#and again it’s the word memorisation there’s just something about it that feels too… logical? strategic? i can’t think of the word

[myteastainedpages]

what else was intimacy if not the memorisation of her thoughts, her dreams, her fears?

the atlas paradox - olivie blake

[stevebabey]

somewhere only we know

a/n: i accidentally made this so long & ran with the request in whatever way my heart desired! hope this is enuf hurt/comfort for all ur needs <3 word count: 5.6k summary: You haven’t seen Steve in a few weeks, barely a couple phone-calls keeping your relationship beating. You assume the worst. Steve does his best to make it up to you. [hurt/comfort + miscommunication + established relationship]

It’s hard to not think he’s avoiding you.

Steve never seemed the type of boyfriend who would be foolish enough to ice you out without so much as a word about something being wrong. He wears his heart on his sleeve — more than anyone you know.

You’d also like to think you would know. That by now, all these months together, you’ve would’ve somewhat memorised the twists and turns of his emotions. But if he’s dropped any clues about being upset with you, you certainly hadn’t picked up on them.

You think you’d prefer his iciness to this odd avoidance.

It has to be that he’s upset, you reason. You would prefer he’s upset; that’s fixable, doable, and completely normal for a couple. The alternative is harsh, a cruel thread of insecure thoughts; perhaps Steve has suddenly decided he doesn’t have time for you.

And it’s a lot harder to pretend that thought doesn’t sting terribly.

And look, you pride yourself on being a logical person. You’re not jumping to conclusions and you aren’t overreacting — at least, you really hope you aren’t. The suspicions aren’t unfounded. It doesn’t stop you from feeling a bit too unstitched, like an obsessed girlfriend who keeps too close tabs on her boyfriend.

Maybe it only feels that way because Steve isn’t checking up on you as much as he used to. The healthy two-way road you both shared has suddenly become, agonizingly, one-way.

You’ve been trying not to count the days apart, nor note the shortness of the calls — just a couple weeks ago, he was talking your ear off and rounding up the phone bill, so what happened? It follows you around, a soft weight that presses your shoulders down, til it leaks in every second thought like a sleepy poison.

You don’t want to be jealous. You don’t want to be clingy.

It’s criminal how you don’t know that Steve would love nothing more.

When it gets to one week without seeing him, some of the worry transforms. You let it turn you away from him, some part deep inside that doesn’t want to get hurt putting up the defenses early, just in case, and you throw yourself into work. Worry about trivial things in your everyday life instead of about him. You give him his space.

One week becomes two. 

You’re not sure what mixture of feelings bubbles up when he calls on Tuesday morning. It feels like resentment, which you desperately shove down — combined with relief, with happiness, to be hearing his voice again. Even if it’s just down the phone line.

“Hi Stevie,” you say into the phone, the affectionate name slipping out, pure habit.

Your grin, an instant result of hearing his voice, fades a bit. You remind yourself to rein in it, an echo of thought that you’re too clingy forcing its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Hi, angel.” He coos back over the line, melting at the sound of your voice. It’s been too long since he’s seen you — he practically sags against the wall, gripping the phone tighter as if it’ll bring you closer to him.

It’s been hectic. He’s been training the new hire at work, since Robin back at school, all while hustling to get in his application for the local community college. On top of that, he’s trying to wrangle the moving details of the new apartment he finally managed to get his name down on.

Hectic feels like the understatement of the century to Steve.

He could tell you — and god, Steve really wants to. But a bigger part of him wants to see the surprise when you realise he’ll have a place that’s all his. No more sneaking through windows or quiet kisses interrupted by someone getting up in the night; an uninterrupted space for his love. Somewhere only the two of you get to know.

He ignores the part of his heart that wants to ask you, sometime in the future, not just yet, to come with him. To make his place yours as well.

For now, it’s all about the surprise. He’d planned it from the beginning, since the moment the keys to the apartment had been pressed into his palm. Steve wanted to treat you, to some swanky candlelit dinner for Friday date night, roses at the door, the whole nine yards, instead of a usual movie date.

The pet name softens you. Something inside eases and you wonder if have been being dramatic — he doesn’t seem different, seemingly unaware of the distance. Hearing his voice makes you miss him all that much more.

“How’s your morning been, huh?” He asks. He could ask how your last couple weeks have been considering how long it’s been since he’s found time to come to see you. He gnaws at his lip, trying to ignore the ache in his heart, and hopes it’ll be worth it.

“It’s been good! I mean as good as-“

A knock sounds at Steve’s front door and he curses, interrupting your reply. You pause, waiting to hear why he’s interrupted.

“Shit, I’m so sorry I’ve gotta— there’s someone at the door.”

Your throat tightens uncomfortably and you swallow it down, praying it won’t come out when you speak. Your voice is thankfully even when you say, “That’s alright. Go get it, just- just call me back later, yeah?”

“Later, definitely,” Steve promises, feeling terrible for having to hang up on the first conversation he’s had with you in too long. What kind of boyfriend is he? He has half a mind to ignore the door, just to keep talking to you — but the knock comes again, more insistent.

If it’s Henderson, Steve swears he’s gonna kick his ass.

“I love you.” His voice says down the line, voice sweet and it’s still enough to kick your heart into a flurry. You feel a bit more settled hearing it and grin, even though he can’t see it.

“I love you too.”

It’s not Dustin at the door— it’s Eddie, flaunting a grin and a gesture to his rust bucket of a van parked in Steve’s drive. Both are here at Steve’s request. Taking all his boxes in the beemer would ensure more than a dozen trips across town. And even with all his excitement to be out of the Harrington house, Steve’s sure it would take all but three trips to tire him out.

Eddie’s a bit early, a far cry from his usual tardiness, and Steve curses his sudden change of habit, today of all days. He tells Eddie as much as he tapes up the last of his open boxes.

Eddie, ever the charmer, let’s Steve direct what to grab and what to leave without much lip, much to Steve’s relief. They talk, a light banter thrown between them, and Eddie asks all the right questions; When’s the first party? What courses is he taking? What lewd favour does he have to do for Steve to let him host DnD there on occasion?

By the time the last box is in the car, Steve shoving Eddie for the mere suggestion — “you can host if you ask like a normal person, dude.” — the phone call is long forgotten.

It’s not his fault, not really. There’s a special frenzy in filling the hardwood floors of his cramped new kitchen with boxes of his stuff, a euphoric buzz that only comes with molding a new space into a home.

By the time he’s unpacked what little he owns into the space — the kitchen only has one pan, two mugs, both gifted to him by Dustin on separate Christmas’, and one or two plates he thought his parents wouldn’t notice missing — it’s late.

The only piece of furniture in the place is some shitty couch he and Robin had dragged off the sidewalk the day before. It’s a bit gross but not so much that he could refuse something free.

Steve sinks into it, drinking in the sight of the empty boxes strewn around his new apartment. Something in his heart glitters happily. For the first time since Eddie showed up at his door, Steve finally relaxes.

It’s 11.41pm and all he wishes is that you were with him.

The phonecall.

Just as quickly as it slipped his mind, Steve remembers it. The memory of it sinks into his stomach heavily and quickly, punching out a breath. His insides twist up with blackened regret as Steve thinks back to how many hours ago he’d promised to call you back. His eyes flash to the watch on his wrist.

He deflates a bit, seeing how late it is. Even though he would — he’d call you at 2am, hell, whenever you asked him to, just to talk — Steve won’t wake your whole family just to apologise.

Shit, he thinks softly and screws his eyes closed for a moment. There was no telling what reaction you’d have, given he’d accidentally blown you off like you were some one-time date, not his girlfriend — hot anger or maybe, icy silent treatment. Nancy had done that to him once; her jaw tight and narrowed eyes giving away her anger even though she insisted I’m fine, Steve, so just drop it.

It’s made all the worse considering he hasn’t seen you in a couple of weeks. Regret feasts in his gut. All of a sudden, keeping all this moving a secret seems colossally dumb. Steve knows you would’ve jumped at the chance to help him move.

It’s an anguishing thought to imagine — the fact the two of you could’ve been unboxing this next chapter together. You’d work up a sweat from the exertion of moving boxes, random fly-aways sticking up and god, Steve would think you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And then he would’ve coaxed you down to the couch with his kisses til he was sure you knew it too. 

If he wasn’t so set on surprising you, maybe instead you’d be here with him now, nestled in his arms.

Instead, Steve’s alone and you’re across town thinking god knows what about him.

A groan fights its way out of Steve’s throat, dozens of thoughts spinning off each other on how to fix this. How can he make it up to you and make sure you knew he was still thinking of always.

But sleep had to come first.

— 

You’d never admit out loud how long you waited for the phone to ring.

After a certain amount of silence, you’d slowly bled back into your jobs around the house, never straying too far from the phone. You’re not sure what it is that fizzes under your skin but the longer the phone stays quiet, the more it stings. The distance between you and Steve feels yawning.

It rings, only once, and you leap for it — only to get your heart gets washed down the drain at the voice of one of your mother’s friends.

It makes getting up for your Wednesday morning shift seems an impossible feat.

He likely got busy, you have to remind yourself painfully. The Steve you knew would never, never purposefully leave you hanging. You hate the thought that pings into your brain, wondering if there really was anyone at the door. That he told you so he could escape the conversation quicker because he was avoiding you.

That, perhaps, this wasn’t your Steve anymore.

You have to repeat he called you to yourself firmly, trying to drown out the self-doubt. It doesn’t work.

It feels like something final has been decided by Steve and you’ve been left in the dark, grasping at straws. You can’t help but believe that the worst has been confirmed, that Steve doesn’t have time for you anymore. You feel grossly over-attached to him now and know that if you have to pull away, each thread connecting you to him will pull and hurt.

His phone call, Wednesday afternoon, right when Steve knows you’ll be home, doesn’t ease you much.

“I‘m—” He sucks in a huge breath, loud enough you can hear it over the phone. “—so unbelievably sorry that I forgot to call you back. Honest, I promise I had a really good reason to get distracted. I’m so so sorry, It won’t happen again, I swear, scout’s honour.”

The rambling words, tinged with nervousness, manage to persuade a smile out of you. The relief that washes over you feels charged, a bit overwhelming, so much that you can’t keep your voice even when you respond. 

“That’s okay.” You say a little weaker than you intend.

It makes the regret in Steve’s gut twist up a little tighter. It’s gut-wrenching to consider another reaction, that maybe you’re not angry with him but upset. Steve thinks that this is decisively worse. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I—I’m really sorry.” He insists again, despair leaking into the words. He presses the phone closer. “Please let me make it up to you?”

“Sure.” You say, aiming for nonchalant but the word comes out too tight in your throat. Cursing yourself, you barrel on in hopes to keep Steve talking. You don’t really want to give away how much his distance has affected you. “What was it that distracted you, hm?”

“About that.” Steve chuckles light, beginning to feel his excitement wind up at the prospect of showing you the new place.

The original plan to wait til Friday, to do the proper date, is canned. The giddiness of his new place can’t be contained and there was no one he’d rather share it with than you. And fuck, he misses you.

It had been the last thing he had decided before drifting off to sleep, one of his last nights in his parents’ home. Rain or shine, whether you were angry or not, Steve needed to see you tomorrow.

“Are you free?” He asks, even though he knows you are. By Wednesday afternoon, you’re always free because he usually swings by and takes you out for shakes.

Eyes screwing shut, Steve holds in a wince at the realisation he’d missed that tradition with you for the last two weeks.

And you hadn’t mentioned a word to him.

His heart tears at the thought of you waiting on your doorstep like usual, while he’d been too preoccupied to even remember. He doesn’t want to think about how long it took you to realise he wasn’t coming.

“Can I come see you?” The words burst out before you’ve even answered his first question. It doesn’t matter — seeing you, feeling your touch again, and getting to deliver every kiss he’s saved over the past week takes top priority in his mind. “I promise I’ll—“

Steve thinks he might be cursed because this is the second time he’s been interrupted on the phone with you. This time, however, it’s a very specific hum of a car pulling in the drive; the engine sounding far too smooth to be Eddie’s.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Steve whips around to peer out at the drive. A stone drops into his stomach at the sight. Beside his BMW, his parent’s car is parked in the usually vacant spot. Fuck.

They had told him they’d be gone a whole extra week and Steve had wanted to be out before they returned — to have everything he needed at the new place before his father decided he needed a lecture and a friendly rough-around on the way out as well.

“Steve?” Your voice warbles out the phone, pulled back from his ear. Steve jumps to attention, remembering himself.

“Baby,” he breathes into the phone, suddenly broken from his prolonged silence. You’re a bit concerned at this point, between his sudden cut-off and now hurried voice. “I- fuck, I have to go. I swear this—”

He groans, pent-up frustration leaking in as he hears the lock enter the front door, announcing his parents’ arrival.

How can he explain all this in the five seconds of privacy before his parents burst his bubble? Steve’s parents didn’t even know about you; dating was strictly a business prospect in the Harrington House. Steve had known from the beginning they would’ve never approved of you.

“Um, okay.” You sound a bit stiff and too casual. “That’s- that’s fine.”

“Please believe me,” He rushes out, eyes fixed on the front door as it opens. “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t absolutely have to.”

It doesn’t matter if they grill them about who’s on the phone, Steve needs to say i love you. Needs to hear it back.

Silence. No response from you. He’s talking to the dial tone.

— 

Your head is a storm.

Conflict rages wildly, a heavy thunder that might be your heartbeat — your anxiety has kicked it up a couple beats — and flashes of lightning, striking terrible thoughts, all contained within your head.

The fact Steve was the one to call you is too weak to keep your head straight. It hurts pathetically, to think you’ve been forgotten. Neglected by someone you hold in the highest regard — and he hadn’t even been able to tell you why. Another phone call where he’s clearly got more important things on his hands.

You didn’t want to hang up on him, not before the usual i love you’s; but if you had waited, then he would have heard how watery it was. Heard the quiver in your voice. And he’d drop everything, all his obviously very important plans, to come see you.

You don’t want him to come over because he’s made you cry — you want him to come over because he wants to see you.

It’s such a simple ask. The fact you think he’d deny you it, too busy, feels heavier than you’d ever imagined. Your pillowcase becomes well acquainted with the taste of your tears as you bury yourself under covers, trying desperately to keep your heart intact.

What happened to your clingy, always touchy, forever wanting you around, boyfriend? It aches to think that that chapter of your relationship may have passed.

Tiredness overtakes your misery at some point, drifting you off into fitful sleep that doesn’t provide any rest.

You’re drawn out of it a few hours later, soft touches that feel like Steve because you’ve felt them dozens of times before, memorised without thought — but Steve is busy or avoiding you, or some third worse thing you don’t want to consider. You shiver off the ghosting pressure in your hair.

A murmur of your name.

The touch of his palm, pressed against your hairline, startles you a bit when you realise it’s real. Your eyes pop open in your surprise, taken aback to find Steve before you. He’s here. 

Crouched by the bed, his hand pushes the strands of your hair back from your face with a gentle touch. He looks as upset as you feel, brows scrunched together in the middle— a frown pulls his lips down, eyes glistening with hurt. He’s upset to see you upset.

“Hi.” He whispers, all soft.

It’s dark out now. Hazarding a guess, you’d say you’ve been asleep for a couple of hours, aided by your exhaustion from crying. You can feel it, eyes stiff and nose still sniffly. It feels pathetic and so you roll in on yourself, tucking your face into your pillow for a moment.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, to gather words to speak to him without falling back to tears and asking outright why he doesn’t like you anymore. Steve’s hand, still stroking soft as ever, coaxes your face out of hiding, his thumb dipping to press warmth along your temple.

“What—“ It comes out too scratchy and you clear your throat. Steve’s hand still soothes your skin, thumb light and loving. “What’re you doing here?”

You don’t need to ask how he got in— Steve’s come in through the window enough times that the movements are all muscle memory. He chews his cheek in deliberation: where to start?

You’ve obviously been crying, a heart-wrenching fact that turns all the more foul considering Steve knows it’s because of him. Maybe even worse is remembering the conversations that had been clipped short, paired with his absence of the last couple weeks. He hasn’t been taking good care of you.

“Had to come see my girl, of course.” He says, low and sweet. His frown pulls up into a weak smile, fingers travelling down cup your face. His thumb catches the first tear that escapes, unbidden, and something alike to horror streams through his system.

“Sweetheart,” he dotes, emotion clinging tightly to his words — his thumb dutifully collects the next tear, as if it makes up the fact he’s caused them. “Wha—“

“Are we okay?”

You have to ask. You can’t handle another affection-soaked word out his lips if there’s still a possibility it may be the last time he’ll give them to you. Your heart aches unbearingly to ask, to even suggest the idea alone and tempt fate, but you have to know.

Steve’s eyes widen, lips parting and for a moment, he’s shocked into silence. It’s like each nerve alights in his body, a flush of physical pain at the mere suggestion you’re making.

You think the time apart is purposeful. Shame follows, scattered scolding thoughts at his carelessness for ever letting you think so. You won’t even look at him, eyes trained on the sheets. 

He faintly recalls being on the other end of this treatment; when Nancy had run around chasing monsters and left him to wonder why she’d decided to leave him out all of sudden. Like Steve, she’d had a perfectly good reason to do so — and yet seeing you like this still unravels the stitching of his heart which falls apart pitifully in his chest.

Every pet name soars to his mind but instead, he just says your name. 

You still don’t meet his eye. As gently as he can, Steve lets his fingers drift to your chin and coax your attention to him. Steve’s forever been about touch, he can think of a thousand different ways to apologise with a brush, a caress, a kiss — far better than he’s ever been at words. He leans in, slow and meaningful.

If you were upset normally Steve would wait, hover, and let you decide whether he’s allowed to steal a kiss. But right now you don’t need his hesitance, you need this; the sweet press of his lips that leaves no room for thinking anything else.

It’s weakening tender. You let the curve of his bottom lip come home to its place between yours.

He kisses you strong, so the fervor in his affection can’t be denied, to banish every thought that lead to your question of are we okay? All his pent-up kisses of the last weeks, all promised to you.

“Yes,” he breathes as he pulls back, still close enough to feel the heat of him. Steve watches your lashes flutter, eyes dance around his face, and settle on his own. “Please don’t ever think we aren’t.”

He kisses you once more and when you chase his mouth, he grants you another gladly, without thought. His lips graze up your face, a warm kiss to your cheek, to your nose, and a final one dropped onto your forehead.

“I’m sorry you thought we weren’t.” He murmurs into your hair. He’s all but encased you — nothing exists but the duvet and Steve before you, hands in your hair, lips on your skin, the scent of him curls comfortingly into your senses.

“I’ll forgive you if you come cuddle.” You grumble with a smile, happy to let yourself lean into his hand, soaking in the closeness. It’s not entirely true — you want answers, to know what has been eating up his time. But being in his arms, a hold you’ve missed for weeks now, will sate you if only for a bit.

Steve breaks into a smile at your words, eyes darting to your window momentarily. He licks his lips.

“Actually, I was hoping to show you something.” Steve suggests though it’s more a question than an insistence. “Show you what’s been keeping me from my girl.”

If you had said no, shook your head, or even just pulled back the duvet, Steve would’ve shucked off his jacket and had you bundled in his arms in an instant. He can see the ticking of your brain, eyes weighing up the tiredness alongside the curiosity of what’s kept your boyfriend from you.

Something in his poorly contained excitement, bottom lip cherry red from him he bites it, sways you.

“Okay.” You mumble, still softly spoken. You nod your head lightly, eyes scanning over his face to drink in the fondness you’ve craved for weeks. “Yeah, s’just wanna be with you right now.”

Your words manage to soften him even more, a ripple that melts through him. Torn between elation at the love and devastation that he’d been the one to keep you both apart for too long.

His thumb sweeps across your cheek once more, crowding back in to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring his next words into the skin. “Course, honey. C’mon, lemme show you. Promise it’s worth it.”

Your fingers intertwine with his, strong and sure. The small time apart seems to spur you both closer, giggles spilling as you both clamber back out your window, Steve’s hands never parting from yours. The grass is cool against your ankles as you scramble out, stumbling into his chest when you lose your balance — relishing in how it only makes him tug you in tighter.

Even as Steve starts up the car, golden headlights illuminating the empty road, he only untwists his fingers long enough to put the car into gear. There’s nothing but the grumble of the engine, streetlights flashing past, and the cool leather seat beneath you.

At each turn, Steve lifts your hand and kisses along your knuckles, soft and warm. You think he’s still apologising. His eyes seem to be asking for forgiveness, glittering in the dark.

When your hands land back on your lap, this time you’re the one to lift them and brush a kiss along his hand. I forgive you. His grip tightens in your hand.

You’re not sure where you’re heading, too focused on your boyfriend to take note of the route — and it still doesn’t click even when Steve parks outside one of the downtown apartment buildings.

It all feels so juvenile, like giddy teenagers sneaking out, letting Steve pull you across the empty night-time streets with a giggle. The wind wraps around your bare legs, crisp and cool. You hadn’t changed before you’d both left.

It’s only when he spins his key ring around deftly, searching for a specific key, does something slide into place in your mind. Your eyes stare up at the building ahead, then at the keys on Steve’s key ring; he seems to be watching you in his peripheral, waiting for the shoe to drop. He’s smiling.

“Did you...?” You gasp quietly.

Eyes wide, you stare up at Steve and can’t finish your sentence. Your heart trips over itself in its excitement as you finally figure it out. Steve’s grinning now, only taking his eyes off you to insert the lock in the door to the building; he can tell you’ve figured it out now.

The lock makes a clunk as he twists the key, unlocking it. It feels like so much more than opening a door — it feels something akin to unraveling a thousand potential futures, all with you and Steve together in them. Everything about his absence makes sense, a jarring shift in perspective as you realise what he’s been doing all this time.

“What floor?” You ask, sounding a bit breathless already in your excitement. Steve pushes the door to the lobby open, holding it for you to pass through. There’s an elevator but you book for the stairs, clutching his hand the whole time. The lobby door snicks shut behind you, unheard.

Your footsteps clatter loudly, likely waking a few residents, but you can’t find it within you to care. Your thighs burn by the time you reach the top of the first set of stairs and whip around, finding Steve’s adoring grin following you. His hair is a little mussed from the rush.

He nods to the next staircase, fingers squeezing yours excitedly. “One more.”

Steve’s never been happier to let you drag him around, your excitement palpable in the energy of your run. It’s a far cry from your sleepy state earlier.

When you reach the top of the stairs, Steve takes the lead and your flurry of laughter follows him all the way to his new door. The pair of you crowd against it, tangles of arms and lips because you’ve suddenly decided it’s criminal to not kiss him right now.

It’s messy and rushed. You’re back is pressed against the door and Steve kisses you til your knees are weak, hot and hard, even as he tries to wiggle the lock open.

The moment it’s open, you both tumble in a clatter. You kick off your shoes and leave them at the door, spinning to drink in his new place. It’s barren, just a couch, not even a coffee table. You decide it’s already your favourite in the world.

Steve lets you go, watching as you zoom around the space, sliding into the kitchen with a gleeful sound that is far too noisy for the hour.

You’re pulling at every cupboard, leaving a row of open cabinet doors — it doesn’t matter that the apartment isn’t anywhere new, each of them seems endlessly interesting to you. Steve decided he’s had enough of watching, toeing off his shoes and skidding into the kitchen.

His arms around your middle surprise you, some yelp of shock that immediately fizzles into more laughter when Steve picks you up. It’s a halfhearted spin, more to hold you than anything and before you can spin and kiss him like you so desperately want, he’s taking you both down the hall.

Positioning you both in front of a door, Steve pauses. You think you know what door this is. A kiss on your temple. Another on your shoulder, one on your neck. He leaves his face there, nuzzled in closer, and gestures to the door with a jerk of his chin.

“Open it.” He murmurs, between another round of scattered kisses. Like it’s your new bedroom, not his.

Like the rest of the apartment, it’s more empty than not. A poorly made-up mattress against the back wall, beneath the window, and a few bags of clothes scattered throughout the room. You can recognise the forest green duvet cover on the mattress, familiar sheets.

It still smells like Steve when you bury yourself in them, Steve falling down beside you not a moment later. You relish in it all, being surrounded by all things Steve. You’ve missed it all in the weeks apart.

“You’ve certainly been busy.” You mean it as a tease— the fact he’s managed to wrangle down an apartment along with his job and organising college, it’s no wonder he hadn’t found time to see you.

Seeing how his grin dims, eyes drooping, you have no doubt it’s been weighing on him too. “Again, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. That last phone call—“

He sighs, rolling away from you and pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. A groan rumbles out as he drags them down his face, remembering how you’d hung up on him just earlier today.

“Baby, it’s okay,” you hush him, dragging away his hands to cup his face with your own. His face still holds conflict, the tale of his day unwinding off his tongue before he can think.

“My parents came home early.” He admits, a bit weak. “I was trying to get everything out before they came back— you know how, uh, how they would’ve taken it.”

His eyes close, nose scrunched, just for a moment before he continues. “Eddie had just left to take the mattress over and I called you but that’s when… Well, that’s why we’re just on a mattress on the ground.”

Your light laughter hoists Steve’s mood upwards, feeling himself smile as he watches you beside him on the sheets. You shuffle closer, draping yourself across him so your cheek lays against his chest.

“We can get you a new bed frame.” You say like the prospect is more exciting than it is annoying. Steve adores how you say we — that you’ll come with him, pick things out for this next part of his life. Intertwine into the things he owns now, as well as in his heart. 

“I’m sorry for hanging up on you earlier.” You breathe a little softer, and then as if it’s just delayed from the call, you say, “I love you.”

Some part of him that Steve can’t ever seem to shake sighs in relief. Today is not a bad day at all. You’re here, in his arms, in his new place and you love him still.

“I love you too.” Steve hums, arms pulling tighter around you. “And I’m sorry for making you worry.”

When you look up at him, really look, his eyes are shining. His shirt is rumpled, hair ruffled from your tangle onto the bed and he looks utterly beautiful. It just won’t do. You shift upwards and when you kiss him, it’s hard and fiercely loving. Too much saved affection coming out in one go.

Steve sighs happily against your lips, arms tightening and when you break apart, Steve nearly asks then and there. Come with me. Make this our bedroom instead of just mine. We’ll make this somewhere only we know.

It’s not the time. Instead, he whispers his i love you’s onto your lips and when he spills all his half-baked plans for dates and the endless possibilities of the new space, when he promises to never worry you like that again — you’ve got no choice but to believe him.

His endless kisses won’t let you believe anything else anyways.

tags below!

@hawkinsindiana @spideystevie @harringtonbf​ @televisionboy

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 23.

Summary: A conversation between you and Oliver as you both try to distract yourselves from thinking about the day behind, and the night ahead.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 2957 words. i split the henrys dinner into two parts because the dinner itself was very different tonally to the conversation with oliver that needed to be had i think. this part is sfw but the next part Will Definitely Not Be :) also im putting more gratuitous shakespeare mentions because i love characters pointing out their own narrative parallels. i feed off of the lovely comments y'all leave, so if you have any thoughts you'd like to share, i always love to hear them!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

No matter what you wore, these formal events made you feel like you were choking.

Oliver finds you in the shared bathroom a few hours before dinner began, already dressed and agitatedly fussing with your collar in the mirror. Spotting him in the reflection, your scowl doesn't clear, but you do start vocalising the thoughts that had been running through your head.

"Lady Daphne has three children, all under fifteen."

"What?" Oliver, still looking entirely casual in sharp contrast to you, leans against the sink, watching you with interest.

"Tonight; the woman next to you who isn't Ven, she has three children under fifteen, their names are -" squeezing your eyes closed tightly, willing yourself to remember, you swear with frustration as the children's names elude you. You'd managed to find and memorise Henry of Suffolk's children's names - Henry Jr and Charlotte - but you're again feeling like it's not enough. Your collar feels too tight.

Unbuttoning your top button for what must be the fifth time in the past half hour of your indecision, you groan with frustration.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asks carefully, to which you try and waive off his concern. Clearly, it doesn't work, considering he's making his way over to you to rest a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine, it's fine," you tried again, though it still comes out with clear irritation. Closing your eyes again you try and calm yourself enough to focus, "I saw their names the other night in my notes, I know this," you hissed under your breath, "Lady Daphne and Lord Henry; he's Sir James' godson and his own sons are named..." you wrinkled your nose, braced against the counter, "they're fucking French names, I know this!"

"Are Lady Daphne and Lord Henry French?" Oliver asks.

"No, they're just pretentious," you bit out, though suddenly it came to you, "Regis, Gabriel, and Louis." A grin lights up your face at that; the tension leaves you for the moment in the wake of your small victory. You feel like you can breathe again. Oliver gives you a hesitant smile, at least glad to see you're feeling better for having finally remembered. Breathing a relief sigh, you turn to him properly, "how are you, Ollie?"

"Should I remember Regis, Gabriel, and Louis at dinner?" He asks with faint hesitancy. You shrugged.

"I'm sure it couldn't hurt," logically you knew your own anxious preparations were often too detailed for what the night would actually require, but if you had information that could help ease Oliver into this world to which he was unaccustomed, you'd offer whatever you could to make him feel prepared.

But when he asks if you want to stay with him while he gets himself ready for the evening, you still find yourself hesitating.

Farleigh had found you that afternoon as you'd been coming back in from your gardening; he looked more than a little irritated, but refused to explain his mood. There was something unusually guarded about him at the time, something almost bordering on reproachful in the way he looked at you.

As your heart sank with realisation, you tried to find a way to explain to him everything that had happened between you, Felix, and Oliver. The tricky part of it all would most certainly be reassuring him that you believed him entirely, while also figuring out a way to explain why you'd given Oliver another chance despite knowing he was lying to you and Felix. There was no way you'd be able to explain yourself in this moment, and Farleigh seemed to realise this too.

"If you have something to say to me," Farleigh told you tersely, glancing over his shoulder where you could both hear Felix chattering loudly to Oliver down another corridor, "if you can bare to tear yourself away from your darling, little Iago," he spits, and you sighed deeply, expression clearly showing your disappointment, which Farleigh paid no mind to, standing to his full height and fixing his cool gaze upon you, "you know where I'll be."

So now, here you were, after almost an hour trying and failing to distract yourself by skimming through Shakespeare's Othello since Farleigh's latest cruel nickname for Oliver had reminded you of it, you'd decided to bite the bullet and get yourself ready. Really you should head over to Farleigh's room and sort things out with him, talk everything through and smooth it all over, but Oliver looks so helpless at the mere thought of what tonight would require. You tell yourself you can always talk to Farleigh later.

The afternoon eases itself into early evening with far less tension than the middle of the day had brought with it. Simply being in Oliver's company does wonders for your nerves. Even if talk between you is limited, the silence is not uncomfortable; Oliver gets himself ready, and you continue to skim the play while splayed out on Oliver's bed, and the duvet that used to be yours, easing each other's anxieties in quiet parallel.

You're looking for a quote you half remember from when you'd studied the play back in high school, a line that would be all too fitting of an offer to Farleigh when you saw him next, picking up on his allusion while trying to assure him you weren't just blindly believing Oliver over him - there.

I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

You keep the text open on the bedspread before you as Oliver asks you questions about the unspoken scripts that you all must follow throughout the night. There's something like vindication that wells up within you when you realise how easy you find it to talk him through them.

"Do you always wear suits to these things?" Oliver asks carefully in the intimate moment in which you stand before him, doing up the cuffs of his dress shirt.

"The Henrys dinners? Yes," you nod, nimble fingers dancing against the fabric by his wrist. An amused smile makes it's way across your lips as you explain without even really thinking, "the first and last time I wore a cocktail dress to a Henrys dinner I made one of them, Henry Rochester I think, very uncomfortable," you smirked at the memory, and though Oliver's glad to see you're more smug rather than uncomfortable about the memory, he still doesn't quite seem to understand why.

"Because you're...?"

"Technically yes," you huffed a laugh, letting go of the first cuff to do the second, "because he now gets hard thinking about me in a dress and he doesn't know how to feel about it, and I don't want to deal with that." For a moment, the words simmer in the air between you both, and you finish up with the second cuff, stepping back with a pleased little smile. Oliver, however, still seems to be confused, and finally you acquiesce, giving him the final piece of the story;

"It was a very nice dress, Henry was just so bloody wasted he forgot I was the one wearing it when he couldn't see my face when he walked in on Fi and I in the wine cellar decided to stick around and watch with his dick in his hand," you shook your head dismissively at the memory, rolling your eyes but still grinning, "which isn't our fault, it's our wine cellar, he's the one getting drunk and going for a roam on someone else's estate."

It startles a laugh out of Oliver, the sound bright and sharp as his hand comes up reflexively to cover his mouth. Your expression scrunches up, pleased at the sound. In the few moments that follow, you straighten out Oliver's collar as he's giggling to himself, watching you from behind his hand with warmth and something almost adoring.

"I should show you some time," you wet your lips, crossing your arms as you gave him a leering look over, your intentions obvious. Oliver flushes a little, smiling under your gaze.

"The dress?"

"The wine cellar," you corrected, making Oliver laugh once more.

"You sure you're not going to get me drunk and brick me in down there?" He asked, and your eyebrows rose at the unexpected reference to Poe's Cask of Amontillado. At your obvious surprise, Oliver gives a half smile, reminding you that you'd left a book of Poe's work in the drawer by his bed. He'd read it? You're not sure why you're so touched by that, but you are.

"If we end up drunk in the wine cellar, I promise I won't be leaving you alone down there," there's a surprising amount of affection in your voice for what is ultimately some pretty on the nose flirting, but Oliver seems to appreciate it nonetheless.

When you return from your own room with a pair of cufflinks for him, however, his expression is pensive as he's sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking through the copy of Othello you'd left there.

"Thought my party had something to do with the Midsummer Night's Dream one," he says with faint confusion. You've already got the line you'd found earlier memorised, so you're not concerned that he's flicking through, losing your page in the process.

"No, it is, it's just Farleigh -" except you really don't want to tell Oliver exactly what Farleigh had called him, had implied about him with a single, derisive nickname alone. Iago. You shrugged, "he just said something earlier that reminded me of it is all." Then, sitting down beside him, you shoot for a smile, "what are you up to now; tie?"

For a long few moments, Oliver gives you this utterly unreadable expression. You wonder if he knows the play; if he did, he could almost definitely make an educated guess about what Farleigh's comment may have been, especially given the very recent circumstances. Even if you don't know exactly how Oliver would react to something like that, you're not exactly eager to find out.

The moment thankfully does pass without further comment on the play, with Oliver instead standing and heading to the full length mirror by the wardrobe.

"Is your family helping Felix's with paying for Farleigh's uni and stuff?" Oliver asks with genuine curiosity in his voice as he glances at you in the mirror's reflection.

"What?" The question seems to come out of nowhere, and your reaction is entirely genuine.

"I just wondered if that was, you know, part of the reason he was so loyal to you," Oliver shrugged, though there's something almost apologetic in his eyes, "and, I guess, why you knew you could trust him to be so loyal?"

How did he even know the Cattons were helping with Farleigh's education? Your suspicions were with Elspeth, whom you loved despite how much of a gossip she always was, but Oliver admits that Felix had told him about how he and Farleigh were cousins, and Sir James' guilt over his semi-estranged sister, all the way back at Oxford. Ah, makes sense. Part of it was probably to explain why Farleigh was always hanging around them despite his obvious distaste for Oliver. It takes you a beat to compose your thoughts; knowing both Oliver, and Farleigh, you had to be deliberately sure of whatever information you shared in this moment.

"I'd give Farleigh anything if he asked," you admitted, wearing a faint, sad little smile as you recall how coldly he'd looked at you earlier that day, "but he never has," you shook your head, "not about something like that at least. Why?"

Looking over at the mirror, you see Oliver with his tie done up, looking at you in the reflection as though you're a puzzle he's desperately attempting to solve. But, when you smile, he returns the look in kind.

"I think this might just be one of those times where I have to remember you telling me there's more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy," Oliver says with a wry smile, and you can't help but laugh at the memory of your first proper conversation with him about your friendship with Farleigh on one of Oxford's many rooves.

"Farleigh is simply one of my best friends; I don't begrudge him his pride, it's part of who he is, and I love who he is," with your warm laughter, the mood in the room has lightened considerably, and you finally stand. Wrapping your arms around Oliver from behind, perching your chin on his shoulder, you take in the sight of you both in the mirror.

"You know, I think you'd look so beautiful in a dress if you ever wanted to wear one," you tell Oliver idly, handing over the box with the little, golden cufflinks that you'd been fidgeting with on the bed.

"Beautiful enough to give an old man a sexuality crisis?" He asked with a blithe grin, pulling out of your grip if only to make his way to the cupboard where his jacket had been hung.

"Oh, undoubtably," you don't even hesitate, sitting yourself in the arm chair by the window, watching him once more.

"Don't know if I could start with a cocktail dress," he says, gazing at himself in the mirror with a pleasantly thoughtful look in his eyes as he genuinely considers the idea. Then, "I think I trust you with this more than I trust me," he gives a suddenly self conscious chuckle, ducking his gaze, fidgeting with the collar of the jacket he was still holding.

"You don't have to start anywhere if you don't want," you assured him faintly, but Oliver's smile is so damn affectionate.

"It's fuckin' impossible to describe the kind of effect you have," he tells you, shaking his head, "if you say I'd look beautiful, all I know is that I think I want to look beautiful, just so long as it's you who's looking at me."

"I feel very lucky sometimes," you give an endeared hum at his words, grinning to yourself, "my beautiful boys." Oliver, jacket now on, freezes. He's turning a delightful shade of red at that, looking like he was trying and failing to fight off a pleased grin. Finally, he meets your gaze in the mirror, "would you let me put together a costume for you, for your birthday?"

"What?"

"It's a costume party after all, could I put together a costume for you? Not a cocktail dress, I promise," you teased, and Oliver finally turned back to you, regarding you with nothing but love and affection.

"You know, sometimes I still can't believe you give me the time of day," the words almost seem to surprise him as they leave his lips. Something in your chest tightens, and you pause, once again caught off guard by Oliver Quick. There's a sweetness to the way he speaks that has butterflies fluttering so strangely in your stomach, "you're so..." he turns the words over in his mind, looking for the correct one, before he finally settles, "you're a dream," he says simply, "I don't think you don't get enough credit."

His words fill the sudden silence of the early evening as he steps towards you, cufflinks in hand, offering them as a silent request for assistance. You agree without even thinking.

In the back of your mind, you hear Farleigh calling Oliver Iago, but you can't bring yourself to care. Yes, Oliver spent enough time around you, observing you, talking to you, being in your space, that he knows exactly what to say and how to say it to endear himself to you. Clearly he's genuinely fond of you, but it's not often he gives you a compliment like this. Everything always so deliberate.

But it feels so fucking good to have someone put in the effort for you, someone other than Felix. Felix had always known how you worked, what songs to sing to make you dance if the whim ever struck him. It almost overwhelms you to realise that Oliver had learned how to hum along to the quiet song your heart sings too.

You wonder if you should tell Oliver that he doesn't need to try and manipulate his way into your life, that you'd already made a place for him here, all he had to do was ask to stay.

"I keep giving you the time of day because I'm very, very vain," you can't bring yourself to face his sincerity with any of your own, or you think you may either start crying, or possibly jump his bones, and it's too close to dinner for either. Instead, you grin from ear to ear, teasing tone letting him know how clearly you were joking, as you fixed the first cufflink to his jacket's sleeve, "and you keep saying lovely things about me."

"Lucky for me then that I don't think I'll ever run out of lovely things to say about you," you'd forgotten just how well Oliver could flirt when he really wanted to. Eyes bright and smile brighter, you can see mischief sparkling in his eyes when you look up, meeting his gaze. You love this boy so much it feels like it hurts at times like this.

"Think that means I should keep you very close by, at all times."

"Very few places I'd rather be, sweetheart."

That beautiful bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Later, out of this space, out of this moment, out of Oliver's arms, you could go back to worrying about the night, about all the lies oscillating around your whole situation, about Felix and Farleigh and Venetia. Later, you'll find yourself thinking that Farleigh may have had far more of a point with Othello than you'd first realised when you read 'one that loved not too wisely, but too well' before you put the text back on the shelf.

Later.

Right now, you let Oliver pull you in for a kiss.

[otomes-and-tears]

Hi, me again ( yepee ) hope you won't mind... But i love my gurl Tamarack so may i request headcanons of step 1 Tamarack with a selective mute mc who only talks when they are alone ? ( because they like her or any other reason )

♦ Step 1! Tamarack with a Selectively mute MC♦

► tags and warnings: -

► words: 486

► A/N: Let's pretend like I didn't take like, eight months, to get to this request I'M SO SORRY BESTIE I AM REALLY BAD AT THIS

► Masterlist

It doesn't really matter if MC doesn't speak to her at first, because Tamarack is more than willing to talk for both of them;

As long as MC is doing something to engage with Tamarack-- be it pointing out frogs, helping her collect mushrooms and smooth rocks or running after her when they're playing catch, then Tamarack would be happy to fill out all silence with her own chatter;

I do think that as a kid she'd be curious about why they don't talk and would flat out point it out, but she'd back off and apologise if she noticed it was a touchy subject;

Of course, being a kid and not having an explanation meant that Tamarack would often come up with her own theories as to why MC didn't speak;

Maybe their voice got stolen by a fae or a sea witch;

Or their voice was so, so pretty it would bewitch anyone lucky enough to hear it!;

When MC gets comfortable enough to use their voice with her, she would have a lot of difficulty keeping her excitement to herself;

She'd jump up and down and grab MC's hands and really softly ask them to repeat themselves because even if Tamarack feels she's about to explode from happiness, she doesn't want to spook them too much;

And speaking a bit quieter is Tamarack's own way of containing herself;

At first, she'd just assume that MC's quietness was due to them moving to a new place;

As much as she loves her Omi and Opa and the forest in their backyard, she knows first-hand how scary moving can be;

So in her mind, it was logical that once MC saw that Golden Grove wasn't scary anymore, they'd start talking again;

But she realises soon enough that that wasn't exactly the case, and that they only ever seemed to talk around her;

Tamarack would be a little confused at first, but quickly adapt to the new circumstances;

Well, as best friends they were always together anyway;

So Tamarack was proud to adopt the role of MC's interpreter;

If they felt comfortable whispering things to her, then they'd just need to pull on her overalls or sleeves to grab her attention and whisper what they needed to convey and she would proudly relay the message;

Once they got to know each other better it'd be much easier for her to figure it out without it being said;

Like-- she'd order food for MC without them needing to relay their usual order for her again because she already had it memorised;

I think that Tamarack would feel a lot of pride at being able to be entrusted with something as important as this;

Oh, and if anyone asked her why MC never spoke;

I think Tamarack would come up with a new story every time;

That's when all the stories she made up would come in handy;

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[tracybirds]

I was very determined to finish something today :D Yo all knw I’m back in lockdown which like... bro every time I try to write a thing that seems to happen so I’m snowed under again......................... Anyway, decided to finish up the exhausted Virg fic I began on Friday the 13th of August and how has it nearly been a month of lockdown already?? anyway I’m reposting the first bit with this, but wanted to say thank you to everyone who left comments on that snippet and encouraged me!! And big thanks to @gumnut-logic who read the first, slightly sleep-deprived first version of this before it underwent edits

It’s 11:30pm, my brain is no longer functioning, anyways, enjoy <3

 --------------

Virgil drags his leaden feet across the floor, still pink from the hot water, barely acknowledging Scott and Alan, chatting lightly together as he walks past them.

He’s not ready to sleep, but he’s not much good for anything else either.

He’s tired from the ground up. The exhaustion is only in his feet, his calves, his thighs, but it reaches up into his mind all the same. His shoulders ache, but it’s from good work and kind deeds, a balm for any residual overthinking.

He did good today, he knows it, can feel it in every torn muscle fibre.

He’ll just rest for a moment or two. Debrief can wait. John’s probably already written up most of the report.

He collapses onto the nearest sofa, but it’s more muscle memory than aim that lands him safely amongst the cushions.

“Cannonball!” crows a voice from somewhere above him, followed by a sharp yell of “Gordon, no!” and a crash that reverberated through his skull.

Then it hits him, and he launches himself sideways.

Gordon dives onto the sofa, arms and smile wide, as though he hadn’t just come off the same seven-hour mission plus bonus two-hour administrative argument with the nearest hospital who had just had their landscaping done.

And now, incidentally, redone.

Virgil glares from the floor.

“How’s it going, V?” Gordon says, still grinning.

“Ow.”

“Did you fall off the couch? You’ve gotta be careful about these things, you know.”

Short, sharp, monosyllabic words might be enough to fend off some lower forms of life, but Gordon is rather like moss, clinging to hard rock. Virgil opts to ignore him instead as he picks himself up with a groan.

A strong, sure hand grasps his arm and he accepts the extra leverage gladly, hauling his stiff muscles upright and stretching them carefully. He can see the chair Scott had leapt from halfway across the room. Alan isn’t even pretending he’s not laughing, the jerk.

Gordon is nestling, smirking as he burrows down into his cushions.

“Let it go,” he mutters, his hand now resting on Scott’s shoulder. He can’t handle a shouting match now, jackhammering into his brain after a day filled with enough pain.

Scott settles for pulling the cushions from under Gordon’s head and he falls back onto the hard frame with a squawk.

Alan’s laughter erupts again and Virgil doesn’t bother to smother his own smile.

Gordon sits up and his eyes are shining.

“Fine, fine, I deserved that,” he says, grinning up at Scott. “Now, get lost and put the large lump to bed, I checked the stats. There’s fifteen miles registered on his pedometer and he basically hauled three tons today.”

“Not all at once, Gordon, stop exaggerating.”

Gordon shrugs.

“I know the medical studies as well as you do. Sure, they might not think rescue work counts as overtraining, but science doesn’t lie.”

“But, people do,” Virgil says, scowling at him. Each word ripped more energy from his depleted stores. “And I was resting, thanks.”

Gordon lifts a finger, waggling it with a half-smile.

“A couch isn’t a substitute for a bed,” he says, dropping his voice to mimic Virgil’s own. “How many times did you say that to me?”

“When you had a broken back!”

“Right, that’s enough.” Scott steps forward between the bickering brothers. “Decompression time for you both.”

Virgil blinks, realising that he was stooping to an argument with Gordon. Gordon, who always fought dirty, twisting intent and laughing in a way he never could manage. He must be tired.

“Virgil, can you get up to your rooms alone?”

“Yeah,” he says, holding himself upright against the sudden wave of exhaustion. It was as though in remembering he was meant to be tired, his body had decided to lean into that realisation.

“And Gordon…” Scott pauses, eyeing Gordon who was still fairly vibrating with energy even after nine hours in the field. “Go watch a fish or something. Just stay away from each other.”

Virgil is already halfway out the door and his ears have been stoppered by weariness, the external world becoming fuzzy. He doesn’t hear Gordon’s quick reply.

He doesn’t hear Alan’s sharp cry either, doesn’t even register the way the world is tilting sideways.

He merely crumples on the floor in the hallway.

***

Virgil wakes slowly, awareness seeping into his bones and spreading outwards. His neck is propped up at an awkward angle; he’s resting on the pillows that he rearranges around him every night and they are much too high.

He moans a little as he shuffles, his neck creaking as it falls back in alignment with his spine.

The gulls call from outside his window, a high and keening cry. He can hear the light whistles of forest bird. The low murmur of voices unable to pierce the early fog of morning.

He doesn’t remember making it to his bed, but nor does he intend to rise from it.

 He wants to cling to slumber, doesn’t want to make conversation or move. But he’s already lost the game of sleep and settles for burrowing further into the light cotton comforter that had seen him through every summer of his life.

A rough hand on his shoulder greets him instead and he groans a warning as it flips him onto his back.

“Come on, Virgil, we know you’re awake.”

The voice floats down from above him. He grumbles deeply, unintelligibly, and turns his back on the inhumanity of it all.

A sharp poke pierces his clouded thoughts and Virgil growled as he opened one bleary eye.

“What?”

“Gentlemen, he lives,” crows Gordon, arms wide and ready to receive undying adoration for his proclamation.

“It’s been fourteen hours,” Scott says, grimly. “Time for a check-up.”

Virgil wonders at that. Fourteen hours of sleep, while rare in their home, was hardly reason for medical concern. He suspects though, that Scott already knows this, and doesn’t resist for fear that he’ll be forced to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed.

“The air’s stale in here,” he says instead. “I don’t sleep with my windows shut.”

“Arm,” orders Scott, and Virgil lifts it automatically, puzzling over his last memories which certainly don’t involve him shutting his windows. Or entering his room for that matter.

“I fell asleep?” he asks, suddenly.

“Right in the hall,” Gordon says, his eyes dancing with half checked laughter. “You went down like a ton of bricks.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Scott’s manner is terse, his shoulders tight and the deep crease between his eyes growing as he turns to glare at Gordon. “He could have seriously hurt himself.”

“He didn’t though.” He whips around to face Virgil. “And you’re welcome, by the way. I convinced Scott to let us put you here instead of the infirmary. Even woke John up to back me. I risked the wrath of John for you, he said you were physically fine otherwise you’d be waking in that cold infirmary and Scott would have a back spasm from sleeping in those terrible chairs. All for nothing too because you’re fine.”

Virgil stares at him.

He wants to argue with Gordon, the necessity of rules made for their safety niggling at the back of his brain. He wants to roll his eyes, tell him that the infirmary beds aren’t that painful, that the fluorescent lights that blink and buzz might be made for suturing and not sleeping but that they held their own kind of relief, of comfort.

He wants to thank him, for giving him this moment where he could wake slowly to the sounds of birdsong and crashing waves, unheard in the depths of the island. For that moment where he could lay still as the sun streamed in with warmth and good cheer.

He has a thesis of carefully memorised protocols warring with pure sensation of soft coziness and the luxury of a brother who loves him.

He isn’t sure which instinct is winning when he opens his mouth.

“You made me sleep on two pillows.”

The room blurs as the soft mound beneath his head is ripped away at lightning speed. Virgil hardly has time to hear the whirl of rushing air before the pillow connects with his head with a dull thud.

Gordon jabs at his arm.

“No appreciation, I tell you.”

“Gordon! Out!”

Virgil throws the offending pillow after him, chuckling at the sharp laughter that pierced the slammed door.

Scott isn’t smiling.

He pulls the sphygmomanometer tight around Virgil’s arm.

Virgil winces slightly, but says nothing. Not yet.

Scott’s movements are precise and ordered, with nothing to suggest he isn’t conducting a normal check-up at all.

But Virgil knows his brother.

“Hey,” he says softly, watching Scott stare at the dial. “I really am okay.”

Scott’s not listening to the blood pounding through his arteries, not even in pretence. Still, he ignores Virgil and pulls up a new medical report so he can stare intently at that in place of his brother’s gentle eyes.

“Scott,” says Virgil, leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Scott shoves it away, his eyes snapping to Virgil’s.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

“You were off duty.”

“I don’t mean me,” Scott growls. “I mean, I do, I would’ve been there in a heartbeat if you’d asked. But you didn’t, did you? Not even Alan. Not even John.”

“John was helping,” says Virgil, sharply. “Just because he wasn’t on the ground, doesn’t mean he wasn’t working that same stretch of time. Why do you think Gordon had to wake him?”

“Stop side-stepping my point,” snaps Scott. “We’re a team, Virgil, you can’t work yourself to the point of exhaustion like that.”

“What choice did I have?”

“I should’ve been there, I could’ve-” began Scott, but Virgil merely raised his own voice.

“You couldn’t, Scott. What you’re angry about, I could turn right around and parrot back, you know. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

He fell back against the headboard, wishing he hadn’t woken up. Or at least that he wasn’t having this argument, not here and now.

And he recognises those eyes, the burning frustration at one’s own limitations and the rising fear for a brother mixed with torn compassion and understanding.

He’s mirrored Scott all his life, and it’s startling to see his own familiar expression on Scott’s face.

“Please, Virgil.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t make that kind of promise to Scott any more than Scott could to him. Not without breaking it.

Scott smiles sadly as he stands, accepting the silence.

He knows.

“Don’t even think about moving from this room for the next twenty-four hours. Just... get some rest, will you, Virg?”

He thinks he will.

[sopxhiea]

Furtive

Alfie Solomons X Reader

“Try to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?”

The freshly bloomed flowers fill the room’s window, there’s the heavy smell of freshly cut grass roaming around in between the oak walls while the moon slowly rises in the sky. The sun is long gone, so are most of the people around the office.

The sound of footsteps approaching is all that can be heard.

Then he comes in.

Dressed in his usual attire, the watch hanging from his jacket creates reflections on the wall as the moonlight fills the room. There’s exhaustion in his eyes, evident from the way he slouches while sitting on the sofa in the middle of the room.

He smells of vanilla and rum. 

“Didn’t know you’d be dropping by.” your sound is mere whisper, like if someone heard it would cause a problem but he’s quick to catch on your words.

A sigh leaves his lips, both at the sight in front of him and due to the long day he’s just had.

You seem hesitant, guard up like it usually is but he’s far from surprised. It takes a while to crack you, he’s heard. Now, he’s laid the ground work and is trying to build on top of that, it doesn’t matter that you were in his sheets just a week ago. He sees the doubts you have around the situation and abides by your words.

“I didn’t know either, luv.” his voice is rough like it usually is but you decide you prefer his morning whispers.  “Fuckin’ early day, it ‘s.” his head bobs at his words, agreeing with himself and you stop yourself from casting the look he’s seen you cast only a couple times.

It’s a look of daydreams.

You chuckle, the moonlight is now more present in the room since it stopped rising in the sky. You sit down in front of him, crossing your legs and he sighs again but it’s for a completely different reason.

It’s a long game of push and pull, and you’re winning.

The game is simple, you tease and he teases back. He’s good at it, you don’t deny the fact but he has more than he can handle on his table right now with you. Alfie’s not the one to undermine someone, let alone an impressive lady like yourself but he can’t help but be surprised at how resilient you are.

“What brings you here?” you ask, the moonlight kisses his ginger beard and your hands itch to caress his face like you did a couple days ago but the game is still on.

He’s also not the one to shy away from anything including you, so he doesn’t.

“You.” he says but he knows that you’ve already memorised the answer. It’s rather predictable in your eyes.

Your eyes glow with the word that leaves his mouth, he can see the oceans behind your orbs that hold too much for his old heart but he’s willing to do anything you say regardless. You offer him a sweet smile, it’s rather lazy given the late hour and he watches the moonlight illuminate your features.

“I see.” you gulp with the words that leave your mouth, your smile turns into a wicked one and he can’t help but smile back.

He then starts talking. It’s Alfie, he mumbles something about work and how the men around had been thicker in the head lately but you just watch his features shift and and change under the moonlight. You nod along the words even though they seem to escape you but he keeps the one-sided conversation going even though he sees the distant look in your eyes.

He’s fallen for the devil’s trap, he concludes.

He’s a man of sense and logic and although it may not seem like it, he’s mostly calm about the situations that present themselves to him. But the pickle you’ve put him in makes his heart burn in many agonies.

It was a simple exchange at first, just sex and a couple kisses that would ease the tension you both had due to the life you lived and it was all smooth and sailing until two weeks ago.

There were forehead kisses and lowly whispered ‘I love you’s. You’d ignored them at times, mostly because everyone knew Alfie to be your friend and he was that, but also much more when it came to some nights.

You’d met him in a dinner party and he was instantly a silver charm that dragged you to him. The night was spent talking to each other and he’d made advances towards you but you were quick to refuse, he was a man of business and the kind of business you were keen on not getting involved with.

It’d been fine for the first three years of your friendship. You’d seen him around with other friends and had paid a couple visits to his infamous bakery to get a few things straight. It was laughter under a large tree and the rainbows painting themselves across the sky for a while.

And then you’d made the move.

It was a move from your part, but he had been on board the whole time. He’d wanted you the moment you’d told him you hated fancy parties in a fancy party dress. You’d come off as cold first but the more layers he managed to peel, the more intrigued he felt. 

Now you’re seated in front of each other, waiting for the day to end.

It’s a game you know very well, better than the back of your hand.

It doesn’t take long for him to surrender, he’s never been the best at telling you no so you find yourself chuckling as he tries to remove your shirt. It’s a tricky material, you give him that but the expression on his face makes things much more amusing in your eyes.

Your hands help him unbutton the buttons at the front of your shirt but he has the rest covered, it’s a ritual of sorts at this point. The game is simple, you tease and teases back and the next thing you know, he’s surrendered and is all over you. 

You don’t complain, it’s a pleasure for you to have him all over you.

You know things look different from the outside, they tend to when people hide the real faces behind and you both do. You’re known as friends, known each other for many years but there’s a lot more going on behind the scenes, there are whispered secrets and sounds of pleasure in between the closed doors.

And although this exchange started as a form of stress relief and purely for sex, you can’t deny the fact that it’s brought the two of you closer. There had been many times where he’d whisper things he’d heard around about your mutual friends, the ones who you met through in the first place. It would always earn a giggle from you because you’d know it to be true due to Alfie’s connections.

You recall the times you’d woken up and talked on hours and hours on end with him. That was how your friendship had always been and the sleeping together didn’t get in the way of it, thankfully. Alfie was also a man of knowledge so he always had something to say about something and you were more than willing to listen.

A small ‘oomph’ leaves your mouth when he lifts you up and properly places you on top of your desk, the scene is all to familiar as you stare at him in your mere undergarments. He looks at you like a lion looks at his pray, he’s sly about it, too. You pull him towards you not too long after, feeling his plump lips against yours while he kisses you, expertly.

“Alfie.” his name leaves your mouth but it’s a plea much more than anything. He finds it hard to restrain himself when it comes to you but somehow does it anyway.

You’re far too fragile, he thinks. It’s not only because of how small of a person you are but he sees the way you’re affected by each act of the ones around you. So he remains gentle with you, a lot more gentle than what he’s known for but it’s behind closed doors so he figures that it’s okay.

“Try to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?” his voice is a hoarse whisper as you nod. He doesn’t like it when you silence your moans but he knows it’s necessary if this is to be kept under wraps.

His hands travel to meet your breasts, caressing and planting kisses on your collarbones but the kisses create a trail until he meets your lips again. You kiss him and it’s needy, needier than the time you’d kissed him suddenly last week.

He tries to forget.

You do these things at times, he thinks of them as little acts of kindness for the poor old jewish man he is. Last week, that had been kissing him when he came over, not when you were moaning his name in bed but when there was no reason to kiss him at all. It was small but it had managed to make him blush which was more than enough for you.

You let him take control until he’s deep inside, your back is against the wooden surface of the desk but the furniture is used to it by this point. You moan but it’s a quiet one, he manages to catch one of your silent pleas as he kisses your collarbones.

You hold onto his broad shoulders but your nails dig too deep into his skin for a moment so he stops his thrusts. They’re not fast like they usually are since he chooses to go slower than usual today. There’s a look of concern in his eyes as he stops the movements and feels you tighten around him. He soon questions.

“Did that hurt, luv?” he speaks against your skin, much like how he imagines to whisper ‘mine’ against it and you feel his hot breath against the soft skin of your collarbone. You give him a shake of your head.

“No, I’m just a little sore from last week.” you say and he finds it to be amusing but true regardless. He’d been like an animal last week, fucking you in every chance he got and the last time you had seen him was when he’d made love to you in the roughest way possible for hours straight. 

You weren’t complaining.

“I’ll take it easy then, yeah?” he says but it’s more of a statement of some sort. He’s telling himself to go easier on you.

You nod but your hips say otherwise when you start grinding again. A moan filled with filth leaves his mouth and you can’t help but feel even more aroused than you already were. He feels the shocks of want go through you and moves not too long after.

There he is, then, his skin glistening against yours as he takes you right there and then on your desk. It’s almost a classic one for the both of you to fuck against a desk of some form since you both lead busy lives filled with work.

The moonlight kisses his skin as he grunts and moans every now and then. Your hands find his hair and back, caressing and pulling with every thrust and you know there’s probably a couple workers left on the first floor but they don’t matter at that moment.

When the moment of ecstasy washes over you, you find yourself too wobbly to move so Alfie helps you after fastening his belt. You take his hand and murmur a small ‘thank you’ as he watches you fix yourself up.

He admires you for a second there, lips plump and cheeks rosy under the gentle moonlight as you complain about a button he’s managed to rip. It’s innocent, not a complaint but more like you’re stating a fact that he’s ripped a button. He hums and watches you hop off the table and get your shoes.

You catch him staring, you know what he’s gonna say.

He had been wanting to take you out, properly ever since the first time you’d slept together even though he knew you wanted this thing to be under wraps, he did want that too at first. You offered him a curious look and since he’d never been the one to shy away from saying what was on his mind, his low voice filled the room.

“Luv, about that dinner, yeah..” he starts speaking and it’s not a whisper like last time, he’s genuinely talking to you when your eyes meet his. But it’s too risky, you tell yourself, it’s not what you wanted out of this.

Or maybe it is.

You find the lines of want and need to be blurred when it comes to Alfie. He’s what you crave but also a luxury you came to have after the first couple times. He sees the look of uncertainty so his words disappear and you speak instead.

“Alfie.” you speak, knowing that what you’re about to say will hurt him but you need to do it for your own sake.“We’re just…friends.” 

He scoffs at your words. He has every right to do so.

You’re not so daft as to think that this thing between you and Alfie is just you being friends. You know friends don’t sneak around to make out in every party they go to, it’s not the usual act. 

You know he’s a friend, a dear one at that but not everything plays out the way you want it to.

He seems agitated at your words, angry even but not the raging kind. He seems broken, his anger is mixed somewhere in his eyes with his sadness and frustration. He knows you’re fragile but he can’t help but say the things his head screams at him.

“Friends don’t do this type of shit!” his voice is booming, loud enough to make you slightly jump as he stares right at you with the kind of eyes that make you shiver inside.

You nod at his words, knowing he’s right but there’s not much to do. You need to cut him off right then and there or else, it’s going to break you in little pieces to let him go. 

It’ll be nicer, you think. If you let him go easily, then the fall won’t be so bad. He’ll recover, he’ll get better and you’ll be your old self again. He sees the tears in your eyes but there’s only the shake of your head this time. You seem defeated.

“I don’t think..” you speak, sobs threatening to come out but you’re quick to shut them down. “I don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore.” your voice is a mere whisper as he stares at you, there’s no anger on his face now. It’s just agony.

It’s not your fault, you think. He’s the one that said yes, even though you had taken the initiative. This arrangement was doomed from the start, you both know that but it’s a matter of who gets out first now.

He feels wounded, as if you’ve used him for sex and left him broken hearted but he’s managed to do the same thing to you. You gulp, there are way too many emotions swimming in his coloured orbs but you manage to gather enough courage to look directly in them.

“Ya’ don’t want to fuck anymore, yeah, is that it?” he speaks, voice filled with pure anger and a hint of confusion.

That’s not it, he knows you don’t wish for this to stop but it’s the rational thing to do, or at least it is according to you.

“You know that’s not why.” you say, you know your voice is shaky from the way you sound but it’s better than nothing given to the man before you.

He decorates the most dreamiest dreams of yours. You see him and his moonlit features each time you sleep, a smile on his lips as he tells you the things you want to hear. 

You know friends do not wake up next to each other and try to get out before the other wakes up. It’s not usual behaviour to sneak out of each party, hand in hand to find somewhere more secluded and private. You know all this, he doesn’t have to tell you.

“Do you really want to keep doing this, Alfie?” you ask him this time, voice soft as you try to reason with him to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t see why not.” he says in a split second, like he’s had the answer all along. His blue eyes pierce into yours, waiting for an answer of some sort.

All he gets is a scoff from you.

It’s not because you’re not agreeing with the idea, if anything, something clicks at that moment.

If he’s willing to go on with this, why wouldn’t you join him?

It’s reckless, something you will scold yourself for doing afterwards but you figure, why not take a risk. You’ve played safe until this moment, there have been no exciting adventures and very rare adrenaline rushes. 

And he’s your chance.

You speak with the shake of your head, a faded smile on your lips because now, he’ll be dancing with the devil herself.

“Alright then.” his eyes flicker at your words but you keep on speaking.

“This is a game two can play.”

-------

Tagging: @clairecrive ​  @parkbearum​  @sourirez ​  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog​

a/n: I may or may not continue this, let me know if you want another part!

Stay safe��

x

[schmuckyschmarnes]

Daffodil

anon request: I have a request if that's okay. Could you maybe write about Bucky protecting the reader from some douchebag in a bar?

warnings: unwanted advances, unwanted physical touching (hand on thigh/leg) author notes: this ended up being a lot longer than i intended, i hope this is at least close to what you were after, but if you’d like me to make any changes, please feel free to let me know!!  i included a best friend character and tried not to use any names so it sounds a bit clunky but the y/n ybfn abbreviations always kill it for me when i’m reading so i hope this is ok!! edit: i forgot to mention i also wasn’t sure if you wanted them to already know each other so i wrote a kind of pre-meeting so you could have it both ways 

There was a chill in the air as you hurried down the street, half walking-half running, your heels tapping sharply against the concrete.  An aggressive series of vibrations interrupted your thoughts and you fumbled for a moment, attempting to balance the large bouquet of flowers you were holding in one hand so that you could retrieve your cell phone from the pocket of your trench coat.  The brown paper rustled noisily against you as you finally grabbed your phone, sliding the bar across the screen and putting it to your ear.

“Hey!  I’ll be outside in just a sec, I’m so sorry I’m running late!” you said immediately, feeling heavy with the litany of apologies that you would relay until you arrived at your destination.

You were met with a happy laugh on the other end of the line.  “How long have we been friends?  Did you think I’d wait for you to get started?” your friend teased, and you could hear the beginnings of a slur licking softly at her words.

“I’m offended that you wouldn’t wait for me, you said you would this time!” you accused, biting at a smile as you crossed the road.  A car sped around the corner, tires screeching, and the driver slammed down on the horn as he approached you.  “Oh piss off!” you called, as the car continued to honk after you'd skipped out of the way.

“And you said you’d be on time!” your friend giggled, oblivious to your rage-fuelled exchange.  She had you there.

“I did say that,” you relented, as you walked up the footpath, your destination in sight. “Okay babe, I’m outside, I’ll see you soon.”

“Yaaaaaaaay!” she shrieked, and you moved the phone away from your ear, wincing.

The bar you’d decided to meet at was an old favourite.  Busy enough that you weren’t uncomfortably visible, but not too rowdy.  Perfect for catch ups and your favourite game, people watching.

As you reached your hand to pull the door open, it swung at you, and a body collided with yours.

“Oh shit-”

“Fuck-”

You felt an arm wrap itself around you as your heel wobbled, and when you opened one eye, face scrunched up (still bracing yourself for what you considered an inevitable fall) you found yourself mesmerised by a shade of striking blue. The stranger steadied you, releasing you from his grip.  You opened your second eye, taking a step back sheepishly.

“I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, that was all me,” he interrupted, his hand pushing through the long waves of hair that had fallen into his face.  “I wasn't watching where I was going.” 

He was gorgeous, sharp lines and stubble and pink lips that stood out against the otherwise dark shadows.  A black t-shirt stretched itself over his broad shoulders, and a pale blue long sleeved collared shirt sat loosely over the top, buttons abandoned and sleeves rolled halfway, giving way to the black gloves on his hands.

“Good reflexes, though,” you noted, moving out of the way of a couple who wanted to head in.  “They make it look so easy,” you said, sighing dramatically as the couple disappeared into the bar without incident, and the stranger laughed. It was warm and deep, and you could’ve sworn you felt it reverberating in your own chest when you saw his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Maybe one day we’ll get the hang of it,” he joked, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.  He could feel the moment slipping. You tilted towards the door, and he didn’t want you to leave, he wanted to memorise you, and as his eyes ran over you a frown settled over his features, his face darkening. “Aw jeez, I ruined your flowers,” he groaned, clearly distressed.  You looked down to find that a few of the petals had been crushed, but all things considered, they’d held together pretty well.  An overwhelming desire to comfort this complete stranger seized you.

“Oh hey, no, it’s okay!” you said.  “Look, if we just-” and you pulled off a few of the sad-looking petals, “see, they’re good as new!” You waved them proudly in his direction and a single daffodil drooped sadly to the side.  “Okay, they’re good as new except for this one,” you amended, pulling the offending stem out, and he chuckled, face brightening once more.

“You’re a miracle worker,” he stated, as he took in the fresh-looking bouquet, and something in his voice made you think he could say anything and you'd believe it.

“Ah, miracle worker is my day job,” you said, smiling.  “I’ve got to get these flowers to the person I bought them for, but here, a souvenir of our time together-” you broke the stem off of the single daffodil you were still holding, throwing the long end to the side, and threading the crumpled flower through one of the open buttonholes of his long sleeve shirt, your palm resting for the briefest second on his chest.

"I knew my outfit was missing something.  Thanks, doll,” he joked.  

"Anytime..." you trailed off, realising you didn't know his name.

"James," he supplied, putting out his hand and then looking down at the glove with uncertainty.  It seemed important to him.  You took his hand in yours and shook it.

"Anytime, James," you finished, turning to the door.  "Okay...take 2," you said, adjusting the flowers and pulling the door toward you.

"Wait," he called out, and you turned back, holding the door open.  "What's your name?"

The chatter from the bar swallowed the sound of your voice as you answered him.  You watched his lips mouth it, repeating it to himself as if he was determined to remember, and you smiled one last time at him before finally stepping inside.

You’re immediately hit with a wave of warmth, bodies huddled close together, legs sprawled beneath booths, hanging off of stools, hands gripping and fingers holding loosely, glasses that all glinted in the comfortable low light.  A screech from across the room startles you and when your eyes find the source, you can’t help but smile.  You begin to make your way over but you’re immediately hit by an assortment of limbs, this time you move the flowers off to the side.

“You came!” she shrieked, arms latched around your neck, a few people nearby looked up at the commotion before returning to their conversations.

“I came!” you laughed, squeezing your best friend. “Congratulations, you badass, you deserve this promotion so much.”

“I really do,” she nodded solemnly as she released you. “I’ve worked-” she hiccuped “-so hard.”

“You really have,” you agreed.  “This should’ve happened a lot sooner but I’m so happy for you, these are for you.” You thrust the bouquet toward her, and she gasps, taking them in one hand and looping her arm through yours as she leads you to the table she had occupied. 

“They’re so pretty, I love them,” she gushed, and you laughed again, amused at how sweet and affectionate she was when she had been drinking.  “Listen, Jake’s here,” she said, waving at the man in question, slowing down before you reached him, “and we might not stay too long because to be honest with you, I gotta get laid, babe, it’s getting dusty down there.”

“Girl, it’s your night,” you replied, “I don’t mind at all, we’ll have a few drinks and then you go celebrate properly.”  

“Hey Y/N.” Jake said as you finally arrived at the table, standing to give you a quick hug.

“Hey, Jake!  How proud are we of our girl here?”  you replied, as you removed your coat and settled into your seat. 

“Never been more proud,” he answered, throwing his arm around her as she beamed up at him.

The drinks arrive, or, more drinks arrive, and empty glasses are cleared from the table as you catch up, relive what feels like ancient memories, and laugh too hard at stories that continue to hold the title of “funniest thing ever”.  After the tenth round of people watching (definitely divorced, owns a cat “-or a bird”, enjoys infomercials and nasty sex), they announced that it was time to leave, and you were shocked to see that almost two hours have passed.  

“Enjoy cleaning out the cobwebs,” you said as you hugged goodbye, and she giggled, leaning on her boyfriend for support as they walked out. 

You reached for your trench coat, intending to trade the table for the counter when a man sat himself opposite you, and a strong stench of cologne slammed into you.

“Hey,” he said, “can I buy you a drink?”  He smiled, and you could tell that it was meant to be charming, but something about it felt...

“Oh…” you began, unsure of how to proceed. Off.  It felt off. “I’m okay, thank you, though.”

“Come on,” he persisted, “let me buy you a drink.”  

You looked around at the bar and your eyes stopped when you saw him, James, sitting a few tables away, laughing at a joke one of his friends had just made.  He had come back?

“I-”

“Just the one,” he said, holding up a single finger and tilting his head to the side.

“Sure,” you replied, unsure of how else to get rid of him.  “One drink, okay.”

He was an investment something or other.  He liked to golf, he travelled often, his- His tie was distracting you as he spoke, something about the gold and the brown didn’t make any kind of logical sense in your mind and you pondered over it for the entirety of his monologue, sipping gingerly at the drink before you for something to do.

“So what do you do?” he asked, and it caught you off guard.  He had been speaking about himself for so long that had it not been a painful experience you might have actually begun to doubt your presence in the conversation.  He shifts his chair closer, leaning forward when you reply, and places his hand on the bare skin of your leg.  “I think that’s so hot.”

You shift your legs so that his hand falls away, but a few seconds later, it's back, and higher than it had been the first time.  

“Hey, I’d rather you didn’t-”

“Oh come on, baby, I bought you a drink, didn’t I?  Let’s keep enjoying each other’s company.”

You don’t respond.  Your chest filled with panic, your head with static, everywhere else felt as though you’d been dunked in ice.  Your eyes moved around the room again frantically, and this time, when you saw James, he was looking at you.  His expression shifted as he noticed your own, his head tilted the smallest bit, his eyes flitted to the man beside you, and followed his hand to where it was clamped around your thigh.

He stood abruptly, not excusing himself, and you watched as he approached, ignoring his friends who had called out to him.  

As soon as he arrived at your table, you felt the static cease.

“Hey, doll,” he said, his tone casual.

“Excuse me,” the man interrupted, hand still on your thigh. “This table’s taken, we’re getting to know each other here, so if you wouldn’t mind-”

“Oh, I can see that, James interrupted, looking down at the man’s hand.  “I see you’re getting to know her real well.”

“Okay, well-”

“I’m going to give you a few seconds, because I’m feeling generous. My friends tell me that counting down helps relieve anger, and honestly, I haven’t found that to be true, but I think if anyone was to benefit from me calming down, it would be you,” James said, voice steady as he placed his hands on the table. 

“Dude, you’re literally wearing a flower right now,” he said, smirking at the daffodil still hanging from James’ shirt.  The man - Chad?  Brad?  You couldn’t remember, scoffed as if to say “this guy, am I right?” 

The second the sound had left his mouth, Bucky’s gloves had come off.  Literally.  You saw a flash of silver and then the heat from your leg was removed as the man went flying across the floor of the bar, knocking into some chairs.  James looked towards his friends and both gave a single nod as they stood, and made their way over to Chad/Brad, having a quick word with the bartender as they dragged him yelling out of the bar.

“You okay?” James asked, bringing your attention back to him.  His gloves were back on, and his hair had fallen into his face.

“Yeah.  Yes, I-” and you were cut off by a sound that, you realised a second too late, had come from you.  Tears spilled down your cheeks and the air you were expelling left you faster than it could come in.  James sat down next to you, and you could tell he was unsure what to do.  “Oh my God,” you said, once you could catch your breath.  “This is such an overreaction, I’m so sorry, I-”

“You’re not overreacting.  That asshole was trying to take advantage of you, you have every right to be upset,” he said.  Your head dropped down into your arms, and as the tears continued to fall, you briefly wondered when the last time was that this table had been cleaned.  “I don’t know what to-” he began.  “I’m just gon-” and he stopped again.  “You tell me if this isn’t okay,” he said, placing a hand on your back.

“‘S okay,” you said, and he moved in soothing circles as your breathing evened out and your sniffles slowed down.  “Sorry for all the crying, it’s just, you always think you’ll know what to do in this kind of situation and when you freeze it’s terrifying like, why can’t I do something right now, you know?  I mean, you probably don’t know, but-”

“I know,” he said.  It was soft, and you believed him.  

“Listen, I’m okay,” you said, lifting your head and wiping the tears from your face. “You should get back to your friends, I’m sorry for interrupting your night, you don’t have to comfort me, I’m a complete stranger-”

“What do you mean, ‘complete stranger?’  We go way back,” he said.  It caught you off guard and you laughed, shaking your head.  “I’m going to sit here until you feel okay,” he said.  “Because that’s what friends who go way back do, and because I enjoy your company.”

There was quiet as you looked at him, his hand was still resting on your back and he suddenly didn’t know if he should leave it, or move away now that you weren’t crying.  His eyes searched yours, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, almost unnoticeably before you spoke. 

“I’d like that.” 

[rockandroobuckaroll]

Shyan Mafia AU - Chapter One

This is the first chapter of my first Shyan fic, so any comments/notes would be helpful. I'm currently waiting on an email from A03 to make a new account, so when it's up I'll start uploading this there too.

A couple people asked about this too being @watcher-savage and @celestial-e I apologise in advance for my inability to write chapters less than 5000 words haha

This is a mafia AU where Ryan is a newbie in the mob, looking to gain protection. He’s sent after a guy known only as ‘Legs’ to take care of business... only things aren’t so simple as that. Ryan must lure this ‘Legs’ guy out to some place quiet... but he’s not the only guy in town who’s after him.

Life hadn't been easy for Ryan Bergara. He'd been on his own most of his life, not many friends and he had no family that he was particularly close with. Ryan didn't know what had happened to his parents or younger brother, only that they were six feet under and not by natural causes. It had happened one night when he wasn't home, instead he was out partying with his old friends from college. He'd come home to a sight that caused many sleepless nights, a sight decorated with shades of red that he could never wash out of his clothes.

Ryan had been a paranoid man from that night onwards, afraid he was next on the list and he would be murdered some day soon. It lead him to lead a sheltered life, shut away from friends and remaining family. If he was on his own maybe people would forget he existed entirely. Being alone kept him alive, despite the loneliness it brought him.

It was this loneliness that eventually brought Ryan to a decision that would change his life forever.

Ryan needed protection and he craved a family like the one he used to know and love, and there was a way to kill two birds with one stone;  he did have to admit he must have been crazy to come to the conclusion however. His dad was a wealthy, powerful man, he and his wife had ties to higher ups that they kept secret. Ryan knew they weren't just rumours made up by people in the street, after all he'd been at family dinners where strangers in sharp suits were invited, he'd overheard meetings and phone calls. It was certainly no secret to him that his family were part of the Californian Mafia.

During the day his dad was a humble dentist but by night he was out in a tailored suit, attending meetings and 'taking care of business'. Ryan's mom always joked that his dad was part of the men in black and that he used to go out and hunt aliens and as a child he had believed her. As he grew older and pieced together the truth Ryan thought it was pretty cool what his dad did, although that novelty came to an abrupt end the night they lost their lives.

It was a longshot, but he hoped that the men who used to come round his house for dinner would take him in, train him up, and give him the protection that he needed to sleep at night. He could be brave if he was in the mob, he had to be, and maybe he could finally get some sleep at night. If he couldn't all those years of shutting himself away would have been pointless and Ryan didn't ever want to admit that to himself.

That was how he found himself sat in a leather armchair in a small office, sat opposite a man he recognised from his youth. The man was much older now, hair grey and he wore glasses that weren't previously needed, but he still had the same believable kindness behind his eyes - though Ryan knew better than to trust that kindness.

"I'm glad you came to us Ricky, we can give you the protection you need." The elderly man sat behind the desk spoke, his voice smooth and soothing. He may not look it, but the man in front of him was the big boss of the Californian Mafia, overseeing the ins and outs of the entire organisation; he was known only as Father Thomas. He was a man no one wanted to cross.

"Um, my name is Ryan, sir." Ryan corrected him, realising afterwards that he probably should have known better. If the movies were anything to go off he shouldn't talk back to these kinds of people.

"Ryan, my child, you don't want to give out your identity to men who are going to use it against you. From now on if someone asks for your name, you tell them its Ricky: Ricky Goldsworth." The Father had a point, although Ryan assumed it would take him a while to get used to that alias - he would probably have to write it down. "You're new here and you want our protection... but not everything is free, Ricky."

"I'll do anything, sir." He was honest when he said 'anything'. Ryan wouldn't have resorted to the mafia if he wasn't willing to leave his old miserable life behind him.

Father Thomas leaned forward, elbows resting on the dark oak desk and his chin atop his interlaced fingers. "Anything?" He looked Ryan in his eyes, peering deep into his very soul. "Here's the thing, Ricky. I believe you when you say you'll do anything, I do... but I don't know if my good friends will be willing to back you up. So I've got a little job for you. It's a risky job, you'll be tested for sure, but if you pull it off I can make you very wealthy very quickly... and throw in a couple of trained assistants of mine to keep you safe at night." The Father leaned back again much to Ryan's relief and opened up one of the heavy looking drawers on the desk, pulling out a large, beige binder and flipping through before taking a page out.

The paper had a personal file, a photo attached with a paperclip at the top. There wasn't much known about him, no name to call him; only an alias was written down. "This here guy is a bit of a troublemaker for us. We've lost many good men to him, he's cunning and has a perfect record when it comes to his work."

"And you want me to..."

"To take care of business, yes." Ryan suddenly wasn't so sure. He picked up the photo of the man. He had dark hair slicked back and had a slender build. He was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt only half buttoned up and sunglasses covering his eyes. "We don't know all that much about this guy, only that he goes by the nickname 'Legs' and that he's extremely hard to catch. If you go after him your loyalty and dedication to us will be tested, naturally, as well as your skill and methods. I can't promise you'll ever come back though... so what's it going to be, Ricky?"

Ryan thought over carefully. He couldn't deny his heart was pounding so loud in his ears that Father Thomas could probably hear it, nor that his hands shook slightly as he held the photo. He was terrified of what this 'Legs' could do to him, or what he had done to others. He was also terrified of his own desperation. He was scared of how tired of being paranoid he was, how tired he was of being scared and alone. If things didn't work out and he ended up getting killed... would that really be so bad?

A snarky voice in the back of Ryan's mind told him he should have probably gone back to his therapist instead of paying the mob a visit, but it was far too late to listen to logic and reasoning now.

"Where was he last sighted?" Ryan bravely spoke up, gaining a small smile from the man in front of him. Ryan knew whichever way things went it would be a win-win for him - though deep down he had a feeling things were more realistically lose-lose, it wouldn't hurt to at least try.

"Yesterday in New Orleans, that's when that photo was taken." Ryan placed the photo down on the desk and looked over the rather empty file, he'd be going into this practically blind. "We've got an unused hotel in that area you can use to take care of him, one of my boys will give you the keys. We can get you a flight too, private of course."

"New Orleans..." It was a long way from home, although Ryan was almost glad of that. He'd only left his home state of California a few times and only ever as a child, on holidays and such. Hopefully leaving the state would do his mental health some good. "When's the flight?"

"We can get you in the air by six in the morning, you'll have all day to get your bearings and get to work." Ryan hadn't expected it to be so soon, although he supposed he didn't have to make up any excuses to anyone about where he was going. His job at the local theatre realistically wouldn't get him anywhere anyway and they could easily replace him in an instant. He had hoped one day to be making his own movies, or at the very least work on big productions, but it was a difficult industry to crack.

"Six AM..." He nodded to himself. "Okay... I'll do it."

Ryan was restless that evening, barely touching his bland microwave meal and constantly reorganising his suitcase, filling it with only the essentials and his best sneakers. He showered and sat on the edge of his bed beside his opened suitcase until early hours in the morning, going over what he had to do. The plan was relatively simple: find this 'Legs' guy, take him to the hotel and... it was the last step Ryan was having trouble coming to terms with.  He knew he would have to kill some guy he had never met. He probably had a family, maybe a wife or a child - at the very least he probably lived alone with a cat. Could he really do that? Could he really take someone's life?

He had opened his laptop and looked at Google Maps for a solid hour, trying his best to memorise the streets of New Orleans, the routes he would have to take to get to the old hotel the mafia had given him the key for. He didn't know how he was even find 'Legs', New Orleans is a big city after all, though he had been tipped about a diner that the man had been seen frequenting over the past few weeks so hopefully that was a start. Part of him hoped he never ran into him and that he would just have to live a quiet life in Louisiana, surely the deep south couldn't be all bad.

Hoping that he had everything memorised, Ryan decided that there was no point in getting any sleep now, he could just hopefully sleep during the three hour flight. He changed into something that would make him look like he was going on a business trip, something the guys at the office had informed him would be his cover up. If anyone asked him he was taking care of the hotel to prepare it for new ownership, that was all they needed to know. He settled on a silver suit and with a black tie, hoping he didn't look too affiliated with any gang; he didn't want to go over the top and wear a fedora with sunglasses, that was way too cliché.

By four in the morning there was a knock on his door and before he knew it he was on a private jet making his way to New Orleans. Ryan watched as the sleepy city slowly awoke, the sun slowly making it's way above the horizon. It didn't take long for his lack of sleep to catch up with him and a few minutes of resting his eyes managed to turn into him sleeping through his short flight. The next thing he knew was that he was being prodded awake by the pilot.

The pilot in front of him was a, quite frankly, dodgy looking, slender individual. His dark hair was greasy and slicked back and his eyes were just as dark as his hair. His skin was tan with little blemishes on his sunken face and his nose was crooked, his teeth matching the nature of his nose and were in desperate need of a dentist. He wore a pinstripe suit, black with thin cream stripes, over-polished shiny black dress shoes and a cufflink shaped like a red dice adorned the white shirt that peaked out from his slightly short sleeves. He was almost the complete opposite of Father Thomas.

"We're here." He sounded just as slimy as he looked, Ryan couldn't believe he actually fell asleep knowing it was only the two of them on the plane; he would be sure to check for any scars when he was alone later on to see if he had any missing kidneys. "You know what you're doing, right?"

"Yeah." A simple yet effective lie.

"Good. Then get off my jet." He ushered Ryan and his luggage out, the poor man still half asleep and aching from sitting in one spot for three hours. "If you by some miracle get the job done give Father Thomas a call, I'll come back and fetch you. Good luck."

With that hurried goodbye, Ryan was left on his own in a city he didn't know. He knew he should have been nervous, probably terrified given what he was supposed to be doing there, yet the only thing he felt was hungry. He'd skipped breakfast and barely ate any of his dinner the night before. He decided the best thing to do was find somewhere to get a bite to eat and ask around for any clues where to find this 'Legs' guy; Father Thomas had informed him of the perfect place.

Diners were always a hit and miss experience, although the small building that had been recommended by Father Thomas seemed to house a semi-decent establishment. It had a pleasant scent of coffee and bacon, mixed with a hint of pine from the décor. It was cosy, welcoming and much to Ryan's relief: empty. Not to mention, apparently 'Legs' had been sighted coming in and out of there all week. It was the perfect spot to start looking.

He sat at one of the barstools and looked up at the menu, mouth already beginning to salivate at just the stock photos of the food they served. "Hiya, hon, what can I get you?" A young, blonde waitress appeared from the beaded curtains, a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes; a symptom of an early shift in the quieter outskirts of the city.

"Hi, can I get a black coffee and some pancakes please." At this point Ryan would eat anything, even if it came out of the trash.

"Sure thing, hon." She scribbled down the order and took the payment before pouring Ryan his coffee from the glass pot. The first sip burned his tongue but it helped wake him up a little. A few minutes later the waitress returned with a plate of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup with bacon placed on top: it looked picturesque.

"Thank you." Ryan remembered the manners his mom had taught him many years ago before shoving far too much into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savoured his first mouthful. Before he could ask the woman about places of interest that may attract mob guys or murderers (or both) the bell on the door rang, meaning another customer had walked in. Ryan didn't turn around to meet them, instead taking another sip of his coffee.

The customer sat two seats away from him, the waitress smiling at him the same way she had at Ryan. "Hiya hon, the usual?"

"Yes please." The man spoke in a quiet but kind voice, although his accent stuck out to Ryan. It wasn't that it was a strong accent, quite the opposite actually. It certainly wasn't from around here. "Thank you."

The waitress disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving the two men in silence. Ryan took another sip of his coffee as the man tried to start up a conversation. "Pancakes? Now that's in poor taste. It's waffles all the way." Ryan almost spit out his coffee - not at the comment but at the man's appearance.

This was the guy from the photo: this was 'Legs'.

"You alright? Don't choke." He laughed at Ryan, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he did. Ryan had to fight every instinct not to bolt out of the diner there and then. Here he was, trying to enjoy his breakfast and now all of a sudden he was having a conversation with a murderer... well, he would have to respond in order to have a conversation.

"Uh..." Ryan struggled to find the words to say. "Pancakes are way better." He settled on, 'Legs' shaking his head and turning back to the waitress as she brought him a plate of waffles before disappearing back into the kitchen. "Is that how you like to talk to strangers?"

"Oh, sorry..." He seemed to become shy all of a sudden as he realised his conversation starter had been a bit rude. "You don't sound like you're from around here. You here on business?" It was a fair question to someone who was dressed in a suit although Ryan could feel beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck. Did he know? Could this guy sniff out someone in the mob at a glance? He was a professional from what Ryan had heard, for all he knew the guy had spotted the plane landing and followed him there, planning to kill him behind the diner.

"Yeah... something like that." Ryan cleared his throat and steadied his hands on his coffee cup. They had begun to shake, betraying him when he needed to remain calm.

'Legs' hummed a response and begun digging into his waffles. Ryan needed to think quick. He needed a reason to keep him around, not let him out of his sight. The hotel key Father Thomas had given him felt like it was burning into his leg like a beating heart under the floorboards, reminding him of all his troubles. He was starting to panic already. He really wasn't cut out for this despite his efforts to try and convince himself otherwise. "Hey, don't mean to sound rude but are you alright? You don't look well all of a sudden."

"I'm fine." Ryan's voice shook. Shit. He couldn't afford a panic attack. "I just need some air." Ryan stood from his seat and rushed out the door, his knees feeling like jelly. He took in a few deep breaths as he leaned against the wall, hoping he was just far enough outside that 'Legs' couldn't see him. Fuck. If Ryan couldn't even sit next to the guy and have breakfast and a friendly chat how the hell was he supposed to lure the guy to some abandoned hotel and murder him in cold blood?

"You want me to ask the waitress for some water or something?" 'Legs' poked his head around the door, "You gonna hurl, dude?" 'Oh great', Ryan thought begrudgingly: 'of course he's a nice guy'. No, no he isn't, Ryan had to remind himself. This guy has killed people.

"I'm okay." Ryan kept lying to himself, lowering himself so he was crouching down, his back against the wall. 'Legs' crouched down next to him, his hand on his back to try and comfort him.

"Just breathe, yeah? You're alright." 'Legs' seemed to recognise the signs of an oncoming panic attack. "What's your name? Have you got someone I can call?" 'Stop being so fucking nice', Ryan internally groaned. He shook his head, closing his eyes and just focusing on his breathing. "Okay, I'll stay here with you. Talk you out of it... uh, well shit I can't think of anything to say." He chuckled in such a nonchalant way that made Ryan want to punch the guy.

"Pancakes are better." Ryan managed to mutter in between breaths, deciding to just say anything to change the subject and take his mind off his paranoia. 'Legs' wheezed at that, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You believe what you wanna believe, man." He adjusted his position so that he was sat down properly, legs crossed in front of him. "You're wrong, but hey, opinions and all that baloney."

Once Ryan felt like he was going to be okay, that he wasn't going to have a complete breakdown in front of his future murder victim he looked up to the sky, still avoiding looking at 'Legs'. "My name's Ricky by the way... Ricky Goldsworth." Ryan needed to try and make acquaintances with him while he could; it would hopefully make the upcoming murderous meet and greets less awkward.

"Goldsworth?" He seemed intrigued by that. "Cool name." Ryan was glad he hadn't just seen straight through him immediately. "Nice to meet you Ricky." He held out his hand to shake, Ryan took it and tried to keep his grip firm despite his hands still shaking. He also had to play it off like he hadn't noticed that 'Legs' had completely avoided telling him his name.

"Your breakfast is gonna go cold." Ryan told him to try and change the subject. "Mine too... let's go back inside."

"You alright to stand? You looked a bit wobbly on your feet just now." Ryan was tempted to just put a bullet in the guys head there and then and get his suffering over with. Of course he ended up with the crazed murderer who just happened to be a total sweetheart.

"I'm fine. Come on." Ryan pushed himself up and lead 'Legs' back inside, the two taking the seats they were previously in. Ryan's coffee was still pretty warm and his pancakes hadn't quite turned to soggy mush yet.

"Sorry if I said something to set you off, by the way. I didn't mean to freak you out." 'Legs' spoke in a hushed voice, as though he was trying not to induce more panic into Ryan.

"It's alright... it's been a long night. I'm just on edge I guess." Ryan took a bite of his breakfast, he wasn't that hungry anymore but he also knew he would regret it later if he didn't finish it. "It's not your fault." Ryan took another sip of coffee to wash it down.

"Well, I don't know if you're free sometime soon but there's a nice bar in town, I was planning on going out tonight if you wanted to join me." That was the second time 'Legs' had made him choke on his coffee. He hadn't expected to be asked out by the guy he was supposed to kill. "Uh, well, you don't have to if you don't want to!" He quickly gave Ryan the option to turn him down, his cheeks bright red and he couldn't meet his eyes.

This was perfect. 'Legs' had practically signed his own death warrant... granted that Ryan could actually pull the job off. Everything had fallen into place however, he would be an idiot to turn it down.

"That sounds... that sounds great actually." Ryan tried not to sound so relieved that he didn't have to make up some bullshit excuse to stalk this guy without it being weird.

"Really?" God, Ryan felt like such an asshole. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was happening. 'Legs' was showing interest, he was inviting him out and was shy when he asked the question. Now 'Legs' was feeling immense relief that Ryan had offered to spend the night getting to know him. He was leading him on and wouldn't even get the chance to let him down gently. "Shit, I didn't actually expect you to say yes! I mean, on my part even I can say this is bad timing!" He was giddy like a child, not helping the sinking feeling in Ryan's stomach.

"I'm always up for a good time." Ryan played along to the best of his ability. This guy was digging his own grave without Ryan even having to try, he didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste. "I've got to... there's this hotel I'm looking after at the moment. It's gonna be refurbished and I've got this job to basically check in and make sure none of the shit gets stolen. I can meet you after work if you want?"

"You're looking after a hotel? You're not gonna go all Jack Torrance on me and come after me with an axe, are you?" Even if it was a great movie he was referencing Ryan couldn't help but nervously chuckle at the irony.

"Wouldn't dream of it." 'Just drink your coffee and don't make eye contact Ryan', he thought to himself in desperation. He picked up his napkin and took a pen out of his blazer pocket. He'd childishly put it there in case he needed to go all spy-movie-action-scene and use the pen as a weapon, but he supposed using it for it's intended purpose would do for now. "Here's the address." Ryan had memorised it off by heart after fretting over his plans the night before. "Meet me about seven-ish?"

"Seven-ish." 'Legs' spoke aloud his mental note as he took the napkin and glanced at the address. "This isn't that far from the bar actually." That was lucky for Ryan, he wouldn't have to bring 'Legs' half way across the city just to kill him.

Ryan's plan was pretty simple, if not slightly manipulative - though he decided that if he was plotting to kill someone he would have to put his morals on the back bench for the time being. He would go out for a few drinks with 'Legs', get him to loosen up, bring him back to the hotel, lock the door so no one would accidentally wander in on his murder scene and then take care of him in the basement. One flaw he found with his plan was that he realised he still hadn't been told a name for his victim, not a nickname or initials: nothing. Ryan was starting to wonder if he was the one manipulating the situation, that he was the one in control... he had a feeling 'Legs' had his own ulterior motives behind inviting him out.

By the time seven rolled around Ryan almost felt sick with nerves. After preparing everything he needed in the hotel he was sat on the steps at the front door, staring at his blank phone screen in front of him to seem less conspicuous when he heard a call for his name - well, the name he had given out as a cover.

"Ricky?" Ryan looked up and smiled at the man before him. 'Legs' had changed out of the striped hoodie and jeans he wore that morning, he was wearing a dark blue shirt with red Hawaiian flowers on it which caught Ryan's attention. He'd never actually seen someone pull off a flower shirt like that and not look like a dad on vacation.

"Hey." Ryan stood up and climbed down the stairs, feeling slightly intimidated by the guy. He found it strange that he was wary of a paper thin guy in a flower shirt, but when put into the context that said guy towered over him in height he found himself feeling strangely inferior - that and he was a fucking murderer, Ryan had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

With a nervous breath 'Legs' gave a smile, "Shall we get going? The bar's down this way." Ryan smiled and nodded, following the taller man down the street

'Time to act your heart out' Ryan thought to himself, 'Play it cool, don't be suspicious'.

The bar was starting to fill with patrons though it didn't seem to be as busy as some of the others, Ryan was glad of that. The less people that saw him there the better. 'Legs' took the gentlemanly approach and offered to buy the first round, Ryan watching closely to make sure his drink hadn't been spiked before taking his first sip.

It had been a while since Ryan had been out like this, he had missed it if he was honest. The last time he was out drinking he... Ryan shook away the thought with a frown. He wouldn't think about that tonight, not now that he was about to cause someone else to find their family member brutally murdered.

'Legs' had noticed Ryan's frown and looked nervous, as though he was calculating the right thing to say. This night must have been important to him, he was trying so hard not to mess it up. Ryan felt immense guilt but knew he couldn't wallow in it all night. He needed the night to go well too, given that he needed to get him back to the hotel. He hoped it would be willing and not Ryan dragging him back kicking and screaming.

"Thanks for coming out tonight." 'Legs' started, talking over the music with his best efforts. "I mean, I really thought you were gonna turn me down."

"I needed something like this, I should be the one thanking you." Ryan wished he meant that, he wished he was just out on what felt like a date - it probably would have been considered one in Ryan's mind but 'Legs' still had neglected to give him a name. It was a sobering reminder that the man in front of him could very well have his own plans of murder. His nice guy act was so cliché anyway, serial killers were always known like that. It was the whole Norman Bates schtick, the type of guy who wouldn't hurt a fly, socially awkward yet charming. Ryan hoped he wouldn't get stabbed to death by this guy dressed as his mother later on, though it would certainly be an unexpected twist to his evening.

"Is it a tough life, looking after hotels I mean?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink, "Must get pretty lonely having all those rooms to yourself."

"Yeah... it can be." Ryan was used to loneliness, it was just part of his daily life by this point. He supposed if the whole hotel business was his real job he wouldn't think it any different to how he felt when he was sat at home on a Friday night watching movies all on his own rather than reuniting with his college friends and going out to get completely shitfaced. "What do you do, I don't think I asked?" Ryan hoped that question wouldn't scare him off.

"I, uh... I'm actually unemployed at the moment." He was avoiding eye contact again, Ryan knew he was lying anyway. "I'm here on a sort of midlife crisis, trying to see if I can make it on my own sorta thing... it's not going well." He laughed it off and took another, longer sip of his drink.

"You're on your own out here?" Interesting, that meant there would be no one around to search for him if he suddenly went missing. Ryan had interpreted him saying he was unemployed as he wasn't out on a job for the mob in New Orleans. He was just as alone out here as Ryan was. This whole situation just seemed so perfect, though he was wary of how careless it was on 'Legs' part.

"Yeah." Was his only response.

"You must be pretty lonely too then." Ryan didn't like to empathise with a killer, though he knew in just a few short hours he would be one himself. "Guess we can be lonely together." Ryan raised his glass, 'Legs' picking his own up and tapping it on Ryan's, the sound of the clink breaking through the music with ease.

Ryan had anticipated the night to go poorly. He had assumed he would be too nervous to drink or talk for half the night or perhaps for his date to figure out his true identity through some offhanded comment and ditch him or put a bullet between his eyes. What he hadn't expected however was to actually have a good time with him.

The two of them seemed to get along just fine, conversing in topics such as old shitty horror movies that were just charming enough to be enjoyable - or the ones that had practical effects so terrible they were actually hilarious to watch. 'Legs' had listened to Ryan ramble on about how much he loved Disneyland and hadn't been in years, in return Ryan tried his best to pay attention to some anecdotes 'Legs' had from an old D&D game he had played with his friends back in his hometown.

As the number of drinks piled up Ryan actually started to let his guard down, relaxing in his seat and laughing along at the dumb jokes 'Legs' cracked every other minute. He had to hand it to the guy: he was pretty funny. With his guard down he hadn't quite expected 'Legs' to smoothly place his hand over Ryan's as he was fidgeting with his glass, nor had he expected himself not to pull away quickly.

This was his chance.

"Hey... how about we drink up and get out of here, yeah?" Ryan suggested, 'Legs' quirking an eyebrow at him and downing the rest of his drink. "We can go back to the hotel I'm looking after, it's completely empty. It'll be just you and me."

"Lead the way."

The two of them headed out of the bar and into the cool night air, Ryan holding his hand and pulling him along through the crowd as to not lose him. The streets were bustling with the city's nightlife, the people passing them were either already drunk and loud or on their way to join in. Ryan really had missed this, the buzz of it all, but that wasn't what he was here to do, as much as he was hoping that maybe he could spend a couple nights with this guy, go out partying and make stupid decisions together. At the same time however, the last thing Ryan wanted to do was form an attachment; he was already getting dangerously close to that.

"Here we are." Ryan struggled to fit the key into the front door ten minutes later, mentally cursing to his past self for having one round too many. He hated that he'd actually had a good time with 'Legs' tonight. He hated how now it was over, now was the time where 'Legs' whole life was over. The price Ryan was paying to have protection didn't seem worth it all of a sudden, but he'd come this far... giving up now wouldn't sit right with him.

"Give me a room with a view, Goldsworth." 'Legs' put his hand on Ryan's hip, leaning into him and breathing against the back of his ear. It sent shivers down his spine. It took all he had not to throw his plans out the window and lead him to one of the rooms upstairs.

"Got a better idea." Ryan turned around to him. "You said you didn't want me to for obvious reasons... but what if I did go all 'Jack Torrance'? What I'm trying to say is I bet the basement is romantic as fuck." 'Legs' burst out laugh at that, his head dipping and eyes crinkling into thin lines as they had done many times that night.

"You know what? You've won me over." He let Ryan take him by the hand and guide him towards the heavy metal door that lead down a flight of stairs to a mostly empty room, just a boiler and some electronics  that Ryan had no idea the purpose for - probably a fuse box or something. The only light in the room was a simple bulb hanging from a chord on the ceiling, fitting for a room that was soon to house a murder.

The second the door was closed behind 'Legs' Ryan struck out, grabbing the pole he had set out earlier when he was rehearsing this moment over and over again like some crazed fanatic and striking the taller man on the side of the head. It knocked him out in an instant, 'Legs' dropping like a sack of bricks and tumbling down the stairs. Ryan winced, it looked like it hurt. 'Forget your fucking morals, man, you're trying to kill him'. Ryan stared down at his unmoving body from atop the stairs, his breathing heavy in his chest. It was terrifying to him just how easy that was, how simple it had all been. This poor guy was just looking to have a good time and now he was getting murdered for it.

Acting quickly, just in case 'Legs' woke up half way through, Ryan rushed down the stairs and grabbed the chair and the rope had set aside, hauling up the man's deadweight and tying him to the chair. He inspected the wound on his head, blood pooling around the edges but not gushing down like he had imagined it would in his rehearsals.

"Okay... okay, right... what now?" Ryan frantically looked around the room as if looking for clues. "Oh, gun, right." Ryan took the gun he had concealed under the boiler, dusting it off and checking to see if it was loaded. "Right... now wait for him to wake up I guess."

Ryan took the spare chair he had previously placed in the basement just in case things escalated and he had to knock him out with a chair instead of the pole, lucky the craftwork had stayed in one piece. He sat opposite 'legs', hunching over slightly and looking at the gun in his hand. It rattled slightly as his hand shook, looking out of place in his grip. Ryan knew this wasn't right, he knew deep down that this was only going to make his life worse but he was in far too deep now for retrospective analysis.

"Stop shaking." He whispered to himself, using his free hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He was panicking again. "Fuck..." He couldn't help but think about the last time he was panicking, crouched down outside the diner this morning. 'Legs' had been there for him then, a comforting presence that had managed to calm him down despite being the reason he was panicking in the first place. He felt like he needed that now.

As if on cue 'Legs' stirred, a faint groan escaping his lips as he struggled to find consciousness. He tilted his head up slowly with a wince, eyes squinting as he looked directly at Ryan. "Huh?" He struggled against the ropes he was tied to, looking at them in confusion as if he couldn't understand why he was now tied up. He seemed to wake up a little more after his brain tried to piece together what was going on, the tall man looking around with a pained expression before his eyes settled back on Ryan.

"Hey sleepyhead." Ryan stood up, putting his acting chops to best use. 'Whatever you say just make it intimidating' he repeated in his head like a mantra. "Have a nice nap?"

"Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded woozy, "What's going on... is this a kink thing or something? I'm not one to judge or anything but some consent would have been nice."

"Wha-" Ryan was baffled by the stupidity that had just come from this guy's mouth. A kink thing? This guy was a well known member of the mob who'd just been knocked out and tied to a chair in a basement like some sort of thriller movie cliché... and then he thought it was just that Ryan had a fucking kink? Not quite what Ryan had been expecting. "No, you idiot! I'm here to kill you!"

"Oh?" 'Legs' seemed to think that over for a minute before the somewhat humoured smile that had previously been on his face was wiped completely. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." Ryan mimicked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought this was going to be a lot harder but you just walked right into this... you didn't even question me wanting to take you into the basement! Are you really that dense?"

"In my defence you hit me on the head pretty fuckin' hard." He groaned, almost as if he was trying to get sympathy. Ryan wouldn't take the bait, even if he did sort of feel guilty about it.

"That was after I lured you all the way out here!" Ryan's voice rose in both volume and pitch, holding the gun out and aiming it at 'Legs' head. "I thought mob guys were supposed to be fuckin' smart!"

"Mob guys?" Everything slowly clicked into place for him, he looked almost disappointed, but what he was disappointed about Ryan wasn't so sure. Maybe in himself for being so naïve or perhaps in Ryan for leading him on the way he did to turn out to just be another in a long line of guys that had come after him. "Right, so you're here to kill me then?"

"Yeah, I said that already." Ryan was trying his very best to be patient and take into account the guy had only just woken up after he bashed him round the head with a metal pole. "You're a ballsy guy, I'll give you that. I mean, just going out and partying in New Orleans knowing the Californian mob is after you? I can't tell if it's bold or insane!"

"Well I'm not in California right now, am I? I didn't think they'd be dumb enough to come around here with how high the tensions are between them and the gangs here in Orleans." So he did have a bit of common sense, even if his logic had been flawed. "That and I wasn't expecting the good looking guy in the diner to be some fucking mafia hitman or whatever."

"You think I'm good looking- wait, no. You're not going to flirt your way out of this!" Ryan jabbed the gun in his direction as if to threaten him into shutting up but 'Legs' didn't seem all that phased that his life was in danger. 'Definitely insane' Ryan thought to himself as he glared down at him. Who the hell stays so calm in a situation like this? This guy really is Norman Bates reincarnate. "And I'm not a hitman, I'm part of the Cali mob!"

"You are, are you?" 'Legs' seemed sceptical. "You don't look the part. I mean, you're way too short for one and that tough guy act is fooling no one."

"Man, fuck you! Just because you're as tall as a fucking sasquatch doesn't mean I'm short! Oh my god I cannot believe I was actually considering throwing everything I worked for away and just fucking you instead!" Ryan was aware he was trying to rile him up on purpose, but god dammit it was working like a charm. "Are you forgetting I'm holding a fucking gun here? I'm going to kill you! You should be begging for your life right now!"

"Oh, no, please don't kill me Mr Goldsworth." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Although, I mean, if you untie me I could pretend none of this even happened and we could just go upstairs and, y'know." He gave a conspicuous whistle rather than being as blunt as Ryan had been.

"You're insufferable." Ryan couldn't believe this was the same guy he went drinking with, the same guy he was starting to regret luring to the edge of town to kill. He was filled with enough aggression and adrenaline not to feel that regret anymore, but he still couldn't help noticing that his hand still shook slightly as he pointed the gun in 'Legs' face.

"I always thought you mobsters were supposed to be tough guys. You're shaking like a leaf."  'Legs' pointed out which only infuriated Ryan even more. "You really should work on controlling your emotions more, just shut 'em off, y'know?"

"Stop giving me fucking criticism!" Ryan growled, his fist balled at his side before he used it to steady his shaking hand. "I'm literally about to shoot you!"

"Well hurry up with it then, you're starting to look like some incompetent movie villain!" 'Legs' almost sounded bored, impatient even. Ryan figured the guy must be on some next level of crazy if he was practically begging the guy holding a gun to shoot him.

"Don't rush me!" Ryan clicked the safety off on his gun and held it against 'Legs' forehead, the taller man closed his mouth very quickly and his eyes opened wider. Ryan couldn't help but smirk at how quickly he turned his act around.

"Uh, Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded worried all of a sudden, a complete juxtaposition from how he was mere seconds ago.

"Oh, now you're afraid. Didn't take much for that tough guy act to fall through, did it?" Ryan felt proud in a way, proud that he'd actually succeeded in intimidating the guy. Maybe he had it in him after all? Maybe this whole time he had just been overreacting, overthinking. He had the guts to do this, all he had to do now was pull the trigger (after saying something badass like they did in the movies, of course) and it would be over.

"Ricky!" 'Legs' called out, an unmistakeable fear in his tone. "Look out, behind you!"

"Yeah, how stupid do you think I am?" Ryan scoffed, though his tune soon changed when he heard the sound of metal scraping along the floor behind him, something he imagined 'Legs' had heard before Ryan knocked him out earlier. He gasped, eyes widening as he remembered he forgot one crucial step in his plan: he forgot to lock the front door.

Before Ryan could even turn around and defend himself he felt something connect with his temple and the world turned to black in a terrifyingly quick instant.

So much for everything being too easy...

[adrenaline-roulette]

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word Count: 5.5K+ Warnings: Language *Disclaimer, Hi everybody. I first of all would like to apologise to those who have been waiting for months for a new chapter, this chapter has been partially written since September, however in that time, my aunt passed away. It has hit me very hard, and during this time, I needed to take a step away from writing, to be with my family, and also to take time to look after myself and my mental health.  I’m doing better now, and with that means I am slowly updating my works which have been neglected as of late. So for those who are returning viewers of this series, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming back and waiting with me. And for those new to this series, welcome and I hope you stay with us. Much love to you all!

Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine can be found here! (That’s right baby, we’ve officially reached double digits for chapters!)

Chapter Ten: Darkest paradise I’ve ever seen

Flying into Noumea, your headphones pressed snuggly against your ears, you watch as miles upon miles of crystal blue ocean spans ahead of you. From just about every direction you look through the small aeroplane window, all you can see is blue. That is aside from the tiny speck on the horizon, which you can only assume is in fact, your destination. It seems awfully far away, and a part of you has managed to convince the less logical section of your brain, that you still have plenty of time before you arrive. Before the plan takes motion. Before shit goes down. Or you have months to continue planning your take down of the Lushnick’s…. But as you gaze out the window once more, the tiny speck growing ever larger, your rational mind takes over, reminding you that in less than two weeks, provided everything went according to plan, the Lushnick’s would be yours.

As the plane touches down at La Tontouta international airport, you await the captain’s departure announcement before standing up and stretching your cramping legs, feeling your joints pop, and muscles ache from having spent too long in one position. Once the initial rush of passengers have passed you, you reach up into the overhead compartments and retrieve the navy blue rucksack you had stowed up there. With the bag flung over your shoulder, you disembark the plane, and head towards the baggage carousel within the terminal. Within your rucksack, along with a few emergency items on the off chance your bags were lost, included five various ID cards, all hand made for you by One’s slightly shady yet reliable connection; a wad of Pacific Franc, the currency of New Caledonia, and of course your laptop. One had assured you that the apartment you would be using as a base had all the setup you required, however you felt more confident with your own computer, even just as a backup for an emergency. As you cross the tarmac, you recall the burner phone One had given you upon your departure, the only contacts held within were those of the Ghost’s, though knowing that you still have the ability to communicate with  your team before their arrival helped alleviate some of your nerves. Switching the phone off flight mode, you held it firmly in your sweaty palm, half expecting it to buzz to life with missed notifications, as it would if it were your true phone. The influx of notifications never come, there is however one which does buzz through. ‘Are you safe?’

You scan over the message again and again, reading just about every possible subtext into it within a matter of seconds, before finally, you take a deep breath in, hold it for ten seconds, then release. ‘It’s Four, don’t be so dramatic. He actually cares about you.’ You remind yourself, just as your thumbs tap against the phone keyboard. ‘Just landed. Collecting bags then heading to the apartment. Should be there within the hour.’ You reply, pocketing the phone again and keeping your eyes peeled for you luggage.

The phone vibrates again, but this time you ignore it, opting instead to find the Taxi rank now that you had procured your bags. On you way through the airport, you discard you boarding pass into a trashcan, saying a mental goodbye to the alias of Ginevra Connelly. Of course you still kept the ID card with Ginevra’s details in your bag just in case, but the aim was to only use each alias once. One for flying, one for working, and one for personal business. The others were just there if any unexpected events should arise. Once outside, you only need wait a few minutes before a taxi pulls up, the driver popping the trunk of the car for you to deposit your bags. Once the trunk is closed, you slide into the back seat, sitting directly behind the driver. “Bonjour.” The driver offers with a small smile, meeting your eyes in the rear-view mirror.

You smile gently back. “Bonjour.” You greet, before reciting off the address to the apartment in Noumea which One had insisted you memorise.

With a nod of his head, the taxi driver speeds off, either ignoring or simply disregarding all speed signs which he passed. As he drove like a bat out of hell, you check your phone once more. ‘That’s good. Glad you’re alright.’ Four had replied, earning a small smile to creep over your lips.

‘Well, the flight didn’t kill me. Can’t say the same about my driver though….’

‘Axe murderer?’

‘Nothing quite as exciting. Or at least, I didn’t notice an axe when I checked the trunk…. Just a crazy driver is all. You’ll see when you get here. It looks to be a trend.’

‘Can’t wait!’ Before a rapid second response of. ‘Stay out of trouble until I get there please?’

‘I promise.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Love yo-‘ You begin typing, before frantically deleting the characters. As much as you wanted to send the message, you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. Something about sending those words, via a burner phone while you’re in a totally different country, just felt wrong. Perhaps that was the nerves of the mission talking? No matter, you would saver the phrase for when you saw Four in person.

You put your phone away after that, not trusting yourself to continue the conversation with the direction it was headed. You knew Four was still, not necessarily mad at you, but disappointed that you hadn’t told him of your early departure. You were also acutely aware of his fear for you being in a foreign country all alone. You were positive that if it hadn’t been for the sudden announcement of your leaving, then he would have tried much harder to convince you and One to let him arrive with you. Of course, deep down you knew that despite Four’s protective nature, he understood why he was unable to arrive with you, or with the others. But it didn’t stop him from disliking the plan any less.

The driver watches as you put your phone away and takes this time to engage you in the typical taxi, passenger chit chat. “Parlez-vous français?” He enquires, and it takes you a moment to comprehend what he had asked. You had a slight knowledge of the French language, but it was very, very basic.

“No sorry, I don’t speak French.” You offer with a half smile, shrugging lightly as you turn your attention to the scenery blurring past you.

“Ah, a tourist then. Here for a vacation, are you? He continues, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel as he changes lanes in what would be considered a highly illegal maneuver literally anywhere else in the World.

Deciding that if you looked out the window any longer you may become motion sick, you turn your focus to staring directly at the back of the drivers head. “Mhm, I’ve always wanted to visit, go snorkelling, maybe go for a ride on one of those glass bottom boats? Who knows!” You ramble on, though nothing you say is quite a lie. In truth, you had always wanted to visit Noumea, and were supposed to when you were thirteen. You were supposed to go on a cruise to the South Pacific Islands as a birthday present, however that never quite happened. You suppose in the long run, it’s a good thing you never came here as a child, if you had, then this mission may not be going ahead. Or at least not with you at the helm.

“My cousin owns a glass bottom boat, he runs tours every day. Here, take this card, it has his details.” He pulls a crinkled business card out of his shirt pocket, and passes it back to you. You take it graciously, taking a moment to read over it before stowing it away in your bag.

“Thank you.”

As you drive through the city, the driver points out the occasional tourist attraction, to which you nod and play along with the façade you had created. Most things he says go in one ear then out the other, but there is one which catches your attention. “Over the is the hospital. Might be good to know where that is just in case.” He offers with a grin, gesturing to the large building on your left.

Your head whips around to face that direction in an instant, eyes growing wide as you drink in the sight. “That’s the hospital…” You whisper, mouth going dry as you watch the building disappear into the distance behind you.

The rest of the drive is kept in relative silence, mostly on your part. Having finally seen your destination for this mission, it all suddenly felt so real. Inside that building, which should be used for good, were two of the most vile and wicked people you know to exist. They had nearly two weeks left before they met they’re match however, and that thought alone set a chilling grin on your lips.

*****

Once you arrived at the apartment you were faced with a serious problem, a lack of keys to the front door. Surely One should’ve thought of this, he owned the fucking place! “Well that’s just great. Now what?” You hiss to yourself, glaring daggers at the wooden door that currently separated you from your new, temporary home and work space.

Reaching behind, you fish around in your bag in search of your phone. Muttering swears beneath your breath, until finally your fingers clasp onto the cool, smooth device. Scowling at the screen as you scroll through the limited contacts, you press call against One. Standing with your back leaning against the front door, one arm folded across your chest, and your left foot tapping the ground impatiently.

“Don’t tell me you’re already in trouble.” One grumbles after the sixth ring. His words causing your sour mood to only worsen.

“No I am not.” You hiss, lowering your voice to a whisper as you hear voices out on the street.

“What do you need Eight?”

“I want to know how I’m supposed to get into the bloody apartment! There’s not fucking keys!”

There’s a pause on the line for a minute or two, and for the first time ever, you realise that you’ve rendered One, the fearless leader, utterly speechless. “The keys are on the table.” His voice is mumbled, and you barely catch what he says.

“I’m sorry, what was that now?”

One groans, and you can almost picture his frustrated face, perhaps he would even be pinching the bridge of his nose… “I said, the keys are on the table, inside the apartment.”

He sounds disappointed in himself, and rightly so. “Well, that’s helpful isn’t it?”

“Don’t get sassy with me missy.”

“Why not? This is your house isn’t it? Shouldn’t you have a set of keys with you?”

“It’s one of my houses..”

“That doesn’t make this any better.”

“Did you bring your lock pick?”

“Of course I did. The question is, which bag is it in….” You mumble, gazing around at the bags you had discarded by the door.

“I think you know what to do. Good luck kid.” There’s a grin to One’s voice now, and you have half a mind to tell him off for his stupidity, however before you get the chance, the line goes dead.

With a deep sigh, you resign yourself to do the only thing you can, break in. Well technically it wasn’t breaking in, not when you were supposed to be living here, though you imagine that logic may not stand up in court if someone were to catch you in the act.

Withing ten minutes, all of your bags lay open on the ground, items of clothing strewn about the place, as you had frantically searched the brown leather pouch which housed your lockpick tools. Upon finding it, you groan at the mess you had made, stuffing everything back in the bags haphazardly, you would deal with the unorganised mess later.

Gazing around, you double then triple check that there is no one around to see you. The voices on the street had long since faded away, leaving only the sounds of birds chirping, and the distant crash of waves.  Confident you’re alone, you bow over the door handle, and begin picking the lock. It occurs to you that perhaps this was One’s plan all along. After all, he was the one to provide you with said lock picking kit. You brush that thought off, and return to the task at hand, fiddling with the handle for roughly fifteen minutes until finally you hear a click. “Eureka!” You declare quietly yet triumphantly. The door swings open, and dusty air breezes out past you, causing you to cough and sneeze. Blimey, this place must’ve been closed up for months!

Inside the apartment, you don’t take too long looking around, you’ll have time for that later. You take note of where the master bedroom is, and claim that as yours by dumping your bags atop the bed, and seek out the bathroom. With everything in order as far as you could see, you take your laptop and bring it out into the main living area where what you can only assume is your area has been set up. There are three monitors set up on a large oak desk, which looked wildly out of place in the otherwise, holiday home themed house. The largest sitting in the middle of the desk, with two smaller screens on either side. It’s not a perfect set up, but it will work for what you need, and that’s all that really matters, especially considering most of your work would be done from inside the hospital.

Settling down at the makeshift study desk, you take a final moment to glance around the apartment, spotting a set of what you presume is house keys sitting on the dining table. “Well, at least One was right about where you were.” You mutter quietly, glaring at the object in question.

*****  

Infiltrating the hospital database took far longer than you had initially expected. Over the past few weeks, you had made practice runs of worming your way into other systems for different hospitals around the world, however at no point had you thought to test your access to the hospital you actually needed entrance to. “It can’t be any different to any of the others.” You surmise, squinting at the screen before you, elbows propped up on the desk, and chin resting on your interlocked fingers. Truth be told it wasn’t that much different, not in the scheme of things, however someone, and goodness knows who, had made the entire system nearly impenetrable! Key word being nearly. However, if there was one thing you had learned after years of sneaking your way into systems you shouldn’t, it was that no matter how tricky a program may first appear, there is always a way in! And this system was no different.

One pizza delivery and three energy drinks later, the start of a migraine -which was either caused by your frustration, or the copious amounts of caffeine- and you were finally in! The hospital was, in every sense of the word, yours. The possibilities, oh the possibilities! Your first task only took a few moments, scanning through encrypted lists until you came across the one which housed the contact details for all members of staff. The list consisted of the staff members name, followed by their position of work, contact number and email, and finally a next of kin. Truly, this list looked to have been composed specifically for you and your needs. Copying the details you required for a one Mister Frank Sea, and pasting them momentarily into a word document, you move onto your second task. Page upon page you read through, jumping between links and praying that perhaps this time you had found the correct page, you finally make it to the hospital security system. You blame your caffeinated jittery hands for how long it took you to find. Once in the system, you begin changing over a few simple details, nothing too extreme that could potentially be cause for concern if anyone were to see, but the changes you made were imperative to the mission. The contact name for the security recruitment agency remained the same, however you now deleted out the previous phone number, adding in One’s phone number as planned. Finally came task three, which you had been dreading since you woke up this morning. The guilt of what you were about to do had been gnawing at you all week. You weren’t a bad person, not really; you kept telling yourself, hoping that perhaps if you said so enough, it would be true. You feared sending this email would ruin Frank, that it would destroy him… ‘It’s just business.’ You can hear One telling you, his exact words after you had both come up with this plan. “It’s just business, I’m just doing my job. It’s for the greater good.” You whisper, your voice catching in your throat. You don’t give yourself another moment to dwell on things, and instead quickly write up your email on the address you had created specifically for the mission. The email informs Frank of his urgent presence being required in Scotland to discuss the legalities of his and his wife’s separation, and custody of his children. Holding your breath, you hit send, watching impatiently until the message had left your outbox. By the time Frank would arrive in Scotland, the company you had pretended to work for would be closed for three weeks due to renovations. He would have no way of contacting them to find out why his presence was required, and of course try as he might, there was no chance he would receive a reply to any of his emails to you. So for three weeks, he would stick it out at home, arguing with his wife, all while you take over for him at the hospital.

*****

Soft pinks and oranges had begun to coat the evening sky as dusk rolled in, and for the first time in years, Four found himself staring up at the sky, envisioning a future. A future which didn’t involve hurting or killing people, no matter how evil and vile they were. Just a plain, normal future. He didn’t quite know what had brought these thoughts upon him, they were the types of thoughts he had managed to banish into the deepest parts of his mind. In fact, the last time he had thought about a normal life, was shortly after Six had died. They all mourned him of course, but the reality of losing Six had weighed down on him greatly. And for close to three months, Four had seriously considered abandoning the Ghosts, and starting a fresh life far away from them. At the time though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t leave the team. And besides, he had no where to go, and no one to run to. But now? Now was different, he had you. The two of you could run away together, leave the Ghosts, leave this life behind. Start over wherever in the world you wanted you, far away from One and his plans of revenge against those who had wronged the world….

He shook his head, the images of normalcy which had formed in his minds eye, fading away, just as the sun was. He couldn’t leave, not when this was the closest thing to a family he had had since he was a toddler. If there was one thing he knew for sure, you don’t abandon your family. His own parents had taught him that the hard way.

Carefully, Four pushed himself up from where he had been relaxing atop his trailer. His back was stiff after having been laid down for what felt like too long, but he paid it little mind. As he leapt down to the ground, a loud yell echoed throughout base.

“Will somebody answer my phone? I can’t get to it right now!” It was One, yelling at the top of his lungs from god knows where, his voice sounded muffled though.

Next came Five’s screamed reply. “Where are you then?”

“Garage!” One yelled back.

“Coming, I’ll get it!” Four watched as Five went darting across base, kicking up red dust in her haste.

For interests sake, Four made his meandering way towards the garage, just to see what was so urgent about this phone call, and why One couldn’t get it. He strolled in, hands in his pants pockets, and hood drawn over his head. His eyes darting between Five, who was reading from a script scribbled in an old notebook while on the phone, to One who’s feet were sticking out from beneath a silver Audi R8.

“Good afternoon, leader security how may I help you?” Five recited in what was either the worst or perhaps best Dolly Parton imitation Four had ever heard. “Oh sure, you need a new head of security? How soon do you need them to start?” There was a pause, and Four stepped further over to the Audi, titling his head to the left as he lifted a quizzical brow. “Asap? Well where are y’all located?... Oh I see, let me transfer you.”

“You alright down there mate?” Four smirked giving One’s foot a gentle kick.

“Yep, never better. Why do you ask?”

“Well it’s just, you’re only like, ten steps away from your phone… Not sure why you couldn’t get it yourself is all.” He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest, and rocking back on his heels.

One pauses for a few moments, selecting his next words carefully. “I just didn’t want to stop what I was doing midway through.”

Four crouched slightly, peering at the floor creeper One was reclined on beneath the car. One of the wheels had popped off entirely, while another on the same side was horrendously bent out of shape. “You’re stuck aren’t ya?”

“Yes I’m stuck.”

*****

Two hours later, your mobile rings with One’s caller ID flashing, grinning you answer with a bright smile. “Good afternoon, Leader security recruitment how may I help you?” You recite in an overly practiced voice, not that the person on the other end of the line could tell, but it sure made you feel better, knowing you weren’t about to trip over your own words. One had done just as was planned, and upon playing receptionist for the security company, had transferred the call directly to you, and now it was time to get yourself employed.

The female voice on the other end of the line begins speaking frantically, telling you about how the current head of security for her hospital had just left unexpectedly, and that they needed someone to fill in for him until they could find out when he would return.

“Ma’am, it will all be fine, I assure you. Now can you please tell me your company code?” You smile, while typing aimlessly into a word document. So long as the woman on the phone could hear you typing, you would not raise any suspicion, even if all you were typing was smiley faces. “I see, and this is a hospital based in Noumea New Caledonia, is that correct? – Mhm no problems at all. How soon do you require someone to commence?” You type out the few details she tells you which are actually important to you, before returning to the faces. “I will have to see who I have in area who may be able to assist you. One of contractors recently moved to the area I believe for a change of scenery.  May I put you on hold and see if I am able to call her?” The moment the woman agrees, you place the call on hold and laugh to yourself. The temptation to have an actual conversation with yourself just to keep the charade up is there, however considering as it had only been a few hours of you living alone, you felt you should at least attempt to keep the bouts of insanity to a minimum for now. “Hello, are you still there?” You ask a few minutes later.  “Anastasia Breaker will be available as of tomorrow morning, if you could please forward all details regarding her employment to the following email address, then she will see you in the morning.” The woman is nearly in tears as she thanks you, promising she would send the information within minutes. “Of course, no problems. Have a lovely evening, and once again, thank you for choosing leader security.”

As the phone goes silent, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms above your head. You’d done it, you were in. Or rather Anastasia was in, but no matter who’s name was on the contract, you were the one who would be doing all the work.

*****

For the next few hours, you read through the multiple emails which arrived for Anastasia Breaker, advising you of where to go tomorrow morning, and who you would be meeting upon your arrival. It was nothing too unusual, or anything unexpected, the only downside was that you had been requested to arrive at 6 am. To some that may be ok, normal even. But to you, a perpetual night owl, it felt like torture. After laying out your clothing for the following morning, to allow for a slight sleep in, you lay down in the double bed you had claimed as yours. You knew it would likely end up being shared once the others arrived, but for now, it was all yours. The lights had all been turned out, leaving you in near complete darkness. The only light was that of the shining silver moon, peering down on you through a forest of thick trees. Try as you might however, sleep seemed to escape you. Perhaps it was nerves of tomorrow and your new ‘job’, or maybe it was just the fact you were sleeping in a new bed. No matter the cause, after tossing and turning for nearly an hour, you eventually gave up. Sitting upright, you grab the burner phone off the nightstand, having left it beside you with an alarm on for the morning.

You stare down at the bare screen, so used to your own which was filled with various apps. On this phone however, there was nothing of interest to do. Your thumb hovered over your contacts, and you bite your lower lip in thought. You knew One would be furious if he found out you were using the phone as anything but emergency contacts and an alarm, but at the same time, you found yourself having a rather difficult time caring about him and what he thought while he was so far away. Finally, you press down on the contact, and listen to the phone ring on loudspeaker.

“Hello?” Four’s distinct voice carries through, and you feel a wave of comfort roll over you. His voice alone felt like home, and it almost frightened you to think that, especially considering how brief your relationship had been so far.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Oh, Oh! I’m sorry love I had no idea. This number isn’t programmed into my phone, I genuinely thought it was a telemarketer or something!” He was rambling, and you could almost see the pale crimson blush which would be creeping up his neck and cheeks, as he too realised, he was rambling.

“It’s totally fine, I’m not really supposed to be calling you. But I needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Who says you’re not supposed to call?”

“One.”

“Fuck him and his stupid rules!”

“I would really rather not.”

“You know what I mean, you idiot.” You can practically hear his eye roll through his words, and you can’t help but smile at that. At how well you know his mannerisms these days.  “How has day one gone? Everything going according to plan?”

You nod, before recalling that he can’t see you. “Yep, things seem to be rather smooth sailing for now. I’ll be starting at the hospital tomorrow morning, and from there I can get everything else set in motion.”

“That’s brilliant, at this rate it’ll all be over before we know it!”

You pause for a moment, resting the phone on the pillow beside your head. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“What’s wrong hm? You don’t sound convinced?”

Rolling over, you lay flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I suppose I’m just trying to come to terms with how quickly this is all happening, you know? Like, I feel it was just yesterday One announced who the targets were, and now suddenly I’m here? It’s all happening so fast.”

“I know exactly what you mean, I can’t quite wrap my head around it all either. But look at how far we’ve come. How far you’ve come! Remember that day when the targets were announced-“

“You mean the day I ran out of the briefing and nearly killed us both?” You interrupt, smirking slightly at the memory.

“Yes, that day. But look at you now, look at where you are! You’ve changed so much in such a short period of time. You’re far more prepared than any of us here at base are, and for us, this is either our second or third mission! For you, this is your first, and you’re already doing better than any of us could’ve imagined.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just saying it so I stop panicking?”

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life Eight, I promise.”

“Thank you, I – thank you.” You whisper, rolling to your side and looking down at the phone. You sigh deeply, closing your eyes tight before allowing them to slowly open. “Tell me something that no one else in the Ghosts knows about you.”

You hear him chuckle, a deep rumble which you wish you could wrap your arms around him and feel as it flowed through you. “Do you want something to laugh at?”

“Yes, I don’t want to cry tonight. Make it funny.”

Four hums to himself, and you curl around your pillow, cradling the phone near your chest. “Right, here’s one. Bet you didn’t know I have a criminal record as an arsonist!”

He sounds proud of himself, and for the life of you, you can’t fathom why. “You what now?”

“It was my first charge, long before the cops ever figured out I was stealing, which I had been doing for years before this occurred.”

“How long have you been a thief, Four?”

“A long while… But that’s a story for another time. This is about fire lord me!”

You groan, rolling your eyes at the nickname he had given himself, while leaving a mental note to ask him about his past one day, when you weren’t in the middle of a mission.

“I was maybe 15 or 16, and was with this girl who I thought was made of pure heaven. I practically worshiped the ground she walked on, and daydreamed about her all day every day. To her though, I was a kid who was a year or two younger than her, and she just loved the attention, not matter who it came from. I knew she only spent a month with each of her boyfriends, but naive young me thought that maybe I could convince her to be with me forever. Spoiler alert, that didn’t work out. One night I decided to surprise her when she came home from dance lessons, her parents were out of town for the week, and I figured I would make a romantic evening for the two of us, and would allow her to be my first.” He pauses for a moment, as if wanting to see if you wanted to hear where this was going.

“It’s fine Four, just keep telling the story.” You giggle, shaking your head softly at where this was all going.

“Well I got super fancy, ordered takeout because heaven knows I cannot cook, even managed to nick a bottle of champagne from the local liquor store. It was cheap nasty stuff now that I think about it, but at the time, I felt very grown up. I lit candles all over her townhouse, there were some in the kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms and even the kitchen. I think I went through an entire matchbook that night. So finally she gets home, and I’m nervous as hell. Legs jittery, forehead sweaty, and look the exact opposite of sexy like I had hoped for. She’s all smiles, and even thanks me for setting up a lovely evening.  After we eat, she steps outside to have a smoke, and I clean up in the kitchen. The next thing I know, she’s shouting from the front door, and then the smoke alarming is blaring throughout the house. I run outside, and find her staring up at the second floor at her bedroom window, where billows of dark smoke are seeping out. Turns out, she had a cat I didn’t know about, and the fucker knocked down one of the candles, it landed near her bedroom curtains, and the flames engulfed pretty much the entire room. Cops and firemen came, shockingly they didn’t believe me when I said it was the cat. And the fact that I had been in her home without her for so long didn’t help my argument either….”

“Oh my goodness, so you were actually innocent? The cat got you a record?” You laugh, pressing your palm to your forehead.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. That cat is the reason I don’t do romantic anymore.” He grumbled playfully.

“Aw, and why’s that? Cat got your tongue?!” You chortle, you were definitely borderline tired now, because to you, that was officially the funniest pun in the world.

“Oh dear, oh no…. Eight that was terrible, please never say anything like that again.”

“Aww, come on! It was funny!”

“No love, no it wasn’t.”

There’s no use in arguing the point, you knew you were funny and that was all that mattered. “Fine, I’ll stop with the cat puns especially seeing as you’re not feline it…”

‘You are very annoying, you know that right?”

“Of course, but it’s part of my appeal!”

“Whatever you say. But I do think You need some sleep, because you sound hella tired right now.”

As if on que, a yawn slips from your lips, giving away just how tired you now were. “You may be right.”

“Good night love, good luck tomorrow. I know you’ll be amazing.”

You smile at his words, tracing your finger along the edge of the phone. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Ok.”

You end the call, and place the phone back on the nightstand. As you allowed your eyes to drift shut, you can’t help but feel just that little bit more confident that things were going just as they were planned.

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Chapter Eleven here!

[spandexinspace]

Missing What's You

Technically meant for Thursday, but it is what it is.

Querl didn’t know why he went back there. Didn’t even think about it until he stepped out of the shuttle and onto the tarmac below, still hot in the waning light of the winter sun. He didn’t want to think about the sun.

The city of Ard was as still as ever, the streets below the tall, sand-coloured spires near empty even in the early evening hours. He ambled down them, letting his feet lead the way rather than his head. There was a dull ache in his chest, like a hole that threatened to collapse in on itself and suffocate him in the process. It had been there since he got the news and normally he would be able to ignore it and shut out whatever part hurt, but doing that would mean shutting out her.

He had thought through his options many times, letting his brain run through the probabilities over and over again as if that would change them. The idea of going back there to save her had never left his mind, but even if he could have managed that without destroying the entire universe he could still have endangered time itself. To change something so major would create a ripple effect that could cause incalculable amounts of damage to it or even split it wide open. He would have accepted any personal risk in a heartbeat, thrown himself fully into it for no more than one more moment in her presence, but he couldn’t sacrifice everything else too. Sacrificing others to fulfil your own selfish desires would never be justifiable, especially not for someone like him.

He must have walked for an hour or two when he came to a stop in front of the Hall of Memories, not quite sure how he got there, yet unsurprised. It towered at the edge of the city and the sea lapped at its foundations. Someday the sandy stone would erode away completely and the hall would plunge into the waves below, but for now, and for millennia to come, the building remained standing. The similarities did not escape his notice.

As he entered the building the doors slid shut behind him, which plunged the space into total silence. Rows after rows of narrow drive racks took up most of the room, lit only by dull, yellow lights above and whatever twilight could make its way in through the frosted windows. He made his way through the space and paid little attention to the racks or their labels as he retraced his own steps from many years ago. Floor two, row five, rack six. He ascended a set of stairs and made his way through the rows, stopping in front of one of them. His eyes landed on a label in the middle of the rack. “Kajz Dox, negotiator” it read in crisp, precision cut letters. Querl ran his fingers across the lettering, felt the cool metal beneath them. This drive was not his father, it was merely a collection of data that could create a digital representation of his father, stored here for ColuGov’s convenience. But if he’d still been allowed to access the SleepNET he could have spoken to him. It would have felt real, even if it wasn’t.

He couldn’t say the same for her. She had been lost in a pointless battle a thousand years before he could ever do anything for her. It wouldn’t have been impossible to record her before she left, maybe he could even have convinced her to come here if he hadn’t been such a rigid coward. Limited as it was the Hall was still a better option than being forgotten and he could have helped her. He would at least have had more to work with than a gigantic hole in his chest that seared like acid every time he as much as tried to do anything more than sleep or bury himself in pointless busywork.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Querl tensed and turned around, coming face to face with a short, dark-haired woman.

“Dox. I thought you were banished,” she said. Her voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Probably a caretaker of some sort from his childhood, he’d never bothered to memorise them.

“It was a temporary measure.” She pressed her lips together and did not smile.

“I see. What brings you here?”

“Am I not allowed to visit the site of my father’s memories?” he asked. He was unsure if he was. Colu rarely shied away from placing forbidden things behind locked doors, but they also didn’t shy away from inventing new rules just for him.

“It is allowed.” She opened her mouth once more, but closed it again, as if she thought better of continuing. Querl turned away from her and once more fixed his gaze on the rack.

"You do realise that you brought this onto yourself, do you not?" she said after a while, her voice measured and flat.

"Did I now."

"Yes. High Command informed us that you had lost one of your short lived acquaintances and appeared to be returning here because this loss has affected you greatly,” she said. “If you had heeded any of our advice you would not have compromised your emotional integrity in this fashion. Perhaps you would even have been able to save your friend, had you not decided to forgo logical reasoning in favour of aleatory recklessness." These sentiments were familiar to him. Under normal circumstances they would have made him angry, he’d spat and screamed and maybe even swung at anyone who spoke like that. But he didn’t feel like that then, he only felt like his limbs were too heavy and the hole in his chest ached.

“I suppose you are still a child though. Perhaps you will come to realise the foolishness of your actions one day.” She walked away and her soft footsteps were soon swallowed up by the silence.

He hadn’t realised his vision had become unfocused and it took a few seconds for him to readjust. A last glance at his father’s name tag was enough to convince him he had seen and heard enough of the Hall for years to come and he turned to leave. Yet her words continued to echo inside him as he made his way outside. Not allowing himself to feel, to revert into the safety of what was cold and logical would get rid of the ache, that much was true.

Once outside he leaned against the railing next to the Hall and turned towards the now dark sea, well past reflecting the vivid shades of twilight but not yet lit by the lights of the moons. His father had taken him to the sea often as a child and they had spent long hours in the surf, much to his youthful and inquisitive delight. He should have taken her there. She was never able to see it, but he knows she would have loved it too, would have urged him to come into the shallows with her and listened as he told her about all the tiny organisms that lived there, far away from the complicated rules of the beings on the surface. They would have sat together on the hot sand, would have looked up at and compared stars he could never see quite as well as she did. She would have been perfect and bright and he would have loved her more than anything else.

If living beyond Colu had thought him anything it was that feelings were complex. To pick safety would get rid of the hurt, but he would also have to give up all that. The warmth they shared, the feelings she still brought to him even after all that had happened. Logically he shouldn’t long for it, but there was more to the world than logic. And he would bear the ache if it kept the warmth alive.

[outerjjbx]

Mayward Week 2020

Day 7: free choice

Songfic: You Were Drunk by Anthony Amorim

Pope stares at the hammock, watching smoke curl around JJ’s figure and twist into the trees. The blond is laughing, telling a story Pope isn’t paying attention to. He usually hangs onto to every one of JJ’s words, hooked on the way they spill from his lips like they’re desperate to get out, but this time is different. All Pope can focus on is that smoke, that God-forsaken smoke, and the way it spills out just like the words do, like a visual representation of JJ’s thoughts.

He usually hates it when JJ smokes weed. He hates it when any of his friends do, really. He thinks it’s stupid. Why would they risk getting caught by a cop that already hates them, just for a few minutes of dazed oblivion? They’re crazy when they’re high, too, especially JJ. Apparently weed is supposed to relax people, but it does the opposite to JJ. He bounces of the walls when he’s high.

This time is different. He’s just swaying in the hammock, one hand holding the joint near his head while the other brushes by the beer on the ground almost protectively. His head is craned, eyes closed as he speaks. The moonlight is reflecting off of the water, dotting it with white specks and making it almost indistinguishable from the night sky. JJ seems as if he’s just floating in space, completely at peace.

Time passes too fast, and Pope spends the entire time staring at JJ. He doesn’t realise how long it’s been until John B and Kiara are already inside, probably passed out, and JJ is staring back.

“Hey, man,” the blond grins. “Can you- can you get me another beer from the cooler? I’m all out.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Pope replies, forcing a chuckle into his words.

JJ shrugs and lets out a heavy breath. “I’m- you- can you come here?”

Pope blanks, barely processing the words. “What?”

“Come here,” JJ repeats. “I want- I mean, I’m cold. Just come here.”

Pope stares for a few more seconds, this time trying to decipher what exactly JJ is asking for. He brushes aside his confusion and stands, making his way towards his friend. He’s about to climb into the hammock with his head on the opposite side of JJ’s; how they usually are, but a hand around his wrist stops him.

JJ blinks slowly. Pope thinks of a cat, and how they blink slowly when they trust people. Pope isn’t sure if JJ trusts him, though. Not when still insists on lying about the dried blood on his lower lip and the purple splatter of a bruise on his cheekbone.

“Can you-” JJ hesitates, struggling to get the words out. Instead, he motions to the space beside him.

Pope’s breath catches in his throat. He freezes, unsure of what to do, before nodding and falling into the space beside JJ. His heart is racing, his hands trembling. JJ looks calm as he rolls over, his face resting on Pope’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a few minutes. Pope is telling himself to relax, relax, relax, because he wants to enjoy this, but all he can do is lay tensely as JJ breathes against the fabric of his shirt. They’ve always been affectionate, always been close, but this is different. This isn’t JJ kissing his cheek to tease him or wrapping an arm around his shoulders. This is different.

Different is scary. JJ is drunk and high, too out of it to feel awkward, and Pope is almost jealous of him. He would do anything to just calm down and enjoy being so close to the most beautiful person in the world.

“I want to kiss you,” JJ mumbles.

Pope nearly chokes, his voice hoarse as he speaks. “You- you what?”

JJ continues as if he never even heard him, his words slurred. “Have for a while. You’re- you’re so pretty, Pope.”

Pope feels his heart seize uncomfortably, and for a moment he’s pretty sure he’s about to pass out. There are butterflies in his throat, choking him, stopping him from speaking, but he doesn’t even know what he could say.

JJ lifts his head and Pope turns his, and suddenly their noses are almost touching. Pope can still smell the smoke he was so infatuated with earlier. That’s what draws him back to reality, and he closes his eyes, exhaling softly as his muscles loosen.

“Can I kiss you?” JJ asks, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Pope wants to reply. He wants to say yes, to nod, to do anything, but all he manages is opening his mouth, his words stuck on his tongue. JJ seems to understand, though, because JJ always understands, and leans forward until their lips meet.

JJ kisses gently, carefully, and Pope feels himself get lost in it. He’s fallen into JJ’s oblivion, into the peace he feels among the stars. His heart bursts into flowery flames, and it’s the same feeling as when he successfully rode his first wave, or when he gets 100 on a test, but still so much better. It’s indescribable, and his mind is racing as he searches for any logical definition for whatever the fuck he is feeling.

They break for air but return without a second thought. They’re working in synch now, together, and it feels like they can read each others’ minds. Pope doesn’t even have to think about it as he opens his mouth; as JJ slides his fingers into his hair; as he rolls on top of the blond, his leg slotted between JJ’s.

Pope’s never made out with anyone before. He expected it to be awkward, to be bumped-noses and bitten lips. But everything with JJ has always been so natural, so smooth, that it almost feels as if this is a daily occurrence. He cards his hands through JJ’s hair, tightens against the strands, and genuinely feels as if he’s ascended to heaven.

They pull away, both out of breath. Pope’s eyes are wide and calculating, trying to memorise every aspect of the blond’s face. JJ’s are the opposite; hooded, concentrated on the way the moonlight reflects off of Pope’s irises, completely at peace.

“Cool,” JJ whispers, and his just-kissed lips spread into a smile, and Pope is reminded of just how drunk his friend is.

His heart is heavy as he grits his teeth and swallows, feeling dread set in his chest as he wonders what will happen next. JJ is a blackout drunk. He does impulsive things, things he always regrets. He rants, or he cuddles, or, apparently, he makes out with his friends.

JJ isn’t going to kiss Pope when he’s sober. And if he remembers what they did, he might not even talk to him. What if they’ve fucked everything up? What if Pope has fucked everything up? He isn’t nearly as gone as JJ. He’s a little buzzed, and he’s probably going to wake up with a headache, but he knew what he was doing when he leant in. What if JJ didn’t?

A shiver runs down Pope’s spine. He’s still staring at JJ, but it’s gone from awestruck to panicked. He isn’t sure if the blond has noticed; he hopes he hasn’t. Pope blinks and inhales deeply, letting the oxygen blossom in his lungs and untie the knot of anxiety in his chest. He can worry about this later. He doesn’t have to think about it yet. Right now, in the hammock, in a sea of stars, he doesn’t have to think at all.

Pope forces a light chuckle and lets his head fall to the space between JJ’s shoulder and jaw. “Cool.”

“I’m so tired,” JJ mumbles, voice low.

“Me too,” Pope agrees, eyelids growing heavy. He somehow feels both awake and asleep; both energised and exhausted. He breathes in JJ’s scent, the strong smell of weed and surfboard wax now comforting, and lets himself relax into it.

The hammock sways, the breeze rocking them both into deep, comfortable sleeps. They lay together, protected by cicadas and the soft sounds of the water behind them. For a few hours, as their breathing matches and they dream of one another, angry fathers and scholarship deadlines don’t matter.

Nothing matters until the morning, when JJ flinches awake, and Pope has to open his eyes. It takes a moment to think and remember through the pounding in his skull, and once he does, he practically falls out of the hammock.

JJ does the same. They stand there for a moment, on opposite sides, breathing heavily. JJ’s eyes are darting around, flicking between the hammock, Pope, the hammock, Pope, and again and again.

“Do you remember?” Pope asks, voice scratchy and rough from sleep.

“I-” JJ pauses, and he stills for just a moment. Pope can tell that he’s thinking it over, milling every option and outcome he can conjure. He looks up. “No.”

He’s lying. Pope knows he’s lying, and it hurts more than he thought it would. He nods and twists around the trees, making his way towards the Chateau. He passes Kiara on the pullout and eyes John B in his room, both of them sleeping peacefully.

The bathroom is small and dirty, but it’s enough for Pope to slide against the wall and rest his head in his hands. He breathes consciously, in and out, in and out, in and out, and focuses on that. He’s been through this so many times, freaking out on John B’s bathroom floor over fucking JJ, but this time is different. It’s always JJ doing something reckless, something stupid, something dangerous.

But it’s not so different, is it? JJ is impulsive. He does things without thinking them through. He never thinks things through. Pope is supposed to be the one that stops things, that keeps his friends in check. So why didn’t he this time?

He’s selfish. He’s selfish enough to kiss back, to not put an end to it, to not be sensible enough to realise that kissing Pope was just another one of JJ’s stupid decisions. He doesn’t know how they’re supposed to come back from this. How they’re ever going to be the same.

It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. Pope is slipping, collapsing, breaking, and it’s his own fault. JJ was drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing. Pope was more sober than him. He was more conscious. He was more capable of stopping them.

JJ was drunk.

[mythicamagic]

Sesskag week Day 4: Comedy

Summary: Kagome resolves to snap a photo of the infamous Killing Perfection, which proves more difficult than expected. Oneshot.

AN: For Sesskag Week Day 4 - Comedy.

Rated T 

2,900 words

(all prompts posted on Ao3, fanfic.net and Dokuga)

Camera Shy

To the surprise of pretty much all who knew her, Kagome pursued art and photography in those three years away from the feudal era. In fact, even after the well re-opened, she continued to take classes, often creating life-like drawings from whatever photos she'd taken.

After joining everyone on a warm spring day for a picnic, Shippo had innocently inquired;

"What's that, Kagome?" pointing at a square black box hanging around her neck.

Grinning, she tapped it with pride.

"This is my instant polaroid camera. Very vintage, very hipster- some might say," she giggled, noting everyone's puzzled looks. Raising it, she took a snap of the fox demon, who yelped and ducked behind Sango's leg.

Crouching down, Kagome held out the photo once it had slid from the camera, shaking it gently and showing him the blank space that slowly filled with his image.

"Fascinating," Miroku hummed, while Sango nodded in awe. Inuyasha merely snorted, unimpressed since he'd been exposed to so much future tech already.

Kaede gasped, staring at the picture with mild concern.

"You have imprisoned him."

"What? No-" Kagome smiled and shook her head. "It's just a photo. Kind of like a painting. I feel bad that I never took any before but I was always so busy with Naraku or studying for tests."

Taking the photo gingerly, Shippo grinned at himself. He then beamed brighter and tugged on Kagome's sleeve. "Let's go show Rin!"

---

After taking various photos that would make a historian lose their mind, Kagome sat back within Kaede's hut and sketched some snapshots. She quietly giggled at the candid pictures; Inuyasha caught mid-yawn, exposing his thick fangs. Miroku studying a scroll while holding his youngest son, who drooled all over his robes, Kirara playing with a ball of yarn, Sango teaching her daughter a style of kickboxing, or Shippo trying to cram an entire sandwich in his mouth at once.

While looking through them, however, one particular figure seemed to be missing among her collection.

Approaching the stoic demon lord with perhaps a little too much familiarity and enthusiasm, Kagome smiled at him as he peacefully reclined against a tree.

"Sesshoumaru," she raised her camera slightly from where it hung around her neck. "I don't know if you've noticed on your visits but lately I've been taking-"

"Photos. Rin showed me some."

Kagome stopped and hummed. He caught on fast. And judging by how warily he eyed her camera, the answer to her question simmering right on the edge of her tongue would be a big fat no.

"Right! Sooo I've taken photos of just about everyone now," dragging her sneaker back and forth over the dirt, a hopeful smile graced her mouth. "All except you."

"No."

Ah, no use in sugar-coating it, huh?

Kagome rose a brow and folded her arms. "May I ask why?"

Giving a sigh that bespoke of his annoyance with having to explain himself, Sesshoumaru idly studied sharp nails. "I do not believe you have earned it."

Out of all the things she'd expected him to say, that wasn't on the extensive list. "I haven't earned a picture of you?"

"Hn."

Smiling slightly, she sized him up. "And what do I need to do in order to get a snap of the illustrious Lord Sesshoumaru?"

Golden eyes slanted up at her and crinkled at the edges in slight amusement. Kagome's insides went all warm for some reason, cheeks reddening. "You needn't do anything grand. This one is merely discontent with letting you capture a picture of me so easily. I will not forbid you from trying, however."

Kagome tried to follow his line of logic, experimentally shifting- before grabbing her camera and rapidly pressing the button.

Sesshoumaru blurred away from his spot.

Jolting, the miko whipped her head around, grasping her photo and watching as it cleared to reveal a plain tree. No Daiyoukai in sight.

A piquant scent filled her next inhale. Kagome's skin pricked, hot breath dancing over the nape of her neck.

"Do you understand now, miko?" he rumbled.

"Y-yeah," glancing at him over her shoulder, she tried in vain to ignore the heat in her cheeks and pleasant twinge in her lower stomach. "Sure, I'll play your game- and win too."

Confidence clung to Sesshoumaru like a second skin as he tilted his chin up, the ghost of a smile curling his mouth. "Hn."

---

The next time Lord Sesshoumaru deigned to grace the village with his presence, Kagome was ready. Having memorised his visiting schedule with Rin long before, she lay in wait within the trees.

Grinning sharply, she let out an evil laugh reminiscent of Naraku's 'kukukuku.'

Straddling a tree branch and hearing Shippo's signal (a whistle from further away in the trees) Kagome tightened both legs around her perch and held the camera, holding still. It had only taken a few lollipops to persuade the kitsune to help.

Heart thundering and eagle-eyed, Kagome waited with bated breath for any sign of the Daiyoukai wandering below en-route to the village.

Upon glimpsing the tell-tale red and white silks and silver hair, Kagome swung herself down. Gripping the branch hard with her legs, dark hair flew up, leaves being knocked free and cascading around her as she appeared before him, hanging upside down.

With a smirk, she struck her finger onto the button- just as Sesshoumaru blurred through the air, palm closing over the lens.

Kagome squeaked, mouth falling open. Her gaze slid from camera to Daiyoukai, who gazed at her, face quite close to hers. Thin lips then curved down, but from her flipped perspective, she realised the jerk was smirking at her.

Kagome's legs then lost their grip. Yelping, the miko dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing hard at his feet in a sprawl of limbs. Letting out a long groan, Kagome patted around, hands empty. Something light was then placed onto the crown of her head. Reaching up, she felt the camera and frowned just as Sesshoumaru smoothly stepped over her body and sauntered away, continuing on without a care in the world.

Growling, Kagome sat up, rubbing her throbbing skull.

Shippo burst from the trees and landed beside her. "Ahh that was a colossal failure! You okay Kagom-"

A giggle slid out from the miko, shoulders shaking. Shippo's tail puffed up, observing her wide smile with slight unease.

"Heh, he's pretty good," she flashed a sharp grin, cheeks glowing. "This is fun. Who knew such a stuffy guy could be playful."

Shippo tilted his head to the side, not exactly understanding but smiling anyway. "Let's go with plan B!" he encouraged.

Kagome nodded with determination.

---

Typically during the afternoon portion of his visit, Sesshoumaru would leave Rin to her duties and go recline against a tree situated near a small lake, sometimes reading. Following this ritual, the Daiyoukai now sat at the base of a tree and drew up one knee. Drinking in the quiet serenity of the picturesque scenery, Sesshoumaru leaned his head back and looked out at the glittering water-

-only to notice a reed moving.

Raising a brow, he blinked. Relaxed muscles then stiffened, and he reacted seconds before Kagome lunged up from within the water, a waterproof camera in hand and reed clutched between her teeth as a breathing tube.

Yanking her camera up, Kagome's victorious expression changed the second she registered red youki cloaking his form, curling around it like a thick mist.

By the time his energy dissipated, a giant silver furred inuyoukai towered above her.

Blue eyes widened, which only caused the smirk to grow wider on his feral jaws. Sesshoumaru slammed a paw down into the water.

Yelping, Kagome was soon consumed in a mini tidal wave.

By the time she'd surfaced, coughing and minding slick hair away from her face, the dog demon had trotted away, tail swishing behind him with an arrogant flair. Kagome glared and trudged to shore, leaving soggy footsteps on the sand.

"Uh...Plan C?" Shippo chanced weakly, hopping out of some bushes.

Kagome nodded, sputtering some lake water from her mouth. "Plan C."

---

The way she figured, Sesshoumaru was one of the fastest beings alive. Yet with every attempt to take his photo, he'd not turned tail and ran once, instead meeting her head-on.

This led her to believe that if she could distract him with enough things, he'd stay rooted to the spot out of sheer bullheaded pride but be too overwhelmed to react as she took a photo.

With all this in mind, Kagome adjusted the bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder before gripping a saddle and unsteadily climbing onto the back of a horse.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Shippo said, tail twitching worriedly as he gazed up at the tall steed.

"Kaede said she didn't mind me borrowing her horse, I don't see the problem," Kagome wobbled and clutched at the reins.

"But you don't even know how to ride a horse!"

"I know the basics," she huffed, clicking her tongue and urging the horse into a walk. "See? Easy. Now, let's just do this as we practised and it'll run smoothly," touching the camera hanging around her neck, she grinned.

The fox demon hurried alongside the horse to keep up with her. "When we practised you weren't on a horse," he mumbled worriedly. "Can we go through it again, just to check?"

"Oh alright, worry-wort," Kagome smiled. "Sesshoumaru is going to come from that direction," she pointed further along the dirt road. "You'll burst out of the forest and turn into a smoke bomb to disorientate him. I'm going to come galloping by and release one of these," Kagome touched the fletching of an arrow. "Which has been modified to be soft pointed and filled with a strong perfume that'll release on contact. This'll temporarily daze him further while the smoke clears- and when that happens, I'll loop around him and snap my picture."

Shippo continued on all-fours, frowning to himself. "I'm still not too confident in my smoke bomb illusion though."

"I know you can do it," she smiled. "Don't sell yourself short."

"But maybe something else would work better, like this-" he hopped up and burst into his floating pink ball form with a loud 'pop!'

The horse suddenly reared, making a whinny of distress, eyes wide with fright. Kagome gasped, clinging to it's back and yelping as it bolted.

Shippo gaped and popped back into his regular form, watching her image draw further away at a breakneck speed. "Kagome!"

Squeezing her eyes shut and feeling the horse gallop with powerful strides that threatened to knock her off, all she could do was cling to its neck. The reins flailed in the air- and if she could just grab them and pull the beast to halt, maybe he would stop. Kagome whimpered, body jolting from the movement. Cracking open fearful blue eyes and trying to reach for them- she felt her thigh slip slightly. Quickly abandoning that idea, she clung like a madwoman, tears stinging her lashes from the breeze racing by.

I screwed up! This was a terrible idea!

Looking ahead of them with mild disorientation caused her breath to hitch the second she caught sight of a pale figure. She stiffened.

Sesshoumaru stood on the road. They were headed right for him!

"Sesshoumaru!" she cried, trying to get across to move aside.

The Daiyoukai observed them with a frosty expression, slowly raising his claws.

Noticing the toxins colouring them green, her eyes widened. "Don't hurt him!" she burst. The fault lay with her, not the horse.

Sesshoumaru's eyes flickered with mild frustration. He then leapt up in the air to avoid a collision, floating above their heads. The sight of him became blurry because of tear-filled eyes, and Kagome ducked her head into the horse's mane.

Speeding before them again and landing, Sesshoumaru then drew his sword. Lifting it- he then slammed the blade into the earth. Bakusaiga emitted a large burst of green youki, skittering over the ground in a wide arch that flashed like minty lightning.

The horse skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt and neighing, rearing back on hind legs. Kagome gasped, unprepared for the movement- but clinging hard.

Slamming both hooves down and whickering, the horse panted wildly, finally still. Feeling hands slide under her numb thighs and wrap around her torso, Kagome stiffly unfolded from the saddle, placing her hands on broad shoulders as she was lifted down.

Kagome buried her face in the demon's neck, shuddering violently. She muffled sobs into his flesh, gripping his exquisite silks so tight her knuckles bled white.

Sesshoumaru held her without a word, nose dipping into windswept dark hair.

When Shippo finally caught up, having pursed on all fours, he jumped up into her arms and wailed louder than she, crying and nuzzling the frazzled miko.

Calming and smiling tiredly, she petted his soft red hair, looking up at Sesshoumaru. He gazed back, face closer than expected. He then shifted mokomoko beneath her legs to support her weight, picking up the reins of the horse and leaving the road.

"Are you angry with me?" she muttered, feeling the tension in his frame.

"Answer me this; can you ride horses?"

"N-no..."

"Then you were foolish," Sesshoumaru bit out. "But one cannot completely predict horses. I do not care for them," he threw a glare over his shoulder at the steed dutifully following them. He then released a hard exhale through his nose, levelling a frown at her. "Never do something so ridiculous again for a game, miko. My picture is not worth injury...or worse."

Kagome rested her cheek against his furs, looking up at him and feeling a twinge in her chest. His worry felt better than any blanket and hot cocoa could right then.

Noticing what direction he headed in, Kagome touched a striped cheek. "L-let's not head to the village just yet. I'd rather...calm down in the forest somewhere."

Sesshoumaru rose a brow but nodded, feet shifting and changing direction, walking beneath the shadows of the trees.

---

She felt glad of the quiet, the calm serenity surrounding their afternoon after all the chaos earlier. The horse grazed within a clearing near the lake, seeming to comfort eat. Shippo had fallen asleep, curled into a ball at her side. Kagome quietly sketched with a notebook and pencil in hand, sitting against a tree. Opposite her, Sesshoumaru reclined against his own, gazing at the scenery with a touch of daydream hazing his eyes. The light bathed his hair in a gentle glow, eyes the colour of milky honey instead of the usual burning embers.

So lost in thought was he that Kagome smiled. She then cleared her throat to gain his languid attention, turning the sketchbook around so that the page faced him.

"I win," she said softly.

Surprise slackened his expression, attention flitting over the paper where his likeness lay with impressive attention to detail. The pencil shading captured the soft shadows of his face, the richer, darker tones coloured his chest armour. Even the long silver hair looked sublime, life-like. Somehow the minute details and the idea of her watching- staring at him for so long made his ancient blood heat.

He realised, somewhat belatedly, that this was what he'd sought. Not a quick, cheap snap of a camera, but her willing and arrested attention upon his face.

Sesshoumaru dragged his gaze from the picture to dancing blue eyes.

"Indeed."

Kagome smiled, turning the picture back to gaze at it with affection.

"Why did you desire a picture of this one so badly?" he asked.

Not looking up, she brushed a thumb over the sketches pointed ear. "I like having pictures of my friends. Besides, this is yours now. A thank you gift for saving me."

Sesshoumaru observed her carefully, noticing the quiet fondness gentling her features as she looked at the picture instead of him. Because it was safer than gazing at him.

"Let me see it up close," Sesshoumaru uttered.

Kagome raised her head and blinked but nonetheless rose and walked over. The second she crouched before him- a clawed hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist and tugging.

This resulted in her body swaying forward, nose stopping inches from his as she squeaked.

"You seem to find satisfaction in looking at this one, miko," his voice curled into a teasing tone. "Perhaps this proximity is preferable."

Kagome's mouth turned dry, heart thundering. Setting the sketchbook down and shifting her knees beneath her, she nodded with a shy smile. "Y-yeah...it is. I'm glad you noticed," she murmured, placing her hands on the cool, steady metal of his chest plate. When she did not pull away in rejection, Sesshoumaru's clawed hand slid possessively to her waist. An aristocratic nose brushed hers, mouth hovering close.

"Do you do this with your friends too?"

She huffed, blushing. "No, only with crushes."

Thin lips tugged up at the edges before spreading wider with victory, flashing a fang. Kagome found it perfectly endearing. A rare, beautiful moment she wished she could capture forever. But, as the Daiyoukai guided her mouth to his wickedly grinning one, she figured they had plenty of opportunities to repeat such a soft moment, however many times they wished.

End

[chairismaticchair]

Star Crossed Enemies

Happy Holidays @yellowartistsunshine ! @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary:  When two rival theatre majors get cast as the leads in "Romeo and Juliet", something blossoms between them. Something beautiful.

This is Roceit, there are some swears. I had lots of fun writing this, especially since this was my first roceit fic!

If Roman despised a single person in the world with all his body and soul, that would be Janus Taylor. He hated how snagging lead roles in plays and musicals always became a fight between them. He hated how smug Janus constantly acted. He hated his stupidly posh accent that was only really obvious when he was on stage performing Shakespeare. He hated how he couldn't have any straight (not that it was possible with Roman any other way) or slightly logical conversation with Janus. He hated him, from the tip of his dumb black beanie, to the soles of his beige loafers. Overall, he hated Janus.

Whenever they passed in the college, there would be a flurry of middle fingers and middle-school-grade insults like "shit head" and "dumbass" thrown about with as much malice as two theatre majors could. They seemed to lose all common sense when in the mere vicinity of each other, instead becoming caricatures of theatre rivals. Arguably, that was exactly what they were.

"Taylor." Roman spat out. "I heard the LGBTQ+ Club's  putting up another play soon. Suppose you're going to want the lead role. But it's mine." He declared, as if no one had expected Roman Diaz Santos to want the lead role. 

Decei - shit sorry, Janus hissed back. "I heard it's gonna be Shakespeare, and guess who always gets Shakespeare roles? Me. Shithead." He added the “shithead” as an afterthought, as if this was his first rivalry and he had almost forgotten rule #315 of the Rivalry Book of Rivals.

They then tossed each other middle fingers like mutual salutes and marched off, heads held up high and refusing to turn back.

"Man, Janus really is a dick isn't he?" Roman complained to his best friend Virgil Teo, who sighed.

"Yes, Roman. Just like the -" He pulled out a notebook and made a little mark. "534 other times you've told me. This year. I don't even know what's that bad about him." 

"Well of course you don't get it. You two dated freshman year. Honestly, I thought you had better taste."

"And I do. That's why we broke up." Virgil slapped Roman's shoulder playfully. "Who are you to insult my dating life? You haven't had a single date since the start of college."

"I've had dates." Roman protested.

"Bad dates, Princey. Those don't count. Maybe you could send it to the Guinness World Records."

Roman gasped in mock annoyance. "How dare you, Virgil.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Anyways, I just want to find my soulmate. They’re out there, I can just feel it. A Juliet or Julien to my Romeo.”

"You're always are full of bullshit, aren't you, Roman?"

---

Patton, a senior, walked up to the front of the leture theatre and tapped the teacher on the shoulder. He whispered something in her ear and the teacher sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose frustratedly. "Hi! The LGBTQ+ Club is putting up two Shakespeare plays for this November! The first one will be a gay Romeo and Juliet, called Romeo and Julien. The other will be a sapphic 'Much Ado about Nothing'. Audition sign ups start next week Monday and end on Friday! Thank you!" Patton was very chirpy for 8 a.m. .

Now, this was when shit hit the fan and our story gets exciting. Roman turned to Virgil enthusiastically. "I'm totally auditioning for Romeo." Meanwhile, all students in the near vicinity who wanted Romeo's role sighed in unison.

Across the lecture theatre, Janus turned to his friend Remus excitedly. "I'm auditioning for Julien! This is gonna be great."

"For fucks sake." Someone in the near vicinity groaned and his friend patted his back sympathetically. 

---

Roman sat outside the auditorium, swinging his feet while waiting for his turn to audition. Walking down the corridor, Janus turned to Roman and picked up the chair beside him. He moved 6 feet away and plopped the chair down.

"So, Santos." He started, staring intensely at the auditorium door.

Roman found his shoes absolutely riveting. "Yeah?"

"What role are you auditioning for?" 

Tapping the side of his chair, Roman said, "The lead one, obviously."

"Oh." Janus paused and turned to look directly at Roman. Sticking out his hand, he gave him a slight smile. "Well may the best one win."

Roman took the hand hesitantly. "Yeah Janus. Break a leg."

---

The large board outside the auditorium was a crowd favourite among students. It was constantly updated with rehearsal times, casting choices and upcoming performances, you know, the classic cool stuff.

Roman and Janus were the first to arrive at the board and glanced at each other before looking down the corridor with longing. 

A boy with big circular wire framed glasses bounded down the corridor, an A4 paper in his hand. He waved excitedly at the two in front of him. "Hi Roman! Hi Janus! Waiting for results?"

The two nodded in synchronisation. 

"Oh, well I got them here!" He got out a stapler and stapled the paper to the board, the sleeves of his turquoise hoodie large and dangly. 

Romeo: Roman Diaz Santos

Julien: Janus Taylor

The two boys turned to each other in horror.

"Y - you mean -"

"You thought-"

"Julien."

"Romeo."

"WAS THE LEAD ROLE?"

The boy, Patton, looked at them in amusement. "Well, you both got main roles, so congrats! Rehearsals start in two weeks and I'll give you guys your scripts tomorrow. Have fun!" 

He patted them both on the back before heading off, skip in his step.

Janus and Roman turned to look at each other in horror once more. 

---

There is a moment in one's life, where they will reflect on everything they have done, and wonder what mistakes they had made to lead them down this path. As Roman flipped through the script Patton had handed him, that was exactly what he was doing. "You mean to say, I have to kiss this - this snake 5 times? Outrageous. Unacceptable."

They sat in a circle, everyone who participated in the play knee against knee. It was far too close for comfort and Roman was probably going to vomit onto the rest of the cast.

Virgil, who was in charge of lights and sound and sitting next to him, smirked. "Princey, this is literally a play about you two in love. 5 kisses are the minimum."

"And I am right here, you know." Janus looked slightly offended, leaning over and looking at Roman, who was a Virgil away. "And I'm not that bad at kissing. Ask Virgil. "

Virgil choked. 

Before Roman could retort, Patton interrupted them. "Okay guys! Don't forget to practice your lines. Rehearsals start in two weeks so I hope you manage to memorise some of your lines."

As they left the auditorium, Roman whispered to Virgil. "Is Janus actually good at kissing?"

Virgil just shrugged.

Patton called after the leaving group. "Roman? Janus? Please get whatever feud is going on between you two and throw it away. You two need to cooperate so that we can all work together. Go bond over the next few days. Thanks!”

Bond? With Janus? Roman never wanted to hear those words in the same sentence ever again. There was an odd creeping feeling that grew in his stomach and crawled up his throat invasively. It was foreign and weird. Maybe an allergic reaction.

“Oy! Janus! We probably have to - to get to know each other better.” Roman could feel heat spreading from his toes all the way to his cheeks. Why was he blushing? He should not be blushing. “So, do you wanna go grab some food tonight?”

Janus’ eyes widened and he physically stepped back. He pointed at Roman, before pointing back at himself. “You? Offering me? Dinner?” 

Roman shot a wink at Janus cheekily, before turning around to hide his blush. What was he doing? He never flirted with his rival. Was that even flirting? Tugging his hair down in a pitiful attempt to hide his burning red ears, he turned to Virgil. 

Virgil wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, before elbowing Roman in the side. “Stepping up your game, Santos? Impressive.” 

Roman blushed even harder, and looked away. 

---

Roman had had his fair share of dates, if that was what you called a dinner like this, and he never knew what to say. He pulled out his best card. 

“So...ya like jazz?” 

Janus choked on his iced lemon tea. "Fucking Bee Movie?” 

“Well, you do wear black and yellow 80% of the time, so you clearly like bees. Ergo, Bee Movie.”

An eyebrow was raised. “Impressive. You almost sound as smart as Logan.”

“I wish. He’s an absolute genius.” Logan was studying law, would probably become the valedictorian, and was dating Patton. Truly a legend.

“What’s your favourite animated movie then?” Janus asked. “Mine certainly is not the Bee Movie. There are loads of better Dreamworks films. I love Megamind."

“Oh, Megamind is really good! Choosing a favourite… that’s so hard though!” Roman bounced in his seat. Another movie lover? Perhaps, Janus wasn't too bad.  

Janus laughed and the food must have been tainted or something, because Roman’s heart skipped several beats. 

---

“Right! Let’s start at Act 1, Scene 5. You guys are at the party and this is when Romeo meets Julien for the first time. Action.” Patton, perched on the edge of a chair, announced, eyes shining with excitement. 

Roman glanced over at Janus, clad in a hoodie and jeans. He was flipping through his script and mumbling lines to himself. It was their first rehearsal so they were still allowed to look at their scripts. It also happened to be their first kiss scene. Pink tinted Roman's cheeks at the thought. Kiss… Janus? The two words seemed so foreign next to each other, yet they felt as though they were meant to be. He couldn't stop his eyes lingering over Janus' light pink lips. He turned away quickly, glancing at his script. Romeo kisses Julien.

Romeo.

Kisses.

Julien.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the people on stage, waiting for his cue. He had to stop thinking so much. Thoughts were dangerous. Who knows where they may lead?

Roman wondered what Janus' lips tasted like.

Oh for fucks sake. 

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Roman shoved his face back into the script, mumbling his lines under his breath and waiting for his queue to come on stage.

Stepping onto the stage, he channeled Romeo Shakespearean thoughts. It was a little hard in his button up shirt and jeans, but he was a professional. “What lord is that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?” He gestured towards Janus. 

A server bowed politely. “I know not, sir.”

“Oh, he doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. As yonder lord o'er his fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch his place of stand. And, touching his, make blessèd my rude hand.” He spoke to the audience, but couldn’t help think about how accurate this was. Janus too, was really hot. 

Roman spoke some more about how hot Julien was, and the rest of the rehearsal was a blur. He wasn’t Roman anymore. In front of this audience? He was Romeo, a rich lovestruck teenager. 

Then suddenly, he found himself staring into Janus’ eyes, and he was Roman all over again. 

Janus’ eyes, a deep, rich brown that gave Roman a steady look, pierced into Roman’s heart. He spoke towards the audience, but he sounded so genuine and sincere as he uttered his lines. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

Roman gave Janus a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned in and brushed Janus’ lips. It was hesitant, and soft, and he could hear Janus' quiet gasp, as if he wasn't expecting it. It was barely a kiss, more like a peck, but Roman could feel heat rushing into his cheeks. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” He said, loud enough for the audience to hear him.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” Janus cocked his head to the side, looking far more innocent and coy than Roman had ever seen him behave before.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” This time, Janus stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A proper kiss that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and Roman wanted to stay like that forever and ever. The scent of Janus' cologne made him giddy and he took Janus' hands, pulling him closer. On one hand, they were playing parts in a play, and on the other hand, everything felt oh so real, from the hoodie toggles that tickled his button up shirt to Janus' soft fingers gripping his hands tightly.

When they finally pulled away, Roman gazed at Janus' shining brown eyes in what must have been a lovestruck expression. He found his Julien.

---

"You BITCH!" Virgil slapped the study table violently.

"What did I do?"

"1 year. 1 fucking year of you making fun of me falling for a white guy and here you are, falling for the exact same white guy." Virgil looked vaguely irritated. "Even my mom was like," He put his hand at his ear like a phone and did an exaggerated Chinese accent. "Aiyah ah boy, I know you like boys, but an angmoh gao is too too much already. But don't worry lah, 4 months is not long, you still can leave him.” Do you even know what that means, you ass?”

He suddenly burst out in laughter. "This is great, it's my turn to poke fun." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "What was the kiss like? Was it...spicy?"

"Weren't you there?"

"Yeah, but I want a personal recount. Actually, no. Give me the P.E.E.L. format. Point, evidence, example and link on Janus' kissing skills. Go." 

"Oh, er. Janus was a… good kisser?" Roman didn't kiss much. "Um, point. His hair is all fluffy and I feel it brushing against my forehead, which gives me butterflies and this warm tingly sensation that ran through my body and gave me goosebumps. And he makes this noise whenever we kiss that is so cute, he honestly sounds genuinely surprised whenever it happens, even though we're following a script. And his cologne smells so good, oh my god I need to get the brand name, it's like kinda ashy, but not quite and it was a bit light, like a nice stroll in a forest. Holy shit it smelled nice. And-"

Virgil raised an eyebrow and paused Roman's tangent. "He wore cologne? He never wears cologne."

"Oh." Roman's eyes widened. 

"Maybe…" Virgil wiggled his eyebrows. "He wore it for the kiss scene." 

The heat that decided to congregate on Roman's cheeks was undeniable. "Why - why would he do that?" 

"He likes you, ya dumbass. And he wanted to impress you, so he decided that hoodie plus beanie plus cologne was a good combo."

Roman stared at his feet. "It was."

Virgil stood up and patted Roman on the head comfortingly. "There, there, it's alright. White guys aren't all that bad."

"Oh fuck off."

Virgil bowed and shot Roman the finger. Truly a man of eloquence and class. Roman opened a picture on his phone from his date with Janus. Janus was smiling, and Roman could feel himself smiling too as he looked at the picture of Janus. Of his Julien.

[honeyhan-123]

Say Thank You XIII

Series Summary: Nearly five years have passed since Steve Rogers saves your life without so much as a thank you. When he sees you again by chance, he makes sure that he’ll never let you go and maybe teach you some manners in the process.

Series Warning: This will be a dark!Steve fic with stalking, kidnapping and manipulating as well as non-con and dub-con situations. Please don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of death and hyperventilating. 

Word Count: 3.2k

AN: Just a little reminder that this was set in between Civil War and Infinity War but obviously occurs over the course of a few months....

I. New York ~ II. Madrid ~ III. The Apartment ~ IV. The Trip ~ V. The Basement ~ VI. The First Lesson ~ VII. The Waiting Game ~ VIII. The First Attempt ~ IX. The Darkness ~ X. The Truth ~ XI. The Syndrome ~ XII. The Meeting

Series Masterlist

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XIII. The Mission

Bucky had barely even gotten halfway back to the flat he shared with Sam when he got Steve’s call. The screech of tires rang through the New York City streets as he rushed into a U-turn, immediately heading back the way he had just come. The short, less than a minute long, conversation he had just had with Steve replayed in his mind on a loop. 

How the fuck had they missed this?

Bucky blamed it on the fact he had been at Steve’s, out in the suburbs nearly all day because there was no other logical explanation of how they could have missed a flying doughnut in the middle of New York City. He thumped the wheel in frustration. Maybe if he hadn’t been so lost in playing house Tony would still be here, that kid would still be here. 

As he approached the house, he saw Steve out in the driveway, waiting for him. ‘Wheels up is in twenty, I just need five minutes to go talk to her and then if you could drive me out to the hanger that would be great.’ 

Bucky followed him numbly into the house, lost in a daze. ‘Yeah sure, whatever you want. I just… I just don’t understand why I’m not going.’ 

‘Because, the team needs me and I need you here Buck, I need you here with her. Not only do I need you to look after her but I won’t be able to do my job, not until I’m a hundred percent positive that she’s safe.’

‘She’ll be safe with Banner. You need me on this Steve, we have no idea what we’re going up against.’ Bucky tried to argue despite knowing how futile it was. When Steve made his mind up about something, it stayed that way. 

‘She doesn’t know Banner and Banner doesn’t know her. Plus, I know she’ll be safest with you. Please Buck, I really need this. You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.’ Bucky sighed, running a hand through his tangled locks. 

‘Yeah okay, I’ll babysit her for you. Just get home safe Punk.’ 

‘You know I will Jerk, especially now that I have someone to come home to.’ Bucky’s heart clenched as he watched Steve turn, darting up the stairs to his room, a sinking feeling settling in his chest.

+

You stirred as you felt someone shaking you gently, heard them softly calling your name, ushering you back into the realm of consciousness. 

‘Sweetheart, open your eyes. I don’t have long and we need to talk.’ Your eyelids fluttered open at the worry you detected in Steve’s tone, your head groggy from being awoken so soon after retiring for bed. 

‘Did Bucky go home? I’m sorry I had to come upstairs, I was just so tired. It’s been a big day.’ The words escaped you in a yawn, your mind still half asleep.

‘That’s okay Sweetheart, I know you’re tired and after we talk, I promise you can go back to bed.’ You jolted further awake, whatever was happening had obviously made Steve very stressed. 

‘What’s going on Stevie? Why are you… Why are you packing a bag?’ You hadn’t noticed his frantic movements until this moment as you were transfixed on the small duffle bag that was slowly being filled with his belongings.

‘I have to go out of town for a few days. Three days max but probably only two. Bucky is going to be looking after you while I’m gone okay? And then, when the mission’s complete, I’ll come right back home.’ He momentarily paused his packing, coming back to the bed to cup your cheek in his palm. ‘I’ll miss you so much and I’ll be home as soon as possible but I need you to be a good girl for me. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can behave for Bucky?’

You shook your head with fervor, ‘No, no, no, no. I don’t… I don’t understand. Why are you going? Where are you going? You can’t leave me Steve, you can’t. I need you. I know that I haven’t been the best behaved but I thought… I thought we were okay. Why are you leaving me?’ Panic heaved through your body as you clutched at him, trying to force him to stay with you. 

‘I’m not leaving you Sweetheart. It’s just for a few days, I need to get in touch with some old friends and after that I’ll be right back here with you. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.’ You hadn’t noticed the tears spilling from your cheeks until he brushed them away with his lips, kissing you softly, longingly, lovingly. 

‘Everything is going to be okay Sweetheart. Bucky will look after you while I’m gone but you need to behave for him, promise me you will.’

You nodded, still not quite understanding why he was leaving. ‘I promise Stevie.’ His hands clutched yours, his eyes dancing around your face, memorising you before he picked up his bag.

‘I-’ He cut himself off, gazing out the open door. ‘I’ll miss you Sweetheart, behave.’ 

You nodded, clutching the sheets to your chest. ‘I’ll miss you too Stevie.’ He spared you one last longing glance before disappearing out the door, the thunk of the front door swinging shut echoed through the silent house a few moments later. 

+

You watched as the sun rose, the sky slowly lightening turning from midnight blue to a soft and hazy cornflower and then eventually a grey-ish baby blue. The streaks of pink and orange coloured the sky just as the streaks of your tears covered your cheeks, darkening the soft grey sheets. 

Only when you were certain that Bucky was awake did you finally slip from your silken prison, your feet padding over the soft carpet to the bathroom, your hands numbly twisting the cold metal taps. You relished in the warmth the water gave you, and if you tried hard enough, you could almost imagine he was here with you. All night long sleep had been evasive, the bed too cold, too unfamiliar without Steve lying by your side and now you were paying for your dependency. 

You stayed in the shower for far too long but no one was there to bother you or tell you to get out, so you allowed yourself this one reprieve. It was only once you got out of the scalding hot water, your entire body burning from the heat that you realised your mistake. Just as it had been yesterday, your clothes were still downstairs, locked away in the basement and without Steve with you, you had no way of getting to them. You supposed his clothes would just have to do. 

Dressed in a bottle green t-shirt and a pair of soft grey trackies rolled up more times than you could count, you made your way out of the room. You paused at the top of the stairs as you saw a door ajar. It had certainly been closed yesterday when Steve had taken you to your new bedroom. Softly, you crept over to the room, promising yourself and Steve - despite his absence - that you would only poke your head in before going down stairs to Bucky. Yet, as you approached, the promise flew from your mind, replaced with thousands of burning questions. 

The room in question was clearly a guest bedroom, a calming blue motif, echoing your lonely night of staring out the window. However it wasn’t the room itself that made you pause, but the man inside. His back was to you, glistening with water from his own shower, and your eyes widened as you noticed the soft pink scars that stemmed like tree roots from his left shoulder. From his visit yesterday, you knew that he had some form of metal prosthetic yet you hadn’t realised the metal extended up past his wrist to his shoulder. Whatever had happened to him clearly wasn’t a child friendly story. 

You stumbled back from your perch behind the door as he suddenly whipped around, his eyes meeting yours. ‘I- Sorry. I was just… I didn’t know what this room was. I’m sorry.’ Your gaze was locked on your hands, twisting nervously in front of you as you saw him pull a shirt on hastily. 

‘It’s okay, this is just the guest room, I’m going to be staying in there until Steve gets back. Do you want some breakfast?’ You nodded softly and followed him as he led the way downstairs, heading into the kitchen. ‘What would you like Doll?’

You glanced around the room, taking a seat at the island bench. ‘Just some toast please.’ 

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You sure? I can whip you up some eggs, bacon too.’

‘No thanks, just toast is fine… I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything anyway.’ 

He nodded pensively pausing slightly before speaking again. ‘You miss him already.’ The click of the toaster being pushed down screamed into the silence as you thought on his words. It was true. It had barely been twelve hours yet you did miss Steve, the bags beneath your eyes a clear enough indication. 

‘Yeah I do, but it’s not just that. I’m worried. Why did he have to leave so suddenly? Why did he leave me here with you? Please don’t take that the wrong way, I just don’t understand what’s going on.’ The words poured from you uncontrollably as you let out the questions that had swirled around in your head all night. 

‘It’s okay I get it. Personally I don’t really understand why he left me here with you either but that’s just Steve. He always has to be the hero.’ Bucky seemed lost in his memories, only to be brought back by the toast popping and he moved off, gathering a plate and some spreads for you. 

As you started spreading the raspberry jam, he began speaking again. ‘Apparently yesterday, while we were busy catching up and getting to know one another, a spacecraft came down to Earth. Tony, Bruce, and the kid, Peter, and some wizard or something tried to deal with the situation but these people, they were after the time stone.’ 

‘The time stone?’ 

‘Yeah, I don’t really understand it myself but according to Bruce and the wizard there are six stones, apparently called the Infinity Stones. And there’s this guy, Thanos, who is trying to track down all six stones which will allow him to eliminate half of the human population and he already has two of them, three if we count the fact that he has Strange now - he’s the wizard who holds the time stone.’ You didn’t understand a word of what he was saying but one clear message was coming across in screaming bold letters. The world was in danger. 

‘And so Steve has gone to get the Vision, he’s one of us but… well again I don’t really understand it because I wasn’t there for it, but apparently he somehow has the mind stone embedded in his brain and so we have to make sure he’s safe from Thanos. I’m not sure what the endgame is but- hey, hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s okay, you’re going to be fine. We’ll all protect you.’ He awkwardly patted your shoulder, trying to calm you down as you began to hyperventilate. It was just like the last time you were in New York. 

When your breaths didn’t slow, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping you up in his warm embrace, whispering words of comfort. If you tried hard enough you could convince yourself that his large and incredibly warm body was Steve’s and that it was him soothingly rubbing your back. ‘Shhh… shhh Doll. You’re going to be fine, I promise.’ 

Minutes passed before you could pull yourself together enough to disentangle yourself from his embrace, because while he was comforting you, he wasn’t Steve, the one person you longed to see now more than anything. 

A silence stretched over the kitchen as you poked at your toast that had grown cold but you didn’t mind, your appetite had vanished, not that you had much of one in the first place. ‘Thank you Bucky for comforting me, I just… I just don’t have the best experience with New York and now Steve’s gone and I just don’t know what to do.’

‘I understand Doll, Steve told me about what happened but you’re safe here with me and when Steve gets back from his mission you’ll be safe with him. There’s nowhere in the world where you would be safer, I can promise you that.’ You nodded accepting his words but finding it hard to trust them. ‘Hey, why don’t we play a game or something to take your mind off of things? I know Steve at least has a deck of cards lying around here somewhere.’ You forced yourself to smile, graciously accepting his offer as you followed after him, searching through the house for a deck of cards. 

+

The day has passed slowly despite Bucky trying his best to keep you distracted. Even though he tried to hide it, you caught him nervously glancing at his phone multiple times, checking to see if there was an update. Eventually the sun had started to dip below the horizon, the sky fading from a clear blue to an orange-purple haze and eventually darkening to a gentle twilight. 

Bucky had made dinner, some chilli con carne that made you feel a little homesick for Madrid but you appreciated the thought. He had brought out some wine too that you had gladly helped yourself to. Perhaps a little too much considering how long it had been since your last drink but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The alcohol alleviated your pain and worry with every glass so it wasn’t surprising that by the end of the meal the bottle was empty. You were tempted to try and persuade Bucky to get another but your slurred words didn’t help your case. Instead he had sent you to bed, making a show of how tired he was himself and mentioning numerous times how Steve would want you to look after yourself. 

Although the alcohol had helped while you were awake, when you finally drifted off to sleep it was another matter entirely. Bucky’s words from earlier in the day haunted you, conjuring up memories that had long since been forgotten of a heavy weight pressing against your body, pinning you down onto the hard tarmac, the screams of unseen civilians, the blood of those that hadn’t been quick enough. And Steve. 

Steve being beaten by numerous aliens, his shield lay discarded, broken in two by your face as he fought defenselessly. You tried to warn him, tried to scream at him as one of the Chitauri crept up behind him, its’ scepter in its hand, ready to deliver a fatal blow. You could only watch in horror as Steve fell, a gaping hole in his chest right over his heart, the life fading from his eyes as the Chitauri cheered in victory. 

+

Bucky heard the sobs first, uncertainty as to what to do crawling through him. Although you had spent the day together, he wasn’t sure where he stood with you, whether or not you would appreciate him coming in and trying to comfort you. He also didn’t want to overstep with Steve, he knew that you were his girl and that a bedroom was a very private place, so he did nothing, merely sat out in the hallway listening to  you cry. 

It was only when he heard the screams that he realised you must have been asleep, suffering from a nightmare. Considering everything that he himself had gone through, he could understand just how terrifying they could be so he didn’t hesitate before standing up and rushing into your room. He watched for a moment as your body writhed on the bed, unsure of how to proceed. Personally for him, he had to be woken up from a distance, the light turned on and someone calling his name otherwise things could turn very bad very quickly, but he doubted that would be an issue for you. 

Instead, he softly padded over to you, gently pressing a hand against your shoulder, shaking you softly as he called your name. He watched as you slowly came out of it, your screams ceasing before your eyes slowly fluttered open. ‘Bucky? What’s going on?’ Your voice was hoarse from the screaming and his heart hurt as he saw you so broken. 

‘Shhh… It’s okay Doll, you were just having a nightmare. It’s okay, Steve’s okay.’ You nodded as he handed you a tissue to wipe your tears with. 

Bucky waited until he thought you had calmed down enough before he made to stand up from the bed, his own calling to him like a siren. When he got to the door he heard you softly call his name. ‘Bucky?’

Turning back around, one hand on the door handle, he waited to hear what you needed. ‘Could you stay? Please?’ A rampage of emotions flowed through him as he processed your question. On one hand there was nothing he wanted more but on the other hand he knew that was the exact reason why he shouldn’t. Yet finally, the memory of Steve making him promise to look after his girl surfaced, making his mind up for him and so he nodded, shedding his shoes and pants, crawling into the silken sheets, his heart racing as you curled into him, pressing your body against his. ‘Thank you.’ He couldn’t respond as he felt your heart rate calm down, your breaths slowing, becoming deeper as you fell into a slumber. 

His heart ached as he stared up at the ceiling, his arms wrapped around you. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because he wanted you to be his, just that he wanted someone and the way that your body curled against his, despite seeing just how torn and broken he was, gave him hope that maybe, one day, he would find his someone.

Eventually, his eyes drifting shut as his breathing matched yours, a faceless woman dancing through his dreams. 

+

You were awoken by the shrill of a ringtone, screaming into the silent bedroom, a groan escaping you as the warm body beneath yours moved, leaving the bed in search for the culprit. Through your shut eyes you listened in on the conversation absentmindedly, stretching your body as you tried to wake your mind up. 

‘Steve, hey. What happened, how’s Wanda and the Vision?’ You couldn’t hear Steve’s response, but you could almost feel the tension build in Bucky as a long silence stretched before he responded. ‘Are you sure that’s the best idea?’ You waited again and heard Bucky sigh. ‘Yeah okay, I’ll go wake her up and pack a bag. We’ll meet you at headquarters.’ He hung up and turned to you, poking you gently in the cheek. ‘I know you’re up Doll, we have to go.’ That was enough for you to instantly open your eyes, searching his. 

‘What? Where are we going?’

Bucky’s lips pursed as he answered, his brow furrowed in thought. 

‘Wakanda.’

+

Tags will be added in a reblog

XIV. The Reunion

Series Masterlist

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[mother-snake]

who lives, who dies, who tells your story

(i fucking cried again. oops. god i need to stop making these angsty.) for full effect play the song This will end or Thus to always tyrants by the oh hellos for full effect... :,D the final installment of thursday and the gude to the other side.

start: thursday previous: a guide to the other side pt 10

taggs: @idkanameatall

warnings!: majour charachter death. mourning and mentions of murnder. cursing, extreme angst aswell...

good ending this time - the after math of janus loosing his other half. he gains more than he could have wished for-

Forgiveness? Can you imagine?

Janus stared blankly around his room. The walls were grey and reversed coloured sunflowers sat growing from the cracks lining the floor. those were just a few things the sides were barely getting used to. things…had not been the same since that day only a month ago now.

Only the dark sides had known Theodore… the others had only known him for a single day. Thomas hadn’t even met the other… and they hadn’t even brought up what had happened for Janus to completely shut off.

 Logan sat next to Janus, the other staring blankly at the wall of the room. Not paying any mind to the logical side… and Logan looked on with such pain. his husband was mourning. But why did it feel like Janus had gone with him in that moment. A husk of who he previously had been

He wondered if Janus would be smiling if Logan had been paying attention. That if Logan had noticed wrath only a couple seconds sooner… would Theodore still be alive? if he had been in Theodore’s place…would he smile knowing his brother was alive. “I love you…” Logan whispered as he rested his head on the other, who seemingly didn’t even notice. Logan felt his lip quiver at the lack of response… he knew that the other was mourning. But he wished that he didn’t shut himself down like this. It hurt to watch him deteriorate like this.

Three soft knocks alerted Logan to the fact someone was at the door. But before he could say anything. The door creaked open. A startled Patton stood at the door looking in with worry and confusion laced in his eyes.

“Logan… you’ll want to see this.” Patton said shakily, “you too Janus.” Janus stared at Patton blankly before nodding. Logan wondered if it was because he could tell Patton was retaining information from them.

“I um… just want to warn you. We have no idea how this happened…” he motioned for them to follow.

Logan kept an eye on Janus as they made their way down the stairs. But they both stopped mid-way down as they heard the voices. small, high pitched like giggles.

For the first time in a month Janus seemed to slightly snap out of his trance. “what?” Janus whispered, barely audible to the other. Logan had to pick up his pace as he watched the other speed up to catch up with Patton.

They arrived in the commons to see three small children. And three very distressed older sides. Virgil had hidden himself up on top of a bookshelf. roman and Remus were seemingly looking at the small children with absolute confusion and wariness.

“who… are they?” Logan asked. Patton only gestured for them to go forwards. Remus smiled as he watched Janus move forwards. Happy the other was feeling fractionally better, even if this was a minor distraction.

One of the children had ruffled hair, wild as can be. His orange rain jacket was tied to his waist revealing a blank white top. He looked around ten. the next looked only seven or eight. His hair was almost platinum white save for a small brown streak in his hair. Almost opposite to Remus’s. he wore a white skirt and light grey top.

The smallest startled Janus gravely. A six-year-old. His hair went down to his shoulders. A pink carnation hair pin keeping his har out of his face. he wore the same as orange. The almost burnt orange was replaced by a pastel pink.

Janus felt himself give out under his own mental weight. Tears pooling in his eyes as he saw the small child.

The eldest child looked at him in surprise. Before surging forwards and spewing questions. Asking if he was alright. Saying he would smack anything that had hurt him. the second was nervous but slowly crept forwards wrapping Janus in a small hug. the youngest was confused. He had been fine with the other two. Was he scary? he didn’t think he could have been. He had been concerned. He felt the wave of sadness, nay… depression roll of the other as soon as he had walked into the room.

He hopped of his place on the seat and made his way closer. “you… you look so much like him.”

The youngest snapped his head over to the side who stood next to the cardigan clad one who had called himself Patton. “who?” he asked curiously. “his brother…” he muttered back.

The feeling seemed to click in his mind. The one crying was mourning.

 It had taken ten minutes for Janus to calm down enough to finally come to grips that there were children in front of himself. “may I ask…your purposes?” Janus asked shakily, worried about what they’d say.

“I’m wrath, but you can just call me Orpheus!” orange cheered joyfully. “I’m…insanity, Samuel.” He said, looking at the other nervously. “sadness! nice to meet you! My name is atlas!” he said joyfully.

Janus smiled weakly at them all, “I’m deceit… you can call me Janus. Its nice to meet you all,” he smiled sadly, but at the same second… Logan caught a small glimpse of hope in the other’s eyes.

Forgiveness? Can you imagine?

The first time it had happened was on a Thursday afternoon when Janus had begun to get overwhelmed. Logan had been the first to spot the others sudden tension. Something said must have threw him off. He took Janus’s hand and hold it tightly. Getting a small squeeze in response.

Logan’s head snapped up as he saw roman, Remus and Patton getting louder over something that was said. and before he knew it a figure appeared in the corner of his eyes just as Virgil tumbled down a couple stairs.

“can you three shut up?” the side said, eyes blazing orange as he glared ‘maliciously’ (he was yet to get that down to an art).

“why is there a child in my house?” Thomas said almost immediately. “oh…” roman muttered, his face flushing red as he looked at the grumpy small child.

Logan let out a sigh as the child stepped over one of Virgil’s leg and walking over to Janus. Giving him a hug as best as he could. “Thomas, this is the new wrath,” Logan said slowly. “hi tommy,” the child muttered as he held the snake. “hello to you too…” Thomas said still completely in shock from the news.

“wait- what do you mean new wrath?” roman looked at Janus who had snapped out of his dazed state. He got a sharp nod from the other as he sunk down. “Janus…killed the old one.” “…what?” Thomas asked startled by what he had heard.

“in his defence,” Remus continued,” he did kill his brother.”

Thomas clearly confused by what he heard; the others told him what had happened. Start to finish. From when Patton first saw the staff to how the small sides appeared suddenly in the mindscape.

 Janus followed Ophie towards their destination. The three of them had apparently been doing something in the far side since they had woken up on Monday that week. It was now a Saturday. he had been mildly confused to say the least. “hurry! We’ll be late,” the angry side said as he dragged the deceitful one behind himself. Janus let out a small chuckle.

They began to wonder down corridors. Each one familiar to Janus. A small ball of panic welling inside himself. “come on!” Orpheus ran ahead and opened a familiar pink and yellow marbled door, the paint looked fresh. No longer chipped. The snake head handle a shiny gold. the once dead plants that sat outside the room were blooming with life. He smiled at the door. It looked brand new. It looked the way it did when he had first been formed. He knew it wasn’t the same room however. That was still a few turns away.

But when he walked inside. It was different. But it had made him loose his breath. the walls were wooden, a soft grey carpet underfoot. A bright fire lit in a chimney. the beams up on the celling had fairy lights strung in pink and yellow. He felt his mind be thrown back to the past as he looked around.

A familiar lady came to mind. She was tall and always walked elegantly. Dressed like a librarian and smelled of wood and old books. Black leathery wings sat on her back. Her black hair showing grey streaks.

A teenager in his mind sat by the fire, warming his hands around a cup of coco.

“how did you do this,” he asked. memory after memory flooding in on him.

“roman had the original blueprints from years ago. With the help of Remus and Virgil, we were able to make a semi replica,” Ophie said. insanity smiled weakly from his place up on a beam. White feathery wings protruding from his back.

“do you like it?” atlas asked. “oh… there are no words to tell you how much I want to hug you three forever and never let go,” he sobbed. the three children smiled at the other with wide toothy happiness.

 He got the three of them to sit down by the fire as he made some coco. Memorising her recipe had been simple. And he had never forgotten. he chuckled as he remembered Patton begging him near last Christmas for the recipe.

“mom! Logan’s here!” a voice yelled loudly. Janus seemed to freeze in his spot, what had just been said? Did they really? He placed a cup down gently on the counter. A small smile grazing his lips. if that’s how they saw him. Then he would try his best.

He picked up another cup from a coubard and poured some hot coco into it, knowing Logan would want some.

He picked up the tray of cups and made his way into the room. Insanity blushing madly into his hands as the other two giggled next to him. Logan looking at them fondly with a stunning smile on his face.

“where’s Remus?” he asked as Logan looked up to him. “cleaning up the last of the explanation with Patton,” he smiled as he took a cup from the tray.

Insanity looked between the two of them with a small smile. He knew that the three married people that had taken him under their wings, both literally and metaphorical, loved each other with a burning passion. One that couldn’t be denied by anyone or anything.

“so, is this where you grew up?” Logan asked as he looked around the room, “its beautiful. Stunning even,”

“yeah. I grew up with the dragon which raising me and…well. This was how her tower used to look,” Janus said, as if he were going down memory lane.

“hey you five guess what- holy fuck!” Remus said as he looked around the room, “it’s a fucking replica!” he yelled, mouth agape. “language!” Janus scolded playfully.

“you little shits actually did it…” he chuckled. “I thought you helped?” Logan said. “yeah, I showed pictures of the place from my younger more devious years,” he grinned, “but this is all them,” he spread his arms out and gestured everywhere.

“our sons are special? Aren’t they?” Janus said smirking as he took a sip from his cup. the three small sides looked at him with wide eyes. “our sons really are,” Remus grinned. “each one of them,” Logan added on.

Orpheus tried to speak. But his words were caught in his throat. atlas looked at them with stars in his eyes. insanity didn’t say anything before bursting int tears and running to Remus and hugging his legs tightly.

Janus could tell you lots of things at that moment. But the first thing that would always come to mind was that he did feel torn without his brother. But in that moment… for the first time in forever? He felt whole. the family he had forged laid in front of him. Love bursting out of the seams.

He didn’t know if he would trade it for anything.

If you see him in the street, walking by her Side,

Janus laid on the soft carpet grumpily. His children curled up on the sofa on top of Logan whilst Remus was cooking in the small kitchen.

They had practically moved into the tower after its creation. the other two hadn’t minded much. still seeing them on a daily basis. But for the first time in years they were having a Christmas in his home.

He rolled over onto his back and sighed. “I’m going to go into the imagination for a while,” Janus said as he stood up. “are you sure? In the middle of shedding?” Orpheus asked concerned. “yeah, I’m going to visit Theodore and your grandmother,” he said ruffling Orpheus’s hair.

 The walk had been daunting and gruelling in his mind. This wasn’t the first time he wouldn’t have Theodore there for Christmas. But he knew there would be no other times. when he had disappeared. Sure, he was gone for a while, but at any point he could have returned.

But he was dead now. There was no other time. No more banter I the morning nor was there going to be the other to wake up to. And that had hit him hard that morning when he had almost said his name. “good morning Theo- “ he had said as he woke up in his bed. Looking over to see an empty spot.

Janus shook his head, banishing the thought for the time being and making his way through the mirror. the land was thick with white snow. Un spoken laughter rung in the air. imaginary forts of snow and twine sat abandoned in the snow. he tracked his way forwards. The snow crunching under his feet, the vapour of his breaths becoming frozen with every exhaled breath.

Ten minuets later and there he was. Standing in front of a gravestone placed in front o snow buried ruins.

“of all things… I never thought he would die so young,” a silky voice spoke from behind him, “but I knew deep down he would die protecting you my small hatchling.”

He laid down the fresh carnation crown on top of the pristine grave. he took a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he turned around. “open your eyes, I won’t disappear my child,” she chuckled weakly.

He did as he was told. He became breathless as he looked onwards. Everything inside him Turing off.

“mom?” he said before running forwards and wrapping the woman with a tight embrace. “I’m here my child. I’m here…” she said reassuringly as the other held on tightly. “I thought you died?” “no… I had managed to escape. My how handsome you look!” she crooned.

He laughed at her antics. “you and I have a lot to discuss,” she said.

Janus turned to the grave and let out a sigh. He could have sworn he saw a figure sitting on top. A warm smile on their face, waving happily at him. another one stood behind, grinning, burning amber eyes staring at Janus with such pride. a figure held the oranges hand. White silvery hair tied up into a bun. Eye filled with joy.

He knew they were waiting for him. But he knew they would wait as long as he needed. They would be angry if he arrived so soon. he gave a wave back, letting a tear pour from his eye. he blinked. And the figures were gone.

 The two continued talking as they passed through the mirror, Janus telling his mother about his two husbands. Her saying something along the lines of ‘I knew you fell for him!’

They made their way down the halls, stories and laughter ringing in the air. “we best hurry, atlas gets nervous when I’m gone for too long,” “atlas? But that your shared name?” she said startled. “it used to be. But I’m thinking you’d like to meet your grandchildren,” he laughed, her eyes lighting up with sparks of her youth.

 Atlas and the dragon which had gotten on like a matchstick on fire. Insanity was marvelled by her wings, so had Logan. Virgil and Remus had almost broken-down crying upon seeing her alive and well. Patton and Logan had been introduced along with the ‘terrible trio’ as they had begun to call themselves.

He used to hate celebrating Christmas only three years ago… now here he was, sitting in the middle of a family gathering with the smell of hot chocolate and gingerbread hanging in the air.

A Christmas tree that reached the celling took its normal place in the room. three stockings hung on the fireplace, filled to the brim with small things yet to be opened. It was the morning after all. presents were the last thing to be done.

“merry Christmas Theodore,” he whispered under his breath as he looked around the room.

talking by her side, have pity

Forty-five? Janus thought… that’s how old he was today. A warm smile on his face. the feeling inside him had grown slowly over the years. But today, he knew it was time much to his dismay.

It was time to join the others. his door opened as Remus came in, his stubble making him laugh as Logan rested his head in the crook of his neck. “how are you today sunflower?” he asked silently. “its time to go,” he muttered.

He felt the other shaking in his embrace. Wet tears dripping onto his shoulder. “oh sweetheart,” Janus said as he wrapped his arms around the other, “it’s okay,” he smiled.

“its not, todays the last day I see you before I won’t get to again,” he sobbed.

They held each other for a while longer. Remus shaking in his arms. He had been with him since that day Virgil had left. A small part of him felt like he was betraying him. He was leaving him here. But… he wouldn’t be alone. He had Logan and the others.

Remus let out a shaky breath and held Janus’s hand tightly, “come on then sunflower, let’s go.”

 Thomas had been surprised none the less to see two of his sides appear so suddenly. especially when he saw tear tracks on Remus. “is everything okay? Did you get into a fight with one of the others?” he asked hastily. “no…” Remus said quietly, sending shivers up Thomas’s spine. he sounded so broken. “what’s wrong then?” he asked curiously. “I…came to say goodbye Thomas,” Janus said looking at the other, “my time here is up I’m afraid.”

Thomas looked at Remus who looked ready to burst into another round of tears and surged forwards. Wrapping his arms around his two sides.

“I can’t lose you,” Thomas whispered. “deaths a part of life Thomas, sometimes people leave sooner than you’d like to think,” Janus said, wiping a tear of his hosts cheek.

They talked for an hour or so, getting in their final goodbyes. Thomas let Janus film his goodbye to the sander’s fandom. Explaining they wouldn’t be seeing him anymore. He hoped they’d understand.

Then. He looked at Thomas one last time. Tears pouring down Thomas’s face as he watched his side sink out.

They went on to gather the side’s in the commons. “the last time we gathered like this pop was when Patton stole the last cookie,” atlas said fidgeting with his scarf, “this better be a good reason.”

“I do,” Janus said looking around the room, “my time… has come to an end. After today, I shall cease to exist,” he said.

The others looked at him before laughing. Janus looked at them with weary eyes and a sad smile. One by one. They realised this wasn’t a joke as Remus broke down into tears.

Logan stood up and threw himself on the snake. His breath hitching in his throat. the children, now teens, stared at their mother with nothing but grief.

No one spoke a word. “if this is…your final day. Then let’s do something that will make this day go out with a bang,” Samuel said, “how long do you have?” “at most eight hours,” Janus smiled as he held his husbands.

And that’s exactly what they did. They played games, watched a movie and went on a hike. Eating cake and junk food as they did so. they laughed and cried all day. Janus had never felt more love in his life than that day. and soon, the sun was down over the horizon, the moon peaking in the sky.

They made their way to one last destination. a pristine grave with a fresh pink carnation crown. And there standing and sitting in their places were his old family. One that had been waiting for him for years. “come on,” Theodore said holding out a hand, “lets go baby brother,” a grin growing on his face.

Janus felt tears fall down his face at his brother voice. “you’ve been brave enough, my snake,” wrath said holding out his hand. “you’ve made us so proud my child,” insanity spoke.

Janus turned around to look at the sides. They looked at him with sad smiles. Logan nodded to Janus. “go, we’ll be okay, you’ve been strong enough. Time for you to rest,” Logan said, trying to keep his smile on his face. “wait for us?” Remus said, not able to look at the other.

“I will,” Janus shuddered. he turned around to face the grave. Theodore stood up, letting his hands fall to his sides.

With the picture of his family safe and sound imprinted in his memory, he held out his hand. Theodore taking his.

The sides all went eyes wide as they saw the feint outline of the old side. A small smile on their faces as they realised, he would be in perfect hands.

A yellow light emanated from Janus, small pieces floating into the darkening sky. Slowly a mix of colours joined in.

“where do you think hes going?” atlas asked, tears pouring from his eyes.

They are going through the unimaginable

As the light reached the sky, small flecks of pink, orange and white joined the yellow as it floated away in the breeze.

“he’s going home,” Logan said.