making things worse’. He felt like such a failure.

He tried. 

He really did. He tried so hard. Tried so hard to get up everyday even though he’d barely slept. Tried so hard to live like a normal person. To smile and laugh like everyone else. To be there for you when you needed him. To forget the war. To forget the faces of the men who died by his side. To pretend like the pain wasn’t there. Like it wasn’t real.

But it was. It was real and it hurt. He’d managed to keep it at bay for a while, but now that he was finally forced to confront it, it overwhelmed him. He felt helpless as tears welled up in his eyes and it took all his willpower to keep them from falling.

“Oh Thes,” you whispered sadly, watching as he hastily wiped his eyes, desperate to hold back the tears. It tore up your heart to see how much pain he was in. You wrapped your arms around him and held him tightly. “Whatever it is love, please…..just tell me. I’m begging you Thes, don’t hold it in anymore”. 

You could feel him clutching the sides of your shirt as he just started to sob inconsolably into the crook of your neck. His chest heaved and his body shook as his grief consumed him. You stayed quiet, holding him close and rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

“I-I’m s-sorry,” he cried. “I d-didn’t...I just c-couldn't….”. He struggled to get the words out as he wept. “I n-never meant to m-make y-you worried”. His breaths came in short, sporadic gasps and he could barely speak. “I-I ju-just didn’t w-want to....to bother y-you”.

“Thes,” you said, taken aback at this statement. “You don’t have to apologize darling. You never have to apologize for this.” You rocked him back and forth, trying to soothe his aching cries. “I love you so much Theseus. You could never be a burden to me.” He didn’t respond - just held you tighter, still sobbing and clinging to you as though you were the only thing holding him together. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there before Theseus’s sobs died down and his body finally began to relax. He pulled back, giving himself a chance to get a full breath of air. He was a bit of a mess so you offered to get him some tissues, which he gratefully accepted. You hurried to the bathroom, grabbed a box of tissues, and quickly came back to sit by him. Theseus wiped his eyes and nose. He looked so broken and defeated, sitting there on the bed with his red, teary eyes and his head hung low. You were tempted to say something, anything to ease his pain, but you felt that you should stay quiet.

“He’ll talk when he’s ready,” you thought. “Best not to push him right now”.

Hours could have passed by and you wouldn’t have known the difference. All that mattered was that the man - your man - the one you loved so dearly, was wounded and hurting badly. 

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To be honest, Theseus was at a loss for where to start. How to explain something he didn’t quite understand himself? But there was no going back now. He had to say something.

“For a long time now…”. He paused, grimacing. This was going to be harder than he’d thought. It was almost humorous. “Theseus Scamander, ‘The Great War Hero’,” he thought wryly. “Afraid to talk about a nightmare.” If people only knew. He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. None of that mattered. All that mattered was you. 

He looked up at you, sitting there patiently, eyes kind and understanding. You had been there for him through thick and thin. You had loved him at his worst and celebrated his best. You and him were a team, and he knew it wasn’t fair to keep secrets from you. You of all people, deserved the truth. Theseus took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

“When I fought in the war…. I saw things - awful things ...things I’ll never forget…. I’d rather not go into detail about it,” he said, shuddering. It felt as though he was reliving it all over again. Theseus stared fixedly at the bedpost, trying to get a grip on himself as nauseating images of the war swarmed in the forefront of his mind. 

“After the war, everyone expected us to go back to our lives as though nothing had happened. Just expected us to forget what we’d seen and what we’d done. You know the rest. I moved back to England, found a job at the ministry, bought this flat, met you, eventually got promoted to Head Auror. Everyone always told me how lucky I was and how they admired me for what I did during the war and my accomplishments since then. You would think I had everything going for me huh?” He smiled sadly as tears began to roll down his face but they were not painful like before. They were tears of mourning more than anything else, as Theseus realized how long he had been living with this hole inside him. 

“To be honest I….” He faltered, suddenly feeling scared of what he was about to admit. “What are you so afraid of?” he scolded himself. He’d never been one to back down from a challenge. Theseus had always thought himself capable of handling whatever life threw at him. Why was confronting himself so hard?

You reached over and placed your hand on his reassuringly. “Theseus, whatever it is ...you can tell me,” you said, giving him a small smile. “I won’t ever judge you for what you feel, okay?”

Theseus nodded, letting out a deep breath, steeling himself for what was coming. “The truth….. the truth is that I haven’t felt safe since the war. I can’t relax, not really. I just have this awful gnawing feeling inside me all the time that something terrible is going to happen at any second. I feel tense and on edge all the time. I can’t stop thinking about all the bad things that could happen. Especially when I’m around lots of people. That makes it worse. No matter where I go or what I do, it’s always in the back of my mind. People think I’m a strong, down-to-earth kind of guy and all that, but I’m really just scared. It’s hard for me to laugh and enjoy myself because I can’t stop thinking about all the bad things that could happen. I can’t breathe and I can’t stop stressing out. I feel like I can’t let my guard down for one second because that’s when it could happen.” 

It felt surprisingly good to finally say these things out loud. It was as if acknowledging them and coming to terms with them somehow made them smaller, less intimidating. Once he started, he couldn’t stop talking. It was as if a dam had broken inside him and everything just came flooding out. 

“At night, that’s when it really gets to me. The nightmares. They’re usually about the war. Sometimes they’re about the people I love getting hurt. Other times it’s me being chased by something. But it’s always the same feeling of absolute terror and dread. I didn’t want you - or anyone for that matter - to know because I didn’t want you to be worried about me. There’s so many things to worry about already, that I figured it would be easier if I kept it to myself. I’m always the one that everyone looks to for answers when they’re afraid. What would they think if they knew that I was just as afraid? If they knew I wasn’t actually the brave ‘War Hero’ who can save them from anything?”

“Thes,” you said, putting an arm around him, “you’ve been through so much. You’ve been so strong this whole time. You care so much about others and that’s one of the many reasons that I love you. You’re always think of others before you think of yourself and I admire that.” 

You ran your hands through his hair as you talked, trying to help him relax. “Thes, I think it might help to consider that no matter how much you try, you can’t control everything. It’s not fair for you or anyone else to place that much pressure on your shoulders. Even if you are Head Auror, you can’t hold yourself responsible for every bad thing that happens. You hold too high a standard for yourself and it’s really starting to take a toll on you.” 

His eyes were looking downward so you placed a hand under his chin and raised it gently so his eyes could meet yours. 

“Theseus, you - are - enough. You really are. You are enough to yourself and more than that - you’re enough to me. You’ve pushed yourself enough. You don’t have to keep worrying about everything and everyone all the time. You do your job perfectly already. I trust you and you should trust yourself more often.”

Theseus gave a small smile and laughed softly. “It never fails to amaze me how you always know what to say. I don’t know what I’d do without you and that clear head of yours.” He pulled you towards him and the two of you fell back on the bed. You snuggled up against his chest and he wrapped his arms around, breathing in each other’s warmth. You both just lay there in the darkness, feeling the peace and contentment that came from being in one another’s presence, as though there was no one else in the world but you two. You both knew that the fight was far from over, that there was still a long road of recovery ahead. But you’d taken the first step together, and for now, that was enough.

You turned to look up at him. “Thes?” you whispered.

“Yes love?”

“Stay home today?”

Even though it was dark, you could make out the amused smile on his face. 

“Anything for you, my love,” he whispered back, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead.

And with that, you nestled yourself back into his arms, letting his warmth and steady breathing slowly lull you back to sleep.

[helgabatwrittings]

You and Me against the World, M’lady - Day 3: In Denial

@ladynoirjuly2020

I know I’m 2 days late xD. This prompt happened because of a convo I had with @katiechat and @sassykittynoir so blame them xDD. Hope you like it!

Marinette was in heaven! Gabriel had just released the spring collection and with it, an abundance of brand new ads featuring Adrien! ADRIEN!! So yes, she was glued to her computer watching Adrien strolling down the steps of the Sacre-Coeur like an angel walking on Earth. She kept hitting the replay button, watching that same ad for, well, she stopped counting after the 5th replay. It’s just that he was so perfect! He was wearing a black suit, perfectly tailored for him, and an image of a certain partner of hers kept crossing her mind, setting her body on fire in the most pleasant way.

Marinette shook her head. Why was she thinking of Chat Noir? Especially when Adrien was right in front of her looking at her with his emerald and seductive eyes. “Adrieeeen…” She breathed, the History homework on her desk long forgotten.

Suddenly, and to finally break her out of the Adrien induced trance, a pop-up notification appeared at her screen, signalling it was time for her patrol with Chat Noir.

“Marinette, it’s time for patrol!” Tikki floated right in front of her face preparing to break her out of the Adrien-induced hypnotic spell.

She breathed disappointedly, “I know, Tikki…”, well, she would have stayed all night looking at Adrien’s various photos released throughout the day, but she had a responsibility to Paris, and her kitty was waiting for her. Her heartbeat faster at the thought of Chat Noir and her mood immediately lifted, gracing her lips with a soft smile.

“Alright, Tikki, spots on!” Red and black polka dots replaced her civilian attire, and with a new vigour filling her being, she zipped out of her room towards the Parisian rooftops.

Chat Noir and she scouted the usual route they did for patrol, and so, as always, they decided to catch a break before they had to go home. That was when she noticed the huge billboard featuring the newest perfume ad from Gabriel, right in front of the rooftop they were resting. 

The ad was in the same setting as the small video she had spent her entire afternoon watching. Adrien in that perfect black suit, leaning on the white travertine stone railing on the Sacre-Coeur’s balcony, with Paris as background, all in all, he looked so handsome, so unattainable that her legs went weak, thank God she was currently sitting, or else, she might have fallen off the rooftop.

Despite all the effort she was making in trying to look cool, especially in front of Chat Noir, who would surely use that moment to tease her, her brain and mouth betrayed her, “Adrieeeen…” She clamped her mouth with her hands as soon as that name had come out. Her heart raced and she was certain that her entire face was the same colour as her suit.

Chat was staring at her as if she had grown a second head, he was gaping like a fish out of water, and Marinette could see how the cogs inside his head were turning as he was figuring out how to react to what just happened.

And then, as if he had restarted, Marinette saw the shit-eating grin forming on his face, and she knew that she was done. Well, she would have to deal with it now, Chat’s teasing was the price she had to pay for being distracted the entire patrol. To be honest, this was all Adrien’s fault for being so perfect, it wasn’t her fault that he was Adonis’ incarnation, and why did Gabriel have to spread all those damn billboards across Paris? Marinette sighed in defeat.

“So, m’lady… are you a fangirl of model boy over there?” Chat wiggled his eyebrows, leaning towards her.

“What?? WHAT??” How would she get out of this? “Pffffft, of course not!” Marinette only needed to keep her cool. She could do that, even if her brain was a jumbled mess. 

“You sure? Well, I must have misheard when you were swooning at the billboard over there.”  God, if Chat got any closer, she would explode for sure.

“N-no. No!! I’m not a fan, pffffft.” She chuckled nervously. The trick was to act dumb. That would work. “Like, I don’t even know who that is.” Marinette mentally facepalmed, ‘Not that dumb!’, she thought. 

“Hey, I won’t tease you, m’lady! I’m sure he would be flattered to have you as a fan.” Chat’s cheeks were developing a slight shade of red, for some reason, Marinette couldn’t understand. Did Chat know Adrien personally? Was he jealous? Should Marinette confess that she was indeed a fan of Adrien? That she was more than just a simple fan? 

“Okay, maybe I do appreciate his work, and that is all I will ever tell you!” Marinette huffed, feigning annoyance. Couldn’t a hole suddenly develop right under where she’s sitting and swallow her whole? Was it possible to die of embarrassment? She only hoped that Chat hadn’t noticed how nervous she was. 

“You know, buguinette… If you’re looking for a model to be your muse, I happen to know just the right person.” Why had his voice dropped like that? Was he trying to be seductive? Marinette was finding that it was harder and harder to keep her cool. She was trying not to burst. 

“Uh…. And who might that person be, Chat Noir?” Two could play this game.

“Well, me!” Chat pointed towards himself in excitement, bouncing like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“You?” Marinette quirked an eyebrow. 

“Yes!” 

“You model?” 

“I do! I wasn’t lying when I said I looked irresistible in swim trunks.” Chat winked at her smugly. And that was when Marinette burst out laughing, she just couldn’t keep it together anymore. The idea of Chat having to stay still for the photos, his wild hair being styled by multiple hairdressers, having to wear formal clothes, or haute couture perhaps, it all seemed impossible in her mind.

“I’m sorry, Chat!” She was running out of air from laughing uncontrollably, “I bet all the pics come out blurry!” Tears were falling down her cheeks.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m pretty successful!” He smirked, “I’m an a-meow-zing model, M’lady!” He batted his lashes at her and Marinette was sure that she would die from a laughter attack.

“You’re a dork, that’s what you are!” She lightly punched his arm, finally managing to keep herself together. Chat was an amazing friend, he was always there for her, and he always managed to cheer her up. Marinette was certain that she wouldn’t manage to be Ladybug without him. She couldn’t even imagine her life without her silly kitty by her side. A pleasant warmth spread across her body as she thought of Chat Noir. He was looking at her smiling. His soft emerald eyes had a sparkle that could light up the Eiffel Tower. He had beautiful eyes, she noticed. Almost as beautiful as Adrien’s. 

“Uh… Anyway…” Marinette had to stop freezing at the sight of beautiful green eyes. “I don’t admire Adrien because he’s a model. I, uh…” How could she explain what she felt towards Adrien without giving away her identity, without breaking Chat’s heart in the process? Her gaze drifted to the streets below, in search of the perfect words, “I admire him because of his kindness, because despite everything he went through he still manages to see goodness in everyone, a bit like you to be honest. I, uh, our paths have crossed plenty of times by now, and I happen to know him a bit more personally than his other fans. He’s so patient, Chat! And so humble too! There’s this girl I know, uh, who stutters a lot every time she talks to him, and he has never belittled her for it, he lets her take her time, always with a smile of encouragement on his face. He’s just so good, Chat, and he went through a lot, he still goes through more than any person deserves, but he overcomes all his hardships graciously.  The world would be such a better place if only there were more people like him. I’m extremely grateful for having him in my life.” Marinette looked at Chat who was staring at her in awe. 

And it was on that note that Marinette decided to end their night, she had already revealed too much. It was getting harder and harder to hide her identity from Chat. He was her partner. They had saved each other lives multiple times. All Marinette wanted to do sometimes was to just let go of the rules and tell him everything. 

“I have to go now, Chat.”, she had to leave before she did something she might regret later. And so, Marinette ran towards her house, leaving behind an astonished partner sitting on that Parisian rooftop. 

[livingintheworldofstories]

forgiveness (can you imagine)

Genre: angst with a happy ending Word Count: 8273 Summary: After Beelzebub slams the door to Hell in his face, Crowley walks to Aziraphale's bookshop, but he can tell that something is off. He falls to his knees in pain - and then he realizes. She is making him Rise. It's painful. It's what he would never admit that he wanted. (Maybe now he can be loved.) ao3: forgiveness (can you imagine) If there is one thing Crowley is absolutely certain of, it is this: Once a demon, always a demon. However, what Crowley is absolutely certain of and what Crowley dreams of are quite different things. On lazy afternoons, he dreams he is a serpent and has always been a serpent. On good days, he dreams he is a demon and has always been a demon. But on the bad days, Crowley dreams he is forgiven. And loveable. And loved.

(Once an angel…)

Same side, he dreams voraciously. White-winged and golden-eyed, he dreams wolfishly. Untainted, unsullied, unmarked. Every blessed four-letter-word. Good, nice, kind, he dreams ravenously.

(You were an angel once.) And hungrily, hungrily, he dreams, a soft warm hand grasping skinny fingers. Yellow eyes and dark heart forgotten. What was once wretched. What was once wicked. Forgiven. Skin that has forgotten the shape of scales. I recognize you. I see you. We are the same. (Flames so hot they dance blue, licking up and licking down and licking everywhere as of yet untouched by pain.)

A Shakespeare play unwritten. Stars uncrossed. The sweetest love confessions, like poems, honey of the soul. He dreams so desperately. Two angels, side by side.

(Feathers burning so quickly, so easily, like they were meant for it. Stubborn flesh burns harder.) On worse days, at his weakest, Crowley dreams he is whole. He has never broken his wings. He has never disappointed anyone. He has never made a mistake so bad it can’t be forgiven. Pathetically, he dreams, I deserve to be loved.

(That was a long time ago.)

Crowley wakes up, and knows the nature of a demon, and knows to hold his tongue.

It’s just after the Nahpocalypse that he gets it a little mixed up and washes his dreams over into his carefully separated reality.

Demons, typically, do not hope. Hope is just a few technicalities removed from faith after all. It had been viciously burned out of them when they screamed during the Fall and no one came. Crowley, of course, has always been a rather terrible demon.

(This is where the sunset will take inspiration from. How beautiful, it thinks, watching white wings burn hot red, ardent orange, spiteful yellow. I will make those colors mine.) So for a few awful days after the world doesn’t end, Crowley is consumed with shameful, treacherous hope. His whole corporation is brimming with it. It’s brimming with idiotically composed hypotheticals. What if Heaven was holding him back? What if he lets himself have things now? Or some more pathetic ones. What if he will hold my hand?

(You do not land from a fall like this.)

But, of course, among all the things that changed, there are things that didn’t.

(You crash.)

Crowley is still a demon. It is intrinsic to his being that he can not be loved, certainly not by an angel. Unloved is woven into his pitch black feathers. Unforgiveable is braided into his fire hair. Maybe that’s what’s holding Aziraphale back.

(The crash is what leaves the life of what once was an angel hanging by a string. Any being with burning wings thinks it knows pain. But then their bones shatter. Then the fierce power of the impact knocks the breath out of their lunges. They would think, that knocked the soul out of my body, if they could still form coherent thoughts.)

Because Aziraphale knows. The very core of his being is rotten and wormed. There is no unseeing that. And hope dies a slow death in Crowley’s heart, as days pass, and everything is different and stays the same.

(You can only live through this if you convince yourself you do not have a soul.)

Maybe that is why he chooses to wander into hell, under thinly veiled excuses. No one bothers him on his way in. He makes it all the way to his office before he is stopped, two demons grabbing his arms and the Lord of Flies fixes him with an angry glare and crossed arms.

(In toxicity and heat, only the most stubborn beings survive. Maggots crawling up your calves, flies kissing your eyes, leeches clinging to your skin, a parasite disguises its greed as love and you reach for it without hesitation, without inhibitions. You let yourself be fooled with the hopeless desperation of a starving man.) “What are you doing here, Crowley?” Beelzebub asks, head tilted.

“I was just – ehh, y’know, clearing out my office -”

Beelzebub waves a hand, a cue for the demons to drag him through the narrow corridors of Hell. They ignore Crowley’s struggling and his shuffling feet and keep a tight grip. Outside the doors of Hell, they sent him on an undignified tumble with a shove. Crowley takes a moment to find his feet, but then he whirls around. Beelzebub and their demon bouncers are standing in the doorway.

“You can’t just – I mean, no hospitality, you people. I’m a demon too! I have rights! Worker’s rights, ever heard of it?”

“You’re no demon,” Beelzebub buzzes and slams the door in his face. Crowley blinks at it for a few moments, feeling oddly dejected.

(An apple that isn’t picked falls.)

Downtrodden, Crowley starts to walk somewhere, anywhere. He follows the familiar way to the bookshop almost automatically. He doesn’t know what he wanted in Hell, not really. He hasn’t belonged there for a long time. Perhaps he was looking for some familiarity. Perhaps he wanted to remind himself of what he deserves.

He breathes in the open space and lets himself think of Aziraphale. It’s not too late for lunch. Forget about what he can never have. Most dreams are best locked away. He just needs to put a lid on it somehow, the same way he has done for millennia.

Oh, he knows. There are some questions you do not ask. There are some strings you don’t pull. Not if you want to keep – not if you want to stay - He breathes in deeply, the smog-filled dirty London air, the free sky air, cold breeze air.

(But you do rise eventually. Sulfur dripping from what remains of your wings, every bit of you that can still feel aching, and strangely certain She doesn’t love you anymore, you rise.) This is how to carry on: You saunter forward. You keep your eyes ahead. On his way, he notices a total of four (four!) people who smile at him. It’s like the opposite of people staring because you have something on your shirt. It’s like everyone being very impressed with you because you don’t have something on your shirt. Crowley is thoroughly unsettled by it.

He does not expect the sudden piercing pain in his chest. It makes him crumble to his knees. The humans start sending him irritated glances now, so he scrambles to his feet and ducks into the nearest alley. Next to three black trash bags, Crowley lets himself be consumed by the ache.

Crowley has had his fair share of pain and millennia to feel it, but he has never felt anything like this before. It’s pain reinvented, like someone changed up the formula, just to make torture a little more interesting.

Fuck. Where the bloody Heaven is it coming from? Crowley’s knees buckle again and he props himself up by his hands, the rough asphalt digging into his palms. Fuck, is he dying? It feels like dying. He has never touched holy water, but he imagines this is what it must be like, like burning without burning.

It’s the mirror-image of agony. It’s pain in a different flavor. It’s death by – love. That’s what it is. Love. Bloody angelic fucking love. And there is something distinctly holy about it. It’s been an eternity since he’s felt like this, like this without the pain, like this but like it belonged in his body. But he remembers – fuck, he remembers and back then it was good, so good. (It’s a method of torture to put someone in a room for days and never turn off the light.)

He looks around frantically, searching for who did this to him, if it was Beelzebub and her demons, if it was an angel because only an angel could cause divine agony like this. But there is no one – he is alone in the alley with the trashcans – there is nobody but him, just like back then.

It’s everywhere, even in his toes, even in his fingertips. If he could feel pain in his hair or his nails, he would.

Maybe it’s Her. What if it’s Her? What if She is punishing him now, for saving the world or for asking too many questions or for not being good enough of a demon? Maybe She’s decided that if he doesn’t fit in the two categories she has carved out for them, he doesn’t deserve to exist at all. Maybe She’d decided he’d asked for too much. (He had. He’d asked for the world and for love and for nights spent stargazing and holding hands with an angel.) And She wouldn’t even let him say good-bye to Aziraphale. How is that for mercy? (He had never known Her to be merciful.)

He tries to grab his phone through the pain, but his hands are shaking and it slips through his fingers. Tremors roll through his body and he leans forward.

“It’s not fair,” he mutters, grinding his hands against the ground. He feels like he did in the burning bookshop, only this time he doesn’t have to lose his world. His world will stay, it’s only him who will be gone. That’s better. That’s almost something resembling okay. Aziraphale will be fine.

He’d thought he was dying back then, he’d really thought he would, back then he had still thought she would be merciful. Maybe this is Her finishing the job.

If he’s dying, why does it have to hurt so much? Couldn’t She have done it in his sleep, if She’s oh so powerful? (But he doesn’t deserve it, does he? He doesn’t deserve a peaceful exit. That’s what She’s always thought, that he should BURN BURN BURN) He screams

broken s o u n d s  tumbling out of his mouth

Drowning

It’s like DROWNING

He has died like humans do a few times he has never drowned but almost so he knows -

It is drowning and surviving. Gulping up water, have it fill your lungs, and it does, it’s everywhere, holy and everywhere, he is choking on it and gasping for air that won’t come and never being granted the mercy of death.

This is the holy water that will refuse to kill you. He is  n o t  dying, dying is easy, he has done it over and over, he is living and that’s worse WORSE Where is HER MERCY? Humans die, and they say it’s like walking toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Why do they get to have it so easy? Why does light burn burn burn like water does. . And his wings. They hurt so much, he has to drag them onto this plane of existence.

. !

? Blue, everything. is. blue. ?

?

?

? They move

drag

on their own accord

on SOMEONES accord

-

upwards

UPwards

u p w a r d s - but they drag down go up but drag down heavy as lead as a lead balloon as the beginning of the world But you fly anyway, impossibly, against each downwards drag of your wings. (It’s like falling upwards.) (It’s still losing. It’s always losing.) He flies with wings in agony. Drowning. Only there is no water to drown in. It wells up inside of him, invisible and not really water.

Tears, though. Those burn. Like holy holy water. Surviving. Even though you’ve run out of air long ago and all you breathe is water, wet and cold. And it is Good.

He could feel how very bloody Good it was. (And Goodness hurts and scathes and sometimes kills. And Goodness does not repent. Goodness leaves a trail of bodies after itself and does not glance back a single time.) Why does She want him so high? So She can drop him? So he can Fall again? And again and again?  Why is he surprised?

She brings him closer and closer – to Heaven – to what he once was - She will drop him - She will drop him out of the clouds - And worst of all -

He will never see Aziraphale again.

(Can She drag him up again by broken wings?)

He always thought he would die by love, all the love that has always consumed him and eaten him and devoured him and sustained him and nourished him and healed him – but Aziraphale is not even here, but Love is and doesn’t leave.

He doesn’t need Love with a capital L, he never has. He had love instead.

(And he was good at it, if there was one thing at all he was good at, it was this. He loved. Like a human. Like an angel. Like a demon with nothing else to live for. He’d loved, and it had been so, so good, and She would never take it away from him.)

And it had been so much. Too much. He had expected to drown in love, yes, but not like this. (He had expected a touch lingering too long.) (He had expected a gaze too intense.) (He had expected words too harsh.) (Those were the things he had prepared to die for.) (And oh, the love he had lived for.)

Higher, higher, he keeps shooting higher, he cannot stop his wings. (He will fly too close to the sun.) More than he would like to admit, I am scared. If this is dying, when do we get to the good part? If this is not dying, what is it? Is this my punishment for hoping? For asking? Should have known better than to hope. Am a demon after all.

demon aren’t i why does it feel wrong to think demon (unforgiveable it’s what i AM) I am a demon, I am unfor- I am un- I am a- I am an Giveable for u n Able lov u n Nomed N O M E D I am. Scattered letters on my tongue. I am an. I will die touching the clouds. (I am flying too close to the sun.) (But you don’t know how much I have always ached with it.) (You think your Love can kill me, go on, try it. I fucking dare you.) (Torture me with kindness. Whip me with niceties. Hollow me out with your Love, I fucking dare you.) You do not get to shape me. You do not get to make me. I am not your bruise to press on.

(I did ask when I was Burning.)

(I begged.) (Resurrect my soul. Glue my wings back on. Heal those sulfur burns. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.) You are slicing through the air and it is slicing through you. You are the weapon and the wound.

(You have flown too close to the sun.)

You are Her Enemy. You are Her detested door-to-door salesman. You are a dried leaf under Her boot and She likes to hear it crack.

…

You are Her child. … You are My child.

you are my child i love you i’m sorry -

The Goodness and the Love and the Holiness flood his veins and his essence and everything, until there is no room for him anymore.

It will keep pressing, he knows. Until he is burned away. And it’s okay. Aziraphale is safe. And it was all worth it. He has loved. He is ready to go.

But then it eases – but She will not let him – he can breathe again – his wings are his again – he is floating -

He gains control of his wings and lands on the ground of the alley softly. And he can tell. Something is Gone. And something is There.

There are two things he is certain of: He is Forgiven. He is Loved. Which makes him not certain of anything anymore.

He is shaking, even though the pain is gone. Once a demon. (Once a demon…) ? Once a.

? ?

?

He will not be loved. He will not be forgiven. He is. He’s.

It’s everywhere. He has felt it before, but that was a long, long time ago.

Love is not something to have. It’s a passer-by. It’s a precious visitor. It is not in its nature to last. (Not for someone like Crowley.) Love will not be owned. (And if there is one place it does not belong it’s behind yellow slitted eyes.) He knows what it feels like to have Love bleeding from your fingertips. Love oozing from star-maker’s hands. Love dripping red from curled angel hair. Love is not to keep. What just happened? What happened? Something is Missing. Something is There.

He is a demon, he has wings. He has… White. Why are they white? Fucking shit. Fucking hell. Holy fucking shit. Fucking Heaven. They’re white. They can’t be white. It’s impossible. (They burned in fire and in acid. They broke and healed. They are as black as a void where goodness used to lie.) He tears off his sunglasses and turns them around, quickly skimming his reflection in the glass. The eyes are still there. But the wings are looming behind him, as if he were – some sort of – holy – ngk

And if there’s one thing Crowley is absolutely certain of, it is this -

(It’s WHAT I AM -) once. crowley was once an angel. Fuck. As a matter of fact, no. No. No no no no no.

Crowley does not run to Aziraphale’s bookshop. It is an emergency, but not one that warrants superfluous exercise. He does, however, walk at a very brisk pace.

He does not think anything but a never-ending string of swear words and curses. He throws open the door to the bookshop and there he is. Safe. Whole. Tartan bow tie and everything.

He almost walks back out when he is hit with a wave of love stronger than anything he felt out on the street, love that he knows is not his own.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley rasps. He can’t say the other thing at the moment. “Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts walking toward him, hands anxiously fidgeting in front of him. “What’s going on? What happened? Is it angels? Are angels after you? I could swear I’m sensing one close by, I’ve been a little… nervous about it.” “Nah – no, it’s not – it’s not angels, I don’t think, it’s -”

“But I’m usually never wrong about these things.” Aziraphale frowns.

“Well – well you’re not wrong, technically, it’s just.” Crowley can’t say it and tries to scramble for a place to start. “I went to hell.” “Hell? Why? Did they take you? Did they hurt you? Are you hurt?”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face is heartbreaking. But Crowley is fine. Isn’t he? Nothing broken. This time, there are no scars. Skin is unblemished now. “No, I’m not hurt, well, not anymore, but… I don’t know why I went into hell, it was stupid. But then she – she slammed the door in my face and said you’re no demon, which ha! Fair enough. Just Beelzebub being petty, you’d think. You don’t just un-become a demon. It’s not like – not like I could be some sort of an aardvark all out of a sudden. That’s not how it works.” Aziraphale has come very close now and reaches out his hands to clasp Crowley’s, which is probably meant to be reassuring but makes the panic flare up inside of him. Maybe it’s not even panic, but some other embarrassing emotion close to it.

“My dear, what are you saying?”

Crowley clenches his jaw. He can’t say it. Aziraphale will think he’s mad. He is mad. This is mad.

Aziraphale is fine. Now that he’s seen it, he should leave. Maybe he can just… sleep it off. Maybe it will all turn out to be a very strange dream. He will wake up in his flat, as demon as ever, and there will be nothing to be confused about, nothing to dread and nothing to hope for.

But he can still feel it. As real as anything. Buzzing under his skin and above his skin. In the bookshop, he can tell it’s everywhere. Is that Aziraphale’s love? It’s… shining. It’s so beautiful. No, it can’t be. There’s too much of it.

His lips are clamped together, but his wings are not. He unfolds them right here in the bookshop. They are so bright. Brighter than they should have any right to be.

Aziraphale lets go of his hands and stumbles back. He makes a small ‘oh’ sound.

What will he think? That it’s ridiculous. It is ridiculous.

(That it shouldn’t have happened. Crowley doesn’t have what it takes to be one, that’s obvious to anyone.) (That he has wanted this to happen. That he has wanted to upend Crowley’s entire being and remake it ever since they met on the wall. That this is good.) Aziraphale presses his hands in front of his mouth and just stares.

That’s when it occurs to Crowley – things are different now. He hasn’t changed, but things have. Unforgiveable unraveled and turned into forgiven. Unloveable unraveled and turned into loveable. How much more would it take for loveable to turn into loved? Maybe Aziraphale will let himself -

(Is the apple still so tempting when it is not forbidden anymore?)

“Is this -” Crowley asks, “Could we -”

He thinks, Aziraphale will just know. Because of course he is asking. He is asking.

But Aziraphale is shaking his head. Still staring.

Oh, the eyes. He forgot about the eyes. Quickly, he puts on another pair of sunglasses. His eyes are still demon. He is a demon, but watered down. Still too demon. Even when he’s not.

“I – I know the eyes are still – but it doesn’t matter, I’m -” and it doesn’t feel right, but if this is what it takes to convince Aziraphale – “I’m an angel, right?” We’re on the same side, right? We’re the same. Right? Just don’t look past the sunglasses, and it will be fine. Just forget that my wings were black only yesterday. Aziraphale’s expression changes, but Crowley can’t tell. “You being -” Aziraphale hesitates too, “- an angel doesn’t change how I feel about you, dear.” “Oh.”

Crowley had let himself hope again and he’d barely even noticed it. But he shouldn’t have. Maybe in time, Aziraphale would get used to it. Maybe in time, he would fall in love. But not so soon. Crowley has waited six thousand years, he can wait a little longer.

Unless.

Unless it doesn’t matter. Unless what’s on the surface doesn’t count, only what Aziraphale knows to be true and what he knows to be true is that Crowley is a demon and meant to be a demon and demons can never be redeemed. Maybe She has changed Her mind about that, but that doesn’t mean Aziraphale has.

Aziraphale knows.

(Maybe it was never being a demon what made him unloveable.)

But he can wait. He will. He’ll be patient.

Oh, the love. It’s starting to become unbearable.

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t know – it just suddenly started. I was walking here and then suddenly I was Rising.” “How? How do you Rise?” Aziraphale seems astonished by it. And Crowley thinks of burning love. Of water that is not water. Of divine agony. “Just… sauntered vaguely upwards,” he says and shrugs. It’s strange how different and familiar it feels. How foreign and home. How far and how close. “There’s just so much love here,” he says, just to say anything else, “where does it all come from?” Aziraphale looks surprised and then bashful.

“Maybe it would help if I stepped outside for a moment?” “Why, what’s the problem?” Crowley asks, confused. “Oh, wait, you don’t mean – all that love is coming from you?” Ah. That explains. It was a stupid question earlier, although it’s not like that’s ever stopped him. He should have been able to tell. So much love, so much, and none of it is directed at Crowley. (There is the proof Crowley never wanted that Aziraphale was not just lying to Crowley or even to himself.)

“It is,” Aziraphale says softly, resigned, almost like he just admitted to something. “I am an angel after all.” But Crowley has always known that Aziraphale loves. But he had not known how sweet it would feel, even if it’s just a dream that it’s for him.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asks and comes closer again. “I know it must be a startling change.” “Ha! You can say that again. Count me startled alright.” Crowley runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a slow breath. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just… don’t understand why She would do this. Why would She just – shake everything up again? I thought – She made the rules clear all these years ago and now I feel like maybe I was playing an entirely different game all along.” Like he thought they were playing chess, but it was really Monopoly all along.

“Maybe… maybe She wanted to reward you.”

Aziraphale had not been there. He had not felt it. To him, being an angel comes without a price attached. “No,” Crowley insists immediately. “No way. It must be some sort of punishment. I just can’t see how yet.” “Is it so hard to believe that the Universe would simply be kind to you?”

“Yes,” Crowley says tersely.

She isn’t kind, She plays games. The Universe has never granted him favors. Anything Crowley tried to do right has always gone wrong.

“I can’t,” he realizes suddenly, “sorry, angel. I can’t.” He rushes out of the bookshop and doesn’t listen to Aziraphale’s stammering and doesn’t turn back around. It’s not just the conversation he can’t do, it’s all of this. He’s not an angel. He’s not a bloody angel. He doesn’t want to be an angel. Angels are stuffy and hypocritical. Angels have hurt him and have hurt Aziraphale. He doesn’t want to be an angel. (He has never wanted to be a demon either, of course, but that’s semantics.) The Bently is still at the entrance of hell, so he takes a Taxi back to his flat.

“I’m not an angel,” he says to the air. He circles his throne and flops down on it. A moment later, he gets up again and starts pacing the room.

“Do you think this counts?!” he says, growing more agitated. “Do you think the pain just – goes away? It doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t mean you never let me suffer. You did. You did.” He slams his hands down on the table, then braces himself on them.

“You might have Forgiven me. Maybe. Maybe you did. But that doesn’t mean that I will forgive you.”

He just can’t figure it out. So he yells. Yells loudly, as if something like volume could ever make Her hear him. “Why did you do this?” he yells, “what do you want from me? Do you want me to forgive you because I won’t. Do you want me to be your perfect little angel because you can forget that.” She has never heard him. For millenia he has begged her, he has asked her, he has yelled at her and She has never responded. “FUCK you,” he yells. “You hear me? Yes, I just cursed your fucking name. Are you going to make me Fall again, now? Then go ahead and do it.”

Is that Her game? Are those the stakes? He’d never known back then. That that was something that could happen. But now he does. Now he knows Her and what She is and what She will do.

“Is that what you want? For me to make the next mistake so you can push me out again?” That must be it, right? Why else would she do this? It’s oh so in-fucking-effable.

“I won’t be your blasted clean slate!” His plants are shivering, even though it’s not them he’s yelling at. “I won’t be your blank canvas, just for you to hurt again.” (I will not have everything just to lose it all.) (I will not climb high just so I can fall deeper.) “I am a demon,” he says with a certainty he doesn’t have, “I don’t care how white my wings are, I am a demon.” Demon means many things and most of them Crowley has always hated with his whole being. But demon also means ‘abandoned’. Demon means ‘pushed over the edge of Heaven’. “I am a demon. You didn’t not hurt me just because I don’t have the scars to prove that you did.”

She cannot erase him. She can’t write him out of existence, it’s too late for that. He might die, yes, but he was here and he was a demon and she can’t take that from him. “Twice,” he snarls, “twice you’ve ripped away who I am. Redefined my being how it pleases you. I am not your plaything. I am not your game piece.”

He pushes himself away from the table again, suddenly drained from anger. “I am not Crawly,” he says. And refuses to be.

***

The angels come for Aziraphale the next day. He is not expecting them. They scoop him up outside his bookshop and drag him up.

Gabriel is with them, but not to get his hands dirty. He is here to taunt. To mock.

“You’re not an angel, Aziraphale,” he says, “you should have Fallen. We’re just helping to – speed things along, as it were.” So that’s what they were after – a Fall. Aziraphale had often wondered what it would be like to Fall. He had wondered if the freedom would be worth the pain.

In the privacy of his mind, he has drawn up a list of things he would say if he were Fallen. And a list of things he would do.

There were times he had wanted it. (Our side.)

They keep dragging him up, knows he is too weak to break free and he will not miss Heaven.

They break his wings with a well-placed blow half-way to the clouds and he will not miss the angels.

When they reach the lowest cloud, he slips free.

It’s not the angels who make him Fall. Angels don’t have that kind of power.

What makes him Fall is a thought that starts with How could She do this to him? The thought follows Why do you let him be an angel now and not six thousand years ago? It stumbles briefly over Why do they get to be angels? The thought reaches Are you saying he didn’t deserve it before? Because he did. He deserved everything. It dives right into You don’t know what’s right or wrong, do you? And hits You’re just playing a game with full force.

It’s not quite I don’t believe you did the right thing that does it. It’s the thought he ends with: I don’t believe in you. He falls. He looks up at the sky and the clouds and the somber faces of beings that were supposed to be good. And he thinks, I don’t believe. And then he Falls.

He doesn’t try to move his broken wings. He lets it happen.

(He had thought Falling would take longer.) (But it’s over quickly.) (It’s hitting the ground that hurts.)

(The force of his fall denting the asphalt.) He lies in the rubble. And he knows that something is Gone. And something else is There.

Several of his bones are broken, but it’s nothing he can’t mend. His corporation survives the fall. Love doesn’t.

He lies and lets himself feel the loss of it. I don’t want your Love, he thinks and misses it terribly.

He stares at the far-away sky for a long time. It is untouchable now. For a long while, he lets himself feel the pain - and finds it’s not a fresh wound. It’s very old and has been bleeding for a long time. Maybe it can finally start healing now.

Then he thinks, I should get on with it. If Crowley can do it, so can I. Then he rises up in his spot of rubble. And then he does. ***

(He does not call Crowley. He locks the bookshop and closes his blinds.)

(He cries for as long as his corporation will produce tears.)

(He tears half of his books apart with his fingers and all the brute force he can summon, then he miracles them back together. Once. Twice.) (He screams at Her, but he doesn’t use words. She will understand.) (He lets his phone go to voice mail and miracles it apart when it keeps ringing.) (He does not answer the knocks on his door.) “Aziraphale!” (Not the banging either.) “Angel!” (His bones have healed but the pain fills him from head to toe.)

“Please let me in.” (He posts Crowley a letter. I’m fine. Go away. He lets it float outside the bookshop.)

(It goes quiet.) (He can still sense an angel around.) *** A week later, Aziraphale dusts the bookshop.

It’s ineffable.

Aziraphale is Fine. He lifts the blinds. To Hell with ineffable.

He gets on with it.

*** Crowley is leaning against the door of the bookshop when it opens. He gets to his feet swiftly and turns around, but he balks when he sees Aziraphale’s face.

“No,” Crowley says and backs away. Scared. “She can’t – She can’t, She wouldn’t dare. Not you.”

Because I would tear Heaven apart for you, and She knows it – I would tear her whole Creation apart until She was the only being left and then I would put Her to trial.

“No. It’s fine.”

Aziraphale looks indeed fine for someone who has spent a week holed up in a bookshop. He looks too fine. Unnaturally fine. He ushers him into the bookshop and closes the door behind them.

“It’s not,” Crowley says quietly.

“Well, it is what it is. No use in dwelling on it.”

But Crowley will dwell on it. For a long time.

“What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

He is frantic with concern, the shock of finding the locked-up bookshop still deep in his bones. He hadn’t expected this. He would have expected angels to come and get their revenge. Not Her. “I believe this is something I had to do alone,” Aziraphale says.

These are the repercussions. This is the price. Why would She make Aziraphale, Aziraphale of all angels, the best angel there is, why would She make him Fall?

“Did it hurt?”

Too much time with a demon. Where is the limit?

You can have my soul, you can have my heart, you can have my wings, I let you take it all, but not him – you can’t have him. “It didn’t hurt a lot for a Fall.”

He has dreamed of this. He is a complete and utter bastard and he has dreamed of this. What if Aziraphale were a demon? What if I were an angel? He had never imagined those two would collide. “But it hurt.” Aziraphale doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

This is the cruelty he knows from Her. She will keep them forever apart. They can never touch. They will never be the same. Maybe that’s her punishment. (It is ever more cruel if you had hope. And Crowley has always been a terrible demon.) “I’m sorry,” Crowley says.

In a general bad-things-should-never-happen-to-you way but also in a very specific this-is-my-fault way.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale says kindly. “We were always rather terrible at our jobs, weren’t we? You a bad demon. Me a bad angel.”

(I would give my grace to you, if I could.) (I don’t deserve it, I never did.) “I was a terrible angel too.”

“And I imagine I’ll make a terrible demon. I suppose it doesn’t really matter then, what we are.”

Why him why him why him why HIM?

“It does. It does!” Crowley is growing angry. “I can’t believe how calm you’re being. Why aren’t you freaking out? I’m freaking out.” “My dear, I’ve had six thousand years to learn that, angel or demon, it’s not important. They’re really just labels.”

“Just. Labels.” Crowley repeats dumbstruck.

He steps past Aziraphale to the sofa, grabs one of the pillows and presses it to his face. And then he screams.

Aziraphale doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t understand, this is all on Crowley. Crowley never should have talked to an angel on the edge of Eden. He never should have gotten so close.

“What about Love?” he tries, choked up.

“It was a bit overwhelming sometimes. All that Love.” If Crowley could sense love, then so could Aziraphale back then. Then he’d sensed Crowley’s love – then he’d always known – and of course he’d known something so blindingly obvious – and it had all been too much for him, Crowley’s love, so much that he was glad to be rid of it. Not having to sense it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley says again and he is. More than anything.

Crowley should go.

This is why Aziraphale had barricaded the bookshop.

It’s over. They both know it’s Crowley’s fault. He ruined this. He’d wanted to much. He’d wished a doomsday upon them.

“’s my fault,” he speaks it out into the open quietly. The sorry wraps around his throat like a snake and starts to strangle him. “It must have been my fault. I made you Fall. I tainted you.” (This is what happens when you touch an angel.) (When a demon touches an angel, they bleed into each other. It is as unholy as it is holy.) Aziraphale, who must be the kindest demon there is, if Crowley can ever accept he is a demon, does not condemn or accuse him. He will be gentle about his rejection. Aziraphale is an expert in wrapping brush-offs in nice words. He kicks people out of his bookshop with sensible shoes.

Can’t you see, angel? I did this I did this I did this to you I am worse than a demon

I am your monster, I am your nightmare, I am your Personal Hell I am your punishment, I am your crime, I am your worst mistake He is a thief and a scoundrel. He took it. He took Aziraphale’s grace. Aziraphale should hate him. Should kick him to the curb.

(He had seen something precious and wanted to own it.) And Aziraphale has always known, has rejected him at every turn because he always knew what was really there, but nothing has ever been as bad as this. There is no coming back from this. He will walk out the door of the bookshop and never return. Won’t be allowed to. (The most unforgiveable thing he has ever done is to be forgiven.) But Aziraphale looks at him, with his kindness. He steps toward him.

(You should not have let me touch your wings, lest I turn them black.)

You might not be Heaven’s angel, but you will always be mine. (I turned them black.) Aziraphale puts a hand to Crowley’s cheek, as if to soothe him.

(I never even kissed you, but I burned away your Grace.) Aziraphale tugs his sunglasses off gently. (Not burn, but take. Take and take and take.) “Dearest, don’t insult me,” Aziraphale says then, “this was nobody’s choice but my own.” “Choice?!” Crowley croaks.

“I was never much fond of being an angel, as you well know.” How can Aziraphale accept this so easily? Doesn’t he know - Why does he always understand but never understand -

But there is nothing to change it. This is the new world now. We are an angel and a demon has become true once more.

***

“It’s strange,” Crowley says, “I thought all your angel-love would disappear, but it’s all still here.” Aziraphale lets out a strangled sound. “Yeah, s-strange.” *** For a day there, they were both angels. But now Crowley has missed his chance.

*** “She has been quite cruel, from time to time,” Aziraphale says. *** “Even the kids.” *** A man rushes past Crowley when he enters the bookshop.

“Who spit in his coffee?” he asks Aziraphale, who is sorting books.

“Oh, I have a feeling he suffered a minor delusion and thought the book he picked up had maggots crawling all over it, but who knows.” “Okay, and who spit in your coffee?”

“Satan,” Aziraphale says innocently.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaims, equal measures scandalized and bemused.

“Didn’t you see that book he was carrying in his bag? Full of dog-ears. I will not tolerate a book-abuser in my shop.”

“I see.” Crowley hides his smirk.

*** A girl runs along the sidewalk and trips over her own feet. Crowley, sitting in the Bentley, sees her fall. Her knee is scraped and starts bleeding. She’s crying. Crowley’s heart flies into his throat.

He wants to heal her. It’s a forbidden emotion. It’s Something Not To Think About. He is not allowed to want things whole. Except now he is.

It’s a subtle miracle. Crowley gets out of the car and gives a short wave of hand. The skin mends itself and the scrape is gone.

He has done this kind of thing before, of course. When there were no other demons around. This time he doesn’t feel guilty. “Did you just heal -” Aziraphale starts when he walks into the bookshop.

“Shut up.” ***

“Oh, but you can’t leave without trying the crème brûlée,” Aziraphale tells the couple on its way out the French restaurant. “It’s simply – well, divine.”

The couple has a change of heart. “I’m starting to think it’s the opposite,” Crowley remarks and raises an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Aziraphale says cheerfully and takes a bite of asparagus. *** Crowley leaves for the homeless shelter every now and then. Aziraphale knows better than to ask.

***

Crowley doesn’t know what to do with Love. It feels like it belongs to somebody else. But he also knows that missing it is worse, so much worse. He knows Aziraphale doesn’t tell him everything.

And he can’t bear the thought, not even of Aziraphale being a demon but of Aziraphale suffering like a demon.

He won’t feel Unforgiveable, not now that they know that demons can be Forgiven. But cut away from Love, from Her Love, not being able to sense it anymore… Crowley knows that it’s hard. It’s lonely.

Sometimes, it’s like freezing out in the cold. Sometimes, it’s like starving of something. He wants to give it back to Aziraphale, even if only a sliver. Only a modicum of what he really deserves.

And Crowley… well, he has Love but he does not have love. Not the kind he wants.

“I want you to know… it’s not gone,” he tells Aziraphale on a quiet evening, sitting next to him on the sofa.

“What, my dear?” “I… I know you always knew… and of course, I know you don’t return – I just want you to know. Because it’s the not knowing… that’s really painful.”

Crowley is explaining himself badly, but it’s been in his mind for so long, it’s hard to let it out.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Aziraphale diverts his full attention to him now. “Well, it’s… It didn’t really become clear to me that you knew, must know, until I could sense love myself.” Quickly, Crowley adds: “But I still do.” “Do what?” Aziraphale looks very confused, which means he’s not being deliberately obtuse. And he’ll have to say it. It hurts to say it, but nothing is as bad as Aziraphale not knowing.

“I love you,” Crowley says softly. “And you know that. You must have been able to sense it for millenia. So I hope you realize… you’re not unloved. Could never be. Not as long as I’m alive.”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open.

“You don’t have to respond!” Crowley rushes to say. “All this time, you haven’t said anything, so – so that’s an answer in itself. I mean, I sense love, of course I know you don’t. Can’t.”

This will not break them. If nothing has yet, this does not have the power to. But it still hurts. Oh, it hurts. And he has always, always wanted too much. “My darling, I think you’re not yet an expert at the sensing of love.”

Crowley rolls his eyes.

“It doesn’t exactly require a lot of skill.” Aziraphale sends him a calculating look.

“Who do you think my love belongs to, then?”

It sounds like a trick question. “Wha – the world?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “A nice thought, but I really don’t love the world all that much.” “Then what?” “It’s a misconception, you know. That angels can tell where the love comes from. We – they can only tell that it’s there.”

So he didn’t know. He didn’t know that Crowley loved him – well, he should have been able to tell anyway.

But then Crowley’s throat goes try. His mind should not go there, but it does. The well of hope inside of Crowley is endless. No matter how much of it you snuff out, there is always more to come.

“So hypothetically,” Crowley says.

“Yes, hypothetically…” “All this love could be directed… at one person.”

Crowley scoots a little closer to Aziraphale. “Even a demon?” Crowley adds. “Yes, a demon,” Aziraphale breathes. Yes, feast yourself on my tainted love. Do you think you are immune to poison because it was home in my veins? Are you willing to take your chances?

It’s bad. Crowley shouldn’t do this. But he can’t stop his hand from reaching out. He stops at at the last moment, just before touching Aziraphale’s and quickly draws it back. He almost forgot. There’s a crater between them still.

“But you won’t let yourself,” he says and is certain that it’s true. They are an angel and a demon, it doesn’t matter who is which. Aziraphale thinks they don’t fit. “We’re an angel and a demon. ‘S probably some sort of law of nature against it.”

Hope dies a slow death in his chest. “You’re probably right,” Aziraphale says, which speeds up the process a little. “But -”

“But?” “As of late, it turns out, I’m a bit of a rebel.” Crowley’s head shoots up. “What?” “And I don’t care much for rules.”

I have always been venomous, you should have known to stay away. You shouldn’t have let me tempt you. (Soft-seeming lips, did you let yourself be caught off-guard by the teeth behind?) “Aziraphale,” Crowley whispers and it’s do you want this will you let me can you forgive me? Aziraphale takes his hand. Please don’t let me bite you. “You really shouldn’t,” Crowley says.

“Why not?”

Aziraphale looks at him so earnestly, so seriously, like Crowley matters. “Falling for it wasn’t enough of a clue?” “You didn’t make me Fall, dear. That was all me.”

“But I’m not g-” his voice is wet “good for you.” “You are.” Aziraphale’s voice is rising. “You didn’t need to be an angel for me to know that.”

He wants to lean in, lean so close he can breathe Aziraphale’s breath, he wants to press his lips to Aziraphale’s but he’s frightened that Aziraphale would let him.

Venom on my lips and poison in my blood, I taste so sour, darling, don’t drink from me. And I know you are a glutton for it, you are a glutton for the finer things. But don’t drink your punishment from me, it won’t taste well. But then Aziraphale leans forward and kisses him and Crowley can’t stop him and he doesn’t want to and Aziraphale’s love tastes so, so sweet. And Crowley doesn’t like eating pastries or candy but he loves this.

She will never have this. She could never create this. She could never remake the world in a way that he won’t fall for Aziraphale.

It’s a slow kiss and it’s a little difficult to fit all that love between their lips, but they manage it.

She could never take this. She can drown the world and She can burn the world and She can banish the angels and She can grow a garden in Hell, but this love will always be there. She can’t touch it.

Crowley is not rotting, not anymore – he is blooming, like the blossoms on an apple tree. Not even he can destroy this.

He is touching the sun. He is living in it.

“Well then,” Aziraphale says and beams at him. “Can I tempt you to dinner?” Crowley groans. “Oh, you’re insufferable.”

Aziraphale looks very smug.

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to smite me. With, what was it? Your angelic righteousness.”

They stand up from the sofa at the same time and start walking toward the door.

“You’re a real bastard, Aziraphale,” Crowley tells him. Aziraphale preens at the compliment. Things are shaken up. They are a little different and a little the same. But Aziraphale and Crowley carry on as always. And Crowley still glues coins to the sidewalk every now and then. Aziraphale still blesses babies once and again. One of them might be an angel and the other might be a demon.

Semantics, really.

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Red Huntress Epilogue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Find this on Wattpad and on AO3

A/N: Finally, it is done. Hope you like it. It’s implied in the text but to make it clear from the start, this takes place about 4,5 years after War Storm/Broken Throne. Light smut ensues.

It was pure instinct that made her jump over the root before stumbling. Farley realized it only in passing hindsight, just in time to prepare for the next root. Her heart raced; fear sweat broke out on her back as she thought on what a Silver greeny tracker could do with the roots – with her. She wanted to run faster, despite her body weakened from weeks in lakelander captivity and all the obstacles in the path. The darkness deepening in the twilight forest with its roots, uneven ground, frequent stones and her thin slippers unsuitable for of all of that. She panted in exasperation. The general called Huntress had become a hunted – an irony she’d chewed on throughout her whole captivity.

She couldn’t stop, had to get away with the chance given her by Scarlet Guard operatives before the Cygnets and their lackeys caught up on her – speed and cunning were essential. But she was on their terrain, a favoured park on the way to a palace where Princess Iris expected to interrogate Farley.

Or so she’d thought. Yet her planning retorts to her captor suddenly had to change to escape tactics. Maybe her due reward for slightly hoping to be ransomed at the meeting – even a highly ranked general like Farley wasn’t worth paying every price for to the Guard; perhaps her talents were precisely why better was expected of her.

That would just smell of the colonel, she concluded. She snorted and gasped as she leaped over another hole in the track.

She considered eschewing the paths completely but her trail would stay visible as much if she went through the bushes growing in patterns deceptively wild. The path and the surrounding woods seemed so peaceful, quiet apart from the birdsongs. Well, that was a relief, to not hear from any trackers yet. They shouldn’t even know she was gone at this point. From the map her helper had showed her briefly, she couldn’t be far from the river where a boat waited for her. For now, she didn’t hear the water’s waves.

A part of her was flustered at the idea of travelling water when a Cygnet could be near. Now her pulse throbbed louder and louder in her ears, dimming the sounds of the landscape along with her ragged breaths. She couldn’t keep up this pace for much longer but she accelerated for a last sprint. The next slope, she’d risk to throw herself down and roll off to gain a few precious seconds. She jumped.

The impact hurt, still, but that pain she could deal with. Harder it was to get up at all, making her rue the stupid move. She wasn’t thinking straight. She rose with a groan, biting her lips raw until she reached the denser trees she’d seen on the map and which promised the river mere meters away –

Stepping into the boat and starting its motor came almost close to a loved one’s – Clara’s! – embrace.

The boat trip was a well-needed break still dominated by creeping anxiety. Farley’s fingers tapped nervously, her legs shivered from exhaustion, cold, and hunger. Her prison clothes weren’t made to withstand a spring night outside. Too bad she was alone on the boat, unable to hide and leave another to steer. At least the area grew somewhat familiar; she could navigate through difficult and into defensive spots, right into the bog in a forest close by.

She didn’t like to step off there; because she feared what a nymph could do with a bog, but also for the reason why the place was familiar, and the memories it woke.

Fingernails cut into palms. She would keep running, wouldn’t she? She had no time for sad memories.

When the river flowed into the bog’s lake, she was ready. She prepared to let the boat sink and dove into the water, to hide her tracks before she’d cross the bog to the village beyond.

Her helper, a Guard operative dressed as a lakelander escort, had not given her detailed instructions. Awed by his mission to free the general, he’d flashed the map to Farley and mentioned some keywords of the plan before wishing her luck as she sneaked out of the running transport.

Farley hoped he’d escape, too, as she shuddered in a ditch. Wet and dirty, her only comfort was to be hidden this way as she waited for another Guard operative to come and save her. It amused her, oddly, to be saved and picked up like this, but she couldn’t run anymore this night, not in her state. She needed a transport and those were – still – rare in this area of the northern Lakelands.

She knew this very well. She’d grown up around here.

Though not in this pretty, newer village. There could be wealthier farmers in possessions of vehicles. She wasn’t sure she was able to steal one but she could look and try at least. Better to move than freeze in the ditch.

It took another five minutes before she’d gathered the strength to rise despite the fresh wave of pain.

Closer to civilisation, she approached slowly and carefully under the traitorous moonlight. It was a different kind of peaceful than the park, apart from more dangers to herself. She’d crawl before someone saw her but she noticed no one, not even lights in the houses. Could she be so lucky to find an empty village?

Reaching a house with an orchard, she made a decision to search for food and maybe clothes as well. She rushed a few paces, then held on to a tree blooming white.

Bloom meant no fruit, she concluded with regret.

The next second, she heard steps.

She shifted against the tree and glimpsed for the person. Ten meters away, there was a woman, moonlight illuminating the curves of her face.

Farley’s heart ached in a way that, in this moment, had nothing to do with escape, fear, or war. She saw a ghost from the past and longed for nothing but to go to her to fall into her arms.

How could she? Her fingers pinched into tree bark. This detour was a mistake, and now the woman came closer while she, Farley, should run –

It was too late. Even though it was but a sigh, she heard Giselle’s whispered “Diana” all too well.

Giselle knocked on the bathroom door, entering after a muttered “’kay”. Inside, she leaned against the door, as if startled by Diana sitting on the edge of the bathtub. She’d known Diana would be here. And yet. It was her demeanour, so unlike from Giselle’s expectations and assumptions. Clad in a borrowed nightgown, Diana barely looked up. She was weary, almost scared, and sunk into herself as if petrified by a weight on her shoulders.

Giselle swallowed, her heart fluttering. Diana resembled the girl from ten years ago but also not – she was the Red General, the huntress of Silvers, the hero of justice. An image full of confidence that Giselle had glimpsed in broadcasts and newspapers, strange and stunning but ultimately leaving an impression superimposing the memories of the girl Giselle had loved.

The Diana in her mind had become both, the same and not the same, a true, yet also warped reflection. The same applied to the woman sitting before her.

Giselle didn’t know her but wanted to. She also doubted she ever could know her. Confused in this storm of emotions, “how?” was the only word she managed to utter.

Diana’s lips moved, her shoulders lifting and sagging again, too exhausted to reply without preparing herself.

“… I … I was captured,” she said at last. “By lakelander soldiers. This night, I’ve escaped during a transfer.” She swallowed, haunted by the memory. Or to give Giselle a moment to let that sink in, a moment Giselle definitely needed. She could only think how that explained the mess Diana was in right now.

“Someone helped me,” Diana went on, “but they could only offer me a chance to run.” She raised a hand to gesture yet soon lowered it again as she began to sway. “So I ran, through the park, to the river. A boat was provided and then I came to the bog.”

“Our bog.” Giselle stated. The words stuck her breath in her throat when Diana looked up and met her eyes for the first time since Giselle joined her in the room.

“Yes,” Diana breathed. Pain burned in her eyes, probably from her recent ordeals, possibly from the meaning of the bog bordering the forest with the lake that grew after the late King Orrec flooded Sieverling, their former home village.

“I found my way through, barely. Thus, I’m glad you let me clean somewhat. I don’t want to bother – endanger – you further. They’ll search for me, my enemies, I mean. My allies too.”

She paused as Giselle sidled away from her post at the door, her skirts swinging, and sat down in front of her. Giselle could feel how Diana drank in her sight and rejoiced in it. Now it was her who captivated Diana with a glance.

“You aren’t a bother,” Giselle said. Diana lifted her eyebrows, but Giselle meant it. It was like fate, a dream, and Diana an apparition on a feast day. It was one, actually, and while her parents and brother went to celebrate with the congregation in the next village, Giselle stayed back to take care of the farm and animals. It’d fitted her to be alone, to avoid Ushio, the woman with whom Giselle didn’t know where she stood.

When she’d seen Diana on the edge of the orchard, under the trees blooming white in the moonlight, she thought Diana wasn’t real at first. She’d been frozen at the sight of her love from the past. She could’ve gone away, doing nothing and leaving Diana to her own devices, like people long divided. But yearning boiled in her blood. So long. It’d been so long, and so often she’d asked herself, what had torn them apart? Diana had been gone like a flash; would she ever return? Giselle hadn’t dared believe it, even more so as she learned of Diana’s shocking career in the Scarlet Guard – until the Red General stood before her and Giselle both wanted to touch her and to scream at her. 

That feeling hadn't vanished one bit, even as she suppressed either option. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said with earnest.

Diana startled, reading as much in Giselle as she’d intended. How well Diana understood her. With time, Giselle had grasped in turn. The rumours of rebels, the Cygnets’ brutal revenge. Diana alive, yet away, while her home was destroyed. The young woman wanted for insurrection in Norta who soon stood right next to Mare Barrow, the Calore princes and the leaders of foreign nations. Diana had chosen her path and she hadn’t trusted Giselle to follow, no, not even to tell her about it, and so broke their hearts instead.

It was also what angered Giselle, what a part of her resented to this day: Diana had been right. Giselle would never have joined her in the Scarlet Guard or any other rebellion and Diana hadn’t even needed to ask or hear an answer. Already back then, she’d anticipated Giselle’s position with the same calculation that brought her to the top of Scarlet Guard’s revolution.

Diana grimaced to produce a pained smile. “You must hate me.”

“Hate? Please.”

“But you aren’t happy.”

Giselle bit her lip. “I haven’t felt much of your deals and victories.” She shrugged. “It’s the same, really. People are conscripted while the lords and lieges feed on their cruel whims. Your Scarlet Guard may have started here, your successes are elsewhere.”

Diana shifted, reaching out for Giselle’s shoulder with her gaze pinning Giselle’s face. “I came to change that.”

By getting caught? The remark got lost under the focus of the blue eyes piercing her. “Then I wish you luck,” Giselle replied instead, rolling her shoulder to shake Diana’s hand off, out of reflex rather than aversion as the rush through her, caused by Diana’s touch, spoke of a very different reaction. Hot blood flowed into her head and she gathered her fingers in her lap, kneading them to stop the tingling urge to reach for Diana.

She looked away, Diana did too.

“That’s good to know,” said Diana. “That my – the Guard’s – actions wouldn’t be unwanted.”

Giselle snorted. “If you only know this now, you would’ve done it anyway.”

The fleeting moment of calm vanished as Diana’s head spun to her once more. No need to meet her eyes, mere awareness of Diana’s watch set her on edge. “Yes, we would,” Diana began. “We … it isn’t an option to leave the Lakelands as they are, not while the developments are so uncertain, and things could swing back any time. Montfort learned this the hard way. We need to create a new situation everywhere – “

“Because your plan includes more chaos until everyone follows your lead?”

“What, do you prefer the lead that is now?” Diana snapped.

“Show me better.” Unfazed, Giselle stared up at Diana, returning the feeling of bathing in her looks as her throat bobbed, her chest heaved. She wanted to rile her up. To challenge Diana and get under her skin, because steering her into heated talking seemed the best way to lead her out of the frozen stupor, to break the cocky shell of protection against lingering pain and fear.

Diana’s quivering lips, fumbling for words, and her lids fighting not to blink betrayed how true the jab hit. Deep down, Diana had to have doubts, questioning how her strategies could tip over into overbearing. Until she swallowed, reshaping her face into a mask of conviction. “We were quite successful so far.”

 A harsh laugh escaped Giselle’s throat, a laugh shifting into true amusement as Diana fell in. “You’re rude,” said Giselle, trying to stop herself.

Diana cackled deeper, an audible relaxing. When she found Giselle’s eyes, a sudden spark lit her up that gave Giselle a rush of relief.

She’ll get up again.

“I guess that’s my job,” said Diana, still looking at her. “When someone needs to be barked at, threatened, or … worse, General Farley is called.” She quieted, growing serious again.

Averting her eyes, Giselle inclined her head. It was the obvious, almost infamous attribute of Red General, but to hear it stated, spoken of in a joking manner, was a different thing entirely. It came too close to the rift between them, the rift of now and the past.

Giselle balled her fists in her lap. See in which dangers those calls brought you, she thought. You’ve barely escaped captivity. She lifted her gaze to find Diana’s, unintendedly. She blinked, and blood rushed to her cheeks. Flustered, she said, “then your Guard could’ve returned the favour. Made a better plan to save you.”

Diana tilted her head as if puzzled by the idea. Then she laughed out loud. “I suppose you’re right,” she muttered. “I thought the same.”

Giselle was unsure whether to be angered or amused as well. Diana’s life, filled with dark humour to get by, was really beyond her.

Diana cleared her throat with a smirk and straightened herself. “That’s why I should be on the move already,” she said. “It’s enough if a bad plan endangers me –”

Putting a hand on her knees, Giselle stopped her from rising. Eyes met and locked, both shy and determined. “No,” Giselle insisted quietly. Her pulse fastened. Louder, she said, “what’s the point? So you can sleep in a ditch?”

“Giselle –”

“Is there anybody waiting for you, out there? Now? Because I am –”

I’ve been waiting for you. She swallowed before repeating the words that threatened to rise with quite a different intonation, quite a different meaning right now.

Typically, Diana seemed to hear the unsaid words nonetheless. Her mien softened which, added to the marks of her recent ordeals, revealed a vulnerability that had little to do with a rebel general and more with the girl from ten years ago. A sight for Giselle alone?

“One could almost think,” Diana said carefully, “you don’t want me to go.” She covered Giselle’s hand with her own and then, as if pulled by strings that were in truth inside of her, impossibly slow, Giselle sat up into a kneeling position so their faces met at the same level.

Her hand burned under Diana’s touch while the other … in no time at all, it was up to brush Diana’s scarred cheek ever-so-slightly.

Her lips opened, millimeters away from Diana’s. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t put the desire in words for fear to break the spell and so the moment lasted an eternity, her body speaking for her, until Diana answered, letting go of her armour to lean into Giselle’s cupped hand.

Giselle’s eyelashes fluttered one last time before she was kissing her. At first, there was only the chapped skin of Diana’s lips, and the softness beneath giving in, a softness that felt like a hit as it blurred every thought but leaning closer, wanting to get closer still. Yet while yearning flooded her, she unravelled the deepest parts of Diana’s rigidness only bit by bit.

Diana’s reciprocation woke slowly. A hand squeezing Giselle’s. The other reaching for her waist. Her mouth moving in synch with every small shift of Giselle’s as if they relied on each other to breathe.

It wasn’t air that enlivened Giselle though it was as much energizing, rushing wildly into her face, her cheeks, down her neck and into her upper body. Desire tingled in her arms as her fingers travelled from Diana’s cheek to her jawline into her hair, short but curly, still tangled but mostly clean now. It shivered in her kneeling legs, bracketing Diana’s, and throbbed between her thighs.

She felt goose bumps on Diana’s skin as she stroked her thigh, shoving up the nightgown; she shuddered as Diana deepened the kiss with a moan of pure hunger. Diana pulled her closer and Giselle cried out of joy. With a sharp breath, her mouth left Diana’s to nuzzle her jawline. She tried to speak, to murmur a propose to go on but she didn’t know how; nor did she grasped how they finally rose from the rim of the bathtub.

They stood, hugging, kissing, tucking at hair and clothes. Diana’s hands moved to her sides, her fingers drawing circles into the skin between waist and hips. Instantly, Giselle let her hips sway and felt for Diana’s waist in turn. She loved the dips of a woman’s waist, no matter her size, loved touching there and being touched there herself.

This night really was a dream, wasn’t it? A twist of fate in the person of a gorgeous woman.

It made her pause, to break away and stroke Diana’s short curls. She was in need of help, probably in shock. Would she even think of sex?

Diana blinked in question.

Giselle swallowed. “Do you want … more?” she managed at last, her fingers in Diana’s hair twitching nervously.

Diana lowered her eyes and closed them. In the dim light, Giselle believed she was blushing, and that it would end here, with her ruing ever bringing it up. The lack of reply was embarrassing – until a low sound rose, both sigh and chuckle. Diana’s eyes shone in the dark, like a flash, before another kiss grabbed all her attention.

Now, that was enough of an answer and still Diana hugged her tighter and whispered an almost inaudible “absolutely” into Giselle’s ear.

If Giselle’s desire had sobered slightly, Diana’s made up for it. That Giselle wore more clothes than her became suddenly unbearable and Diana urged to remove them. Four hands fumbled to get rid of Giselle’s bodice so Diana could keep squeezing into her flesh, fingers travelling from waist to navel to breasts.

The last of their clothes were gone, shed on the floor, as they stumbled into Giselle’s bedroom. It still smelled of fire though the coals had long burned down, so only the same pale moonlight that made the blooming cherry trees shine illuminated the room and the two women. The smell of lilac bouquets and the wooden roof filled the air, along with the scent of their bodies holding close. Diana had used their good soap, Giselle noticed, but she had her own smell as well, one Giselle was unable to describe yet found all the more enticing, the mixed fragrances of home, nature and the strange-but-not woman in her arms, in her bed, under her.

Bare to each other, they could only look, very much like the first time they’d made out. Eleven years had passed and left their marks. They’d become adults and changed and while they couldn’t see each other’s souls and shadows lay between them, there was plenty to read. Giselle had grown out of the delicate girl and filled out, rounded by curves and lean muscles; Diana’s body revealed her life as a soldier. Scars in more places than Giselle dared to count, broad and strong in shoulders, back and arms; yet also soft, with a curve to her tummy, large breasts, wide hips and big thighs.

Thighs Giselle moved for first when she was unsure where to start, checking the firm top side, then grinning as her hand travelled to the softer inside and coaxed a deep moan from Diana with a squeeze. She laughed, bending over to brush quick kisses over Diana’s lips, collarbone, nipples and stomach, before taking one last breathe, before going down on her.

As usual, Giselle woke at dawn. To her, the red sky of sunrise wasn’t a symbol for the fight for equality but marked the beginning of her farm duties. She yawned, and yet, instead of getting up, she lingered, hugging Diana from behind, marvelling at how the coppery light, both warm and cold, illuminated Diana’s back, accentuating the sharp lines of her shoulders and bringing out new shades in her hair.

Giselle chewed on her lip with longing. She wished this moment to last. She knew the dream was over. Sighing, her fingers glided over Diana’s skin, then she leaned forward and kissed a dimple in her shoulder before she sat up. Those would be her only tries to wake Diana, she decided. She didn’t like to leave her behind, but Diana appeared so peaceful, so much in need of rest Giselle didn’t want to interrupt it. If Diana scolded her for that later on – she wasn’t exactly scared of it. Without trying to stay especially quiet, she rose to pick up her clothes, washed and dressed herself, and then went out to look after the animals.

An hour later, hair pinned up and humming a tune, Giselle prepared breakfast and tea, considering which brew Diana would enjoy or if she should use the last bit of cocoa powder, saved as it was so expensive and hard to get. Her family would brunch over in the next village after helping out there, to arrive home at lunch, probably. Finishing the cocoa in their absence left her with a tad of guilt but this was the special occasion she’d saved it for, wasn’t it? Yet what if Diana didn’t even like –

Giselle lost the thought as loud steps approached the kitchen, just to stop at the door. “Morning!” Giselle greeted over her shoulder. And startled as she beheld Diana.

She’d cut her hair – buzzed it all off to millimeters of yellow stubble. She must’ve found the shaver along with the baggy knitted jacket of Giselle’s father she wore now. Together with the rumpled clothes from last night, her outfit stood at odds with the rather military demeanour Diana displayed as she strode into the kitchen.

A grin got stuck in Giselle’s throat. It was too confusing, a façade. The buzzcut didn’t make her look like a soldier, it stressed the raw state she tried to hide.

“Good morning too,” Diana said with smile as she sat down. She rubbed her head and winked. “Surprised? Just been fed up with the hair mess lately”.

Because it reminded her of her prison. Giselle was aghast as Diana’s smile widened, only to look even more fake as fuck. Diana wouldn’t give in to pity herself, but would she acknowledge when she needed to give in for a break? Yet if Diana wanted to appear good-humoured, who was Giselle to pull her down? Maybe that worked best for her.

Giselle cleared her throat, forcing her own smile and asked which food and tea Diana would like. Though answering gratefully and decidedly, as well as inquiring about Giselle’s family in turn, Diana picked at her plate as they faced each other at the table.

Giselle tried not to watch her, letting Diana take her time – to get accustomed to or rejoice in homemade food after whatever she was granted in captivity –, but she also couldn’t help glimpsing at her, the fingers both nimble and shaky, her face so intense in its details.

It didn’t work. Diana noticed, of course, catching her glances and pinning Giselle with stares of her own. Giselle breathed heavily, tucking at hair still in perfect order. It was all so awkward. Deep down, she hadn’t expected otherwise; it was the nature of one-night-stands, and whatever they’d been once, Diana and Giselle had been estranged for ten years.

Diana put down her knife with a loud clack, startling Giselle. Quickly recovered, Giselle chuckled. “You don’t have to stab anyone here,” she jested.

“You don’t know that,” retorted Diana, taking Giselle aback. Diana faltered. Her gaze, burning one moment, dimmed the next. “I’m … sorry. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have stayed so you might have to stab one of my trackers …” She trailed off, losing focus.

Was she talking about more than leading Silvers here? Did she ... regret their night together? Giselle grinded her teeth, not wanting to believe it. Diana had wanted it, craved it, as if to overwrite the weeks in captivity and reclaim herself. At least, that was how Giselle understood her. If Diana needed that, she wouldn’t feel used for it when she could hardly keep her eyes and hands off her.

Still, desire could never bridge the unchanged gulfs between them – or could it?

She balled her fists, nails pressing sharply into her flesh. Was distance all that defined them? If so, their intimacy didn’t matter – had not, and never would - and Giselle found she couldn’t stand that thought. She couldn’t see Diana as a stranger about to leave and to be forgotten like their meeting had no impact and they no feelings to share.

She loosened her fists and reached for Diana’s hand, grasping trembling fingers that calmed at the union.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Giselle said softly. “Glad that you’ve escaped, glad to see you again … and happy to be there for you.” She paused to catch a few breaths. “We’re not exchanging gifts in a bargain, Diana, we’re …” But she didn’t know what they were. Friends or lovers, those terms were past and potential but not the truth. She gulped. “I’m with you,” she said instead, though it still felt like too much when Giselle didn’t fight at her side.

Diana seemed not to register that detail. She looked like she’d cry, her pretends gone for good. Giselle squeezed her hand, only to let go as Diana pulled her hand back to cover her face. Sure, Diana might look like would cry or was about to break, but she would do neither.

After a long moment, Diana’s hands met in front of her face, forming a triangle, like a shield – or a blade? – holding her apart from Giselle while revealing her red-rimmed, shiny eyes. “I want to see my daughter again,” she muttered, choking on the words layered with a yearning vaster than she could articulate. It was so strong. It swallowed her. It was a sea Giselle couldn’t even begin to grasp.

She needed more than a few seconds to understand. A daughter. Diana had a child. Was that the reason why she rued last night? Another parent to her child? A lover she’d betrayed?

Giselle felt slightly sick. There it was, the proof of the oceans between her and Diana’s life. Giselle hadn’t considered Diana having a child, having hardly considered having one herself. Children would be such a conscious choice for her, and the partner she might have one day, she’d delayed the idea until she would meet that woman and might know whether they wanted a child together.

Had Diana thought long about this? Or did it “happen” to her? Did she have a partner? How was it like? How and why did she hide the fact of her daughter from the public? The questions urged to be asked but she shut down their needling and cleared her throat. “How old is your daughter?” she said instead, carefully polite, not over-curious.

Yet Diana appeared even more aghast. Fuck.

“I … don’t know.” Diana cackled once and harshly, then covered her face with her hands again. “What day is it? If it’s May … she could be four … or already five …”

It was May 17th. Giselle swallowed a sigh. Diana had missed her own birthday as well, but it wasn’t the one she cared for. Of course she didn’t. Giselle imagined the child looking forward to the birthday, wishing for her mother to spend it with her, or maybe just her mother returning to her would’ve been the greatest present.

Diana, obviously, hadn’t intended to break her daughter’s heart like that.

Giselle reached out for Diana’s hand on her face. It shivered, even as Giselle held on tighter and tighter, like a buoy. She felt the tears on Diana’s face as Diana suppressed sobs and finally squeezed back.

They lingered in the moment. Giselle wished to keep cupping Diana’s cheek. To be close and intimate, physically and in their hearts, so at last, Diana would trust Giselle to be there for her.

But she had been there for her ten years ago, hadn’t she? She hadn’t done anything wrong; they were just too different.

Just minutes after deciding to find common ground, it showed itself to be a hard, difficult search.

“Hey,” she said softly, caressing Diana’s cheek. “It’s okay now. You’ll meet soon, I’m sure.”

Though appearing less sure, Diana calmed.

Why doesn’t she agree? Giselle thought. Would the Scarlet Guard tell her to do something ‘more important’ than seeing her child?

Irked by the idea in the face of Diana’s sorrow, she asked, “so, do you recommend it to me?” Her tone was decidedly cheerful. “Having a child?”

According to the abrupt change of topic, Diana’s eyes widened in utter confusion, making Giselle successful in lifting her spirit. Soon, Diana’s featured softened again, almost into another person’s. “Yes,” she breathed dreamily. “It’s … wonderful.” She sounded surprised by her own awe. “I didn’t know how much I’d love her. It’s incredible. To see Clara grow and become this cool person and imagine we’d made her … but we didn’t, not really. She’s making herself, and …” She paused, kneading her fingers with Giselle’s.

A whiff of sadness flashed as Diana looked down for a second, all serious when she lifted her gaze again. “I didn’t know how afraid she’d make me either. Every day, sometimes more, sometimes less. I fear failing her. I fear losing her, and nothing could break me but that.” She slapped on the table for emphasis. “Nothing.”

Not even losing her war, she meant.

Diana blinked, her eyes examining the room for the first time like she only woke up this moment for real. “Because I’ve lost everyone else,” she added. “She’s the only love I’ve left.”

Her head spun, now straight on Giselle, just staring at her. Her fingers moved slowly towards Giselle’s other hand, taking it at last. “Apart from you,” Diana said. “You’re still there.”

After you left me, Giselle thought, a sob rising in her throat.

Diana inched closer until their foreheads touched. “Or not,” Diana whispered. “I am the one coming back this time. To you. To Clara. Even to Mare and Calore.” She chuckled at the last two.

Now Giselle sobbed for real. Reading between the lines, it didn’t sound like Clara had another parent. And “Clara” itself – it was Diana’s mother’s name, another person they’d lost.

Back when King Orrec flooded Sieverling, Giselle had also lost friends and a home. She’s left the village, but not for forever as Diana had – she’d wanted to visit and stay close to the people who had welcomed and helped her family. Instead, everyone was killed, leaving nothing but ruins and a boggy forest.

Where the tragedy had motivated Diana to fight, it had been all the reminder Giselle had needed to be grateful for her new home and to stay in line.

Giselle grabbed Diana’s hand tightly. So hard they both winced. She pulled away to find Diana’s eyes. “So do come back,” Giselle urged her. “First to your daughter, to Clara, and then … to me.” She breathed heavily. Diana, with her cropped hair, her blushed face and sparkling blue eyes, still looked so young, not like a nightmare to Silvers. Yet she was all that, and more.

Giselle let go their joined hands, brushing Diana’s cheek once again. Quieter now, she said, “come back with Clara. Show her where you come from.”

She yearned to kiss Diana again, pull her close and never let go. It shouldn’t be. When Diana would go, these hours would truly seem like a dream, with her shorn hair left in the bin the only proof of her visit. Giselle couldn’t ask for more, but she could ask this.

Diana nodded and kissed Giselle’s brow. “I promise you,” she whispered and these three words were maybe even more intimate than the night before. “I’ll come back. To you, and for the rest of the Lakelands.”

A/N 2: Okay but while Farley was a captive, Mare and Cal took care of Clara which may or may not have played a role in them having children too. A possible future spin-off.

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @evangeline-of-montfort @goldfincheli @percelain-doll @gamer670 @sxfik @yjlover @scxrletguardsdawn @maudthebookeater @mareshmallow @petergrantkavinsky @farleydiana

[unwiltingblossom]

Queen’s Favor (Mysme Jumin/MC AU 7/?)

Summary: Being a maid would be much easier if the cat would just let her do her job.

AU - Instead of joining the RFA via random text, MC is hired on as one of the maids assigned to Jumin Han’s penthouse. Nothing else about the setting has changed, the messenger and the RFA still exist, only the MC’s position has been altered.

"...I'm gonna sue him for emotional anguish."

The bed hurt her back.

The blankets were flimsy and scratchy. One of her neighbors screamed in time with the clanging of metal on sheet rock and that damn dog barked in response each time, like it thought they were communicating.

Her shower wasn't that great, either.

She stared up at the ceiling, refusing to move from the bed that felt much like she'd just went ahead and lied down on the floor. "...I'm gonna sue him for emotional anguish." Three days living in the lap of luxury just made her modest apartment feel less 'affordable' and more of 'a hole in the wall that led directly underground into a troll's cave'.

She groaned and crossed her arms over her face with a sigh. "Well. If I just got to keep that job, I could eventually afford to get that, too...never." She couldn't kid herself: one didn't ever catch up to the person paying them, or their roles would end up reversing.

The briefly flitting image of her employer stuck cleaning her big ol' penthouse somewhere did cushion the discomfort of her bed.

Regardless, the pay would go back to where it was before, but at least her workload would also go back to something easy. And the risks of the cat being mauled or kidnapped while on her watch were vastly reduced. That was good for both her job security and her lifespan.

Her phone lit in the darkness, the vibration of an incoming call just audible around the rest of the sounds of the night. The caller ID showed a bunch of random numbers she didn't recognize, however, so she rejected the call. It seemed a bit late for a spam caller, but then...maybe it was some foreign company going down a list of numbers.

Still, since she'd moved again, there was no reason not to turn the television on. Yes, her television was smaller and about 8000p less crisp than the one in the penthouse, but it was also much closer to her face while she was comfortably lying in bed than the ones scattered through that house.

She propped her hand on a cheek as she flipped channels.

And startled herself as a the middle of some loud note cut through the room. A trio of actors spun on a stage, singing some song about dogs. Was it that one stage production of 'Not All Dogs Go to Heck'?

"Someone from this city was in it, right...?" She mumbled to herself, tapping her cheek with one finger. One of her coworkers had mentioned wanting to go see it, which was the reason she knew the name.

Well. That presumed there weren't other stage plays with a bunch of attractive men dressed up as dogs in them running recently. I wouldn't know. Who has time to go to plays when there's whole penthouses to clean?

She scoffed lightly in the dark.

The final note of the song focused on some pale man that the camera tried (and mostly failed, given its distance from the stage) to zoom in on while he sang. "Now there's a dog I'd pet."

Still, once the actors broke and moved on to the next scene, she turned the channel again.

No way was she going to watch a bunch of men dancing on stage dressed up like dogs just because one of them was extremely pretty.

So of course she ended up on 'Makeover My Already Beautiful Home'.

--

The soreness was really just a placebo. Mostly. Falling asleep watching television wasn't the most comfortable position she could have laid in all night, but she refused to accept that her body was actually ruined for her normal bed.

No! She wouldn't be so weak. Three nights in a heavenly bed - two, plus a rockin' couch - wouldn't break her!

Standing in the empty apartment (really more of a house) in her uniform. This was much more familiar and comfortable. She always felt a bit guilty when ordering food from room service, and had been sure each time she sat down in her night gown on the couch to chow down on a pint of ice cream the enigmatic owner would just pop into the building suddenly. Now...! He still might pop in suddenly, but she at least knew he'd mostly just ignore she existed and let her do her job.

Speaking of her job.

While crawling under the guest bed to catch the hidden dust and hair trapped underneath, unmistakable little paws dropped down on the small of her back, walked a step over to the swell of her hips, and then evidently lost their grip and slid off to the ground with a sudden thump.

"...Really, Elizabeth?" She turned her head, too trapped under the bed to move much more without risking getting stuck (she absolutely refused to add that to the list of things her boss caught her doing when he returned home). Fortunately, the cat was in view at the edge of the bed anyway, blue eyes blankly staring at her. As if offended she had a problem.

Or maybe just offended she wasn't there to play with last night. Who knew?

"It's not my job to play with you today. I'm not gonna take a break right when I got here. Your dad would know."

"I suppose I would."

She screamed.

Also, hit her head and nearly knocked the bed down on herself.

"Ow, ow, owww!"

With what seemed like surprising swiftness - but who knew, with how hard she'd just whacked her head - hands appeared at her waist and the elbow not under the bed. The man behind her pulled her out from under the bit of furniture and righted her quickly enough to leave her dizzy. Or, again, the possible concussion.

The face of her...damn...employer...scrunched up in concern for a few moments, as he brushed fingers through her hair, apparently searching for damage. Weirdly, she was pretty sure the fingers that he withdrew from the back of her head were redder than they should be.

"You're injured."

"No, no." She shook her head, which was a mistake. The whole room spun. "It's just..a placebo."

For a terrible moment, a wave of nausea crashed through her and she thought she'd vomit right on her employer.

Fortunately, she just headbutted his chest.

--

As it turned out, it was a very mild concussion. Which was, frankly, pretty reassuring. Knocking herself out and giving herself a mild concussion just from getting startled doing absolutely nothing wrong was enough. Getting anything worse was officially Too Much.

This job was well paying, but she had a growing suspicion it wasn't his finicky nature or cat that kept people away, but the peril that somehow came with the job.

That was probably just the concussion talking, though.

She thought for a full minute that the figure sitting primly in a chair near the bed was also a result of that, but apparently mild concussions didn't cause quite that level of hallucination, as the doctor eventually spoke to him.

"...Although it wasn't my intention, it seems I caused you injury." He spoke coolly, but there did seem to be a certain amount of penitence in his voice? Yeah. She was pretty sure that was the case. It wasn't a terrible sound.

Well, anyway, if they were saying it for the record, she caused her injury. But it sounded better his way. "Technically, it was the bed."

His lips quirked up into a barely there smile for a moment. "I'll press charges on it immediately."

Charges...

Wait...was he waiting here because he'd come home with some complaint...?

Was it that cat kidnapper?! Did Mina say something?

"This visit has been paid for. And of course, you'll get your full pay for however many days you need to stay home to recover as well." He stood, taking a step closer to the bed. "If there's anything else that you need, any follow-up visits, extended time off-"

"No." She shook her head - which made her slightly less dizzy this time. Good! Getting better already! "It's fine! It's honestly not the first time I've worked through a mild concussion, and most of the time I'm not doing anything strenuous anyway. I'd rather just get back to work. Uh...tomorrow, I guess..." Since a bout of unconsciousness ending up in a hospital bed probably drained all her working hours away.

His brows knit. "What?"

"It's fine, really!" She waved her hand. "Honestly, this is all my fault anyway. If I'd been paying more attention I wouldn't have been so startled. And that last weekend left me with more than enough to cover anything frivolous!" Although it did kill any vacation plans or saving up for penthouses..

"Besides, if anyone else does your house, they won't know how to take care of Elizabeth and she'll get lonely or start shedding, and my work will be just that much harder when I get back. And they probably won't be prepared for that weird friend of yours to try to sneak in and get her anyway, who knows how frazzled she'll be by then..."

Oh, she was still rambling. She could tell because the man just stood there staring at her with an expression that said something like 'oh no, my weird maid has brain damage and can't stop talking about my cat'. Or...okay, honestly, she couldn't read his expression at all, but it's what she'd be thinking.

So she shut up.

He remained silent for a few moments, before giving a small nod. "If you're working, then the standards of your work will be the same regardless of any injury."

"Yes, sir!"

He hesitated a moment longer, before nodding and turning to leave. Evidently, now that there was no danger of her trying to sue him, he had no reason to linger. Which did make sense. Yes.

"...Wait."

He did. Huh.

"You were home really early, right? What was that about?"

He looked back at her, blinking in silence a moment, as if trying to comprehend her question. Finally, he said. "I had forgotten my watch."

Oh.

Alright then.

--

Walking back into work felt a little like walking into a battlefield.

Like the price she paid for the sweet paycheck wasn't the work itself, but the heavenly dice rolling each time she stepped inside, just to see if she got a good, normal day, or if something awful and painful would happen that would leave her sore for days over some stupid thing.

The supplies she'd brought in the day before were neatly arranged near the door. A folded piece of paper and a small box sat atop the largest piece of equipment. Likely a note from the owner.

One hand picked up the letter, while the other picked up the nondescript box. The box was a bit heavy. Which probably meant he left some kind of apology chocolate.

She had to give him credit. The man did not want to be sued.

Inside the letter read -

 My apologies for the mishap yesterday.

 I've been told it's best to provide a gift for this sort of apology.

 In the future, please be careful with furniture.

"Says the king of jump scares."

She sighed, setting the letter on the key stand near the door, and flopped the box open.

Then nearly dropped it right to the ground.

It was a charm bracelet in the shape of a diamond, with the face of Elizabeth the 3rd painted onto the charm. More importantly, though, the chunky bracelet and charm were solid gold. Or at least they looked that way when she opened it. And also felt like it when she finally plucked up the bravery to touch them.

"This...has got to be inappropriate."

She still pocketed it, though.

She wasn't insane.

[ijustreallylikedrarry]

Drarry Drabble #1

Haircuts and emotions

I said I would and I did!!! Please let me know what you think!

Warning: mild mental breakdown. Obvious daddy issues and personal image issues

Draco placed his hands over his face as he counted out his breaths, trying to remember that it was him standing in front of the mirror.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s me. It’s just me. I’m my own person. Not a carbon copy. It’ll be okay.”

He shakily brought his hands down and looked at his reflection again. He could feel his chest tighten again as he desperately searched for any differences between his appearance in the mirror and his father.

‘Pale skin. Pointed features. Same eyes.’

His head ran through a mantra of all the similarities but couldn’t latch onto any differences. His hands found their way into his hair as he tugged at it and tried to breathe.

He felt suffocated as his hair fell in front of his face in a curtain, not tied back like his father had told him he was always to wear it.

“As head of the Malfoy line I wear my hair long. It’s a proud pure blood tradition. And as my sole heir you will do the same Draco.”

“I can’t.” The man gasped out, his hands starting to yank at his blonde strands.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.”

“Accio scissors!”

—————————————————————

“Honey I’m home!” Harry called as he closed the door to Grimmauld Place behind him, waiting for the inevitable continuation of the running joke he and Draco had kept up since they moved in together.

When no reply came he frowned. Draco had told him he would be home, with no appointments or meetings to attend they had planned on having a nice quiet night in together to start their weekend.

“Draco? Are you home?”

He made his way up the stairs, listening for a reply, heart starting to beat faster when none came.

As he passed the bathroom he heard the water running and sighed in relief.

“Draco?” He called again and knocked softly on the door.

“You alright?”

There was no instant reply, but after a few seconds of debating whether he should knock again he heard it.

“I’m fine.” Followed by the quietest sniffle, if Harry hadn’t been paying attention he wouldn’t have heard it. But he was paying attention. And thank Merlin he heard it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I’m fine! I’m great! Just- go sit down I’ll be downstairs in a minute!”

The man shook his head and grabbed the doorknob.

“Yeah I’m calling it. I’m gonna come in okay?”

Without waiting for a response he opened to door only to see Draco stood in front of the sink with scissors in his hand and his blonde hair all over the floor.

“What happened?”

The blonde turned to him, eyes red and tear tracks down his face.

“I don’t want to look like him anymore! I hate it! I’m done! I’m tired of it! Make it stop!”

He dropped the scissors in the sink and covered his face, not watching his boyfriend cross the small space to him to wrap him in his arms.

“Hey. Hey hey hey. It’s alright. It’ll be okay. You’re you, and no one else. No matter what you look like you are your own person. And I love you. Not your father or who your father said you were supposed to become. I love you as you are Draco.”

He sobbed and turned to hide his face in Harry’s chest.

“But I look just like him. And he was horrible how can you even look at me?”

Harry tilted his face up to meet his eyes.

“You know what I see?” He wiped the tears away.

“I see a man with skin like porcelain. Whose eyes are grey but spark silver when filled with passion or the light hits them just right. Who looks similar to his heritage but with differences that make him more beautiful than all of his ancestors combined.” He pressed a kiss to Draco’s forehead.

“I see a person who has desperately tried to overcome his own hurdles and has worked harder than anyone in his family to improve himself and he succeeded. I see the man I fell in love with.”

Draco’s crying tapered off as he listened to Harry speak. He pulled away, reaching for tissue to teary and snot congested mess he had become.

His hair had been hacked at, unevenly cut with chunks of long and short haphazardly mixed and sticking out in some places. It obviously was not done with any finesse or emotional stability involved.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened I just looked at it and hated it so much-“

Harry cut Draco off. Shushing him and pulling him back into his arms.

“It’s perfectly alright. We all have those moments.”

There was quiet for a moment but then-

“But you liked my long hair,” Came out muffled against Harry’s shirt. Harry huffed a silent laugh.

“Darling. I love you. And your hairstyle has nothing to do with that.”

He felt Draco return his embrace.

“Okay.”

It was small, but it made the bigger man smile.

“Merlin.” Draco pulled back, running his hands through his hair.

“I’m going to have to find a way to fix this. It probably looks awful.” He didn’t move to check his reflection in the mirror, but Harry didn’t really expect him to. It didn’t matter at that moment anyway.

“We’ll find someone. For now let’s go sit down, relax, maybe make some tea, yeah?”

He took Draco’s hand and led him to the door, smiling at the small talk his boyfriend tentatively started on their way down the stairs.