#and i was thinking this morning about this quote and jane's couch and how it could be interpreted as a physical manifestation of his grief

[wikipedie]

grief is like a really ugly couch

I think grief is like a really ugly couch. It never goes away. You can decorate around it; you can slap a doily on top of it; you can push it to the corner of the room—but eventually, you learn to live with it. ― Jodi Picoult, Leaving Time

[maladaptiv3]

i have found what you are like

I mean...how could I not?

Content: A nice lazy, rainy Sunday morning reading on the couch.

Warning: age gap, a little possessive, it’s kind of cheesy but I don’t really care! lol 

I started this piece a long time ago and I am just hitting a wall...so here is what I have so far. I don’t know if I will finish it. 

Word Count: 1174

*original content by maladaptiv3* please do not repost my work

(new screen name hey)

The soft patter of the rain on the roof was the only sound that filled the house for most of the day. The back door was open slightly and there was a now damp towel near the opening that had been placed to catch the bouncing raindrops from the patio outside.

Your Sundays were a ritual—his eyelashes on your cheek beckoning you to wake up, eyes still heavy with sleep as you lift your cup of coffee to your lips, arranging farmers market flowers as he finishes carrying in the rest of your treasures—but it was raining today. The rain was a welcomed distraction, it shifted your routine in a way that you had been craving. It had been a long while since you had enjoyed each other's silence. Silence seemed to be rare in his world. You only experienced pockets of it, stolen away from everyone's eyes. He woke you up that morning, pulling you into him, and melting into you, "It's raining, love." You hummed, "My favorite." The rain made the morning move in slow motion. There was no early morning coffee or having to find parking at the already getting crowded farmers market. "Let's have coffee in bed. I'll go make it," his smile was sweet. You scrunched up your nose, "I wanna watch the rain." He was amused, "Of course you do." 

Your mind wandered back to the current moment. Your back was against the arm of the couch and your legs were bent at the knee. A warm blanket was in your lap, covering one-half of you. You had a book in one hand and the other was running its fingers through his hair. He was settled between your thighs, slightly propped up on a throw pillow. His fingers were tracing lines on your shin as he turned the page of his book with the other. You mused, wondering how you had the privilege to live in this perfect moment. If you could bottle it, you would. His hand would occasionally ghost up your leg and settle on your thigh, his arm stretching slightly so he could grip it. You would slightly tug on his hair, playfully of course, "Shh...I'm reading." He would squeeze your thigh once more before going back to the words on his page, "I didn't say anything." He didn't have to say anything. This was a game you knew all too well. The rain was still falling outside and you wanted to bask in this feeling for as long as you could. The comfort of just merely touching each other was enough to keep you going for days. 

After a while, you heard him sigh. You put the business card posing as your bookmark back into your book, "Something on your mind?" He laid his book down flat on his chest, "You've been reading that book for years, you think you would have finished it by now." You rolled your eyes, "I've been finished. I just like to revisit it. It's one of my favorites." He sat up to face you, his legs crossed in front of him, "Well, what about it makes you revisit it?" You were astonished, "You're telling me that Mr. Booksnob himself has never read Jane Eyre? It's a classic." "Hey! I am not a book snob." "You kind of are." He took the book from your hands and examined the cover, "So, what is it about?" You took a minute to think, "It's about a homely governess who falls in love with the older man she's working for." His fingers were drumming against the book, "What's with you and older men?" You snatched the book back from him, "That's just what's on the surface. It's a story of painful love, independence, and feminism." He nodded, "Now, that makes more sense. Read me some." "Like what?" "Read me something that reminds you of me." You had it highlighted. It was a new quote you liked. The spine was not yet used to the continuous flipping to the page every time you pulled out your beloved copy. You licked your lips and cleared your throat a bit, "All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever." He blinked a few times and seemed to be entranced by the words you just spoke, "You belong to me?" You swallowed hard, "This book isn't about us." Your breathing was shallow as you waited for him to say something. His eyes were fixed on yours, "Do you belong to me?" You were quick to nod your head up and down, "Yes." He ghosted his lips over yours, "Good answer. Kind of anti-feminist, though?" You pressed your lips against his, "Is it?"

You pulled back, "Your turn to share. What are you reading?" He took his book from its place on the coffee table, "Poetry." You wiggle the thin green book out of his grip, "I've never really been a fan." His jaw dropped, "You? Miss I Buy A Book every time I leave the house, doesn't enjoy poetry?" "I guess not." He took his book back, "Well, it's only fair I read you something." You reached out trying to take the book from him, "Can I choose?" He clutched onto it, "Absolutely not." He began to flip through the pages, "You at least know who E.E. Cummings is, right?" You shook your head, almost offended, "Obviously." He found the page he was looking for, "I think you'll enjoy this one."

You pulled back, "Your turn to share. What are you reading?" He took his book from its place on the coffee table, "Poetry." You wiggle the thin green book out of his grip, "I've never really been a fan." His jaw dropped, "You? Miss I Buy A Book every time I leave the house, doesn't enjoy poetry?" "I guess not." He took his book back, "Well, it's only fair I read you something." You reached out trying to take the book from him, "Can I choose?" He clutched onto it, "Absolutely not." He began to flip through the pages, "You at least know who E.E. Cummings is, right?" You shook your head, almost offended, "Obviously." He found the page he was looking for, "I think you'll enjoy this one."

His lips parted and he set down the book:

i have found what you are like the rain,

      (Who feathers frightened fields with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light                               with thinned newfragile yellows

                  lurch and.press

-in the woods              which                stutter                      and

                           sing

And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost,                your kiss

You guys just stared at each other for a second. 

Your chest was tight and tears started to well in your eyes, "That was beautiful." He look worried and cupped your face with his hands, "No, no, no -- why are you crying?" 

Your chest was tight as you tried to keep the tears from welling in your eyes, "You memorized that?" He nodded and took your hands in his, "I find myself searching for it when I'm thinking of you. Sometimes I get asked what it's like to love you and I always tell them to read this poem. I never understood what Cummings meant when he wrote about someone being like rain until I fell in love with you." You just looked at him, your thumb brushing his, "I wouldn't believe that coming from anyone else, but for some reason, I believe it from you. I also think you kind of want to get laid, but I still believe it." 

[iliveiloveiwrite]

A Truth Universally Acknowledged // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hi angel! I love all of your stories, especially your Bridgerton and work! Is there any way you could write something soft and fluffy for Anthony and a female reader! PLEASE AND THANK YOU - Anon.

A/N: I haven’t written for Anthony in what seems like forever! As much as I love Benedict, I do love writing Anthony fics. This isn't overly long, I just wanted to write something soft and fluffy that’s entirely domestic as well. I hope you all like! Title is a quote from the first line of Pride and Prejudice (further quotes from the book are in italics).

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: none - fluff, books, marriage, happy relationships, cute.

Word Count: 1.6k

The house is silent as Anthony strides through the waiting, open door. He nods his greeting to the Butler, Wilkins, before letting the weariness that had haunted him all day settle over his bones.

“Wilkins?” Anthony asks; no need to voice the question. Wilkins knows.

“Lady Bridgerton is in the Green-and-Gold, sir.”

Anthony smiles at the Butler. “You really do know everything.”

Wilkins smiles; nods his head. “It is my job, sir. Lady Bridgerton has already told me that you will take your final meal of the day in there, too.”

Anthony takes the stairs two at a time; refusing to accept his laboured breathing by the time he reaches the top. He was not an old man yet; he was still a very active man.

Turning left, he wanders blindly to the Green-and-Gold room named for the colour scheme of the walls and the furniture. His late grandmother had decorated the room; so fondly remembered by her ancestors that each refused to change a thing in the room save for any upholstering that needed to be done occasionally.

He finds you sitting on the left hand side of the room; the comfier side as argued by everyone who visits the room. Your legs are curled underneath you as your eyes pour over the page of an open book in your lap. From here, Anthony cannot possibly hazard a guess as to what you might be reading, but he feels a twinge of jealousy at the attention being paid to the book and not to him.

Well, love makes fools of us all, Anthony thinks to himself. “Darling,” Anthony greets in one single breath, as if the sight of you makes it all the easier for him to breathe.

“Darling,” You smile, standing from your seat, coming to greet the man you love with every fibre of your being. “How was your day?”

Anthony groans as he removes his jacket before tugging at the knot of his cravat. “Long,” He complains, struggling with the neckpiece. You smile at your husband, batting his hands away from his neck so you can take over. You feel the heat of his gaze as your hands work to do undo the knot he had tightened with a single tug; as the fabric unravels under your nimble fingers your husband reaches out to squeeze your waist.

“Thank you,” He whispers, voice full with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. Love? Weariness? A combination of both? Anthony looked ragged as you run your eyes over his face.

“I’m sorry that your day has been taxing, my love.”

“It’s all the better now that I’m here with you.”

“Flatterer,” You tease with no real heat behind your words. Anthony beams at you; eyes crinkling in the corners from the force of it as his hands tighten on your waist and his head dips to capture your lips in the kiss he has been thinking about for the better part of his day.

Breaking away, Anthony plants one, two, three kisses to your lips in quick, chaste succession leaving you breathless and highly amused. “How was your day?” He asks, curious as ever to find out what his wife does when he isn’t at home to distract you.

“Dull,” You answer plainly, enjoying the feel of Anthony’s strong arms around you.

“Dull?”

You purse your lips, thinking over your plans for the day so far. “I suppose dull doesn’t work. It hasn’t been dull at all.”

“Oh?”

“I’m only saying it because I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” He murmurs, kissing you once more. “What are you reading?” Anthony asks when he pulls away, spying the book laid delicately on the couch.

“Eloise let me borrow it. She gave me it when I called to see her this morning,” You answer, leaving the comfort of Anthony’s arms to take your seat on the couch.

“Darling, you know we have an entire library full of books, don’t you?”

Fixing him with an unimpressed look, you counter, “Your sister read this and thought of me. The least I could do is read it.”

“Alright,” Anthony sighs, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. “Budge up.”

“Pardon?”

Anthony gestures to the couch. “Make some room for me.”

A puzzled look settles across your face, but you follow the request, nonetheless, shifting on the couch so Anthony has room to sit down.

Anthony settles with his head on your lap; offering you a self-satisfied smile when you raise an eyebrow at him. “Comfy?” You ask, voice laced with humour.

“Very,” He responds. “Will you start from the beginning? I don’t want to miss anything.”

Chuntering about high maintenance husbands, you mark the page you got to before returning to the beginning. “Anything else before I begin?”

“Nothing… Oh, one thing.”

“That is?”

“I love you.”

Any previous ire you felt towards your husband disappears at those three magical words. The frustrated slant to your brow evens out as you reach out to stroke a hand through his hair and down the side of his face.

“I love you too,” You answer earnestly, feeling the power of the emotion running through you.

A peaceful look crosses Anthony’s face as your words sink into his skin like a balm on an open wound. He had felt neglectful lately; not spending as much time at home as he would have liked. He felt bad for leaving you so alone. Without children, you were your own companion throughout the day, and whilst you had both discussed having children, Anthony was to be left mildly vexed at the thought of you spending your days alone until a child was born.

The opening of parliament combined with Anthony’s seat in the House meant that he was spending more and more time in Westminster and less time with you.

A ratio Anthony was not fond of.

“I’m ready when you are,” He whispers; eyes focused on your face so he can watch every reaction and see every syllable leave your mouth.

Flashing an annoyed look at your husband, you take a deep breath and begin:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“What?” Anthony asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hush,” You admonish half-heartedly before continuing.

“However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.”

“This author is a genius,” Anthony exclaims, his voice awed as he tries to catch a glimpse of the cover to see the author’s name. “Who wrote this?”

“Are you going to comment the whole way through? I’ve barely read two paragraphs.”

“Sorry, darling, but I have to know. Who wrote this?”

“Her name is Jane Austen.”

“Well Jane Austen is a genius. In two paragraphs she’s captured what it is like to be a single man with a fortune in and amongst the sharks with unattached daughters.”

“Sharks?” You ask, highly amused at your husband’s words.

“Mothers,” Anthony shudders, remembering what it was like to go through so many seasons still unmarried. A Viscount with two seats of power combined with a hefty ancestral fortune – many mothers didn’t care whether Anthony would love their daughters; they simply wanted a fortuitus marriage that would leave them set for life.

Anthony thanks any and all gods and deities out there that he found his love match in you. You had taken him by surprise; Anthony had already resigned himself to a season with countless mothers forcing their daughters onto his arm. Until one evening early into the season, he had been listening to Gregory whine about the workload at Eton when his eyes met yours from across the room. In a total state of cliché, Anthony met your gaze, and he knew. He knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life loving you, worshipping you. He knew that whatever his future held, you would be right there weathering it alongside him. In a single glance from across the room, he knew.

You were married before the season finished; a special licence dispensed after a favour from the Archbishop called in. Anthony couldn’t wait; didn’t want to wait – he wanted to start the rest of his life with you as soon as possible.

Your light laughter breaks Anthony out of his reverie. “They aren’t all that bad,” You argue. “I suspect you’ll be worse than me when it comes to our children.”

Anthony snorts; doubting your words but loving the way you speak so openly about your hopeful future family. Clearing your throat, you continue to read on.

Anthony settles further into your lap; letting the calmness of your voice wash over him. After a moment of watching the concentration on your face, Anthony lets his eyes slip closed. He has no intention of falling asleep; he simply wants to enjoy this moment to its fullest.

“Mr Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features…”

A snore interrupts your rendition of Pride and Prejudice. Pausing mid-sentence, you look down to your lap where Anthony has fallen asleep so peacefully. Smiling softly at the man, you close the book, placing it to one side before running a hand through Anthony’s ever-unruly hair. He hums contentedly, pushing his head further into your hand as you begin to scratch at his scalp.

As you watch Anthony doze dreamily, you feel your eyes lose the fight against the growing tiredness. Your hand stills in Anthony’s hair as you fall asleep alongside your husband, utterly content at the path your life has taken considering it led you to him.

*****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​

[jjfics]

Room 19 ll 01

ship: Harry Potter x female!Reader

summary: Harry and the reader both work at the Ministry and are sent together on a mission. their feelings for each other start shifting as they arrive at the hotel.

author: Jane Jack aka your girl JJfics

word count: 2050

a/n: i usually like writing established relationships so this is something new to me but it is a trope i have always enjoyed so i hope you will too. i was on a phone call with my best friend while writing this and they said, and i quote, i dropped my french fry, on the couch

Dragging a suitcase full of clothes can be very exhausting when you are not allowed to do magic. While you could theoretically obliviate all the muggles that happen to see you two, it would be a waste of time. You and the oh-so-famous Harry James Potter were placed together for this mission by the Ministry of Magic, and so far it has been going great. If not talking to each other unless you had to is considered great.

You had expected him to be cockier and pretend to know everything. It’s what the Daily Prophet says anyway. But he has been very silent around you and even though you would never admit this to anyone, especially to him, you have been wondering if he is like this with everybody or if this is about you.

You were supposed to pretend to be a muggle couple who goes on vacation while investigating the activities of some suspicious wizards. Those wizards and witches you were assigned to keep an eye on live somewhere in the countryside of Scotland. No train and no bus could take you this far.

You were currently on a deserted road with Potter on your right checking a map as you did your best to not kick the suitcase that contained both of your clothes out of annoyance. You hated having agreed to take turns with it but at this point, you wanted to give up.

It has been an hour since you last turned left on this road. There was a village somewhere ahead but it seems so far away you might as well just sleep right here. Stargazing with Harry Potter did not sound like a bad story to tell your friends later, but you had to remind yourself how awkward that would turn soon as he refuses to talk to you at all.

“We should be there in about half an hour,” he said suddenly. Oh, so now he talked, good to know.

“Okay,” you sighed.

“What?” he looked up from the map in his hands to face you.

“I don’t even know… Can’t we take a break? We’ll get there eventually.”

“No, y/n. There is a perfect timing at which we have to be at the hotel. We have to arrive at the same time as the group. Is something you would have known if you actually read the instructions we were given before this trip,” he furrowed his brows and said with exasperation latched in his voice.

“You think you’re the only one who cares about this mission? Not everything is about you, Potter,” you said with a cold voice. Maybe he hasn’t been talking to you not because he doesn’t like you personally, which you would totally not even care about, never, but because he was too obsessed with himself to acknowledge anyone else.

“I never said everything is about me!” Harry shouted back at you. “I don’t even want it to be. But I do want this mission to go well, specifically.”

“Why?” you let the suitcase fall on the ground completely moved closer to him.

Potter looked over your head at the road, avoiding eye contact. “It doesn’t matter,” he said and he hated it because his voice sounded a bit unsure. “It doesn’t matter” he repeated.

You rolled your eyes and took a step even closer. “Then why do you care? I bet you didn’t even want to be placed with me, did you?” you shouted back with pain. “You think I’ll screw this up for you, don’t you, Potter?”

“No, y/n, God, just shut up!” he grabbed your arm and pulled you off the road. You were both so concentrated on getting the stress of the trip out on the other that you didn’t even hear a car coming down the street. Its speed slowed down as it approached you and the driver rolled down the window.

The man inside looked you up and down and then stuck out his hand. “Ben Nelson.” he introduced himself.

Potter shook his hand and gave him a small and awkward smile. “Harry Campbell,” he said. He nodded his head in your direction and added shortly “And y/n Campbell.”

The driver laughed stiffly and raised his eyebrows. “And what might you kids be doing here alone?”

“We were just trying to get to the village, not too far away from here,” Potter told him.

“Ah, that’s where I’m heading… yeah… well, come on, do you want me to help you put that trunk of yours in the back?” the man chuckled.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Yeah, I’m taking you there, come on.” he took his seatbelt off, but Harry held his hand up.

“Thank you, sir. We can put the suitcase ourselves.”

“Okay, but hurry up you. I don’t have all the time in the world like you young ones.”

Potter smirked at you, and you tried to hide the way you blushed by bringing your hands up to your hair to tie it back before dragging the suitcase once more and closing the trunk loudly. You and Potter got in the backseat together, just to make it clear that you were a couple, you thought; he probably wouldn’t sit next to you otherwise.

“You two have been together for long?” Nelson asks.

You are still very mad at your partner, but you have to put on an act. You are not y/n y/ln anymore. Now you are y/n Campbell. “One year,” you falsely giggle. “But it has been the best year of my life” you put your arm on Potter’s thigh, and you could swear he stopped breathing for a second.

“My wife and I have been together for 30 years. Met her when I was young like you… Good times, good times.”

You got to the hotel way faster than you had assumed at first, making your argument from earlier look stupid now. You didn’t apologize though, and neither did he. As you entered the hotel you left Potter in the hall with the suitcase and handed him your ugly muggle coat (you missed your soft travel robes a lot) and headed to a toilet.

After fixing yourself in the mirror, trying to delay having to talk to him again, you finally exited the restroom and looked for him in the cold entrance hallway. There he was in a corner, with your coat over his shoulder and his arms crossed, making you wonder how even women’s clothing looked this good on him. He had a frustrated expression on his face as if something was bothering him a great deal.

“Where are my clothes?” you asked.

“Our clothes are in room 19. A kind person offered to take them there for us while I waited for you. Let’s go.” It didn’t make sense. What was his problem now? You arrived early; everything went as planned.

He walked in front of you through the large lobby of the hotel to the stairs like he knew the way already. The woman must have shown him where the room is. He didn’t stop until you reached the second floor. There were many tall brown doors down the hall but you kept passing them. The numbers on the wall next to them kept increasing until, at last, there was 19.

Potter reached in the pocket of his pants for a small golden key to open the door. Inside it smelled like old wood and fresh air. It was truly a beautiful room that reminded you a bit of your own at home. Everything had a nostalgic feeling to it that made you feel welcome. But there was one small thing you didn’t realize at first. One small problem.

There was only one bed.

A big bed with white sheets stood in the corner with your suitcase underneath. Your tired feet begged you to jump on it and immediately fall asleep, but your brain would not let you. Because Potter must have wanted to do the same, but none of you moved.

“I will sleep on the floor,” you said quickly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. You have to rest.”

“Listen, Potter, I know you want to be a gentleman for once, but I’m not that tired.” Lie. “You can take the bed."

“But you carried the suitcase; you deserve this more” he scratched the back of his head. Did he believe you to be weak?

“I will sleep on the floor” you hissed and walked over to the bed to take one of the pillows.

The watch on your hand told you it was 1 am when you woke up on the hard wooden floor. Your back and feet hurt like crazy and you regretted being the brave one more and more. All you wanted now was to lay on the soft bed next to Potter. His breathing was even as his chest rose and fell back slowly. His hair was messy, his lips parted as he slept. He looked peaceful like this, almost like someone you could suffer being around.

You didn’t bother to turn on the lights as you crossed the room to the bathroom. The moonlight which came through the window was enough to guide you.

You tried falling back asleep after, but woke up disappointed at 3 am again. You searched your entire memory for any Sleeping Spell but you couldn’t remember any. Perhaps Potter would not even know what had happened to you next morning when he couldn’t wake you up and worry.

You did not want him to be worried, ever, so you stopped trying. You sighed and looked over to the comfortable bed once again. He was still in the same position. Nothing was bothering his perfect sleep.

He would not mind, after all, would he? If you just got 3 hours of actual sleep and then moved back on the floor in the morning? He would not notice your presence. He did want you to take the bed, so why not do it?

You hugged your pillow close to your chest and watched him in case he woke up as you made your way next to him. Doing your best not to touch him you stood as far as possible on the bed. He rolled over and you could not tell if he was awake for his face was turned to the wall. Anxiety was flowing through your veins but only for a moment. Who cares if he woke up? He would say something if it really bothered him.

You fell asleep quite instantly. Even though it was more like a short nap it was the best sleep you had ever had in your life. So warm and comfortable. It was a refreshing dreamless night. You yawned softly before opening your eyes and you wanted to stretch your arms, but you found that you couldn’t. Something was restraining you.

And then you realized that it was a bit too sunny inside the room for it to only be 6 am as you had planned.

You opened your eyes slowly only to be met with Potter’s face very close to yours. His eyes were still closed and he looked very content with the position you two were in: cuddling with his hands around your waist and your head previously on his shoulder. You found yourself not wanting to move or disrupt him. You wanted to stay there forever. He was more than just sufferable like this.

But you did not want him to know about this, that is, if he still didn’t. So you attempted to get off the bed. It was almost painful, leaving him and the bed, but you had to get ready for the first part of the mission today. He smiled in his sleep as you sighed, wondering what he could have been dreaming about that made him happy.

He woke up 15 minutes later when you were already dressed. You made sure to return your pillow to the cold floor and hoped he didn’t realize what happened during the night. With the wands hidden in both of your coats you made your way to a cafe in the village for breakfast, where, according to the instructions from the Ministry, you should observe the group of wizards from afar.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 10

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:46am

To: mreyes@fbi.gov

Subject: Coffee?

Hi Monica,

It’s Dana, from pathology. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee tomorrow around lunchtime? I have a break in classes from 11-2, so anywhere in there would be fine.

I hope things are going well with VICAP.

-Dana

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:48am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: Wednesday/Thursday

Hi,

I’m mildly shocked that you hadn’t already emailed me before I got in today. Are you alive?

If you’d like to meet up for lunch or coffee this week, I can do Wednesday or Thursday, sometime in the 11-3 timeframe. Let me know which works for you and I’ll block the time out so nothing else ends up on my schedule.

From: mreyes@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 11:12am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Coffee?

Hi Dana,

I’m so glad you reached out. I’d love to get coffee tomorrow; I can meet you just outside the autopsy bay at 1pm, if that works?

I look forward to it.

-Monica

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28th, 1997 12:16pm

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Wednesday/Thursday

Hi Scully,

I see that my exceptional self control has paid off in spades. I am alive, and have resisted emailing you this morning through a combination of sheer will and a two-hour budget meeting.

Wednesday sounds perfect, I’ll be there at noon. Don’t ask me how many hours that is from now because I haven’t calculated it and I have no idea.

———

About an hour after returning from her coffee date with Monica, which was very pleasant and is something she hopes to repeat, she starts to feel just a little bit achy. She pushes through the rest of her work for the day and by the time she slumps through her apartment door at six, there’s no denying that she’s sick. She takes some Tylenol and goes to bed, hoping it will have passed in the morning, but when she wakes up it’s even worse. She calls in sick to work and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes again, the phone is ringing. She ignores it, only for it to start ringing again the moment the machine picks up. Dragging herself out of bed with a pained moan, she trudges to the hallway, retrieving the cordless phone and walking back to her bedroom as she answers.

“Hello?”

“Scully! Are you okay?”

“What? Yes. Mulder?” She burrows herself back under the covers with the phone tucked against her ear.

“Yes, it’s me, you didn’t answer my emails all morning and never showed up for our coffee date. I was worried.”

“Shit, Mulder, I’m sorry. I came down with something yesterday and called out sick. I totally forgot we were having coffee today.”

“You’re sick?” he asks, clear concern in his voice.

“Yes, just a virus or something, I’ll be fine.”

“Can I bring you something? Soup? Juice? Bad movies?”

She chuckles a little. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“Who's gonna take care of you?”

“Mulder, I’m a grown adult with a cold, I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure?” She can tell by his tone that he wants to do this more for himself than for her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want you to see me all sick and disgusting, Mulder. It’s too soon to ruin your image of me,” she says somewhat sarcastically.

“Seeing you sick is not going to change how I feel about you, Scully,” he says very tenderly, and she knows he means it. Still, she doesn’t like the idea.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Sorry to make you drive an hour for nothing. Rain check?”

He sighs noisily. “Okay, fine. I think you inadvertently left ‘stubborn’ off your list of flaws, though.”

“Well, I didn’t want to ruin all the surprises,” she replies with a smile.

He reluctantly says goodbye, and as soon as he hangs up, she calls the first number on her speed dial.

“Hello,” calls Missy in her typical singsong greeting.

“Missy, can you come over?” she whines, little sister mode in full effect, “I’m sick.”

Missy arrives forty five minutes later and fusses around, gathering a glass of water, Tylenol, and the thermometer that is buried in the bottom of a bathroom drawer. Dana has relocated to the couch, and makes a face around the thermometer propped under her tongue when Missy sets four crystals of different shapes and colors on the coffee table, along with two herb-filled capsules. The thermometer beeps angrily and Missy plucks it out of her mouth, shaking her head.

“One hundred and two,” she says with a frown, “here, take these,” she holds out two Tylenol and two of the herb capsules with a glass of water.

Dana takes the Tylenol and leaves the others.

“Whatever those are, I’m not taking them. And you can pack up your crystals,” she says to Missy as she pops the Tylenol and chases them with a big gulp of water.

“They’re just echinacea, Sis, they won't kill you. And neither will the crystals.”

“But they also won’t help,” Dana says dryly, setting her water on the coffee table and burrowing back under her blanket.

“Well, I’ll just leave them right here,” Missy says, standing and going to the kitchen. “Why’d you call me, anyway? Shouldn’t playing sick maid be Mulder’s job now?” She’s looking through cupboards, pulling out a pot and a can of soup.

“It’s too soon for him to see me all congested and disgusting,” Dana replies, stifling a shiver. “He wanted to come over, but I told him not to.”

There’s a knock at the door. Dana sits up, exchanging confused looks with Missy.

“Did you order food?” Dana asks, and Missy shakes her head, moving to the door.

Dana watches from the couch as Missy opens the door to find no one on the other side. She looks at the floor, then down the hall one direction and the other. She stoops down and picks something up, then walks back to the couch with a paper bag.

“What is that?” Dana asks, and Missy shrugs, setting it on the coffee table and sitting at Dana’s feet. There’s a sheet of paper stapled to the bag, and Missy plucks it off, opening it while Dana explores the contents; a carton of tom kah gai soup.

Missy’s face is a mask of confusion as she reads whatever is written on the paper.

“What does it say?” Dana asks, and Missy hands it to her.

Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still.

Dana’s chin puckers as her bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “Oh my god,” she gushes, “it’s Mulder.”

“What the hell does this mean?” Missy asks, taking the paper back and reading it again. “Does he write poetry or something?”

“No,” Dana answers, pulling the lid off the container and breathing in the spicy coconut smell, “it’s a quote from Jane Eyre.”

“Oh my god,” Missy says with a disgusted look, “you two really are meant for each other. This is sickening, Dana, you realize that, right?”

Dana is smiling, taking sips of the hot Thai chicken soup that he somehow knew she needed. “Yes, he’s also a giant nerd, if that’s what you’re saying. But beyond that, I don’t think we have much of anything in common, actually.”

“You both work for the FBI,” Missy offers.

“Yes, but in totally different areas. And he’s an atheist, and believes in unverifiable phenomena like aliens and spontaneous human combustion. And he’s impulsive and easy going, and he makes decisions with his gut,” Dana lists off Mulder’s attributes like she’s describing the trim level on a car. He’s cute, and he has a leather interior.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t use any of those words to describe you,” Missy says pointedly, setting the note on the table, where Dana plucks it back up and reads it again. “But there’s something to be said for being with someone who’s different from you.”

“I don’t really buy into the idea of ‘opposites attract,’” Dana says flatly. “I think that’s just a lie people tell themselves to justify horribly mismatched partnerships.”

“I think ‘opposites attract’ implies that your qualities clash, like the odd couple. One is messy and the other is clean,” Missy replies, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “But I heard about this idea of ‘perfect opposites’ which is more like someone who complements you, or helps kind of level you out. So perhaps you lean to the extreme in some areas where Mulder leans to the other extreme, and you learn to meet somewhere in the middle.”

Dana gives her a doubtful look. “What is the middle between believing wholeheartedly that Bigfoot exists, and knowing that he doesn’t?”

Missy takes this under serious consideration. “I think,” she says without a hint of sarcasm, “that the medium would be accepting that it’s possible that he exists, and possible he doesn’t, but there's no way to know for sure.”

“So a Bigfoot agnostic?” Dana asks, and Missy nods in confirmation.

Dana shakes her head. “Maybe you should have gone out with him, I think you two might be better suited.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Missy says with a coy smile. “Speaking of which, does he have any single friends?”

Dana shrugs around a gulp of soup. “I don’t know, I haven’t met any of his friends.”

“Well, when you do, keep an eye out would ya? Now that I’ve lost my single buddy, I may as well get back out there. God knows it’s torture enough hearing your lurid tales from the bedroom.”

“Missy, I haven’t told you a single lurid tale,” Dana chastises.

“I know, what’s up with that?” Missy retorts in mock offense, “speaking of, what happened when he took you out to dinner Sunday night?”

Dana shakes her head.

“Oh come on, Dana. I have no life, let me live vicariously,” Missy whines.

Dana shakes her head again. “The only thing I’ll say is; maybe don’t eat off the kitchen counter,” she says before giving Missy a guilty look.

Missy’s mouth drops open.

“Wow, I’m not sure if I’m more grossed out or jealous,” she says as she stands, “I’m gonna get out of here, if you’re good. I think I need to go pick up a guy at a bar for some meaningless sex.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for coming by. If you need a condom there are some in the bathroom,” she adds with a sarcastic smile, and Missy sneers at her.

“Ha, ha,” Missy replies as she slips on her shoes and opens the door, “last time I checked, you can’t get pregnant from a vibrator.”

Dana gives her a sympathetic pout and Missy pulls the door closed behind her.

———

It’s a quarter past eight when the phone rings, and he pushes Priscilla onto the floor to retrieve it from his desk.

“Hello?”

“I can’t find it,” says a garbled voice.

“Hello?” he asks again, “who is this?”

“It’s really cold. It’s also too hot,” the voice says around a sound like fabric moving over the mouthpiece.

“Scully?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

There’s a pause. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mulder, where are you?”

“I’m at home. You called me at home. Is Missy there?”

“No, she had to take her vibrator to a bar,” she answers, and it’s clear that she’s completely delirious.

“Scully, I’m coming over,” he says, standing up to find his shoes and wallet. “Hey, Scully, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you stand up, and walk to your front door?”

She sighs. “That’s very far.”

“I know it is, but I need you to unlock the door so I can get in. I don’t think your super would be very happy if I broke it down.”

He hears her groan and her voice becomes quieter, then disappears. He waits, and just when he thinks she may have hung up, she picks the phone back up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did you unlock the door?”

“Mulder?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Mulder, where are you?”

He snickers a little. “I’m on my way over, did you unlock the door?”

“I...I don’t remember,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.

“That’s okay, go back to bed. I’ll figure it out. See you soon, okay?”

“Okay, bye, Mulder.”

He waits but the line doesn’t go dead. He hears her shuffle around a bit and then it’s quiet for a long time. Setting the phone on its cradle, he drives over to her apartment.

The door is, thankfully, unlocked, and all the lights are off.

“Scully?” he calls out, not wanting to scare her. “Scully, are you awake?”

When he gets no response, he slips off his shoes and makes his way to her bedroom, calling out her name intermittently. He finds her twisted up in her sheets, and one touch to her forehead has him jerk his hand away with how hot she is. He strips the blankets off of her, finding her in only a T-shirt and panties underneath. Next he finds a washcloth in the bathroom and soaks it with cold water, then grabs two Tylenol and a glass of water. When he returns to the bedroom and drapes the cloth over her forehead, she starts and opens her eyes momentarily, but then closes them again.

“Scully,” he says softly, shaking her shoulder, “I need you to wake up, honey. I need you to take these.”

Her eyes open slowly and she blinks at him with heavy lids.

“Mulder?” she asks groggily, and he gives her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m here. Can you sit up and take these?”

He helps her prop herself up just enough to swallow the Tylenol and a sip of water before she collapses back against the pillows.

“I feel like shit,” she complains, but her eyes are already closed and she’s on her way back to sleep.

“I know. Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

———

She wakes up to harsh beams of sun pouring directly through her eyelids. Her first thought is that Ethan forgot to close the blinds again, but then she remembers that she and Ethan aren't together anymore and he doesn’t live here, so she must have forgotten to close them. She moves to roll out of bed and is met with the shock of aching muscles, and remembers that she had been raging with fever last night. She probably shouldn’t have let Missy leave, but thankfully the fever seems to have broken during the night. She rolls away from the window, no longer motivated to get up and close the blinds, and finds herself nose to nose with a sleeping Mulder.

“What the hell?” she says out loud, and he opens his eyes and smiles at her.

“Hi,” he says softly, “how do you feel?”

She gives him a perplexed expression. “Confused. How long have you been here?”

He chuckles “I knew you were out of it, but I didn’t think you were that far gone. You don’t remember?”

She shakes her head ruefully.

Mulder rolls to his back and stretches, then turns back to face her. “You called me last night, totally out of it, and I came over to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you get in?” she asks skeptically.

“You let me in.”

Her eyes widen.

“You were burning up, I just force fed you some Tylenol and kept an eye on you. Around 3am you started shivering, so I think that’s when the fever broke.”

She is quiet for a moment, taking in her surroundings. “Mulder...am I not wearing pants?”

He holds up his hands in self defense. “That’s how I found you, Scully, Scout’s honor.”

“What time is it?” she asks, feeling disoriented.

He peeks at his watch. “A little after nine.”

She sits up too quickly and gets dizzy. “I’m late for work,” she says, one hand to her head.

“Scully you were delirious with fever six hours ago, you’re not going to work. I called for you,” he says, sitting up too.

She gives him an incredulous look. “You called out sick to work for me?”

He nods.

She sighs and looks away from him. “I got the soup, and the note,” she says, “thank you.”

“Of course,” he answers, rubbing a palm over her back.

She looks back at him, taking in his sleep rumpled hair and second day stubble. She furrows her brow, a slight scowl on her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she says with a defeated tone, and he laughs.

“I’d sure like to be, if you’ll have me.”

She groans and slumps against him, sighing as he wraps his arms around her, petting her hair.

“Okay, fine,” she says flatly.

“Well don’t sound so excited about it,” he teases, and she pulls back and smiles at him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she says softly.

“Thanks for letting me,” he replies.

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask” Chapter 8 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: After their weekend together, Reader and Dr. Reid have very different ideas on what the next step is. But all of that will have to wait because there’s a serial arsonist in D.C. who has been choosing victims that appear too random. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst. Just all the angst. There is a moment of smut...but it’s angsty smut. 

Content Warnings: The usual criminal minds talk of m*rder and mayhem. Mentioned of drug addiction. Vaginal penetration. Unprotected sex. And there is a character that gets seriously injured, but is ultimately fine. 

Word Count:  6.6k for Chapter 8 

A/n: There is a quote by Jane Austen that says, “All my characters shall have, after a bit of trouble, all that they desire.” That’s my philosophy on writing. I know this isn’t what everyone signed up for when they started reading a sub!Spencer fic. This my hurt you heart, but I promise you the part of Chapter 9 that mends it is already written. If you want to wait to read this until Chapter 9 comes out to read this, I understand. The earliest it will be out is tomorrow, the latest is Friday. 

-- Chapter 8 – “Because I love you” --

Spencer had been reluctant for me to go home last night, but eventually relented when I pointed out that I couldn’t very well show up to work in what I was wearing when I left yesterday. He had kissed me so softly before I left that it made me ache. Everything felt so different, but everything was the same.

The next morning, I was getting ready when I heard my phone ding with a text message. I smiled when I saw Spencer’s name.

“Open your door.”

Not a second later I heard a knock on my door. My eyebrows drew together as I crossed the living room, throwing the door open to see a very chipper Dr. Spencer Reid standing on the other side.

“Hi,” he said softly, smiling at me.

“Hi?” I laughed; I really couldn’t help it. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

“I brought you this.” I noticed the cups in his hand then, both from the coffee shop I showed him yesterday. “Even though it felt wrong to order it,” he teased.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, taking my iced coffee from him before I waved him into my apartment. Iced coffee was an abomination to my Dr. Reid. “You only hate it because you haven’t tried it.”

He moved to sit on my couch, taking a sip of his own drink. “And I will continue to hate it without having tried it.”

“Brat,” I muttered, moving to stand in front of him. I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s 6:45 in the morning. You were going to see me in, what, an hour anyway?” How early did he have to get up to do this?

His bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout. “Are you upset that I came by?”

My nervous, darling boy. “Never, Doc.” I turned to go back into my room to finish getting ready.

“I also thought we should talk about what we’re going to do today,” he called from the living room.

Huh? “What do you mean?” I picked out a pair of ankle boots from my closet that would match with my outfit. “Do we have a new case?”

“Probably,” he said, scaring the shit out of me. I didn’t realize he’d gotten up and come into my bedroom.

“Jesus, Spencer,” I laughed, my hand over my heart. “Warn a girl next time, alright?” I finished putting on my shoes, checking my hair and makeup in the mirror a final time before I turned to walk back into the living room. “So, we need to talk about the fact that we ‘probably’ have a case?”

“No,” he said, reaching out to grab my elbow, stilling my movements. “I wanted to talk about us. And what we’re going to tell the team.”

Oh no. “Tell the team…about what?” I hedged.

Spencer's eyebrows came together in confusion. "…About us?”

“…Why would we tell the team?” My question sounded hollow in my own ears.

My darling, darling boy looked confused for a second. “Well, its protocol. We’re on the same team. And…” he swallowed thickly. “I-I thought that…”

I felt my heart splinter into a million pieces. "Spencer," I began quietly. "I don't know if we…I'm not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“What do you mean?” He looked so crestfallen, so fucking hurt that I could barely breathe. "I thought after last weekend that..." he trailed off. He looked so young in that moment like he really was a small boy afraid that someone he cared about would leave him. "I thought you wanted to be with me."

His sadness was a punch to my gut. “Spencer,” I said gently. “It is not that. It’s not that at all.” I took a step towards him, reaching out to place my hand on his arm. “I just…you’ve never been involved in this sort of relationship before. There are a lot of high emotions that come with this-“

“What are you saying?” he interrupted, his voice hard.

“I’m saying that we need to give this time before you make any sort of decision about us other than our established BDSM relationship.” He jerked his arm away from me. Don’t do this to me, baby. "Spence, plenty of people have a relationship within a dom/sub relationship. I have! It can work. But…” I trailed off.

“But what, y/n?” His eyes were cold. They looked so wrong. My boy was supposed to have warm amber eyes. Not these flat brown eyes that made my heart feel hollow.

“I’m saying that it’s only been one weekend. And I need you to be sure. We need to be sure about each other.”

“So, you aren’t sure?” He took a step towards me, crowding my space. “You seemed pretty fucking sure last night.” Spencer looked up at the ceiling, running his hand through his hair. “How can you stand here and say you aren’t sure after what we did together last night?!”

Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. “It was just sex, Spencer.” Liar.

He backed away from me, a look of disgust on his face. “I’ve asked you once before not to lie to me, y/n. You know that what we did last night was a whole lot more than ‘just sex’ or ‘fucking.’ You can lie to yourself about it, but don’t you dare fucking lie to me!”

“Then what was it, Spencer?” My anger matched his own, my hands were shaking so hard I had to ball them into fists at my sides.

Spencer turned then, taking several steps until he was in front of me again. His hand moved up to the left side of my face; he ran his thumb over the cupid’s bow of my mouth. “You know what it was, y/n.” His head tilted down while his thumb ran over my bottom lip. “I made love to you last night. You’re hiding, and I don’t understand why. But please. You promised you wouldn’t regret it. Do you?” His eyes searched my face frantically.  

“Not for an instant, Spencer.” My eyes were starting to brim over with emotion.

“Then don’t push me away, baby. I know you’re scared.” He moved to close the few inches that separated us, his lips brushing over mine softly, sending a tingle down my entire body.

“I’m not pushing you away,” I said against his mouth. “I just…Can we give it time?” He pulled back from me, his hand dropping from my face, leaving me cold. “Spencer, you’ve never done this before, you went through a lot of high emotions this weekend… that might have affected how you think you’re feeling.”

Spencer gave a jerk, abruptly pulling completely away from me. “I know exactly how I fucking feel.” His words were low and harsh. Without looking back at me he stormed out of my apartment.  

The tears didn’t come until I saw he had left his coffee cup behind.

--

I was only 15 minutes late for work, and I think I had fixed my face enough so that it didn't look like I had been crying. The team was already in the conference room when I arrived. I darted inside, mumbling my apologies.

“Did you sleep in,” Morgan teased from beside me.

I just shot him an obviously fake glare. “Maybe.”

That seemed to ease the tension in the room…except the tension that was coming from the man sitting in between JJ and Morgan, the man refusing to look at me.

My heart broke more every single second he ignored me. But this is what I deserve.

Garcia walked into the room then, iPads and casefiles in hand. “Welcome back, crimefighters. We’re coming in hot today but luckily we’re staying close to home!” She passed out the iPads to all of us, save my boy who got a paper file, with a huge smile on her face. “There’s a serial arsonist right here in D.C.!”

JJ laughed. “That’s a weird thing to sound happy about, Penelope.”

“And we have a problem,” Hotch said, walking into the room and shutting the door.

“Figures,” Morgan muttered. “We get a weekend off and come back to a problem.”

Garcia smiled at him before turning to Hotch. “A problem with what, Sir? I didn’t see any problems in the files. Other than murder…and destruction of property…Just general icky-ness.”

Hotch sighed, gesturing for her to put the photos on the monitor. "Over the past month, there have been three fires in Dupont Circle. So far 6 people have died. He seems to be targeting married couples with no children or pets."

“It’s not uncommon for arsonists to avoid places with pets,” Morgan mused.

“What is uncommon is how random the victims are. Garcia?” Hotch motioned for her to go on.

"Right, well D.C. Police didn't even realize the fires were connected at first. In the first two fires, they initially couldn't find the origin point where the fire started."

“What?” I asked. “How can the unsub be hiding that?”

“People can hide lots of things.” That comment came from my boy. I looked over at him, but he still refused to meet my eyes.

“That they can, Doc.”  

“That’s all the information we have Sir,” Penelope said to Hotch. “I’m not sure what the problem is.”

"The victims are too random, which is why I wanted to look them over before we officially accepted the case. I think I've found his pattern. Garcia," he said, shifting his focus to her. "Can you cross-reference the names of all the victims against BAU cases?"

As Garcia sat down and started typing Morgan turned to our unit chief. “What are you thinking here, Hotch?”

“I recognized one of the victims of the second fire. We questioned him years ago. Gideon and I were the ones that brought him in. There was a string of rapes in the Washington Highlands area.” Hotch crossed his arms over his chest. “We thought he looked good for it, but he had a solid alibi. His wife said she with him all night. The case was never solved.”

“Oh my god,” Garcia gasped out, her eyes wide. “We’ve brought all three male victims in for questioning on different cases over the years.”

“And there’s our problem. You’d either have to be a member of D.C. police or someone in the Bureau to know that they had been questioned.”

Fuck me running. “So, we have a serial arsonist that might be able to know every move we make as we make it?”

This day just keeps getting better and better.

--

After hours of speaking with the D.C. fire departments and working with local police, Derek and Prentiss made a discovery when they examined the crime scenes.

“I’m telling you Hotch," Morgan's voice rang out from the phone held in our unit chief's hand. "The scene has been tampered with. The reason they had a hard time finding the ignition point is because someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to cover it up after the fact."

“That confirms our theory that the unsub is a member of law enforcement or the fire department,” Spencer chimed in.

Rossi came over to the table, his hands in his pockets, a worried look on his lined face. "Being a member of the fire department fits better if you're trying to hide the ignition point," he began. "But a firefighter wouldn't have access to the files on who was questioned.

Derek made a noise of agreement. “I think we might be looking at a team.”

“That would make sense,” I said, looking up from the files on the round table. “No firefighter showed up at all 3 fires. We know he’s organized, but arsonists are compulsive. He would have to be nearby to watch it all burn.”

“You think maybe an off-duty cop or firefighter was in the crowd,” Spencer said, finally, finally, finally meeting my eyes for the first time that day. His eyes were lit with excitement over figuring a puzzle out. “No one would notice a person like that being at all 3 fires. And nobody would notice if a firefighter or cop asked to come take a look once the fire was out.”  

I nodded. “Correct again, Doc.”

His gaze shuttered at that, his jaw locking, then he turned his back to me.

“We’re gonna have to re-interview all the firefighters and D.C. police,” Hotch said with a sigh. “He’s one of them.”

“I can ask Will if he’ll come in. A lot of the cops in his prescient have also worked Dupont Circle in the past. Maybe he can help us narrow it down,” JJ chimed in.

Hotch nodded. “Tomorrow. We all need to go home tonight. D.C. police are on high alert. We’re not going to catch him tonight. Get some rest.”

With that dismissal, the team disbanded from the conference room.

I tried to catch him, but my boy was gone before I even got back to my desk.

--

“Hey, Spence. It’s me again. I…I know that you probably don’t want to talk to me. You also probably don’t want me leaving you voicemails. You hate voicemails. But…I’m just worried about you and I want to know that you’re okay. Please call me back.”

"Hey, Doc. I'm just checking on you again. Please call me back."

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me. I’m sorry.”

--

The clock above my TV said that it was almost midnight, but I wasn’t aware of any time passing. My eyes were swollen from crying but the rest of my body felt numb. I had been calling and texting Spencer for hours with no reply. I couldn’t believe that he would do this to me…especially after what I told him yesterday.

It’s strange how this weekend already feels like it was years ago. The best two days of my life…gone. Maybe my ex was right...maybe I’m not worth it.

My thoughts were interrupted by a banging on my door that was so loud and so sudden I almost jumped out of my skin.

Having every intention of just ignoring whoever it was, I didn't move to get up. But then the banging got louder.

I quickly scrambled to my gun safe, putting my thumb against the sensor to unlock it. Gun in hand, I moved towards the door. The banging was constant now, and so forceful I was worried my door would fly off the hinges.

I looked through the peephole in my door, my gun gripped in my right hand. I saw him at the same time he spoke. “Y/n,” Spencer called, pounding on my door. “Let me in!”

I put my gun down and had the lock off and the door open in seconds. "Spencer, what in the ever-loving fu-“

My words were cut off because he pushed through the door, entering my apartment without even looking at me. This feels familiar. I turned to face my boy, angry but in a different way than I had seen him before. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

He gave a bitter smile at that. “We’ve been here before. Don’t call me Doc right now.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages. At first, I was ignoring you, but then I…went somewhere where I couldn’t have my phone.”

His words felt like an ice pick in my heart. “You were ignoring me?” My voice was small. “And…you went…” I couldn’t finish my thought; I just wrapped my arms around my middle.

“Yes, y/n,” he said simply. “I was ignoring your calls. I didn’t…” His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he considered me. “I was afraid of what I’d say…what I’d do.”

“Oh.”

Spencer shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I went to a meeting. Then I went across town and went to another one.”

“Spencer." My voice was a whisper, emotions threatening to overtake me. "I'm so fucking sorry.” I hurt him so much he went to multiple meetings? I did that to him?

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His tone wasn’t dismissive just…impersonal. “Your actions are your own, how I respond to those actions is all I can control.”

“Did the…did you?”

He pulled both of his lips between his teeth. He knew what I meant. He always knows. “No, y/n, I didn’t.” His tongue tapped against his top lip. “But, I really, really fucking wanted to.”

My entire body went cold. “Spencer, I didn’t mean to-“

"Don't, y/n." His hands left his pockets; he crossed his arms over his chest. "I know. I was in the middle of my second meeting when I realized. I was thinking about the quickest way I could get in touch with my old dealer." I winced at his words. "Because…how was I supposed to live with the fact that you dismissed the most…" I saw his anger rising again as he thought about it. "It was one of the most important fucking moments of my life,y/n!” The voice that was usually so soft was laced with bitterness.

My tears started falling then. “Spencer I never meant to hurt you.” I curled my body more into myself. “I…I don’t know how to fix this.”

"That's when I realized what was happening," he continued like I hadn't spoken. "I remembered the look on your face when I told you that you were all sunshine and kindness. You balked at the idea." His eyes bore into me, laying me bare. "You're trying to protect yourself, and it's a natural instinct. But you're hurting me to do it.”

I saw the moment his anger left his body. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes went glassy and I felt the hurt wash over him. “You have to stop doing this,” he whispered, his voice strained. Each one of the tears that fell from those beautiful brown eyes was a knife in my stomach. “You have to let someone care about you.” Spencer cut the distance between us. He reached for me, his hands come up to hold my face, while his own crumpled. “You have to let me care about you.”

I couldn’t bear to see him cry; I couldn’t live with myself when I was the cause of this wonderful, beautiful man’s pain. I looked straight into his eyes, taking in all the pain I’d caused. “I want to, Doc,” I whispered. “But I don’t know how.”

His mouth crashed against mine. Spencer was desperate in a way I hadn’t felt before; he ripped my shirt from my body while I tugged his shirt free from his pants. His mouth moved down to my neck, sucking harshly while I worked his belt off. I slipped my hand inside of his underwear, palming him. He was already hot and hard, and I ached for him. I’m not sure which one of us pulled the other down to my living room floor, but I felt the cool wood on my back as Spencer settled over me.

His hand came up to brush my hair out of my face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. The pressure of his hands changed. The desire still burned between us, but it wasn’t fueled by pain and rage. Spencer kissed me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held. His fingers were soft when they slipped into my panties, finding me already wet for him. There was no smirk on his face when he unfastened his pants or when he pulled mine off.

He held himself against me, not quite inside of me yet. Spencer Reid, my wonderful, darling, nervous boy leaned over me, put his mouth against my neck when he entered me. My back arched and I moaned loudly at the invasion. He peppered kisses from my shoulder, around my neck, until he reached the other side. His mouth moved up my cheek, finally finding my lips while he continued to move inside me.

This felt different than last night. If last night was making love…I don’t know what this could be. I felt like Spencer was inside every part of me, consuming me. He pulled back, looking in my eyes, his thrusts never slowing. “I know you’re not ready to hear it,” he whispered. “But you need to know I feel it. I’ve felt it since the first time you smiled at me, y/n.”

He moved his hand down between our bodies, brushing against my clit. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to cum, but he quickly proved me wrong. I felt my orgasm rising up inside me but even it felt different. It wasn’t frantic or intense, it was slow and powerful…it was perfect, just like my boy was.

Spencer felt when my orgasm started to break. “When you’re ready to hear it, I’ll never stop telling you. I will tell you about how I’ll feel it forever, and how no one has ever felt it the way I do with you.”

I’m not sure if I started crying from the sudden release of the orgasm or from his words, but tears slipped down my cheeks while I held him to me tightly when he found his own pleasure.

“Stay with me,” he whispered against my mouth.

Always.

--

Both of our phones went off at 5 am the following morning.

“Hurry!” Garcia’s first text read. The second made my stomach drop. “There was another fire!”

We arrived on the scene as quickly as we could. I didn't live very far from Spencer, so it wasn't that weird for me to swing by his place and "pick him up." In reality, he just needed to change his clothes. His left hand held onto my right as we drove towards the fire that had claimed 2 more lives.

“We have to talk,” he said at last.

“I know.” Because I did.

“After the case?”

I nodded, bringing our joined hands up so I could press a kiss to the back of his hand.

--

The next two victims were just like the others; a husband who had been questioned in a serial murder investigation by the BAU and the wife that was his alibi. After interviewing everyone again we kept coming up with one name over and over. Edward Gordon was a responding officer at the first and third fires, but several people remember seeing him at fire two. He was on duty for the fourth fire and was already on the scene when the BAU agents showed up.

He had applied to the FBI academy but was denied; that denial didn’t stop him from applying to the D.C. police department. He fit the profile; he had the connections needed to pull it off. We were on our way to his house with a warrant. I was sitting in the passenger seat while Morgan drove; Prentiss and Rossi were in the back. “I don’t like this,” Rossi muttered.

“What’s up?” Derek asked.

"I don't know," the older man said. "It just feels…gift wrapped." He turned to look at Emily. "It wasn't until the firefighter you talked to remembered him that anyone else remembered him.”

“Right,” Emily said, consulting her notes. “Jeff Sawyers. He’s 35, married, and well-liked by everyone. We ruled him out.”

Rossi shook his head. “Everyone we talked to said that Gordon was a loner, he didn’t stick out. No one noticed him. So why did Sawyers?”

“Maybe he felt something? Like when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up?” Morgan offered.

“Well,” Rossi said with a sigh, sitting back. “I don’t know about you guys, but the hairs on the back of my neck are already up.”

Mine are too.

--

Arresting Edward Gordon was too easy. He didn’t put up much of a fight, which made me more nervous.

“Guys,” Spencer called while Morgan loaded Gordon into a suburban. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hotch nodded. “Something is off. Stay sharp, we need to clear the area.”

We broke off into teams to do another sweep of Gordon’s house. I was with Hotch in the basement, Rossi and Reid took the main floor, and JJ and Prentiss to the top.

“There’s nothing,” I said when we all met again on the front porch. “But something feels wrong.”

Emily nodded. “Maybe we should canvas surrounding houses?”

“Not a bad idea,” Rossi mused. “Maybe somebody saw something…or maybe somebody is actually someone.”

“I’ll go tell Morgan,” my boy said, turning to head for the car parked on the side of the road.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the upstairs window of the house directly across the street. I saw it a moment before everyone else; I was already sprinting towards Reid before the others had a chance to react.

Not him, no not him, I begged. I wasn’t even sure who I was begging. Please not him, please.

Spencer heard the others shout his name; my jaw was locked together in panic, unable to speak. I slammed into him hard, knocking him out of the way just in time.

I felt fire rip through my shoulder, I heard bullets ring out behind me. I didn't pay attention to any of it though.

Why is he crying? I thought my heart sinking into misery. Please don’t cry, my darling boy. I can’t stand it.

His hands were so warm when he cupped my face. These circumstances were different from the last time he held me like this, but my heart squeezed just the same.

“Why,” his voice was strangled. “Why would you do that?”

Blackness edged around my vision. I wanted to make some funny quip to try to make him smile, but I couldn’t draw in enough air. So, I settled for the simplest and truest thing I could say.

“Because I love you.”

-- Spencer’s POV –

In times when I felt overwhelmed, I always counted things. It was a sort of compulsion that started when I was a child. When my parents would fight, I’d count the number of specks in each tile on the kitchen floor. I’d count the number of seconds between each shout. When Tobias had me all those years ago, I counted the boards around the cabin.

I couldn’t focus on anything long enough to count now.

Derek was to my right; Emily was to my left. Hotch was across the room sitting with his head in his hands. Rossi stood near JJ, his arm around her.

It’s not right, I thought. None of this is right because she’s not here. She has to be here.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to…how am I supposed to breathe without her?

“How long?” Morgan’s voice broke through the silence. I didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“37 days, 5 hours, 17 minutes, and 45 seconds. Since the case in Nebraska.”

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. Emily raised her hand to place it on my shoulder. Usually, their touches made my skin hurt. I couldn't handle the constant pressure and sometimes they would rub patterns on my skin meant to bring me comfort but all it did was set my teeth on edge. Nobody had ever understood that.

But she did. She knew how to touch me without me telling her. She always checked in with me during everything. I had never felt safer in my entire life than I did in her arms.

And she’s not here.

Penelope burst into the room a moment later. “What happened?” Her big eyes were swimming in tears behind her glasses. Morgan stood and went to her, wrapping her in his arms.

Bitterness rose up in my throat. What if when she was dying was my last chance to hold her? What if all this was my fault? Would she have jumped in front of a bullet for another team member? Logically, I knew she would have. That’s just who y/n is…but I couldn’t shake this feeling that this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t-

My thoughts went blank when another man walked into the room; he had on blue scrubs and a mask hanging around his neck. He’s the doctor. I shot to my feet, halfway across the room before the others even realized someone else had entered.

“You’re all here for Y/l/n?” he asked, his eyes darting around.

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out; I was frozen. My heart was currently in a paradox. She was my very own Schrödinger’s cat. She was both alive and dead and somehow neither at the same time. I now understood that experiment better than I ever had before.

I couldn’t ask the doctor because what if she was gone? What if I got 37 days, 5 hours, 19 minutes, and 3 seconds to hold her…but I had to go the rest of my life without ever seeing her light again? I had told y/n she was sunshine…but she was so much more. She was the sun itself. Without her in this world, nothing would be there to hold my universe together, leaving everything to spin out into freezing darkness.

What if she’s already gone? What if I haven’t had her the past 24 minutes? 15 minutes?

Hotch spoke for me. “Yes, how is she?”

“The bullet nicked her brachial artery; she lost a lot of blood. Luck you had medics so close by. It was touch and go for a moment, but we were able to repair the damage. She should make a full recovery.”

I felt my entire universe shift; my legs were suddenly unable to hold me. I felt someone grab my shoulders when my knees hit the hard floor. My mind flashed with every moment we had had together. Her kind smiles, the way she cocked her head to the side when she was teasing me, the look on her face when she finally trusted me enough to let me be with her the way I had always wanted.

“Kid,” Rossi’s voice said, I only then realized he was who had grabbed me. “She’s gonna be okay. Y/n is gonna be fine.”

His voice was soft, I could barely hear it over the sound of someone sobbing. It took me a minute longer to realize the sobbing was coming from me.

Yes, she was going to be fine…but for how long? How long did I get her until she had to jump in front of another bullet to save me? How long did I get to have the sun before I did something to make it disappear? I could live in a world where she didn’t love me, but I couldn’t live in a world where she didn’t exist.

“Because I love you," she had said. She jumped in front of a bullet because she loved me. But did she even love me? Or did she just tell me what I needed to hear because she thought she was dying?

I finally understood why she was so afraid of love because I had never loved anything the way I loved her.

My body went cold when I realized what I had to do. Every possible future I imagined ended with her the way she was earlier today, bleeding out because she loved me. I couldn’t be responsible for putting her light out. She’d never forgive me. And none of that mattered if I got to live in a world where she was still breathing. Where I got to love her. Even if she didn’t love me back.

Rossi’s grip tightened around me. “Let’s go see your girl, Spencer.”

My voice was hollow as the gravity of everything fell down around me. “I-I don’t think I can.”

-- Reader POV –

The first thing I became aware of was how goddamn bright it was. My eyes started to flutter open and they immediately shut in a wince. The second was the pain.

“Oh, this is some bullshit,” I muttered, trying to pry my eyes open.

I heard several chuckles at my words. “There she is! Feisty as ever!”

That was Morgan. Why is Morgan here? Where is here? It all started coming back in flashes. The house…the unsub…the fires…the gun pointing out the window. Spencer!

My eyes finally opened all the way. I heard the beeping of machines and I smelt antiseptic. Once my vision came into focus, I saw my team filling the room. JJ was crying and holding Garcia. Derek and Emily were closest to me on either side. But…I didn’t see that curly mop of hair.

“What happened? Is Spencer all right?” My words were frantic as I tried to sit up.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Morgan’s hand pressed against my shoulder, keeping me still. “Reid is fine. And you need to rest.”

He’s fine. He’s fine. I kept repeating that over and over again in my mind. “What happened?” I asked, my throat was dry and scratchy.

“It was a trap,” Hotch said from the end of my bed. “Gordon and Sawyers were working together. We had profiled Gordon to be the dominant member if we were looking at a team, but it was Sawyers who called the shots. He just used Gordon’s rage for his own advantage. Apparently, Sawyers’ sister died in a murder investigation 2 years ago. He blamed the BAU because we were called in but the man he suspected had an alibi. Sawyers was in the house across the street…”

Right. There was a gun…and it was pointed at Spencer. “Did you get him?”

Hotch nodded. “Gordon is in custody. Sawyers is dead.”

“Good,” I mumbled. “If Spencer is okay, where is he?”

There was an awkward pause for a moment before anyone spoke. “Let me go get the Doctor. I’m sure they want to know you’re awake,” JJ said before quickly leaving the room.

“I think he just needs a minute, Kiddo,” Rossi said gently.

“Oh, and don’t think for one goddamn minute you’re gonna be able to weasel out of telling us about you and Reid.” Morgan looked positively giddy. “He said since Nebraska, y/n.” Prentiss shot him a glare, to which Morgan only shrugged.

I sighed, but then quickly realized how much that fucking hurt. “I guess the cat is out of the bag.”

An older man entered the room then. “Hello, Agent y/l/n. I’m Dr. Richardson. I’d like to check you over if I could? And your friends can leave the room.”

Emily brushed her hand over the top of my head. “We’ll be back.”

--

I had a repaired artery, gotten a transfusion, and somehow fractured a rib. Oh, and a new scar near my shoulder. The bullet was through and through, and scars were just scars.

None of that bothered me as much as my boy’s absence. The rest of the team had left hours ago. Garcia promised she’d be back bright and early and that she would be making a schedule of who was going to visit me each day and at what time. I didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it.

I had brought up Spencer a few times, I had asked for my phone to call him…but everyone had always changed the subject or tried to redirect my attention. After everything that had happened, him avoiding me now almost hurt as bad as the bullet wound.

There was a hesitant knock on the door that made my heart jump. I know that knock. Sure enough, the door pushed open to reveal the only person I wanted to see. His hair was messy like he’d been running his hands through it, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and he was in different clothes than he had had on Tuesday morning. But even though I was so happy to see him I just felt something…wrong.

“Hey Doc,” I said softly.

Spencer came to stand at the end of my hospital bed, his eyes flat, his hands gripping the plastic rails. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice was raspy and hollow.

“I’ve been better,” I joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

My boy just sighed. “That was really fucking stupid, y/n.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t going to let him shoot you.”

His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the bed. “So, you let him shoot you? How does that make any fucking sense, y/n?!”

My voice was small, “Because it wouldn’t be you that got hurt. Why are you being like this, Spence?”

He ran a hand over his face, licking his lips before he spoke. “I just feel bad about this because…you were right.”

“I’m right fairly often, Doc. You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“About my feelings,” he said his eyes were on me, but they weren’t focused. “You were right when you said that they were just a chemical reaction to what happened this weekend. You said they would pass, and you were right.”

I couldn’t breathe. I felt like all the air had been taken out of the room.

Spencer went on. “I’m sorry if I led you on, y/n. I enjoyed our time together, but it’s not something I’d want to pursue long term. I’m embarrassed of how I acted, especially since it gave you the wrong impression.”

“Oh.” My entire body went cold and I felt my heart drop.

“I also think we should end our personal relationship.”

I blinked back tears, he sounded so impersonal. “We can’t even be friends?”

His hands lifted from the bed, his arms crossing over his chest. “We weren’t friends before, y/n.”

I pulled both of my lips between my teeth, taking small breaths so my body wouldn’t hurt more than it needed to. “I appreciate the honesty, Doc. I really do.” I turned my head to the side, unable to look at him any longer. “But this is a weird fucking time to do it.”

“I know,” he said, his tone not changing. “But I think your judgment has been compromised. I don’t think we can have any sort of relationship when it makes you do something so reckless because you think…” He trailed off.

“Because I think what, Reid?” I spat out.

“Because you think I care about you more than I do.”

I scoffed, not caring about the pain. “I didn’t take a bullet for you because I thought you cared about me.” I did it because of how much I cared about you. “You’re a member of the team, I would have done the same for any of them.”

“Then maybe you should reevaluate your place in this team.”

I think it would have hurt less if he just punched me in the bullet wound “Thanks a whole fucking lot, Reid. I’ll do that.”

He dropped his arms and turned to walk out of my room. “I’m glad you’re okay, y/n.”

His hand had just pulled the door open when I called out. “Reid…did I say anything? After I was shot?”

The man that used to be my darling boy turned to look at me, his face was unreadable. "Not that I heard, no." With that, he was gone. He just walked out of my room like he didn't rip me to shreds like he didn’t take my entire heart with him.

My heart jumped with hope when the door opened again, only to plummet when I saw it was just the nurse. “Are you alright, dear?” she asked, coming to fiddle with the machines that monitored my vitals. “Oh, my lord. You’re crying! Are you in a lot of pain?” she didn’t wait for an answer, she just started for the door. “I’ll get your next dose of pain meds, be right back.”

She could do that…but I don’t think this pain will ever go away.

--

Series tag list: @abschaffer2 @liaabsurd @brokenanxiety @thisiscalmandits-dr @less-intelligent-spencerreid @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @cielo1984 @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @101donuts @heyitssarahk @creepingfromthecorners @fanfictionislifetho @annestine @boiled-onionrings @gublerspublers @dolanfivsosxox @lamusaeuterpe @publiusvirgilius @suzystuff @differentkettleoffishalltogether @georgiamae @thatsonezesty13 @addie5264 @hopefulfangirl24 @april-14-blog @whateverthefuckm8 @alissablake

Taglist for all my writing: @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @imjusthereformggcontent @andiebeaword​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist 😌

[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!

[rosemarie--h]

( zoey deutch. 25. she/her. ) i think i just saw ROSEMARIE  JANE HARMON ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was them . after all , I MISS THE MISERY BY HALESTORM was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe they were on their way to work , i hear they’re a BARTENDER AT THE WATERING HOLE . but they totally could have been on their way to PLAY PRANKS ON THE MEMBERS. guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its them when you see RIPPED BLACK JEANS, SOUND OF 90'S ROCK AND DILATED PUPILS around the country club . let’s just hope they stay off the green after hours or else the sprinklers will get them ! ( marie. 26. est. she/her. none. ) 

tw: child neglect, tw: drugs, tw: suicide

I couldn’t help myself and brought my old rebel  child back. I just love my messy and broken girl.!

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

 Matthew and Stacey Harmon where the epitome of what success should look like. They were a young couple who had come from nothing and mounted to be the most sought-after criminal defense lawyers in the United States. They were known for their poise and ability to handle high profile cases with dignity and discretion. Their clients ranged from high-grossing actors and celebrities to politicians and other government officials. And in the years since their jump into high profile, they had built up an image that both always strived to be. They had to be picture perfect. Perfectly put together. Fit the part of success. So naturally, when they became pregnant, it wasn’t something they had planned or particularly wanted. They tried to keep the pregnancy as quiet as possible, and while they had always had the option of abortion or adoption, for some reason the Harmons had allowed the pregnancy to go full term.

Rosemarie Jane Harmon was born on August 5th, 1992 and unlike most babies, Rose was not held by her mother immediately after birth. In fact, she had been refused and sent immediately to the hospital nursery. The rest of her life followed in similar fashion. Rose had come into her parents’ life as unwanted and unloved. A child ruined the image the stoic lawyers had tried to build for themselves and their practice, especially as child as lively and rambunctious as Rose had been from the start. Rose had probably been embraced by her parents only a handful of times, most of the love she received growing up coming from the Nanny – Elizabeth Green – that had been hired to raise her. But even Elizabeth – the only mother figure she had truly grown to know – was taken from her once Stacy deemed Rose old enough to take care of herself.

Growing up without any love or affection had Rose searching for it in all the wrong places from a very young age. It started off innocently enough – mostly confined to causing trouble at home, just so she could get a flicker of attention from her father or mother but that stopped working, her cries become louder. Living in Atlanta, it wasn’t hard to find trouble. In school, Rose started to hang out with the wrong crowd. Though, the more trouble she found, the less it seemed her parents cared, almost slowly fazing her out of their image.

She was 17 when she first fell from grace. At a rave, Rose stuck her tongue out, letting a tablet be pressed to her tongue for the first time. She’s been after that high ever since. It was the closest thing that she could imagine love felt like. It took her away from the feeling of worthlessness that plagued her because of her parents’ incapability of loving her as parents should love their children. It took her away from the pain of missing her only mother figure who never tried to reach out to her despite promising a young rose she would on the day she was let go. It took her away from the depression that ran through her body despite her refusal to acknowledge it.

From that moment on, Rose lived searching for the occasional high to get her feeling alive again but for the most part, she had it under control, still having a firm grip on reality. But everything began to take a different path when she met Andrew. He was older than her, a good five years. But despite their age difference, they had immediately hit things off and it wasn’t long before Rose had fallen completely head over heels for him. He was the first person she opened up to him about her home life and when Andrew heard of her misery, he had given her the option to follow him to his next destination.

With no family or real friends to hold her back, Rose didn’t hesitate to pack what she could when her boyfriend at the time asked her to run away with him. They hit the road then and Rose hasn’t been back to Atlanta since. When her and Andrew landed in Chicago, Rose’s eyes were opened to a new world – mostly for the worse. He introduced her to a world of endless fun and chemically induced euphoria. It was with him that the dependency for drugs began to really grow. It started off her a tablet of molly here or there, like she had been doing in Atlanta, and before she knew it, she was doing a line in the bathroom of a club.

About a year or so after being together, Rose’s world would soon fall apart. One morning, after a typical night of partying, she woke up to find that Andrew was dead. He had overdosed and she’d been too high too notice. By the time she had woken up, it had been too late. So, Rose got up, called the cops and ran before they got there.

Rose’s already fragile heart was shattered at losing the one person that had loved her in this cruel world. The one person she had loved unconditionally. And the grief fueled her addiction even further. 

From that day forward, Rose lived most of her minutes high or searching for the next dose. It didn’t really matter where the high came from, she just craved that feeling of euphoria, of being alive, of numbness. If it came from a tablet of molly, fine. If it was from a shot of heroin, cool. A mixture of opioids, why not? A smoke of meth- what was the harm? But her favorite way to lose herself was from a line of cocaine. Rose began to live a very nomadic life, travelling where she wanted, making connections as she went, crashing on their couches and starting all over again. There were times when she became so drugged, she would party for days, unable to settle down enough to stop and sleep. She got into fights. Spent many days in stupors, a haze. She wouldn’t have a clue of the reality around her.

Rose was twenty, when she OD’d for the first time and was admitted into rehab for her addiction. After a few months of rehab, Rose was released, and she wasted no time in falling back into her vices. She continued to jump from place to place, never staying no longer than a few weeks at a time. In her travels, she had several relapses, a couple of times causing her to be readmitted into rehab. But sadly, her addiction was stronger than her will live.

That was until she met Finely but Finley is someone Rose never talks about.

If Rose lived in shadowed lands, then Finley lived in other darkness. There was fragility around this woman that had drawn Rose to her immediately. Their initial time was spent mostly just hooking up but it was in the quiet moments that Rose fell. Finley was the other half of her, her true and tragic soulmate. Her star crossed lover. 

There was a part of her that always knew Finley wouldn’t exist on this Earth forever. There was a sadness and exhaustion that clung so tightly to her love and even when there seemed to be a little light that shined through, it wasn’t enough. 

The day Rose walked into their apartment and found that Finley had taken her life, was as expected as it was a shock. She still doesn’t know how long she clung to Fin’s body, sobbing for her to come back before she finally called for help.

Rose has never been the same. 

The loss completely eviscerated her. There was a gaping hole left in her chest and Rose went down a spiral to rock bottom, trying to fill or numb that hole. 

Rose has never been truly sober since that day 2 years ago and while she has gotten her vices under somewhat of control, she still very much relies on them on a day to day basis. Just enough to numb the hurt that never seems to go away. 

When she arrived in Highland at 1 year ago, Rose was probably at the lowest she had ever been. But trying to keep her promise to Finley, Rose has tried to make the best of things. She landed a job at the Watering Hole and has found a apartment to live in with a roommate.

And though every day is a struggle for her, Rose feels that she’s on the right track to turn her life around. Or at least, pretend to.

Important Facts: - Rose has a lot of emotional and mental issues due to her past. Mostly, she has this abandonment complex and she struggles every day with a heavy sense of worthless. - Has been clean for two and a half years. - She still clings to the party scene, though she now stays away from illicit substances, she has no issue with throwing back a few shots. - Rose hasn’t been in a relationship with anyone in about 2 years and is very happy that way. She doesn’t want to get hurt again. And she isn’t sure she can love again. - Loves animals and often volunteers at the shelter - LOVES cats and wants one but considers herself too unstable to own a pet. - Hasn’t spoken to her parents since she left Atlanta and pretends it doesn’t bother her, but it does. - On her left side, Rose has a tattoo. It’s the quote “without struggle, there is no progress” in cursive writing. - Has lived in Atlanta, Chicago, Nashville, New Orleans, a few other places until she came back to Georgia and settled in Peaches Hollow.

Personality - Rose lives impulsively, acting first and thinking later. - She doesn’t hold back and certainly doesn’t censor herself. Rose is the most straightforward person around and she will tell you how it is, whether it hurts your feelings or not. - Fun is priority in her life. Having grown up so unloved and hidden away in her youth, she is desperately trying to fill that gap in her life. She will jump from club to club, party to party, a shot of tequila in her hands always. Mostly, she is afraid that if she stops, allows herself to feel, every heartache she has ever felt will coming rushing at her. - Attachments are a no go for her, especially romantic ones. She’s fine with hook-ups, in fact she rather enjoys them, but once she or her partner start to develop feelings, she flees. If you don’t let anyone close, you can never be hurt. - Losing Finley broke something inside of Rose and she’s very keen on not giving that part of herself way. She doesn’t know if she can love again or if she has any to give. Most of the time, however, Rose tends to develop friendships with her partners. She’s pretty laid back and goes with the flow which makes everything easier. - Rose is super protective of those she considers close to her and will do almost anything for them. - Once you get past her wit and sass, Rose is the sweetest person you would ever meet, even if she’s rough around the edges. But good luck getting her to open emotionally.

[flwrpotts]

hands down

or: seven times jughead didn’t confess he loved betty and one time he did. some tooth rotting fluff to get us thru quarantine. the structure and concept of this fic is inspired by this. enjoy!

1. 

He knew that Archie’s bachelor party was going to end badly for him. It had started with Archie pressing a tequila shot into his hand before they had even gone to dinner, c’mon, Jug, it’s the only bachelor party I’m ever going to have! while Reggie and Moose had cheered in the background. He took the shot, lukewarm citrus and a rubbing alcohol bite. They drank steadily through dinner, boisterous and loud, and now they’re in a packed strip club, sweaty and bright with flashing lights.

He hasn’t been this drunk since college, five years at least, and he can feel himself slurring as he talks to Archie, everything hysterically funny all of a sudden. Betty texts him, a selfie of her and Veronica in a sleek looking bar, holding up their glasses of wine. Hope you’re having fun! she sends, and Jughead tries to formulate a text back, si goood i miss yoi so mughc, followed by a truly horrendous string of emojis.

Betty’s contact info lights up on the screen with an incoming call, and Jughead stumbles outside, away from the boiling music of the club. The night air is sharp with cold, and he sucks in an inhale, trying to clear the spinning in his brain.

“Hello?” he slurs into the phone, leaning heavily against the brick wall. Betty laughs, amused, and he misses her terribly, misses her even though he saw her that morning.

“Hi, Juggie,” she says. “Having fun?”

“I’m never doing tequila shots again,” he says, vowels blurry around the edge. “Not even for Archie.”

She laughs again, tinkling and amused, Veronica’s tipsy bright voice in the background. “You’re going to be okay getting home?” she asks, the faintest slip of concern in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and suddenly the last round of shots catches up with him, any facade of sobriety gone. “I miss you so much,” he whispers into the phone, the words mushy and almost indiscernible. “Love you.”

There’s a quick, sharp intake of breath Jughead is almost too inebriated to catch.

“I’ll see you soon,” she says before the call clicks off. They don’t discuss it.

2. 

Jughead hauls Betty up onto the counter, his teeth already against her collarbone. This is something they indulge in rarely, when neither of them are seeing someone, or when work gets particularly stressful. Betty moans, and he gets a hand up to cup the back of her head, keeping her from knocking her head against the kitchen cabinets.

“Jug, Jug,” she says into his mouth, yanking up his shirt and getting her hands onto his stomach, nails sweeping low over his waistband. He has goosebumps running down his spine, and his blood rushes hot through his head, leaving no room for intellectual thought. He undoes the button and zipper of her jeans, his fingers clumsy with anticipation.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, hard, and Jughead doesn’t know what to do with his hands, his brain is detached from the rest of his body. He hikes up her legs around his waist, pulling her even closer, and his vision is blurred with the flyaways of blonde hair and the sound of his name in her mouth. Her heel is pressed into the small of his back, keeping him pressed hard against her.

Betty moans again, louder this time, and Jughead’s hand flies to her mouth, remembering too late the thin walls of their apartment. Her breath is hot against his wrist, and his thumb dips against her bottom lip, mouth open. Her eyes open, a clear bright green, and it’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his pulse wired to hers.

“Fuck me,” she whispers into his palm. He wants to yank on her ponytail, wants to lick the cherry chapstick off of her mouth, wants to stay inside this moment forever, suspended by the longing.

He presses his mouth to the fragile, ivory skin of her neck as he fumbles to unhook her bra, and he exhales iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, fervent and sticky hot, like a prayer, lost in the press of their mouths against one another.

3.

Jughead waits for Valentine’s Day to arrive with the dread of a condemned man facing an executioner. The days of February tick by, and he waits patiently for Betty to mention a new romance, a guy she’s been seeing or a surprise hot date for the most romantic night of the year, waits for the Jones luck to really kick in. Finally, it’s the morning of, and she pads into the kitchen, startlingly beautiful in an oversized t-shirt and socks, glasses perched on her face, no mention of any plans.

“Dinner tonight?” he asks, all casual, heart in his throat, and Betty hums her agreement, absentminded and pouring coffee.

“Yeah, sure,” she says. “I get out of class at six, so six thirty?”

He makes reservations at a nice restaurant, dresses up in a nice shirt and yanks at the collar, feels awkward and out of place as the hostess guides him to the table, watching the elegantly paired up couples around him. The menu is definitely out of his price range, but he figures if he’s going to tell her he might as well make the grand gesture, give her the sort of romance she deserves.

Betty walks into the restaurant and for a single second everything in his head goes blank. It’s a secret phenomenon Jughead wouldn’t even know how to explain, the way she numbs everything out, makes everything better.

She folds herself into the seat in front of him, wearing a breezy, careless lavender dress and that familiar smile, ponytail falling in a perfect twist.

“God,” she says, picking up the menu and flicking through it mindlessly. “You won’t believe what happened in the coffee shop today. Is there anything more cliche than confessing your love on Valentine’s Day?”

He freezes.

4.

Jughead gets home to the apartment late, cranky after being stuck in a social for the MFA students in his program. He yanks at his ill-fitting tie as he walks in the door, feeling some of the tension starting to seep out of his shoulders.

“Betts?” he calls, taking in the warm yellow glow of the hallway, light left on despite the lateness of the hour. Remnants of Betty’s evening are scattered through the apartment- dishes in the sink, a neat plate of leftovers in the fridge with a post-it note stuck on top, bolognese if you’re hungry <3

He steps into the living room, and Betty is passed out on the couch, surrounded by a stack of freshly graded papers, the sharp elegance of her  handwriting crawling across the pages in bright red. She’s slumped at what must be an uncomfortable angle, legs tucked up underneath her and her head propped on her shoulder. The fondness pangs in Jughead’s ribs, sharp with longing. He just stares at her for a moment, the fine curl of the baby hairs at her temple, her mouth just a little bit open with sleep, all the lines in her face smoothed.

She’s so relaxed that Jughead doesn’t want to wake her, potentially kickstart the insomnia he knows gets to her when she’s stressed. So he picks up an old quilted afghan off of the other edge of the couch, tucks it up around her shoulders. Betty sighs in her sleep, shifting into the blanket and kicking one leg out.

I love you, Jughead mouths. I love you. Betty turns in her sleep, eyelids fluttering, and Jughead shuts the light off behind her, head full of the things he wishes he could tell her.

5.

It’s Friday night, and the two of them are tipsy from the shared bottle of red wine, sprawled out on the living room floor with a Scrabble board between them. Betty sits cross-legged, flushed high in her cheeks from the wine and her hair loose around his shoulders. Jughead is raggedy in an old pair of plaid pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt.

It’s his favorite kind of evening, Chinese takeout for dinner and easy conversation, laughing as Betty struggles with the wine bottle opener.

Now Betty is staring at her Scrabble tiles with intense concentration, a line between her eyebrows that he wants to smooth out with his finger.

“If you try to pass off a word that you made up again-” he warns, only half joking. Betty gasps in mock outrage, one hand to her chest. “I would expect someone getting their Masters in Psychology to have a more refined sense of ethics.”

“I would neve cheat at Scrabble,” she says imperiously, laying out her tiles and spinning the board back over to him. Zale reads the word in front of him. Betty, for her part, tries to look impartial and doesn’t quite manage it, the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jughead feels the warmth burn inside of his chest.

“I love it when we do this,” he blurts out suddenly, awkward and out of place. Betty smiles at him, presses her hand to his from across the board.

“Me too,” she says. “And that will be twelve points for me, if you please.”

He loves her, but not enough to let her get away with such a stunningly illegal move. The night goes on.

6.

Dear Betty,

I am writing to you now because I’m too terrified to tell you in person but I also can’t keep going on this way. Maybe a letter is the coward’s way out, but I prefer to think about it as romantic. To quote the genius herself (Jane Austen)- if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more. And I do love you.

I don’t know if it was at first sight, but do I know that the first time I saw you in that terrible freshman English lecture, it felt like something was beginning. Like some part of me knew that I was going to fall in love with you, my brain just hadn’t quite caught up yet. In some ways it still hasn’t. The way I feel about you has nothing to do with logic.

You’re my roommate and my best friend and my fellow true crime obsessee and the best fucking person I know. Having you in my life is one of the things I’m most proud of, and I’ve been so scared to ruin what we have, because in a lot of ways I think you’re the best part of me. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t there anymore. But I also can’t keep swallowing it down anymore. I guess I just have to trust that we’ll find a way to be in one another’s lives, no matter the capacity. Even if you don’t feel the same way.

Well, now you know. I love you. The ball is in your court, and it’ll really be okay if you don’t feel that way. I just need to know. So- come find me?

Yours,

Jughead

He sighs at the piece of paper, and balls it up with a groan, tossing it into the trash can with a faint thud.

7.

It happens so fast Jughead barely has time to react.

They’re crossing the street of their apartment to get to their favorite overpriced but delicious coffee shop, chatting idly about Betty’s thesis advisor and her obsession with Lorrie Moore, and then the taxi comes out of nowhere against the light, inches away and Betty a step in front of him.

Jughead grabs her by the elbow and yanks her back in the nick of time, all adrenaline, moving before he even has time to process the danger, clumsy and fast. The taxi swerves past, a flurry of horns from the surrounding cars, and they stumble in an awkward, half time waltz back onto the sidewalk. Betty’s eyes are huge when she looks at him, shocked, his hand still fisted in the material of her coat.

“Holy fucking shit,” he swears, tongue a jumble. “Are you alright?” He begins to pat her down over her wool jacket, searching for potential injuries.

Betty laughs, still in shock at the suddenness of it all. “I’m fine,” she says, pressing a hand against her forehead. “I’m totally fine. You grabbed me in time.”

Jughead sighs out a shuddery, terrified exhale. The closeness of the encounter is still racketing through him, fear and relief pulsing through the veins in his wrist. His hands are shaking, and Betty squeezes one tightly in hers, reassuring.

“That was scary,” she remarks, and Jughead nods, for once beyond words. “The drivers in this city are ridiculous.”

“No kidding. I’m- I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, squeezing before he releases her hand. Betty smiles at him, easy and fond. It’ll take twenty minutes and two cups of decaf for his heartbeat to slow down.

8.

They’re brushing their teeth side by side in the bathroom, seeped with the laziness of Saturday morning. There’s coffee percolating in the kitchen, and Jughead knows without asking that Betty will scramble the eggs so long as he makes waffles, that they’ll sit at the tiny kitchen counter for an hour, sipping at their lukewarm coffee and talking about nothing. It strikes him, quite suddenly, that this is how he’d like to spend the rest of his life.

Betty is wearing just one of his t-shirts, her hair knotted into a bun at the top of her head, talking to him through the foam. Jughead, blue toothbrush in hand, turns to her, deliberate and suddenly unafraid. “Betty,” he says, and she turns to him, gaze curious, and he looks for a moment at their reflection in the bathroom mirror, a portrait of exactly where he wants to be. “I love you.”

“What?” Betty asks, and there’s toothpaste smudged on her cheek, eyes wide.

“I love you,” he says, heart in his stomach again. Betty grins at him, slow and wide and perfect,

“I love you,” she says, like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He ducks down to kiss her, and her mouth is chapped and minty, and their teeth click together in his haste, and it’s pretty much the best moment of his life.

[snakesnack6]

Turns Out She’s 100% My Cousin

(its been a while since I wrote something to this length,so here is a fic for the Youtuber Six AU. I’m currently planning for a multi-chapter fic for this the future,so don’t be afraid to ask questions and such about it)

This is also available on ao3: here

Headcannons for this au : The Queens  , Ladies and Waiting + The Palace

Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard were known in the youtube community as the dynamic cousin duo,when Anne first started out. With Katherine behind the scenes and Anne on the screen, they made their name. No one really knew the reason behind the cousin,but it worked out for them. Even when Katherine moved onto her own channel, and made a name of her own, she still stayed with Anne. To Anne, Katherine was her little cousin who she needed to protect, and to Katherine, Anne was her mentor and guardian who she could rely on. All in all, they see each as family in thick and thin, and that's what really mattered to the both of them.

The video pans to the main members of The Palace currently seated in their living room with Anne, Anna, and Parr on the couch and the others on stools behind them.

“Hello my fellow queens, kings, princes, princesses, and everyone in between. I’m Anne and you're watching Disney channel” The queens laugh at the small quip except Aragon who just rolls her eyes. Anne motions to the 6 boxes on the table while continuing, “Anyways, since World Heritage Day is coming up, we decided to do a DNA to look into our own heritage and to prove I’m not a gremlin”

“ Annie, at this point you have to accept that gremlin part of you, just like I do.” Katherine says. 

“There’s even a movie about it. You might be in it” Cathy adds to the blow as Anne wipes fake tears. “As hurtful as that was to hear, today we will be using the service of 23&Me for our testing. Personally I know my family heavily lived in France and spent some time in England.”

“Pure-blood German, born and raised,but I may have some Russia and Dutch in me”

“If Spain doesn’t show on my test,I’m just gonna sue and get my money back. Otherwise I’m Spanish,as well as Romanian”

“My family were from France and Italy before they moved to the countryside of the UK before my immediate family moved to America”

Both Cathy and Kat hesitate to go next,but after a few seconds Cathy decides to go. “ I know my mother had some relation to Spain, and that the rest of my family I’m unsure of. I think mainly from northern Europe,but don’t quote me on that”

“Same thing with me. I’m not really sure where my family is from,but I know I same some relation to France because of Anne’s side” Kat turns to Parr, and leans down to give her a gentle hug “But I wouldn’t worry too much, we’ll figure it out”

The video continues with Aragon and Jane explaining how the test works and how it can affect ancestors, relatives, and diseases that are connected to your DNA just through some saliva. The queens do the process of spitting into tubes, some preferably doing it off camera.(Anna started choking at one point) Parr ends the test part of the video by  explaining that in a few weeks ,they will get their results. The video skips to a break snake with Aragon and Maria break-dancing,with beat-boxing provided by Anne and Kat, with the caption ‘A few weeks later’.

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

“Welcome back everyone, it is currently...” Parr looks off camera”around 2 am, and we have gotten our results”. 

The camera zooms out to show the queens in the same spots as before with their laptops, or phones with them. They are all currently wearing their pajamas. Each one of them take turns looking at each of their results. Kat and Anne get excited when Kat finds out she actually has some background in France. Cathy also finds out she has a mixture of countries in northern Europe. The mood does dim when the test says that there is a chance of cancer for Catherine and Anna,but after a few jokes and quips, the mood lightens once again.

“Kat, Jane, are you getting this as well?” Anne turns her laptop to them and the camera shows ‘Jane Seymour’ as 2nd cousin and ‘Katherine Howard’ as 1st cousin under ‘possible relatives’. ”I know that Kitty is related to me,but Jane...I’m honestly shocked” 

“Same thing as you Anne” Kat shows her screen.

“Same” After Jane shows her, there is a moment of silence between them,but Jane soon breaks the ice. “I’m going to make some calls” as she leaves the room.  Anne leaves the room as well, followed by Katherine.

Now in an awkward position, Anna and the other Catherine's do some closing remarks, end the video, and inform their subscribers they will post any other news about this on a later date.

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

After an hour of calls,text, and talking to family members and those of the household, Anne and Katherine decide to confront Jane first. 

Before they are able to knock, Catherine opens the door to see them “I’m guessing you're here to finally talk it out” the cousins nod. “ Just please don’t cause anymore chaos that is already here” The said party giggles and walks in as Catherine leaves.  

Jane sits there on her bed, writing ,or possibly drawing in one of her recipe journals. It takes the sound of the door closing for her to realize her newly found cousins have entered a room. Jane motions for them to take a seat next to her on the bed,but instead Kat goes to hug Jane as Anne takes a seat next to her.

“For a long time, it's just been me and Katherine and to have met the rest of the queens and LiW in order to create The Palace,  and to finding out we have another cousin right underneath our noses. Life really is crazy” Katherine soon lets go of Jane in order to pull Anne in as well.

“Life works in mysterious ways Anne,but I think a welcome to the family slash A three cousin-teer hang out day is order” Katherine turns to Jane. “What do you think?”

“I think it should be planned,but we can deal with that in the morning. Also just because we are technically blood related family, doesn’t mean your first to taste test my recipes” 

Katherine dramatically falls on the floor,” I would Never ask my cousin for such a thing,but I do want dibs of getting my plate first”

Jane and Anne laugh as the night gets darker . They stay in the room for a while,just talking and catching up. At some point of the night, Chris the Pig joined them as Jane talked about her life on a farm. And when the other queens went to check on them, they found the cousin on the floor with Jane in the middle and Chris at her feet. The cousin duo now technically is a trio,but that announcement that can be worried about in the future. For now they can make up for lost time, and learn even more about the new addition to the little family, a cousin that Anne wanted to protect and another mentor for Kat to learn from.

[janeyseymour]

Shorty solidarity lol, I’m not that tall either. But hey, I stand by the motto of “tiny but mighty” so it’s not all that bad. You don’t have to worry about responding right away or any of that, I really don’t mind at all. People have lives and people get busy, it’s not gonna send me into a tizzy.

Uh, so the concept was literally just now thought of. I remembered this one incorrect quote where the queens are just beginning to make their musical and Anna was asking Jane what to put down after the “release the bitches” line in her song and Jane sneezed and it sounded like “woof.” I was just thinking “okay, but what if that happened more often?” Like maybe some of the harshest or most favored lines were made by Jane, but purely accidental.

One particular moment I liked thinking of was the line “he doesn’t wanna bang you, somebody hang you.” Maybe the queens, minus Jane for some reason or another, are all in the living room sitting on the couch or the floor and Anne groans in frustration like “I can’t figure out what to put next” and the others start listing things, but nothing seems to really fit or give that umph Anne’s looking for. And Jane comes out of the hallway looking tired as all hell, and Anne is just “Jane, what should I put as my next line” and says what she has already and Jane gives her this tired as fuck look and she almost looks kind of irritated, but she’s really just tired and goes “he doesn’t wanna bang you, somebody hang you” and goes into the kitchen to make some tea. The others stare at her go in shock, Aragon is a little disgruntled and indignant, because Jane’s usually sweet and kind and doesn’t know a lot of slang and they didn’t think that line could ever come out of her mouth. After a while of silence, Anne is just “oh my god, that works!” and excitedly starts writing it down.

Maybe the next day, Jane doesn’t remember much. She remembers talking to Anne with the queens there, but it’s blurry and she doesn’t remember exactly what they were talking about. But Anne comes up to her in the morning when they’re all having breakfast like “thanks for the help last night” and Jane is so confused and asks about it and Cleves snorts and tells her what she said and Jane’s just “...I said that?!”

Wow, this is long. I’m really sorry about that lol.

wait this is absolutely hysterical im dying omg like this is some big brain shit how did you come up with this i literally love it so much omg thank you so much for sharing!!! it’s brilliant! 100/10 headcanon. I wish I had thought of this omg I’m jealous

[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

I Knew I Loved You ~ Chapter 6

I would like it on the record that I did not intend for the angstiest chapter in this fic to be posted on April Fools but here we are.

Chapter 6: Arsinoe

~Perth, Scotland/Glasgow, Scotland~

“And that would be another $300 to me, thank you very much Junior,” Arsinoe laughed as her soulmate begrudgingly handed her the monopoly money. Jane giggled behind her hand. She was the first to go bankrupt at her brother’s skilled hands, but Arsinoe had bought all of the monopoly skill she had gained from playing with Jules for years. She wasn’t backing down and it was amusing to all except for Billy, who she was basically robbing. Christine as the banker was also trying to hold back her laughter. Billy was after all, meant to be an expert in real world financing.

“I’m never playing Monopoly with you ever again. You’re just cruel,” Billy pouted, prompting Arsinoe to poke her tongue out before rolling the dice again, landing on another of her own properties.

It took two more rolls for her to be crowned champion, much to everyone’s surprise. It seemed that her partner was usually the reigning champion.

They left soon after, Jane hugging her before they did.

Billy walked her to her door and just before he turned to leave, she took a deep breath and spoke.

“Do you want to come in? I wanted to talk to you about last night,” Billy frowned and followed her in to the living room, where she told him to wait on the couch, before receding to her bedroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath.

“Come one, Arsinoe, you can do this,” she says firmly to herself before going to her bedside table and picking up the photo frame that sat there. She glanced at it and returned to the living room, sitting at the opposite end of the couch to him and handing him the photo frame. She watched as he took in the photo taken on their 17th birthday, eating cake on a hospital bed. He takes it in before glancing to her, waiting for her to speak.

“Katharine is the bald one on the middle and Mirabella is the pretty one on the left. They are… were my sisters,” Billy’s eyebrows furrowed as if trying to figure something out. Arsinoe waited until his eyes lit up in recognition and then saddened.

“January 24th, February 1st,” Arsinoe nodded, her throat clenching. “Do you want to tell me about them?” Arsinoe nodded and let him take her hand in his own.

“Mira was older than me by 3 minutes and she was brilliant. After our parents decided they would rather get rich in Europe and Asia and left us an endless cycle of babysitters she became this super sister. She was beautiful, inside and out and she protected us like no one else would. Kat was younger by 10 minutes and she was the baby of us three. In high school, I got a suspension for breaking the nose of a boy that had hurt her. Mira and I both would have done anything to keep her safe. And then, just after our 16th…” she paused, brushing away the tears that had started to fall and taking a deep breath. “After our 16th, Kat started acting weird. She woke up one morning and had a seizure at the breakfast table. When we took her to the hospital… she had malignant brain cancer. Also known as the worst type of cancer you can develop,” as calm as she spoke, Arsinoe could feel her own throat tightening and she took another breath. Billy crossed the distance between the two and pulled her into his side. Arsinoe buried her nose in his ribs and tried not to sob. She hadn’t even finished telling the story yet. She pulls back from him and wipes away tears before continuing to speak.

“About a month after our 17th, I was with Kat at the hospital because the doctors had told us that she didn’t have much time left, so we were trying to spend as much time with her as we could. Anyway, she tells me that I need to go away and spend the day with my friends because Mira was on her way to the hospital. I only listened when she threatened to call security. I went to meet up with Jules and we were going to go to the movies. Just before we went in, I got a call from the hospital. I expected to be told that Kat had gone, but instead they asked if I was Mirabella’s sister,” she sobbed and Billy pulled her back to him gently, letting her sob grossly in his shirt until she was calm enough to continue. She didn’t miss the tears in his own eyes as she kept talking.

“Some asshole driving a semi-trailer wasn’t paying attention and had jack-knifed on the highway. He had swerved lanes and the car behind Mira didn’t break as fast as her. She died on impact,” she paused again.

“They put Kat on life support that night, told me that it was up to my parents to turn it off. When they called my mum, she told them to leave the choice to me. I pulled the plug the next week, after I had organised a funeral for the two of them,” Billy frowned.

“Where were your parents for all of this?” Arsinoe scoffed.

“On business in Tokyo. They came back to see the funeral they had paid for but eventually mum made such a scene that I kicked them out of the wake. I haven’t seen them since then and the last time we spoke I told them I was going to the army when I was 18. I’m better off without them anyway,” she sniffles and wipes her eyes. “Anyway, that’s it. So if you wanted someone with less baggage, the door is that way ,” she goes to stand and walk away away hurriedly only to be caught by Billy’s hand. He gently pulls her onto his lap and hugs her tight into his chest.

“I wouldn’t want anyone but you, Arsinoe. Why would your past make me want to leave someone so excellent,” she shook slightly, hugging her photo to her stomach and letting herself be calmed by his gentle hands at her back. “Besides, you didn’t think less of me for all that stuff with Jane so why would I think less of you for this?” He kissed her forehead and let his lips rest there, giving her time to calm down and rationalise her thoughts.

Eventually Arsinoe stands again, holding his hand still.

“Would you stay tonight?” Billy nods and stands, letting her lead him to her bedroom.

~

The first thing Arsinoe noticed when she woke up was that her curtains were open and sun was in her eyes. The second thing was Billy’s arm around her waist. She turned and watched him open his eyes. He smiled at her and she felt warm and fuzzy.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she whispered back.

“I love you,” her eyebrows rose slightly. It hadn’t been what she expected him to say at all.

“Do you want to come to a wedding in Croatia with me?” His eyebrows scrunched.

“Why?” Arsinoe shrugged as much as she could.

“Well if we’re in love and I’ve met your family, it’s only fair that you have to meet Jules and the rest of my crew sometime soon,” Billy smiled.

“How scary could that be?” Arsinoe laughed at his nonchalance.

“Jules is a Paralympic archer and Emilia is a decorated officer in the 2nd Commando Regiment in the army. So very scary,” Billy’s eyes widened only slightly.

“What exactly is 2nd Commando Regiment?” Arsinoe smiled and patted his chest.

“Special Forces. Kind of like Australian marines.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Are you okay? You’re looking a bit pale,” she leaned in and pressed a hand to his forehead, as though checking his temperature. He wasn’t pale at all, nor was his temperature rising, but goddess was it fun messing with him. But her teasing made his face calm and he grabbed her hand, kissing her palm.

“You know what? Sounds like fun. Maybe I can beat you a monopoly in front of your friends,” Arsinoe laughed and let him tug her into his arms.

“No can do. Jules says I’m not allowed to play monopoly with Emilia. We give each other bruises too often and then Jules quote unquote ‘has to deal with both of us’ and apparently we’re both pains in her ass so board games are no longer allowed. How good are you at Mario Kart?” Billy laughs.

“It’s been a while but I was a master at Rainbow Road,” Arsinoe gently pushes his shoulder with a scoff.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he kissed her.

“I love you,” Arsinoe smiled and kissed him.

“I love you right back.”

[the-quiet-winds]

Don’t Look Back at this Crumbling Fool (part one)

did you ask for a sad fic? no. am i giving you one anyway? yes. another co-written piece with the amazing @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts, and this one has a lot of feels in it.

trigger warning for hateful words and self-deprecation

[Part 1: Think of Me in the Depths of Your Despair]

as their band became more and more popular, the demand for some kind of album grew, and eventually their manager got everything in place for each of the queens to record their songs, and then after several months of remastering and audio mixing the album was finally complete. a few days before the physical copy was released, each track was also released on YouTube, a website that katherine had become increasingly familiar with during her time in the 21st century. that morning, katherine loads up youtube and finds one specific song in particular. jane’s angelic voice fills the air as katherine turns up the volume as loud as it’ll go, unable to stop herself from smiling as she hears her mum’s voice.

jane walks past her bedroom and pokes her head around the door. “that loud enough for you?” she teases. katherine smiles honestly.

“i’ve got to make sure everyone hears how amazing my mum is.”

jane laughs at that. she enters the room, taking a moment to admire the instrumentals and harmonies in her song, before plopping a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “i bet you sound even better,” she teases.

only a few short days later, jane’s enthusiasm for the album plummeted.

she is watching a video that katherine had sent her, one of their affectionately called “megasix” at the end of the show, when her own song shows up in the “suggested” bar. unable to resist, she clicks on it, and the recognizable piano starts. transfixed by the voice that somehow was hers, she doesn’t realize she is scrolling down the page. then, she sees it.

some fellow named “jack of none master of all” left a comment:

“worst song on the soundtrack. cheesy, overemotional, really weak compared to the others. guess every album has to have one flop, ain’t it a bit ironic it came from henry’s worst wife? snivelling and weak in this life, cruel and manipulative in the last. surrounded by honest, strong women as she is, it’s too obvious that jane seymour is the worst of the six.”

the words sting, and jane’s eyes widen slightly as she reads the comment. ‘is that really what other people thought of the song?’ she wonders to herself. she tries to forget about it, clicks another video of them all singing together, but she can’t get her mind off the comment. it wasn’t just what they said about the song that hurt her, but what they said about her herself; she’d already been worried about people thinking she was boring, that her story wasn’t exciting enough, and the second part of the comment seems to confirm her fears.

katherine enters the room humming Heart of Stone and jane feels a jolt at the tune, frowning suddenly and looking down at the screen.

“hey mum!” katherine greets chipperly. at seeing her mother’s less-than-enthusiastic response, she mellows. “what’s up?”

jane fights an internal battle in the span of three seconds. she wants to show katherine the comment and ask ‘is this how everyone feels?’ but that just feels shallow somewhere deep down.

“nothing love, just a bit tired, that’s all. two shows yesterday,” she leans back and stretches, “takes a lot out of your ol’ mum.”

“oh yeah,” katherine nods, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. “i get it. it was a really cool crowd last night, though, wasn’t it? i spoke to these two girls after the show and they were telling me all about how much they loved it!”

jane can’t help herself, and she finds herself leaning back and casually asking, “oh, that’s lovely, what did they say?” she tries to tell herself that she’s just making conversation, that she wasn’t trying to fish for information about what people thought of her song, but the anxiousness that filters into her brain while waiting for katherine to reply tells a different story.

“they couldn’t stop talking about me and boleyn, can you believe it?” katherine gushes. “they said that they died laughing during her song and they thought mine was super deep.” she stopped to contemplate. “they loved the last two numbers, and one of them said that parr had such a cool story, while the other said aragon easily would have ‘kicked henry’s arse’,” she quoted with a laugh. she doesn’t notice how none of the commentary pertains to her mum, and the slight fall of the woman’s face upon that realization.

jane can’t help but pick up on the fact that she wasn’t mentioned, and it all adds to her slowly building pile of evidence that maybe she was the worst one, that her song wasn’t as interesting or as good or genuinely emotional as the other queens. after all, after katherine spilling her heart out to the audience and parr offering them a moment of deep reflection, who would even remember a song about jane’s son? her mind whirs with activity, but on the outside she simply offers a slightly strained smile. “how sweet of them to be so kind about the show,” she says.

in hindsight, katherine would pinpoint that exact half-hearted smile as the moment that foresaw every event to follow that evening. in the moment, however, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

their dressing room was a quiet din of activity, one thing that katherine loved. it's just her, her mum, and parr, so there's usually just low conversations and songs to be heard, mixed with the boisterous noise of aragon, boleyn, and cleves across the hall.

"places, queens!" the director calls, and parr makes her way to the hall knowingly. jane, as she does every night, pulls katherine into a tight hug. "mum loves you, kitty-kat," she murmurs the familiar words without a thought, "in this life or any other."

the show starts as it generally would, huge applause after the first number, aragon's song getting everyone dancing in their seats, boleyn's has them in in stitches...then it's jane's turn. she starts to sing the achingly familiar melody, feeling more insecure about herself than ever before. just moments into the second verse, she looks up and sees one audience member yawn dramatically to his date, who chuckles. every previous feeling jane had of inadequacy bubbles to the surface, and she lowers her mic, nods once to the audience, then walks off the stage, leaving five queens and four band members confused. cleves, desperate to not let it stop the show, immediately launches into her monologue, playing off jane's sudden exit with a joke.

katherine watched helplessly as jane leaves the stage, unsure of what to do. if she left the stage with her number coming up then she’d potentially end up messing up the rest of the show, but if she stayed then jane would be backstage by herself. the worst part was that katherine didn’t know what happened to make jane leave the stage. she shoots a glance at the other queens; they were about to leave the stage to get their neon ruffs, and katherine makes up her mind right then that she wouldn’t be coming back on without jane.

as she gets backstage she ignores her ruff and sunglasses, instead slipping past the surprised backstage manager who attempts to stop her. katherine ignores the frantic whisper for her to come back, and she follows the glimpse of a black and white dress disappearing around the doorway to the dressing rooms.

parr presses a few fingers to her forehead as she sees katherine dart off into the dark. this show is going to be one to remember. she hears the manager whisper-shouting to grace, the swing for when any of the women were absent from the show, that she was going on for howard.

"mum!" katherine hisses as she follows her down the corridor. "mum!" either jane doesn't hear or is ignoring her (katherine hopes it is the first one) and closes the door to their dressing room with a surprising amount of force. katherine knocks quietly, yet firmly, and keeps her lips very close to the door. "mum what's going on?"

there’s silence from the other side of the door, before a strained voice on the other side speaks. “kat, get back to the stage,” jane says, voice thick with emotion. “you’re going to miss your song.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” katherine shakes her head. “please, can i come in?”

katherine could be incredibly stubborn when she wanted to be, and jane knows this. she knows that if she refused, kat would just sit outside the door and wait until jane inevitably had to let her and parr back in to change out of their costumes. the sound of a lock clicking fills the air and katherine opens the door, entering the dressing room and closing the door behind her.

her mother looks a mess.

her makeup is smudged, lipstick and mascara creating a horrible caricature, her shoes and mic-pack are discarded, and jane looks some horrid combination of angry and depressed. the monitor on the wall blares to life as haus of holbein starts, and jane immediately goes over and shuts it all the way down, resisting the urge to throw something at it. “you should be on stage,” jane finally says, not meeting katherine’s eyes.

“well, i’m not,” katherine says simply, as if that was the end of it. “you should be onstage too, y’know.”

“i’m aware, katherine,” jane half-huffs, still looking anywhere except katherine’s eyes. kat takes a step towards her, concern filling her features.

“mum, why did you leave like that? did something happen?” her voice is soft and worried.

"i am absolutely fine, katherine," jane hisses. she hates that she's taking out her anger on kat, who dropped the show and is going to get a lot of heat from the director just to be with her. jane feels so incredibly frustrated that she can't even think straight. needing to burn off some of the energy, she picks up one of her shoes and hurls it. it collides with her mirror, sending shattered pieces of glass raining to the ground. jane runs a hand roughly through her hair, knocking off her crown as she digs her nails into her scalp. "everything is perfectly fine."

katherine jumps at the shattering of glass and her eyes widen. “mum-” she starts, before pausing. “it- it doesn’t seem like everything’s fine.” Her voice comes out a lot more timid than she intended, but it scares her, seeing jane like this. she swallows and stands slightly taller, reaching a hand out to gently touch jane’s arm. “please, mum, you can talk to me. i want to help, if I can.”

jane pulls back. she tries to take a calming breath but nothing helps. she just feels so angry and humiliated and is taking it out on her poor daughter who just wants to help. “katherine howard seymour,” she says in a low voice, “i’d recommend you leave before i say something i really, really regret.”

a chill runs down katherine’s spine, her stomach twisting slightly. “i don’t want to go,” she says, and her voice is small and weak, sounding like a lost child. “please, mum.”

she doesn’t know what to do. she’s never seen her mum quite like this before; she’s seen her upset, even angry, but not so irrationally angry that she’d break the things around her.

plus, jane never extended katherine’s name like that. it was always kat, or kitty-kat, or any number of affectionate nicknames, but never her full name. she doesn’t want to go, she wants to stay and make things better, but then jane turns to her, and the look in her eyes terrifies katherine.

jane walks over to the monitor and flips it on, listening for just a moment, before flipping it off again. they were just about to finish haus of holbein. she can’t face katherine like this, anger and jealousy and mountains of insecurity swirling in her stomach, so she faces away, shoulders hunched, voice still dangerously low. “go do your number, we will deal with this later, katherine.”

katherine doesn’t want to go, she really doesn’t, but she doesn’t know what else to do. “okay,” she says quietly, voice cracking slightly. “i- i love you, mum,” she adds as a desperate reassurance. she didn’t want jane to think she was abandoning her or anything, and her heart hurts as she turns around and leaves the dressing room. she tries to blink back the tears as she races back towards the stage, almost bumping into grace in her haste. grace looks relieved and calls the backstage manager over, who shoots katherine a look that’s a cross between thankful and angry before shooing her onto the stage with the others just in time for the intro to Get Down. katherine can’t concentrate during Cleves’ number, feet moving on autopilot, looking less like a video vixen and more like a lost child. her mind is back in the dressing room with jane, regretting giving in and leaving, giving anything to not be so scared and pathetic as to leave her mum alone back there.

jane lets out a shuddering sigh as katherine leaves, waits a second, then bursts into angry and upset tears. she curls up on herself, then ends up in a ball on the floor. the monitor on the wall is still lowly humming, and jane, through her tears, hears the familiar intro to all you wanna do. there’s a pain in katherine’s voice that makes jane hurt worse, a tremble in the high notes that jane knows she is the cause of. all she can do is lay on the floor, dangerously close to the mound of broken glass, and relish in being “the worst of henry’s wives.”

it’s ironic, in a way, how the pain that jane caused her daughter comes through in her voice, makes her song even more intense and emotional, and at the end jane can hear the audience screaming and cheering and applauding louder than ever for katherine. a terrible, bitter jealousy flows through jane at the sound and she hates herself for it, hates that she could ever feel such negativity even momentarily towards sweet, darling kat, who only wanted to help her. jane supposes this is about what she deserves; it’s not even like jane suffered at henry’s hands, at least, not nearly as badly as the others had. why should she get to share in their show at all?

as parr starts telling her story, she  feels that bitter rush again. parr speaks so eloquently, and singing makes it even better and more poignant. they start to talk, grace filling jane’s spot, and her already fragile sense of self crumbles further. she feels absolutely worthless, a story that doesn’t matter, a piece of wood amongst jewelry. it hurts, hurts horribly. she closes her eyes and tries to tune out the chipper ukulele sound as the group number starts.

she lies there for a few more moments, trying to block out the sound, before letting out a sigh. she supposes she should leave before the other queens get offstage; she can’t face them like this, not with the negativity running through her. she finally gets to her feet and changes into her regular clothes, slipping her shoes on and grabbing her bag as she hears the last note of the final song over the monitor. going for a walk to cool off seems like a good idea to her right now. she makes her way to the stage door quickly, slipping out as quietly as possible and setting off down the street.

[jjfics]

Room 19 ll 02

ship: Harry Potter x female!Reader

read part one here

summary: they finally meet the mysterious wizards after getting to know each other better that same morning

author: your bestie Jane Jack, also known as JJ

word count: 1760 (it is a bit shorter this time)

a/n: i am so so so happy some of you liked the first part so i will continue with this story. i wasnt on call this time so no news from my bff, sorry, ill ask them for a cool quote for next time though!

“Thank you, darling. We’ll take the seats in the corner. Could you bring us two coffees and,” Potter turned to look at you and raised his eyebrows “one croissant?” You nodded shyly.

“That would be 13£, but I’ll only charge you 10, the croissant is on me,” the woman taking your order smiled. “Since you have such a pretty girlfriend” she winked.

Your cheeks flushed red as Potter pulled your waist impossibly closer to him. “I know, right?” he chuckles.

The walk to the cafe was silent, but it felt different than the trip you two had the other day. There was no need to talk. In fact, you felt as though the moment you would open your mouth you would say something stupid about what happened last night, like apologizing for taking up so much space or doing something so unprofessional. But you did not want to apologize, because you had never felt less sorry for something. There was this weird energy between the two of you. You craved the feeling of being close to him again.

The table Potter chose was very strategic. The predictable head of the group of wizards and witches who called themselves the Forsakens would choose the grandiose table in the middle of the cafe. So the corner was a shadowed place where you would not have been recognized while you could very easily observe the others.

Still, benefits are tied to come with cons and so you were forced to cuddle into each other once again on a small leather couch. His hand did not leave your waist even as you sat down. It was hard not to notice such details, like how he could not keep eye contact for long when you spoke, how your hands brushed together when you both leaned over the table to take a sip of your hot coffee. You blamed it all on the weird situation you were in. In any other circumstances, he would not have been behaving like this, for sure.

“Hey, Potter. Could I ask you something?”

“You know you don’t have to call me Potter, right?” he smiled.

“We are work colleagues,” you said, but you wished you didn’t. Because you knew very well that saying things out loud only makes them more real.

“Yeah, but I don’t call you y/ln. I never heard you say you don’t like it when I call you y/n.” You did like it, it made you feel welcomed whenever talking to him, which until this morning was very rare. But you were not going to tell him that and feed his ego even more.

“It’s acceptable, but mind you, you are on thin ice,” you pointed a finger at him and his hand shifted softly on your waist as he laughed.

“It would be acceptable for you to call me Harry too, you know? I mean, we are supposed to be dating after all. For the mission.”

“For the mission” you agreed

“So you will call me Harry?”

“I will,” you promised. The gesture of reassurance alone made his head float.

While waiting for the Forsakens to appear you found out a lot about Harry. Many things surprised you. The papers always lie to make everything more attractive to their readers, but they also leave out the small details. Like how Harry still has panic attacks, even long after the war. How he always has nightmares about all the people he cared about.

“I feel sorry knowing this now,” you tried to empathize but it wasn’t going that well. You had never been part of war before.

“You don’t have to be. Not today, at least. I had quite a pleasant dream last night.”

“Oh, did you? And what was it about then?”

"Someone hugged me. I think it was a woman; I’m not sure. I didn’t get to see her face.”

“Is that all you remember?” you persisted. It broke your heart to know that this was his idea of a good dream: nothing extraordinary, but the most mundane form of comfort.

“Yeah, that’s all. What I know is that she was there in the beginning. It felt like she always had been” his eyes were distant as he talked. “She left me, and I was once again alone.”

And it was then that it all made sense to you. He was nice to you now because there were no nightmares to haunt him through the day.

You turned to face him and got really close to his face. “I’m so sorry. For being so shitty with you the other day,” you whispered. “It was just the stress from work.”

“I know.” he smiled. “It’s alright. I let myself get carried away too. We need to cooperate for the mission.”

“So does that mean that our little argument and Ben Nelson stepping in will not be included in the letter to the Minister for Magic?” you raised your eyebrows.

“Oh I totally am not telling Hermione any of that.” he laughed. “No, that will stay between us.”

It was around 11 am that you spotted some oddly dressed people enter the already busy cafe. In the lead was a tall woman who wore black heels and a long red satin dress with robes of a darker shade draped over her shoulders. Her face was covered by a long curtain of dark curly hair.

Just behind her were two other women, both slightly shorter. Those were dressed in the same way the first one was; the colors were the only thing that varied: their fair skin was adored by greens and purples.

The two men following them were both dressed in black suits that would not make them attract much attention if it weren’t for their companions.

The dark-skinned woman who was so obviously the one making decisions pointed to the big table in the middle of the cafe and her followers seated themselves. No words were spoken as she left them and entered a door the waitress once had.

“These must be them. They fit the description perfectly,” you mumbled and Harry nodded beside you.

“The head’s name is Anika. She has connections to the waitress as her mom’s sister. Anika is muggle-born. She never told her aunt that she’s a witch but she and her gang are allowed to gather here sometimes.” Harry said in a monotone voice. What a good professor he would have been.

“I read the instructions, Harry” you rolled your eyes at him. He smiled when he heard his name come from your lips.

“‘M just making sure, y/n.”

Anika returned quite quickly and she sat down on the side with the men, facing the other women. She took out a leather notebook from her robes and put it in the middle of the table.

“Does anyone know why it’s still here?” you could faintly hear her cold voice. Everyone else around her shook their heads.

“Heajin and I did our part.” the woman dressed in purple said defensively.

“So did Aaron and I,” one of the men on Anika’s right said more calmly, almost like he was trying to prove a point.

“I don’t care about what any of you did,” she looked them one by one in the eye. “I don’t want to hear you brag about how hard the task was for you, Aaron and Heajin. You two have always found everything challenging. I would normally be more forgiving, congratulate you even. But I can’t as long as this piece of absolute rubbish hasn’t dissolved.” Anika pointed to the notebook. “Understood?” she hit the table with her palm. The others did not flinch.

All of them nodded angrily, got up, and left the cafe in a rush. But it seemed as though their boss was not done talking yet. She scoffed, annoyed at the others’ behaviors, and vanished through the door after them.

Whatever you were expecting to happen today, was not this. The short discussion you had just overheard from your corner only brought more confusion. You had expected them to be a group of foolish wizards who want to rebel. But you had never expected them to be talking about real tasks. Rethinking everything now, you came to the conclusion that the situation was serious if Hermione Granger-Weasley sent her best two Aurors (and those had been her words) on a mission personally. She considered Ron one of the best too of course, but she would never risk his life if she could help.

It would make no sense for you to follow them. They would be back here the next day. Harry took out his wallet and put 15 pounds next to his cup on the table. He intertwined your fingers with his and got up as well. “Let’s go, love,” he said loudly enough, announcing that you were leaving now too.

Harry didn’t bother to look back at the cafe but you turned your head last second to see if anyone had a weird reaction to what had just happened. And you saw it sitting there. The small leather notebook was left in the middle of the table. No one seemed to take notice of the piece of rubbish being left behind. You squeezed Harry’s hand and he stopped just as he wanted to open the door and leave. You dragged him over to the table to make it less obvious.

“Look, babe, I told you there was a stain on the tablecloth on this one,” you said sweeping your hand over it and clenched your hand around the notebook. “It’s better that we sat over there.” Harry squeezed the hand that was still in his. He got your message.

You were panting hard as you threw the hotel door open. It was quite the work-out you got from running back here. Harry was behind you, locking it right back shut. You ran to the window and pushed it hard. Your whistle could be heard for miles probably. There was no time left to worry over your owl’s whereabouts as she was there in less than a minute.

She landed on your shoulder and bit your ear softly. “Good girl, Idiv.” you petted her grey head.

“y/n.” he shouted your name. “y/n, come here please!”

“What?” you turned around.

“We need to let Hermione know everything. As soon as possible. Get a quill ready.” he rushed you.

“Shouldn’t we read the notebook first?”

“Oh sure we will but we better start writing already and send Idiv on her way to the Ministry.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. tag list!

@ur-riddikulus @anyqueen008 @fuckingalohomora-bitch

[alpacinothirst]

Time Traveler Imagine Prt. 3

1973

Al had walked me back to the hotel. “Here’s my phone number,” he said, scribbling on a piece of paper. “Call me tonight around 8:30, I should be free.” 

“I will if I’m not held up by these guys,” I smiled at him. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

“No problem at all. Have a good rest of your day, Kelly.” He walked off with his agent, leaving me to face Jane. She was in the conference room, sitting by the phone. 

“Took you long enough. What did your commanding officers tell you in your time? They told you not to medal with the past.” 

“I was just grabbing coffee. They said I could make friends, Jane. Living here and having everyone breathing down my neck is lonely.” 

“You were throwing yourself at him the entire interview!” Jane shouted at me. 

“Excuse me?” I yelled at her. She scowled at me, picking up the phone. I knew she was calling Moretti. “Are you tattling on me?” I sneered at her. 

Jane rolled her eyes, talking into the phone. “Yeah... The interview went terribly... She went for a coffee with him afterwards... Well, I’m not the one who sent a floozy from the 21st century, okay!” 

“Don’t call me a floozy!” I yanked the phone from her hand. “I grabbed coffee with someone! That’s it. Why is it being turned into such a big ordeal?” I shouted into the phone. 

“Jane told me you didn’t use the fucking cards... What the fuck is that about?” Moretti yelled. 

“Those cards were absolute horseshit! I was never going to get a real answer from Pacino like that.” 

“You’re here to do a job, not to get a little boyfriend.” I slammed the phone on the receiver. 

“Think about who’re insulting next time, sweetheart. I come from a time where women are respected,” I sneered at Jane, walking out of the room. Tears brimmed my eyes as I walked to the bathroom. Fuck them, I thought, trying to make myself feel better. I sat in a stall to calm myself down. I did not need to be crying on my way home after being called a whore.  

After I had collected myself, I walked out of the building and took off down the street. I didn’t really care that I had no idea where I was, but I needed some time to myself. “Why is everyone such an asshole in this time?” I asked myself, feeling my eyes tear up again. 

I sat down on a bench, crossing my arms and looking around. There were people walking up and down the streets. No one looked familiar, so I felt at peace. I was a little afraid Jane had followed me. 

“Kelly?” I looked up to see Al walking towards me. 

“Oh hey,” I smiled weakly at him. 

“Waiting for the bus?” He asked, gesturing to the bus stop sign above us. 

“Yeah... What are you doing here?” 

“Well, it just so happens I need to take the bus too.” I rolled my eyes and laughed at him. “You look like you’ve been crying.” 

“I’m sorry...” I sighed, smoothing my pant legs. “My boss was just yelling at me.” 

“I feel like that’s partly my fault.” 

“No! Not at all... She’s just mad and stressed about projects and this interview wasn’t what she wanted,” I tried to explain. It sounded like the most made up thing to exist. 

“What was wrong about the interview?” 

“They’re hung up on the questions thing still... Jane’s boss, the big boss, called us to yell at me.” Al sat next to me. “They called me a whore for getting coffee with you.” Al scoffed at that. “I know. It’s ridiculous. It’s like every time I’m not eating and breathing my job they call me names.” 

“You don’t deserve that kind of abuse.” 

“I’m sorry. We just met and I’m unloading all my problems on you,” I apologized, crossing my arms. “You just are easy to talk to,” I sighed to myself. I needed to be careful around him. One slip up and I would be hunted by two time periods. 

“Why don’t I take you home? You look like you need a nap...” 

“I thought you were taking the bus,” I smirked at him. 

“Well, I just now remembered I came here in a car,” he joked. Al helped me up, leading me to the car. “We can grab lunch if you want... If you’re hungry.” 

“I’m okay... I just feel really tired. Thank you, though.” He drove as I gave him directions to my apartment. 

“You know, I can get you into a different company if they keep treating you like this,” Al offered. I smiled at him warmly. 

“I might take you up on that offer, but I just need to let everyone cool down... They’re all just hot headed.” Al chuckled at me. “Would you like to come in?” I asked as he parked the car. “I can make lunch.” 

“Well now that you mentioned food,” Al laughed. “But yeah... I’ll come in.” We got out of the car, going up to the third floor of my building. “This is a cute place,” Al said, walking inside. I took his coat and put it in the closet. 

“I have sandwiches, pasta, salad... Almost anything...” I said, looking in the fridge. 

“I’ll take a sandwich, please.” I nodded, making us lunch. “So tell me how you got into acting, Al.” 

“It’s a long story...” 

“I think we have time,” I smiled at him. He nodded, smiling back and telling me about it. 

“Well, I loved acting as a child. I would play out scenes of movies I watched... I... I would quote movies and poems all the time.” He went on about it, smiling to himself as he did. I admired him. His love for the big screen showed as he talked about his first movie he was in. 

~

2035 (Alex)

“Agent Moretti just contacted us this morning,” Gary sat a file in my desk. 

“And?” 

“Jackie’s not doing too well.” I rubbed my face, sighing heavily. “We did send her back to get Nixon reelected. I don’t know how we thought this would work.” 

“It was supposed to work. She goes in through the media. Talks about how great Nixon is and fucking changes people’s minds! It’s the 70′s for crying out loud. People were fucking dumb!” I spat at him. 

“Yeah, but people also hated Nixon as much as Nazis back then.” 

“So are we pulling her out or not?” 

“Chief Dressier said we need to wait.” 

“How long, huh? How long are we waiting?” 

“He doesn’t know. He wants you to take a look at this though.” Gary said, sliding the file towards me. I opened it, seeing pictures of Jackie with Al Pacino. They were walking together, going to a coffee shop, and in the car together. 

“This is sloppy. What the fuck is she thinking?” 

“I don’t know...” 

“What am I supposed to do about it?”  I shouted at him. 

“We thought maybe you could send a letter to her? I know we can’t contact her directly, but we can send her a letter. And tell her to knock it off, this isn’t high school.” I sighed and nodded. 

~

1973 (Jackie)

I had fallen asleep on the couch as we watched TV. When I woke up, my apartment was empty. There was a note by the phone that asked me to call Al when I had time. I smiled at it, picking up the phone. Before I could dial his number, there was a knock on the door. I looked through the peep hole, seeing it was Jane. 

“Yeah?” I asked, opening the door. 

“Here’s a letter from your commanding officer from your time. I suggest you read it carefully.” She handed me the letter and then took off. I rolled my eyes and slammed my door, locking the dead bolt. 

Jackie, 

I have been made aware of your friendship with Alfredo Pacino. Please be cautious with what information you give him. Remember he is from the past and you are there to do a mission. You are not there to make friends. You are there to get Richard Nixon reelected. Please do not forget your mission. The agency cannot afford another slip up. If you fail to keep on track, we will have to bring you back to the present time and terminate your employment. 

I send this letter with urgency. Please think about what you’re doing. 

-Agent Alex Motts

I rolled my eyes and threw the letter down. “What the hell does Al Pacino have to do with getting Nixon reelected?” I screamed. “Nothing. There’s not one fucking thing. This mission is stupid anyways. There’s no way I can change people’s minds...” I trailed off. “Oh no... No...” 

Why had it taken me two, almost three, weeks to realize what this was? This was not a mission to save the world. It wasn’t a mission to rebuild American trust. It was another ploy by the government to control us. It all made sense in that moment. Richard Nixon committed a crime... The American government from my time didn’t want people to trust them, they just wanted us to blindly follow and obey them. 

The Watergate scandal wasn’t a mistake blown out of proportion, it was a federal offense. The American people of the 70′s were not brainwashed by the media. Congress was doing their part and taking out the trash. 

I picked up the phone and called Al, waiting as the phone rang. He didn’t answer, which made me nervous. “I have to get out of here.” I grabbed a backpack, stuffing it with clothes, money, and my wallet. There was no way I was staying here anymore. 

The phone began ringing, stopping me in my tracks. I picked it up cautiously, answering it. “Hello?” 

“Hey, is this Kelly Davis?” 

“Who is this?” 

“It’s Al. I was returning your call. Sorry... I left for a moment. I had some things to finish up.” 

“It’s... it’s okay... I was just packing.” 

“What for?” He hummed into the phone. His voice was light, it sounded careless. 

“Al, can I ask you a favor?” I whispered into the phone. 

“Only if you’ll have dinner with me sometime soon,” he chuckled into the phone. 

“Al, I... I think I have to leave the state.” 

“What?” 

“I got a letter from my boss today and it... I think they’re threatening me.” 

“Hold on, Kelly, what?” I paused, trying to figure out an excuse. But nothing came to mind. The only thing I knew was that I had to leave. 

“Al, I can’t tell you everything. I can barely tell you half of what’s going on. But please listen to me. I need your help.” 

“Meet me at that same hotel we met earlier. Tonight, 6 pm. I’ll be in a black Charger.” 

“Thank you... Thank you... I’m so sorry,” I began to sob into the phone. His voice softened as he tried to comfort me. 

“It’ll be okay. Just be careful, Kelly.” 

“I’m so sorry. I’m just so scared.” 

“Of who?” 

“I... I can’t tell you that... I can’t tell you that right now...” I said quietly. “I have to go. I’m packing. I’ll be at the hotel at six,” I promised. 

[ionlyreadfivebookslastweek]

Bless The Broken Road - 19

In the morning, Jack drove up to Quantico and picked Jane up. They then drove the rest of the way to Ashburn, Virginia together.

“Hey, Jack?” Jane spoke, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them.

“Hmm?”

“What if you moved into my old apartment? You’d live a lot closer than you do right now,” Jane suggested.

“That’s actually a good idea! I’ll think about it and let you know,” Jack told her. When they arrived at their parents’ place, Jane was greeted with a rather aggressive hug from both parents.

“Hi! Woah, hey now, be careful, please!” she laughed.

“You didn’t tell them?” Jack questioned.

“Tell us what?” Laura asked.

Jane turned to Jack and thew a sarcastic “Thanks,” at him.

“Sweetheart, tell us what?” Daniel asked. Jane sighed. “Alright, fine, come with me.” She entered the house and led her parents into a separate room. She briefly explained to them about being abducted and the injuries resulting from the incident. “Mom, Dad, trust me. I’m fine. I didn’t want you to worry so I didn’t tell you.”

Before they could say anything, the doorbell rang, forcing them to end the conversation.

Laura opened the door and Jane’s grandmother entered.

“Jane, dear! It’s so good to see you!” she cheered, coming over to give her a hug. “And Jack, honey!” She moved to hug him too.

“Hey, Grandma,” Jack greeted her. “Here, let me get your coat,” he offered.

“Thank you, dear. Such a gentleman!”

He took her coat from her and turned to Jane. “Jane, do you want me to grab yours too?”

“Oh, right! Yeah, thanks.” Jane took off her coat and gave it to him. He headed out of the entryway to go put them in one of the bedrooms. Everyone else headed into the living room to join the rest of the family.

During the meal, Jane’s relatives asked her about work and how that was going. She told them how she enjoys helping people, but avoided talking about injuries and other dangers of the job.

“Jane, would you mind helping me bring the pies out of the kitchen?” Laura asked once everyone had finished their main course.

Jane obliged and followed her out of the room. 

“So, I noticed how that extra seat at the table you asked me to save has remained empty,” Laura pointed out.

“Yeah, um, it was meant for Spencer. You remember him from the hospital?” Jane paused a moment for her to confirm before hurrying to continue, not wanting to dwell on that moment too much. “Anyway, the team is still on a case, so he couldn’t be here.”

She nodded in understanding. “How is Spencer doing?”

“He’s great. Actually, we started dating a while ago, six months tomorrow, and a few weeks ago he asked me to move in with him,” Jane confessed.

Laura’s eyes widened and she gasped in surprise. “Oh, that’s great, honey!” She stepped forward to embrace her daughter. “And you’re happy?”

“Very happy,” Jane laughed into her shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad!”

~

After the meal was over, everyone moved into the living room to watch football.

Jane’s phone went off and she stepped away to answer it.

“Hey, Spence!” she spoke.

Cheering erupted from the other room.

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked.

“I’m guessing one of the teams just scored a touchdown. My family’s watching football,” Jane explained.

"Oh, alright. Well, I just called to let you know that we’re on our way to find the UNSUB right now. I should be home later tomorrow.”

“That’s great! I’m planning on staying at my parents overnight, so I should be back later tomorrow as well,” Jane told him.

“I gotta go,” Spencer said suddenly.

“Oh, ok. Stay safe. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~

That night, Jane struggled to sleep, nightmares invading her mind, all of which put her back in that godforsaken basement.

Throughout the next day, she continued having flashbacks to what happened to her, though she did her best to appear fine in front of her parents.

On the drive home, Jack asked her, “Hey are you doing alright, Jane?”

”Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

”You’ve been quiet today. And there were a few times while we were still at the house where you seemed to zone out a little bit.”

Jane shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road. “I’m just tired. I had trouble sleeping last night.”

”Well, maybe I should be driving then.”

Jane laughed. “I swear, Jack, I’m fine.”

Upon arriving at Spencer’s apartment, Jane helped Jack move his things to his car before saying goodbye and heading towards the door.

”Jane?” Jack called out. Jane stopped and turned to look at him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” Jane insisted. “Goodnight. Let me know when you get home safe.”

Jack nodded, still not entirely convinced, before climbing into his car.

Jane headed up to the apartment to find that Spencer was already home from the case. She set her things by the door and followed the sound of cooking to the kitchen.

”Spencer?” she called out, causing him to drop the spoon he was holding.

He turned around to see her standing in the doorway. “Jane, you’re home! I didn’t hear you come in.”

He crossed the room and embraced her. She squeezed back tightly then reached up and kissed him.

”I missed you,” she told him.

”I missed you too.”

Jane looked towards the dining area and saw the table set with candles lit and flowers in the center.

“What's all this?” she asked.

”Happy 6 month anniversary!”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, that’s today.” She stepped back and ran a hand through her hair. “Spencer, I am so sorry. I completely forgot!”

He pulled her back into his arms. “It’s ok, Jane.”

“It’s just that there’s a lot going on with everything that happened and, and I didn’t even realize Thanksgiving was this week until Wednesday,” Jane explained.

“Janey, It’s fine. Don’t apologize.”

Jane sighed. “Thank you for understanding.” She kissed him again.

“Of course. Everything should be ready in a few minutes and then we can eat.”

“Sounds perfect.” She pecked his cheek before going to put her stuff away while she waited.

Once the food was ready, they sat down and enjoyed a nice evening together.

~

In the middle of the night, Jane woke up from a nightmare. Trying not to disturb Spencer, she did her best to quietly get up and head to the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door, she rushed to the toilet and vomited. When she was finished, she sat back, covering her mouth to silence her sobs.

She stayed there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to calm down, before going back to bed.

Fortunately, it appeared that Spencer had slept through everything.

The next day, Jane and Spencer lounged around all day. Jane felt tired and couldn’t seem to change her mood.

Sunday morning, Jane had a vivid dream in which she was tied up again. When she woke up, it felt as if Spencer’s arms around her were the restraints from her dream. She began to kick and scream, struggling to get out.

“Woah! Jane! Jane! It’s just me! Janey, calm down. It’s alright,” Spencer told her. “Breathe.”

Jane went still and breathed in and out a few times, calming down. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

“It’s ok. Shhh. You’re safe,” he assured her. “Why don’t I make us some breakfast?”

Jane nodded and he kissed her forehead before getting out of bed.

When breakfast was ready, Jane slowly got out of bed and came to the table to eat. She ate a few bites, but mainly just picked at her food.

Spencer watched her, concerned.

He set down his fork. “Jane, I think we should talk about what’s been happening,” he told her.

She stood up and moved to go sit on the couch, ignoring him. He also stood and followed, taking a seat next to her and taking her hands.

“Jane, look. It’s going to take some time to get over what happened to you but it’ll get better,” he assured her.

“You don’t know that!” Jane snapped, ripping her hands out of his and standing up. “You don’t understand. You have no idea what I’m going through.” Jane stormed out of the room and headed back to the bedroom, slamming the door.

Spencer chose to let her be, giving her time alone with her thoughts. She slept most of the day until he chanced going back there to talk to her again.

“Janey?” he whispered, coming in and sitting on the bed.

Jane rolled over away from him and covered her head with the blanket.

“Alright, you don’t have to talk. But you should know something.” Spencer sighed before continuing, “Around three years ago, I was abducted by an UNSUB. His name was Tobias Hankel.”

Jane took the covers off her face and turned to face him, sitting up as well.

“He repeatedly tortured me and forcibly injected Dilaudid into me and I nearly died.”

Jane looked down, ashamed of her reaction earlier. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

”It does get better, Jane. But it does no good to keep it all in.”

Jane leaned into him and he wrapped an arm around her.

”Want to go out to the couch and watch Christmas movies for the rest of the day?”

”OK,” Jane agreed. ~ On Monday, Jane had a doctor’s appointment to see how her recovery was going.

”Do you want me to come with?” Spencer asked.

”You can if you want. It’s up to you,” she told him. He decided to go with and went to also get ready.

The doctor informed her that her ribs would probably be healed in a week, but her lung would take up to four more weeks to heal completely.

On the way home, Reid decided to stop at work to get more paperwork.

”Aren’t you going to come up with me?” he asked Jane when he realized she wasn’t moving to get out of the car.

”I’m not going up there looking like this. I’m in sweats,” Jane told him.

”Janey, nobody cares what you’re wearing. They’d be happy to see you,” he insisted. Still, she refused. Spencer sighed and exited the car alone, heading into the building and up to the BAU.

“Hey pretty boy,” Morgan greeted him.

“Hey guys,” he replied, looking at Morgan and Garcia.

“Didn’t Jane have a doctor’s appointment this morning?” Garcia questioned.

“Yeah. We’re on the way home from it now. I wanted to pick up some paperwork.”

“So where’s Jane?”

Reid sighed. “Waiting in the car. She didn’t want to come up here ‘looking like she does’,” he explained, using air quotes.

“That doesn’t matter,” Morgan said.

“I know. I told her that, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She hasn’t been herself lately,” he confessed. “I’m worried about her.”

Before they could respond, JJ came over to them, informing the group that there was a case.

Reid nodded. “I’ll meet everyone on the jet and get caught up. I have to drive Jane home.”

When he got back to the car, he told Jane about the case and drove her home, dropping her off before turning around and driving back.

~ The next day Jane got a call from Jack.

“Hey Jane, so I thought about it and I’d like to move into your old apartment if you’re still ok with it,” he told her.

“Oh, Jack, that’s great!”

“How about we do it this weekend?”

“Hmm. Can we wait until January? I still can’t lift that much stuff and I’d like to help.”

“I think it’s better to do it sooner rather than later,” Jack insisted.

Jane thought for a moment before sighing, “Fine. I guess that can work. I’ll see if Morgan can help you guys.”

“Awesome! Just let me know. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, bye.” Reid called later that night to check in on her. “Hey, how are you doing?”

“I’m alright. Jack called earlier. He’s agreed to move into my old apartment, but he wants to do it this weekend. Will you ask Morgan if he’ll help out?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great. I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to go to bed here soon.”

“Oh, alright. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Jane hung up.

Spencer sighed and stared at his phone. She still sounded like she was in a gloomy mood. He thought of an idea and called up Garcia.

“Hey, Garcia.”

“Hey, I thought you guys were calling it a night?” she questioned.

“We are, but I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Can you call Jane tomorrow and check in on her? I’m worried about her.”

“Sure thing!”

“Thank you, Garcia. I really appreciate it.

~

True to her word, Garcia called Jane the next day, but Jane didn’t pick up. She tried calling again a few times throughout the day but never got an answer. Remaining persistent, she decided to head to the apartment after work to check on her in person.

Jane laid on the couch, rereading the same paragraph of her book over and over again. She heard a knock at the door but ignored it.

“Jane? I know you’re in there,” she heard Garcia call through the door. “Please let me in.”

Jane set her book down but didn’t get up.

“I brought you a gift basket with bath goodies and some hot chocolate mix.”

Jane sighed and finally stood up, stretching before heading over to the door. She opened it then turned back around to return to the couch, not even offering Garcia a greeting. She sat back down and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Jane, talk to me. Please?” Garcia pleaded, coming in and setting her gift basket down on the coffee table. She took a seat next to her on the couch and gingerly placed a caring hand on her shoulder.

Jane turned and looked at her. After a split second, she burst out crying.

“I’m so tired, Penelope!” she sobbed. “I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep cause when I sleep it’s like I’m back in that damn basement. And even when I’m awake I’m not always safe. Sometimes I have flashbacks to what happened. And it hurts! Ow!” She gasped in pain, clutching at her abdomen. “It hurts to cry because it upsets my ribs and lung which are still healing.”

“Oh, sweet girl! Come here!” Garcia told her. Jane moved to rest her head in her lap. “What you need is a girl’s night. Why don’t we watch romcoms and order a pizza?”

“Yeah,” Jane sniffed. “That sounds nice. Thanks, Pen.”

~

Spencer arrived home from the case on Thursday night and Jane greeted him with a kiss.

“I know you asked Garcia to check in on me while you were gone,” she told him.

“You do?” he asked, wary of her reaction.

“Yeah. Thank you for that. I really needed it.”

He sighed in relief then smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad she could help.”

On Saturday, Jack, Spencer, and Morgan worked to move Jane’s stuff into Spencer’s apartment. Then on Sunday, they drove to Richmond to put Jack’s things into a truck, drove back to Quantico, and moved his stuff into Jane’s old apartment.

When Spencer and Jane arrived home in their own apartment in the evening, Jane hugged Spencer and reached up to kiss his cheek.

Smiling up at him, she said, “Now we can officially call it ‘our’ apartment!”

Spencer grinned and kissed her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bless The Broken Road Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

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