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#and next week my most anticipated one in years: ODD EYE CIRCLE THE RETURN OF THE LEGENDS ANXNBWJEIEPALAKS
lilidawnonthemoon · 1 year
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akvtsuki-ari · 5 years
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Around Your Neck
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Warning: smut, unprotected sex/creampie, post!prison reid, fingering, oral both recieving, throatfucking, slapping, bruises idk??
Length: 4.8k 
Authors note: you know that tiktok audio that goes “whats wrong with you?,” over and over again. thats how writing this fic made me feel. based loosely after a conversation me and my wife @pastanest​ had sdkjhjkef and that gifset of spencer with that gold chain on that has me so tight. so disrespectful...
Edit: heres the gifset!!! 
Plot Summary: Prison changed Spencer. That damn chain around his neck made sure you remembered. 
Spencer Reid was… different after prison. It was something about him when he left, like a part of him was always far away somewhere when you spoke to him. He was fractured it seemed like - even though he was saving lives everyday there always seemed to be something on his mind. He was still Spencer of course, still sweet-talking and soothing when he needed to be. He never lost that odd charm about him and after those first few months he grew back to be more comfortable in his own skin but there was just something there. Something on the back of his mind that he seemed to be handling alone. 
You’d been with Spencer for a while before he went to jail, a few years and other traumatic events later - you had an idea of how Spencer dealt with pain and difficulty. He liked to let things sit and stir inside of him for a long time before he lets it show - then he gets snappy and mean for a bit after that till he sorta just breaks. In many ways, when something bad happened to Spencer you sorta just knew what things would be like for a bit, but no matter how many times he slipped you caught him. When he got shot and nearly died twice, you were there right next to him - making sure that he was going to be okay. That's just what you did, to say you were Spencers ride-or-die would be an understatement. You gave him whatever he needed, whether that be some tough love or being pampered for a few days straight. 
Spencer knew that about you, and even before prison he had this affinity for you that always made sure you knew how much he adored you. He wanted you to know that he only ever had eyes for you and that he was beyond grateful for how patient you seemed and how loving you were to him. Spencer made sure he never stopped chasing you before he went to prsion. He bought you flowers, supported you when you switched careers, and generally made sure he returned the favor in loving you but he was always chasing you still. Part of it was out of disbelief that someone could love him like that, but the other part was out of insecurity. You always told him you were always his, but he never seemed to believe you. 
Prison changed a lot of things for Spencer, but that thing about him chasing you was what changed most. Spencer was always possessive in his own right, but he wasn’t jealous necessarily. He just wanted to make sure you were okay and that no one was fucking with you or bothering you. It didn’t bother him before if you talked and flirted with Luke, or if some guy was hitting on you because you were normally so adamantly rejecting it. He wasn’t someone who was particularly upset about not having claimed you as his - before he didn’t really care. 
For the longest time you didn’t really notice just how much Spencer had actually changed how he acted towards you - mostly because he was still really sweet to you. It wasn’t like he was treating you any worse, or necessarily any better. It was honest to God, just different, more.. something. You don’t wanna use the word aggressive because Spencer isn’t the aggressive type. Spencer was calculated, and he could be angry sometimes but not often. He didn’t have a shorter fuse - hell, you could argue that prison made him more patient since he was often just lying in wait. 
The best way to describe it is probably just more confident, really. He was assertive about you being his and his tolerance for crude jokes that came your way was a lot lower. Most of the time, at least before, he’d let shit slide if it was too small. Nowadays though, if he even catches something bothering you he steps in - always finding the small of your back and pulling you closer to him like he was keeping you close to protect you. He doesn’t curse them out or get angry, just stares at them with a blank expression that's arguably more intimidating. 
You were a flirt by nature, too. You were never trying to flirt with people, but you’re one for flattery and compliments so it sure can be read that way. You loved receiving the same energy so when you did your jokes and compliments would increase ten-fold. It doesn’t bother Spencer because he knows you’re just being silly but before, he didn’t mind if the other person was serious because he knew that you’d never continue like that. Now though, when someones dropping any lines your way he��ll tell them to leave you alone no question, unconcerned about any consequence or even if that person could beat Spencer's ass. Spencer wasn’t concerned about strength like he used to be - and when you asked him about why that was he simply shrugs. 
“I’ll play dirty if it gets there,” 
Those were all small details but there were so many of them that it was starting to pile up and draw you to interesting conclusions. Sex was also a clear example of change. The first time the two of you had sex when he came back from prison was relatively the same, but you could tell he was holding something back. For the longest time, you didn’t really know what until it was the heat of the moment and Spencer wrapped his hands around your throat and ask if he could choke you - something that you’d ask for previously that he was rather unsure about doing. It was the way Spencer's eyes looked into your eyes when he did it, the way his fingers curled almost carelessly around your delicate neck - so instinctively as if the whole endeavor was so natural. When he lets you go and kisses you - you’re more than into it but you can’t help but wonder where his desire came from. You didn’t really mind how Spencer got when he was like that but damn, you couldn’t say you saw it coming. 
The more you thought about it, the more it became clear to you that Spencer has changed a whole lot more than you understood initially, but maybe the last straw was when you made a sorta silly joke about the necklace worn around his neck after prison. It was a thin gold chain, for the most part tucked underneath his clothes when he went to work. He said in many cultures gold is a symbol for blessing and spirituality and he wanted to keep that with him, and that a lot of other people in prison wore gold chains. You made some stupid joke that if he were gonna wear it all the time - he should at least have your name around his neck. You knew stuff like that wasn’t really Spencer thing so when you’d said it, even though it was pretty hot, you were mostly just joking. 
It’d been a few weeks since then. Spencer had a case that needed his attention and you were at the bullpen with Penelope waiting for everyone's arrival. You were nearly bursting from anticipation, a busy case that made you particularly clingy and had you missing Spencer more than you can explain. There everyone was, walking through the doors when Spencer walks through and wraps you up in his arms. Spencer picks you up and spins you around for a few seconds before giving you a small smile. You just hug him again, noticing the cool metal on your skin when you do. You pull back before Spencer speaks and look down - his chains never had a pendant before 
There it was. Your name, hangin around his neck like it was nothing. Spencer was sporting it with a more casual version of what he normally wears, which was basically just no tie. A white shirt and blazer, and your name around his neck. You try your very best to ignore the heartbeat in your jeans while your fingers went up carefully to touch it. Spencer gives a coy smile, watching the way your eyes look at it so hazy. Just like he wanted. He places his hand on top of yours, seeing your pretty eyes flick up to meet his. You can barely contain yourself - the chain around his neck always brought you to some interesting places but to see your name - your fucking name, around his neck so casually brought you somewhere rather interesting. 
“Um - nice necklace,” you squeak out. Spencer laughs brightly, his arms circling around your waist as you bury your face in his chest instinctively . You can feel the way his laugh reverberates and you just whine in annoyance. 
“I’m glad you liked it, might be a little awkward otherwise,” Spencer jokes. It was your turn to giggle, Spencer left terribly endeared by the sound. 
“You ready to head home, doctor?,” you say softly. Spencer nods, taking your hand as you lead the way and feeling his heart burst out of his chest, grateful to have you on him always. 
__
You guess that Spencer buying your name as a pendant on his chain was really what set you off in realizing just how possessive he was. He didn’t take it off around the house, walking around your shared apartment shirtless with it on at all times. He’d play with it constantly, fingers brushing the smooth metal while he was doing something a little mindless or that required his focused attention. It was driving you nuts, the image of Spencers chain hanging in your face was already one you returned to a lot but - now that your name was there it made the stakes of such a situation so much higher. 
Spencers just sitting and reading the paper when you finally are fed up. He always liked reading the actual newspaper, claims there's nothing quite as good but you’re tired of… well, you’re not sure what you were tired of but you knew you needed his attention asap before you lost your marbles for good. You walk over to him, moving the newspaper carefully out of his hands and folding it before sitting across his lap and crossing your arms. Spencer laughs loudly, especially as you take his arms and wrap them around your waist. Spencer just gives you a quirked eyebrow, a questioning look. You shake your head, because you’re honestly kind of unsure for what you’re asking for - you just wanted something. Dick, maybe. 
You give Spencer a look as you take his chain around your fingers again and play with it’s pendant. He already knows why you’re here, but he decides to let you figure it out. He knew before that you were the submissive type, but his response to that changed in prison. He carried that picture of you with him everyday, looked at it for hours sometimes so he could sleep - and it pissed him off when people would see it and talk about you. Spencer missed a lot of things outside of jail but you were number one - your love and affection of course, but there were other things too. Prison made Spencer particular about his possessions, that picture of you was one of the few things that was his and his alone. He didn’t let anyone go as far as touch that picture, so when he saw you again that possession just carried over. He didn’t really care, especially since it didn’t seem to bother you. Prison made Spencer realize how much he really cared for his possessions, books, chess boards, you - all things he already cared about but became a lot more particular after the fact. 
Spencer just knows. When you sit on his lap, all he can picture is him out in the yard but instead of isolated and paranoid, he’s with you by his side giving him all the restraint in the world. He’d be damned if he let anyone take that from him. You give Spencer a look he can’t explain, there's a certain innocence written on your face that makes Spencer's chest hot. His hand sits between your bare thigh as you sit on his lap, and the second you look down on it, you seem to get the clue. Spencer grips your thigh, eyes following the way yours move to try and make sense of what's happening. Your eyes are fluttery, as your head twists to meet Spencers, the two of you nose to nose. Spencer just gives you a smile, before looking down at your lips then right back up to you. You blush. 
“You’re close,” you say, not knowing what else to do. Spencer chuckles. 
“Would you like me to move?,” Spencer asks politely. You shake your head. 
“No,” you say stubbornly. Spencer licks his lips for a second before smiling again. 
“Okay. Then, what would you like me to do?,” Spencer says, holding back a laugh. Your eyes fixate on his lips when he talks, and you scrunch your face up. 
“Kiss me,” you mumble. Spencer grins ear to ear. 
“Say please,” Spencer replies, leaning in as his lips brush onto yours. He pulls away before you can kiss and you sigh. 
“Please,” you manage out meekly. 
Spencer pushes air out of his nose before he does just that. His lips are smooth, stubble touching your smooth skin as your hand moves to one side of his face. Spencer smiles into the kiss, feeling the way you melt into him. The moments before things get heated is fast, Spencer's hands underneath your shirt as his tongue slides between your lips. He kisses you slowly, patiently but that’s not quite what you want. You give him a whine, but he shows the same attitude. You keep kissing like that for a while, moving yourself to straddling Spencer's lap before using your teeth to lightly tug on Spencer's bottom lip. He gives you a small groan and you return it with a noise of approval. Spencer pulls back to look at you, his eyes telling you to be careful but his body language betraying him. You can feel the tent in Spencer pants as you weigh yourself down on his lap. 
“Don’t hold back,” you ask, hoping it’s the right thing. Spencer gives you a weary look. 
“Are you sure?'' Spencer asks. You nod, eyes looking into his. 
“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for go,” you say repeating your safewords to him. Spencer gives you a kiss on the forehead, both for remembering your safeword but as an assurance. He’d never really been rough with you - he was a soft dom at heart and wouldn’t go as far as hurting you. You just give him a pleading look - you wanted him to be rough with you, bruise and mark you, just for a little while. The idea made your skin flush, but who was Spencer to deny you of such a request. Spencer nods softly, leading you to the bedroom. 
Spencers the first to close the door, pushing you up against as he lifts one of your legs up and kisses you slowly - fingers pressing into your thighs as Spencers tongue toys with yours. He always kisses you like that, slowly but surely introducing as much of himself to you as possible - his erections pressed against you when he does. The sound that leaves your mouth is a cross between a whimper and a moan - a broken sound that makes Spencer a little more eager. He smiles when you make, giving you a look of surprise but you don’t have anything to say. Spencer smiles down at you. 
“Go lay down for me,” Spencer requests. You just nod as you get comfortable on the bed - watching Spencer take off his grey sweatpants and boxers, the chain still around his neck. Your eyes follow his figure, landing on his erection before widening. Spencer just chuckles at you - signalling for you to take your shirt off which you do with no question. You watch his eyes as the rack themselves over your figure, panties forbidding the rest of you from being on display. Spencer walks towards the bed, pulling your legs over the edge as he kneels between them. You yelp at the sudden move, but quickly settle up again. 
One thing is for certain, Spencer always wants to make you feel good first. It didn’t really matter what headspace he was in - whether or not he was super dominant like he was today or if he was super submissive like he was when he was stressed. His touch is careful, your legs over his shoulders pull him closer instinctively but he doesn’t seem to mind. He merely pushes your panties to the side before he eats you out, kissing your clit to be gentlemanly. His tongue is careful at first, experimental lickes before he lays his tongue flat - with a soft rhythm, slowly increasing his pace to your pleasure. He gets you close like that, pausing for a few seconds on moving before sucking softly on you, making you twitch your legs. Spencers careful about this part, his speed only testament to how much he can push you, the knot in your stomach carefully being undone as Spencer continues. 
“Can I cum, please?,” your voice scrapes the surface as you ask. Spencer is busied with his mouth but he hums - feeling you unravel as your orgasm hits you with astonishing impact. Spencer feels the way you pulsate on his tongue, humming again so you feel that little vibration that sends your hands in Spencer's hair to pull you off. You’re trying to catch your breath as you finish, Spencer still adamantly eating you - making your body shiver with pleasure. He holds your hips down for a few minutes like that. You don’t really want to argue with him but you’re unsure how much you can handle as he makes you cum for the second time, a small wave of pleasure brushing against your spine as cum for the second time. When Spencer pulls away from you, orgasm covers his lips and manages to get onto his stubble. He gives you a light smile as he leans up to kiss you, hands holding your thighs as he does. You can taste yourself on his tongue. 
“Do you think you can handle letting me fuck your throat?,Spencer asks. You give him a look of surprise, trying to remember if you still had any cough drops before nodding - more than eager to let him do that if that's what he wanted to do. You just nod, ready to get on your knees before Spencer stops you in your tracks. 
“I wanted to do it while you were laying down, you know,” Spencer says, voice unsure. You’re surprised but you just shrug, laying down, your head back on the edge of the bed.  It weird to see everything upside down like this, so you just shut your eyes and open your mouth up. Spencers cock twitches at the site of you laid back for him like this, pushing past your lips a lips a bit, feeling your tongue along his tip. You pat Spencers leg, letting him know you were comfortable to let him go further, feeling his length push past your throat. You let your throat relax, gripping your thumb as Spencer buries himself nearly fully in you. His fingers find the column of your neck, brushing the bulge in your throat which makes it hard for him to contain himself. Spencers fucks your throat slowly, carefully not to push you too hard even though you were more than ready for it. You steadied yourself, the other hand in your underwear rubbing your clit to the feeling Spencer fucking you like this. 
“You’re so pretty with me down your throat like this,” Spencer comments. You moan around his length, letting him know he’s free to continue. 
“Prison made me think of all the things I could be doing to you, fucking you like you were the only thing I thought about all day. Maybe because you were,” Spencer laughs when he speaks, his hands reaching down to toy with your nipples, his fingers carefully twisting them, relishing the way you writhe under his touch. You tighten your throat around Spencers length causing him to jerk into your throat - sorta how you planned for this to go anyway. Spencers expression changes as he watches you take all of him in, his hand lightly around your neck, maybe too turned on by how the air leaves your lungs. When you pull out, spit covers your face and chin - but you just give Spencer a thumbs up and a smile, not phased at all. Spencer didn’t think he could be anymore in love with a person, yet here he was. 
Spencer helps you sit back up, sitting for a few moments to readjust to the world around you. Spencer cups your jaw, pulling your face to look at him - giving you the most adoring eyes like you didn’t just take his dick all the way down your throat, well that may be the reason why. Spencer  leans down to kiss your forehead, hands around the base of your neck as he does. 
“Good girl,” Spencers use of that phrase is spare, only using it when he really meant it. It fills you with a certain intensity you weren’t expecting, your throat already a little sore from the endeavor. You give Spencer a small hum of approval. 
“Thank you, Sir,” The honorific makes Spencer's heart ache. Spencer was a soft dom, which mostly meant that in bed you called him by his name. Sir was a sometimes thing, like when he got rough on the occasion. Sir was earned, just liked good girl was. 
“Get on your hands and knees for me, pretty girl,” Spencer asks. You do as you're told, arching your back completely for Spencer without questions. Spencer admires you, running your hands over the curves of your body, admiring the little wet spot that forms on your slit for him, cum running down your legs. Spencer wanted to fuck the shit out of you, wanted to see his cum spill out of you - as filthy as the thought was. You’d always talked about letting him go raw but Spencer was normally too cautious. You getting pregnant was much less of a consequence these days, like if anyone were to carry his baby into the world it’d be you and no one else. 
If anyone got to fuck you like that, it needed to be him and no one else. That was one thing Spencer knew was so different. Spencer needed to fuck you like that, raw and shameless just like only he could. Spencers fingers are too curious for his own good, one hand around your waist to play with your clit, and the other posing two fingers inside of you - brushing up against your gspot with ease. You shudder under Spencers touch, getting fingered from the back like this wasn’t what you were expecting but you weren’t upset about it. Spencers voice is warm in your ear. 
“You’re gonna have to cum one more time before I even think about fucking you,” Spencer warns. You just nod, chewing your lip as Spencer pads his fingers along you, curling them up for you to feel. He stretches you out comfortably like that, and you’re unable to really think clearly. His mouth works on your neck, biting hickies onto your throat as he does. The bruises are red and pulsating, the dark marks only bound to get darker and more visible as the days pass. Not that Spencer minded, though you did. It was a worry for later though, of course. You cum around Spencer's fingers again, unable to comprehend the level of exhaustion that seemed to come over. Still, you’d be damned if Spencer didn’t fuck you senseless. You tighten around Spencers fingers. 
“Spencer, fuck - please, please,” the begging has no particulars. It’s never for anything, instead a mindless response to Spencer and his ability to turn you on this much, to the point it was all you thought about. You were exhausted but all you wanted was for him to cum inside you and make you feel so pliable. You always were, for him anyways. 
“Sir - fuck me raw, please,” that last plea was a demand. Spencer groaned into your neck, nodding lightly, no response to your request. His fingers burned bruises into your waist, gripping on to you like he was gonna lose you if he didn’t. That feeling comes at you so quickly you can barely make sense of it, Spencers hands rhythmic in their ability as you convulse, cumming around Spencers calloused fingers and feeling every inch of them in you. You whine in disappointment when he pulls out. He just chuckles, taking his fingers and slipping them between your lips and down the back of your throat. You don’t choke, unsurprising to Spencer really. Saliva coats his fingers which he smears across your lips, just degrading enough for you to giggle. 
“Lay on your back from me, I wanna see you,” Spencer doesn’t need to finish his sentence to say that he wants to see how his cum fills you up, such a pretty sight it doesn’t need any words for description. 
You lay down, waiting for Spencer who doesn’t wait to get on top of you. That’s when you catch it again - his fucking chain. His name around your neck, hickies from you around his neck just like your name was. Spencer gets on top of you, chain hanging from around neck and all you can think is how fucking badly you needed this man inside of you. The way he had you, feeling this possessive over him made you fucking insane. You knew he’d always keep that chain on, like you were always hanging around his neck anyways but you needed to do more. You wanted to scratch his back up, steal his soul when you gave him head - everything, you wanted to do everything for that man. When he fucks you and you feel all 7inches, stretching you out - cumming inside you like he owned you because he did. So carelessly fucking you, making you cry out his name and now he had your name hanging around his neck. You’d be damned if another person even got near him. 
“Say my name when you fuck me,” you request. Spencer groans, slowly doing just as he promised, hitting your cervix before bringing his hips up - ready to fuck the daylights out of you with no question. Your eyes fixated on the jewelry that adorned him as he pounded into you, your voice totally lost to you as you feel his cock pulsate inside of you. He was relentless, the sound of his hips making contact with your backside filling the room with such a filthy sound. It was filthy the way Spencer fucked you. He leans down to you, his chain resting on your chest as he hands move to the side of your face. He wants to hit you, call you his pretty slut before he fills you with his cum. You just flutter your lashes and before he can ask. 
“Green,” 
Spencer's hands hit the side of your face roughly, the stinging sensation rather pleasing in all reality. Spencer's voice is low, an octave lower and hoarse as he pounds you out like it was nothing. 
“You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t you baby? Taking all of me in, like it’s easy. What were you doing while I was gone? Bet you were getting ready for me do this to you, weren’t you. Did any of those toys you used feel as good as me,” Spencers words are callous, and degrading but you loved every second of it. You shake your head. 
“Nothing was as good as you,” your response was forced out. Spencer laughs, voice tinged with something dark. 
“Nothing,” Spencer pushes his hips as far as he can, making you cry out as he reached the edge “Nothing ever will be,” Spencer finished
You tighten yourself around Spencer, looping your legs around his waist to make sure all of him shoots inside you. He finishes with a loud groan, fucking the cum into you a last few times before pulling out. You’re more turned on than you know what to do with so you loop your fingers in Spencer's chain and kiss him, wet and sloppy as he finishes. He presses his forehead to yours as he kisses you, eyes locking with yours as the both you stare at eachother in euphoric post sex glow. Spencer breaks out into a giggle as he comes down, falling into you when he pulls out and you do the same. 
“All this because of a chain?,Spencer asks. You just nod, placing a kiss in Spencers messy hair before sighing. 
“If you ever date anyone else, I’ll be the person in prison,” you say stubbornly. Spencer just laughs a little bit more, the two of you lying comfortably as Spencer places kisses over some of the hickies he left. 
“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,”
----
taglist:  @cynbx​ @zephyr-studiesjp​ @skrrrrrrrrrrt​ @reid-187​ @louistwinslover​ @pastanest​ @nomajdetective​ @iamburdened 
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saturnsummer · 3 years
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helpless.
han joon hwi does all he can to save kang sol a. kang sol a, for the first time, realises she’s not alone.
ao3 link
notes: this has been manifesting in me ever since i saw the scene of sol a fainting. i’m sorry it’s so long, but i hope the law school fans like it! it’s my first time, but i’m open to request and improvements. do share with your fellow solhwi fans if you like it! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me.
edit: this is written by @inactiverat , which is MY secondary account. i did not copy this from someone else. both accounts belong to ME. i am republishing this on my primary blog to better manage.
words: 4130 words.
it’s been a terrible day for sol.
forget about a terrible day, it has been a week of horror.
she can’t remember the last time she laid her head on the pillow of her clean sheets and mattress. with her semester test coming on friday, she has spent the entire weekend cramming for her test. she has opted to sleep at her desk for no more than 10 minutes at a time. her eyes sting from the roll-on muscle relief ointment that she rolls on every few hours under her eyes. her head pounds and the only things she has eaten are ramyeon and black coffee. (no sugar, extra shots.)
sol sighs as she fixes another highlighter in her top bun. she’s been staring at the same question for hours. she looks over her desk, hoping to find peace by seeing a sleeping sol b, but only remembers that she went home. her tiger mom’s orders, since “she shouldn’t study with her roommate, who is at the bottom of the cohort.”
sol visibly frowned as she thought of that sentence. she doesn't need to be reminded every minute and second of her life that she’s the worst. that whenever she fails a test, the smarty pants are cheering due to the bell curve. that she barely scrapes through every class. that she blubbers and mutters answers like an idiot in every lecture.
that’s why she works so hard. to show that she doesn't need money or connections to succeed in this school. that a single parented girl, making enough to get by, holding a part time job can be like the rest. for her mom, she tolerated years of violent abuse, yet still being so strong for her children. for dan, who she so desperately misses and wants to find, even though she knows dan may never want to see her. for byeol, the reason why she decided to study law; the only human she loves in this lawless world.
sol knows she’s pushing herself too hard. yeseul made an effort to remind her to sleep via text. bokgi teased her once during a study group after mentioning she looks like a disheveled panda. even professor kim pulled her out of lecture to give her a talk to remind her to eat.
but joon hwi hasn't.
she internally scoffs. she doesn’t expect him to. (what does a second round judicial exam passer want to know about the worst student?) and maybe, she doesn't want him to. she wants to show him she can do it on her own. she can’t count the number of times he helped her with her grades and cases. studying alone without help was the smallest thing she can do to show him her independence.
thus, she found every moment to stay away. well, from him, in particular. she only came to lectures on time, sat at the back (as opposed to next to him) and left immediately. she returns to her dorm to study (ditching study groups with him in it) and only leaves in the odd hours to get drinks and food when she’s absolutely starving. she hears the buzzes and rings from yeseul and joonhwi, but only smiles when they ask about her inactivity. (“it was dead. i must have forgotten to charge it again.”)
she sighs in frustration and stands from her chair, grabbing her phone and keys out to the pantry area. she needed more caffeine, if she was going to survive this night.
what she doesn't expect to see, is han joon hwi, devouring his late night snack of ramyeon at the table. the shuffling of her furry slippers raises his head from his precious bowl.
“you’re still up?” he asks.
it’s too late to turn around and pretend she didn’t see him. so instead, sol just nods silently as opposed to her defensive remarks. joon hwi stops slurping his noodles and sets the bowl aside. preparing to walk to the staircase, his next question freezes sol in her steps.
“why have you been avoiding me?”
his voice is gentle and nowhere near angry. but concerned and fearful, as if he’s done something wrong to upset her. for a moment, sol feels like she’s in her first lecture with professor yang and is left speechless. (only now, there is no where to hide.)
joon hwi wasn’t blind to her actions. he noticed her absence when she didn’t sit next to him in lectures. he noticed that whenever he was there for a study group session, she wouldn’t; but when he would ask the others, they would say she was there for the ones he wasn’t. joon hwi was certain that sol was avoiding him.
and he couldn’t understand why.
until now.
joon hwi’s eyes examine the young woman in front of him. he’s certain that a middle school student could figure this out; kang sol a is overworked. her dark eye circles are prominent, puffy and her bloodshot eyes do nothing but intensify her lack of sleep. he noticed just how pale her lips look, as he walks over to her. how has she gotten skinnier too?
joon hwi’s certain that she’s avoiding him not because of something he said that annoyed her. but because he knows that she doesn’t want him to see her in this state. his eyes soften and heart aches from the amount of effort she's putting in to her tests.
for sol, he knows how much the tests meant. it was like her entire life depended on it. that’s why he always wanted to help her. he didn’t want to see such a talented person fall behind. she has already proven herself worthy with all the cases she has participated in. but joon hwi knows that no matter how many times yeseul or bokgi or him say how smart and talented and how she’s doing great, she will never be satisfied in this cold, competitive prestigious school. she will always think she’s the worst and has no potential.
“sol.” his voice firm and serious. sol swears she felt a chill run down. she mentally braces herself for this conversation that she has tried all means to avoid. only one person dares address her as just ‘sol’.
“when did you last sleep? or eat proper food?” his eyes are serious, yet soft and glassy. his voice is gentle and soothing. she closes her eyes and lets out a silent sigh. she is nowhere the mock court, yet she feels like she has taken the witness stand and the oath. lying is perjury, she hears herself say.
“i’m doing fine. i just need to do well on this test.” she lies through her teeth. well, it’s a half true and a half lie. it’s just up to him to pick out which is the lie and truth. joon hwi isn’t an idiot, and can read her emotions with just a single look. it’s an utter lie.
“i’m getting coffee.” she mutters to herself. it was the whole reason she came out, anyways. her sleeve is caught by him but she yanks it away forcefully. she doesn’t even know why she’s being so harsh and angry to him. all he’s done is just ask how she’s doing.
“you need sleep. not caffeine.” he spins her around by her shoulders, his eyes serious and almost frustrated. she fails to meet his eyes, afraid of falling apart before him.
“joon, just let me be.” she says harshly and pushes his hands off before running to get that extra potent coffee. it was the first time she has ever called him that, and it falls out just as naturally as the word ‘sol’ does out of his. sol doesn’t notice how wet her eyes are until she’s downstairs, grabbing cans of coffee from the vending machine. (pathetic, she thinks, getting teary because of lying to her best friend.)
joon hwi doesn't follow. and sol isn't one bit affected.
not. at. all.
-----
the next time sol sees joon hwi is in the morning. he’s carrying his books and has his backpack slung over his shoulder, leaning against the wall. sol braces herself. she knows joon hwi to be protective and caring. but for him to be waiting at the entrance of their dorm was downright surprising.
sol’s not doing any better. when the caffeine and sugar stopped her from staying late, she resorted to stabbing her hand to keep herself awake. when her hand got too red and bloody, she switched to another spot on her arm. underneath her hoodie is her arm with dried blood and bruises all over. she’s surprised she hasn’t had blood poisoning yet.
sol flashes the most natural smile she can on her face, pretending as if her argument with him did not happen a few hours ago. her head was numb, but hanging on with the ointment she applied at her temples. she needed to act okay. just so he would stop worrying and leave her alone.
“sol.” joon hwi’s voice calls, going forward and grabbing her arm to support her. sol is about to create a joke, laugh it off and pretend everything is okay, hopefully convincing him she’s doing better (even if she’s far from it.). but what she doesn’t anticipate is his hand accidentally squeezing the sore wound of hers,
she hisses as his fingers dig into her wound and he immediately lets go. joon hwi’s eyes well in concern, not knowing what he’s done that caused her so much pain. sol’s eyes meet his, uncertain and afraid, as if a secret has been exposed. she pulls her sleeve down and is almost regretting that when joon hwi gently lifts her arm and lifts her sleeve up slightly to expose her arm and hand.
joon hwi takes her good hand in his and drags her to an empty staircase not far from where they were. joon hwi notes the dried blood on her hand and gives a disapproving sigh. just what was she doing to herself? she draws her hand back and pulls her sleeve down, hiding it away.
“sol, you need to take care of yourself.”
“joon, i’m doing okay, i promise. it’s not a big deal.” her voice upbeat and slightly more energetic. joon hwi is about to call her out from lying, but she flashes a smile. “come on, how can an exam defeat me?”
“i’m going to be late.” she says and runs ahead of him, joining yeseul and yebeom in front. sol feels a gnawing guilt in her heart for lying, but she momentarily forgets about it as yebeom sweeps them into a conversation.
i’m sorry, joon. i really am. but i’m not going to burden you any further.
joon hwi is left, helpless and broken, watching the back of the woman he loves stray further.
-----
it isn’t a secret that joon hwi and sol a are good friends. everyone on campus is always shocked. joon hwi, the school’s top student. sol a, the school’s worst student. everyone would have expected sol b when they heard ‘kang sol’. after all, it made sense, didn’t it? the two best students in school.
but what would be even more shocking is that han joon hwi, second round judicial exam passer, is deep in love with kang sol, the klutz with the top bun.
joon hwi couldn’t deny the joy he felt whenever sol was around. it started with study group and tutoring and messages about school. then it became lunches every moment they could. now, he couldn’t go a day without seeing her, hearing her voice or even a simple text. he can’t remember the moment he started falling for the clumsy woman, but when he realised it, he knew it was too late. he was in, deep.
and that's why he can’t bear to see her suffer. that’s why he spends late nights studying with her even though he doesn't need to. that’s why he insist walking her home, even though he installed the camera. (“i miss byeol! that smart cookie...” would always be his excuse.) that’s why he calls her ‘sol’, and he lets her call him ‘joon’, even though no one calls him that anymore.
sol locks herself in her room and buries herself under multiple books after her lectures. sol admits it, she’s tired. she can barely keep herself together and her body is so weak she doesn’t know how she managed to survive the week with less than two hours of sleep combined per day. she can’t remember the last nap she had that lasted more than half an hour.
the guilt from lying is eating her inside. when she closes her eyes, she can only see how hurt joon hwi’s face looks when he saw her arm. taking a shaky breath in, she doesn’t notice the tear running down her cheek. what was she even crying about? lying? hurting her best friend? fatigue? she slams her head against her books, shaking her thoughts out. it’s already 3am, and she doesn’t have much time left.
“kang sol a, you need to do this exam, you hear me? if you want to pass out, do it later on in the afternoon! you have 9 hours till the test.” she scolds herself out loud. stabbing her arm once again, she jerks herself awake and writes her notes over and over. just 9 more hours.
later on in the day, sol finds herself seated next to joon hwi. but she doesn’t notice him. her eyes are too out of focus to concentrate on anything but the paper and pen she holds. when the teaching assistant makes an announcement to start, she races against time and scribbles furiously. her head throbs, but she clings on to her last ounce of sanity keeping herself awake.
-----
she’s worse. joon hwi thinks. much, much worse. her skin is paler than normal and her eyes are fluttery. with her sleeve pulled up slightly, he notices the wound on her hand more bloody than it was. he visibly winces. but it’s nothing to the hurt in his heart. he knows that he should be busy scribbling, but his eyes are slightly glassy and all he can think of is her bloody hand.
all he wants to do is to drag her away. to take her far from this school. he wants to hold her small body in his arms and cradle her as he tends to her wounds. he wants to tuck her into a soft bed and stroke her brown hair. he wants to tell her how he feels, how she’s perfect, smart and beautiful in his eyes. how sol has already had his validation, and no matter how many kang sols there are, he will only have one in his heart.
as the clock leaves a minute or so to the end, sol struggles to keep her head from falling. she just needs to finish the last sentence. her eyes are blurred and her head has never felt more tight and woozy. her ramyeon from 4am is threatening to make an appearance.
“sol, you’re bleeding.” she hears an familiar echoed voice say next to her. instinctively, she brings a hand up to her nose, and wipes it, revealing the bright red blood. she can’t care for her jacket sleeve and carelessly wipes even though her arm aches. just a bit more, she tells herself.
the voices around her blur as she feels hands on her shoulder stopping her. she pushes them off weakly as she finishes the last word on her paper. she lets out a breath of relief and pushes her paper away from her. she’s finally done. she can finally breathe and have that nap. someone calls her name, but she’s too tired to respond.
then her eyes rolls back and she crashes into oblivion.
joon hwi manages to catch her head before it hits the table as she slumps sideways. he scribbles his name on his paper before chucking his paper and hers towards the teaching assistant. yeseul passes a tissue over to joon hwi and shakes her, eyes getting teary. he gently blots her nose, soaking up the blood. the other students leave unbothered, with only their study group crowding around them.
the next hour is a mad rush in joon hwi’s head. they are frantic for an ambulance, but joon hwi just cradles her body in his arms and runs outside. “it’s faster to run.” he says before taking off. she’s light, way too light for her frame, even with the layered coats that she’s wearing. when he reaches the hospital, she’s laid on a stretcher and sent for checks while the nurses ask him to wait for short while outside.
and for the third time, he stands outside, clutching to a bloody tissue, helpless.
-----
joon hwi wants to beat himself over and over. he should have been more forceful with her. heck, he should have done more than just watch silently. he should have sent packed lunches, compiled his notes, offered to stay up with her. even after when he knows how much sol is suffering, he only stood by.
his eyes are teary when he is allowed to see her. she looks so small under those white sheets. the doctor mentions that they had to take her hoodie off to patch her wounds and insert her IV drip. “dehydrated on caffeine, lack of nutrients and fatigue.” the doctor tells him. he only nods as the doctor leaves him.
his group chat is pinging with endless messages and he takes a moment to update them. he sends a quick text that he’ll let them know when she’s awake. his hand brushes the stray hairs out of her eyes and as best as he can, arranges her bangs the way she likes. his touch is as light as a butterfly as he lets his fingers brush pass her bandages.
with the curtain closed around him, joon hwi lets himself crumble silently, as tears run down his face, hands gripping sol’s stained hoodie sleeve. he wishes he could do something then just watch sol lie on the bed. he knows she is okay, but knowing that he could have prevented this worse case scenario from happening makes him upset. he gives himself a few minutes to compose himself before taking his own hoodie and layering it on her.
and for hours, joon hwi sits by her bed in his own thoughts, once again helpless.
-----
when she wakes up, her head pounds worse than the time she got the worse hangover in school. her eyes flutter, drawing the attention of joon hwi. her mind is cloudy as she starts registering the antiseptic smell and bright lights. her eyes come into focus as she turns over to find a pair of warm brown eyes looking at her.
“joon hwi...?” she says with barely any energy.
“you’re awake.” joon hwi lets himself sigh in relief knowing that she’s awake. it’s already 6pm. the others should be on their way over soon. he sends a quick “she’s awake” to the chat and shuts his phone.
“i... finished my exam right?” the words come tumbling out of sol’s mouth.
“that’s all you are thinking of now?” the anger in joon hwi’s voice catches her by surprise. she lowers her hand and avoids his eyes. she’s really done it, then. she’s really pissed him off.
“aren’t you one bit concerned about your health? you could have literally died being so overworked.” his eyes are glassy. realising that he’s frightening her, he lets a sigh out. joon hwi helps her sit up and props a pillow for her. her fingers fiddle with the thin blanket of the bed. there’s no point being strong in front of him now, after all this.
“you know how much every test means to me.” she mutters in a voice so soft, it’s unlike her to be so...small. joon hwi knows under that strong woman with a fiery passion for justice, there’s a vulnerable little girl, insecure and uncertain. but this was the first time, he realised, that she’s opening up herself.
“i’m so tired, joon. i’m so tired of running this stupid rat race that i’ll never win. i’m so sick of putting everything into my grades and not receiving anything back.” her voice so small, staring at the bandages on her hand. was the pain worth it? she’s not sure now.
joon hwi doesn’t say anything back. how could he? this man was born for this system, to bring law back to the country. he can’t compare to her, who spends countless nights studying, while taking care of her family. all he can do is sit by her bed and provide comfort.
“my head hurts. my body aches all over. yet, i can’t seem to do well in my exams. tell me, joon. just how long must i suffer?” his heart is pierced with every word she says. she’s so broken. joon hwi then notices the small pearls of tears dripping down her face.
his hand reaches out and his thumb rubs away her tears on her cheeks. he doesn’t know what prompted this, but sol doesn’t swat his hand away. she lets him as her hand wipes her remaining tears away.
“i’m here now. you can rely on me.” he says softly to her. suddenly, he takes her small hand in his and squeezes it in comfort. sol’s slightly taken aback, but she doesn’t know why she feels fuzzy inside. she feels warm and for the first time, she feels her burden lifted. with much courage, she gives a small smile.
“noona!” they hear a familiar panicked voice ring and they instinctively draw away from each other. if joon hwi’s face is slightly red, sol doesn't notice. sol is swept away into arguing with bokgi with her health and a teary eyed yeseul. even jiho and sol b came, but stood by silently. (jiho notices joon hwi’s flushed cheeks and his too-bright smile that he finally realises is meant for kang sol a. he makes a mental note about it.)
joon hwi leans back as he watches yeseul and bokgi fuss with sol’s health. he suppresses a smile as he looks at sol’s light laugh, knowing how her burdens are slowly fading and lifted. that he’s finally managed to reach out for his soulmate as she sinks further. it was going to be a journey, but joon hwi will drag her, his sol, out from her darkness every time.
i’m going to be there, no matter what, kang sol. you will not fight alone. i will stay with you, even when you think you don’t deserve it. it doesn't matter if you feel the same towards me or not. if i can see you smile and laugh, it’s enough for me. your happiness is all that matters.
because kang sol, i just love you so damm much.
-----
sol doesn’t notice the switch in her jacket. when she leaves about an hour later with her friends to eat jjajangmyeon (extra pickles, she orders.), she assumes the jacket she has by her bed is hers. she doesn't notice the sandalwood and jasmine smell, as opposed to her pine scented fabrics. when joon hwi teases her and she argues back in annoyance, she’s carefree and light.
when joon hwi smiles at her with his sweet smile, she can’t help but think she’s so lucky that she has him, of all people, by her side. her heart skips a beat, and she’s certain that she feels more than friends towards him. that all this time, she has finally fallen for the cheeky and charming joon hwi behind his intellect.
she smiles back, teeth bared and eyes crinkled as they walk back.
after all, who is to stand against her now, when she has him by her side?
joon hwi, thank you for finding me no matter how much i try to hide away. thank you for believing in me when everyone didn’t. i know you like someone else, and it’s okay. because whoever that is will be so damm lucky to have you. to see you smile your charming smile is enough to put me at ease.
because han joon hwi, i admit, i have fallen for you. i’m in love with you.
-----
bonus:
“noona, they like each other, don’t they?” bokgi watches as sol a barks at joon hwi. joon hwi only runs ahead and buries his hands in his hoodie pockets while letting out light laughs and continues teasing.
“oh, they are so whipped for each other.” yeseul triumphantly says as she walks with the rest behind the not-so-obvious lovebirds.
well, this would be an interesting relationship to see unfold.
160 notes · View notes
wiypt-writes · 4 years
Text
Riding High
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One Shot- Whamageddon
Summary: Frank loses a Christmas time bet…
Warnings: Bad Language words
Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher
A/N: This is my first entry for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork and @sagechanoafterdark s Festive Writing Challenge. My prompt is- “Did you put antlers on the dog?” This takes place in the Riding High timeline, alongside Ch12- ILY which was their first Christmas together.  (FYI Whamageddon is a real thing that me and my friends play every year without fail...and its HARD!!!  https://www.whamageddon.com/)
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist
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Frank parked his truck in the space next to Fliss’ jeep and hopped out, making his way over the lawn to his apartment. That had been an awkward job, really awkward job if he was honest. It had taken him a lot longer than anticipated to locate the problem in the fuel pump, and at one point he was expecting to have to roll it over and finish in the morning which he really hadn’t wanted to do, as Saturdays were the one morning of the week he was able to lie in, uninterrupted and the thought of having to drag himself away from that pissed him right off. Thankfully, Bill had come to his rescue and collected Mary from school, dropping her with Fliss at the yard, something he knew Mary loved and Fliss seemed to enjoy too and it had given him the extra couple of hours he needed to finish up.
As a result whilst he was now tired, dirty, covered in grease and ready for a beer, he could relax that evening knowing he didn’t have to haul his ass out of bed at six am. He’d be able to at least sleep until Fliss’ alarm went off at eight. Mind you, even then he tended to go back to bed after they’d had breakfast, or nap on the couch until about fifteen minutes before Mary was due home. After all, he didn’t have horses to muck out and ride.
Fuck that.
As he traipsed up the steps to his apartment he could hear the sounds of Last Christmas by Wham playing and he cursed. “Fuck!” With a groan he pulled out his phone and opened up the group message, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He typed a single word “Whamageddon” and hit send. This was a game he and the boys played every year. It was a contest to see who could go the longest time over the holiday period without hearing that infernal fucking song. The rules were simple, you weren’t allowed to be a dick by tricking each other and sending messages, videos or emails containing it, and it had to be the original version, so covers, remixes and people singing it didn’t count. It also relied on all of them being honest enough to own up, but they were the Circle Of Truth after all. So far it had claimed Simon and Greg, leaving him and Jake in the running…and now he’d just lost meaning Jake won the forty-dollar pot. Mind you, the last 2 years they’d played it said forty-bucks had been used to purchase drinks on their night out so it wasn’t like he’d actually lost anything, just the satisfaction of beating Jake. But the fact he’d lost that was annoying in itself.
Fuck you George Michael.
Shoving his phone back into the pocket of his dirty jeans with an annoyed growl, Frank yanked the door open and instantly was hit with the sweet notes of nutmeg and ginger as something baked in the oven and the loud sounds of giggling and singing from the lounge. He passed through the small kitchen and paused in the doorway as he saw Mary on the couch,  bouncing up and down, her hands in Fliss’ as his girlfriend danced in front of Mary, twirling round, Thor bouncing along with her occasionally issuing the odd, excited bark. Fliss’ wore a headband upon which a pair of reindeer antlers were fixed whilst on Mary’s head sat a Santa hat which was adorned with light up stars.  The irritation of losing instantly left Franky’s system as he could do noth8ing but smile as he watched the pair of them dancing like idiots before Mary glanced up and saw him and gave him a grin. Fliss turned and smiled, waving him over. He shook his head, gesturing to the fact he was filthy but she simply grinned even more, and bent her finger at him, arching an eyebrow. The fact she seemed to get turned on by him being covered in grease greatly amused Frank and he simply met her down right filthy look with one of his own before she pouted at him as he was refusing to play. As usual when she fixed those eyes on him, he simply rolled his own and gave in, striding over the room where he dropped a kiss to her lips as Mary plonked the hat she had been wearing on his head just as the song ended.
“You just lost me a bet.” Frank looked at Fliss, then Mary. They both frowned at one another before Fliss gave a groan.
“Whamageddon?”
“Whamageddon.” He confirmed.
“Sorry!” she winced, shrugging as he returned Mary’s hat to her head, pulling it down over her eyes “We made sugar cookies though if that’s any consolation?"
“You’ve been busy.” Frank smiled and Mary nodded, pushing the hat up so she could see.
“We’re gonna decorate them tomorrow afternoon before we got to V and Bills.”
“Who’s we?” Frank arched an eyebrow.
“Me and you” Mary shrugged.
“That so?”
“Yup.” Mary nodded “We got ready made tubes of icing and stuff so even you can’t mess it up.”
Fliss laughed at the affronted look on Frank’s face as he narrowed his eyes at Mary before he reached out and grabbed her causing her to shriek as he tickled her sides.
Mary giggled, her protests becoming louder and lounder as did her laughter until, after one particular loud shriek Frank gave a yell and jumped, looking down at Thor who was stood behind him, his head cocked to one side, tail wagging furiously as he issued a loud bark.
“He just bit my ass!”
Fliss laughed even harder “he’s only playing. If he meant to bite you properly, you’d know about it. He’s never bitten anyone properly in his life.”
“Ha, he’s my bodyguard!” Mary straightened her hat once more before she hopped off the couch “Are you taking me to Roberta’s now?”
“Damned straight I am.” He mumbled, shooting the dog another glare before he turned back to her “You got your stuff?”
“Yup.”
“Okay come on. What do you say?” he nodded towards Fliss who rolled her eyes.
“Thanks for watching me and baking and stuff!” she wrapped her arms around Fliss’ waist and Fliss smiled, bending over to give her a hug. “Night Lissy.”
“You’re welcome babe. See you tomorrow.”
Mary skipped off and Frank turned to Fliss giving her another quick kiss.
“You know, you don’t have to make her thank me.” Fliss smiled as he pulled away. “She comes as part of the package.”
“She can still mind her manners.” Frank shrugged “Be back in five.”
Thor made to follow but Fliss grabbed his collar to stop him, before she grinned and after faffing with him for a second let him go. He padded after Frank and Mary, neither of them paying him any attention, although Frank didn’t fail to notice the grins the three of them were getting as they walked down to Roberta’s. Most likely thanks to the hat Mary had on.
Mary pushed Roberta’s door in and they all stepped inside, Roberta coming out of the kitchen to greet them.
“Mary Christmas!” Mary grinned and Roberta scoffed “Geddit? Mary, Merry…”
“Yeah I get it.” Roberta shook her head as Frank let out a snort. Her attention turned to him and she folder her arms, looking him up and down “You look like you just crawled outta some kind of pit. You’re filthy.”
“Yeah, well, been working.” He shrugged as Mary padded past into the living room. “Erm…forgetting something Stack?”
“Oh….” She turned and grabbed her little rucksack off him before she continued.
“Night then.” He shot sarcastically, receiving no response. He shook his head and turned to Roberta “We’re not going out so any issues…”
“There are never any issues Frank.” Roberta rolled her eyes “So, get….” She trailed off as her eyes fell towards Thor “Did you put antlers on the dog?”
Frank turned to look at Thor who was indeed sporting the antlers that had five or so minutes ago adorned Fliss’ head. He gave a snort, now realising why everyone they’d passed had smirked or laughed at them. “No, I didn’t” he shook his head as Thor’s tail began to thump on the floor. “That one’s down to Lissy.”
“You sure you’re not just feelin’ extra festive this year?” she teased and Frank gave a little smile.
“I’m looking forward to it, yeah.” He admitted, his eyes flicking back to the dog before he looked at Roberta. “Been a funny year. Some ways I’ll be glad to see the back of it, in others…” he trailed off as Roberta lay her hand on his arm.
“It was tough, I know. But…it all ended well.” She shrugged “You got that little girl in there and, well, a bigger girl waitin’ for you back home.”
“I’ll tell her you said that!” he grinned and Roberta slapped his arm.
“You know full well that wasn’t what I meant, besides, I’ve seen more meat on a damned grasshopper than there is on Fliss.”
“So now you’re calling her skinny…you know, I never had you down for size shaming Roberta.”
“Get outta my house before I hit you with the mop.” Roberta pointed behind him to the door causing Frank to laugh.
“See you tomorrow.” He turned, patting his thigh signalling for Thor “Come on Rudolph.”
Obediently the dog trotted after him as he left and made his way home, a soft smile playing on his face. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, snorting at the message of victory from Jake. He then noticed he had another message from Fliss. 
His phone wasn't great on picture messages, it was old school after all, but it was good enough to make him stop in his tracks. Her red, lace bra clad breasts flashed back at him along with the message "on second thoughts, maybe sugar cookies aint enough of an apology...I'll say sorry properly"
Frank swallowed as he shoved the phone back into his pocket and set off home, his pace doubled.
Thank you Whamageddon...
*********
Everything 
@momobaby227  @marvelfansworld  @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel​  @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @nerdofthefandoms​ @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @southerngracela​ @goldenfightergir​ @kellymat​ @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13​ @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​ @jtargaryen18​ @onetwo3000​ @ourfinest-hour​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @charmed-asylum​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @just-one-ordinary-fangirl​ @before-we-get-started​ @anika-ann​ @icanfeelastormbrewing​ @gigglegirl77​ @bval-1​ @princess-evans-addict​ @mes-2016​ @theladybiers​ @hurricanerin​ @kelbabyblue​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @rebloggingeverything​ @chezdricks​ @gotnofucks​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @i-just-like-fanfics​ @xlanawriter​ @angrybirdcr​ @mariestark​ @aubreeskailynn​ 
Frank Adler
@patzammit​ @lovingonshawn​ @smediumsmeatbae​ @itsmycorneroftheinternet​ @chezdricks​ @aldu-p​ @mariestark​
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lupinlongbottom · 4 years
Text
Practically a Weasley pt. 2
Charlie Weasley x Reader
Summary: Home for the holidays! Finally, after the end of a bitter war, the Weasleys have some much needed family time to catch up on. The holidays are the perfect time to celebrate family, no? Charlie and (Y/N) seem to agree. 
Word Count: 3.8k+
Warnings: None
A/N: A much anticipated part 2 to my Practically a Weasley fic! I love writing for Charlie. Dragon boy just doesn’t get much love, does he? Also Fred ain’t dead. My heart couldn’t handle that if it were true. 
Part 1 ... Part 1.5  ... Part 3 ... Epilogue
__
The Burrow was fluttering with delight, the holidays had been finally sworn in with the arrival of the entire Weasley clan. How long had it been since most of the redheaded family sat under one roof, let alone one table? With everyone’s various lines of work and hectic schedules, it was a surprise and a holiday miracle even half of them had shown up.
Bill was enchanting the younger children with vast stories of his work as a curse-breaker (with a little exaggeration, of course). Molly and Arthur were bickering about him bringing yet another Muggle artifact home for the holidays. And Charlie? He sat quietly at the end of the table, humming along to Celestina Warbeck’s newest album, gingerly holding (Y/N)’s hand with delight.
Nothing had changed, not really, not ever.
“How do you know all of the words already? She just released these songs like, two days ago?” (Y/N) chuckled, taking a small sip of the hot beverage in front of her.
“I have a perfect memory,” Charlie mused, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of her hand. “Or, did you forget?”
“I suppose I did, Mr. Weasley.” (Y/N) grinned, eyes flitting across the various freckles under his brown eyes.
“Such a shame, you really ought to know better, Mrs. Weasley.” A soft peck danced across their lips.
Ah. So something had changed.
“Ew.” Fred spat, eyeing his older brother down from across the table.
“Double ew,” George retorted. “Get a room.”
“They’re married, you gits,” said Ginny, bumping Fred in the arm. “Let them be.”
“She’s my best friend!” groaned Fred.
“Wow,” muttered George, a hand rising to his chest. “After all we’ve been through, Freddie? I’m gutted.”
(Y/N) chuckled quietly at the twins, now not-so-playfully fighting each other across the table. “They’ll never grow up, will they?” Whilst the twins began their fight to the death via dull forks, the newlywed couple pulled away from one another for the first time in hours.
“No, I reckon not,” Charlie hummed, rising from his seat. “If they’re going to continue on like this, I might as well pour myself a glass of firewhisky. Did you want one, love?”
Silently, (Y/N) shook her head, allowing Charlie to flee the scene for a few moments. The album had finally reached the end of the track, resulting in Molly starting it right back up. Ron and Ginny groaned gaudily, as this had been the fifth time she had done so this evening. The two shut right up after Bill had sent them both a quick and sharp glance.
“I must say,” Molly began. “I never imagined the lot of us sitting around one table again,” The war had reached its climatic end only a few months prior, wounds starting to finally heal. “I’m truly blessed to have almost my entire family together for the holidays—”
“—minus Perce, Fleur and Harry, of course!” George piped up.
“Right,” Molly cleared her throat. “As I said, almost the entire family.”
“Fleur sends her regards, truly. But with the condition her mother is in right now, she needed to be home,” Bill responded, again apologizing for his wife’s lack of attendance. “And Percy and Harry will be joining us in the coming days, no?”
“Yeah,” Ron nodded, leaving the absence of his brother and best friend at that. “Harry’s got some errands to run, or whatever. I reckon he’s out buying gifts even when we asked him not to.” Ron chuckled.
“Well, regardless of who isn’t here, we still have a large family. A growing family at that!” Arthur rejoiced, causing (Y/N)’s face to drop slightly. “It’s (Y/N)’s first holidays as an official Weasley!”
(Y/N) felt her face flush. A sigh of relief. “Oh Arthur, that’s hardly anything to celebrate…”
“Hogwash,” Charlie retorted, returning with his promised firewhisky, and a glass of water for (Y/N). “You can’t escape now, you’re sorta in it for life, yeah?”
“I feel like it’s already been a lifetime, love.” She chuckled. “Besides, just because we signed some stupid paper and wear these rings—”
“—wonderfully selected by your adoring husband.” Charlie mused, wriggling his left hand. The cool silver shone off his hand, a matching band with (Y/N)’s delicate ring.  
“You know what I mean, Charles.” snickered (Y/N). “I mean, I’ve practically been a Weasley since second year!”
“It’s true,” George paused, setting his fork down. “I mean, we would’ve married her first but—”
“—we were too busy being repulsed by the thought!” Fred finished, poking his tongue out slightly.
(Y/N) returned the gesture.
“You lot will never grow up,” said Molly, shaking her head. “Whatever the case, I’m truly blessed to have another daughter.” 
“Mum, just remember to think about the daughter you’ve always had, yeah?” Ginny laughed, causing the entire table to join in.
__
Hours passed, with it, a final read through of (Y/N)’s latest project. The sequel to The Distracted Dragon. While she had intended to finish the novel earlier, something larger than herself had erupted in their little world that needed attending to. The various fans of the first story were surely gutted, but to be completely fair to all involved, a war seemed like a pretty eminent reason to move the newest addition on the back burner.
“So you’re telling me… Bancroft gets a girlfriend?” Ron asks, looking to (Y/N) for an answer. She hesitantly gave a nod. “That’s the moral of the story? Get yourself a girlfriend and all your problems will be solved?”
“No,” Fred sniffed, moved by the book. “Ronnie, the moral is that sometimes we need help from another person to grow and accept our past!” With a loud honk into a tissue, he continued to weep.
“Nah, I still think that Harriet solved his problems.” Ron shrugged, popping a crisp into his mouth.
As Fred began to argue with Ron louder, chiming in about Hermione, Charlie gave (Y/N) a simple nod, aiming upwards towards the stairs. She got the hint quickly and excused herself.
“Tired of it yet?” asked Charlie, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand gingerly as they walked up the stairs towards his room. Bill had offered to stay in the twins room while (Y/N) was here, letting the newlyweds to have a space to themselves.
“No, not yet,” replied (Y/N). “Though,” She opened the door. “I’m rather pleased at how keenly Fred took to the book.”
“Ah,” He sat on the bed, waving his wand to shut the door once more. “He’s a bit of a romantic, no?”
“Fred? A romantic?” She laughed, pulling on her pajamas. A simple purple nightie, just touching the tops of her knees. “As if. He’s just… more in tune with the details I reckon.”
“Details… sure. Whatever you say, flower.” Charlie began to pull his socks off, eyeing his wife up and down. “You know… I bet the entire lot downstairs is going to be busy for a while.”
“Oh?” (Y/N) mused, flicking the lights off. “Busy, you say?”
Charlie nodded. “With Ron and Fred’s arguing, they sure drown out the sound, no?” He wriggled his eyebrows, climbing under the quilt next to his wife. A gentle hand caressed her thigh lightly.
“Charlie,” (Y/N) sighed, almost annoyed. “As lovely as the thought is,” He began peppering kisses to her neck, slowly down to her collarbone. “We shouldn’t.”
“Love,” more kisses. “It’s not like we’ve never fooled around up here before,” said Charlie, leaving a suckling mark below (Y/N)’s ear. “You love the risk.”
(Y/N) gently pushes Charlie away. “You’ve had too much firewhisky,” said (Y/N), pecking her husband once on the lips. “And I’m not feeling up for it.”
“Flower, I barely had any firewhisky,” he laughed. “Not nearly as much as you drink, well, normally anyhow,” a puzzled look adorned his freckled face. “Why didn’t you drink tonight? It’s Christmas Eve!”
“Are you saying I need to drink to have a good time?” (Y/N) accused, only half offended.
“Of course not! But you do find any and all reasons to have a nice drink at gatherings like these, it's odd, s’all,” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s a holiday! With the family. Our family. What better time to drink?”
“I didn’t feel like it.” (Y/N) mumbled, flopping down under the covers, turning away from her husband.
“I sense that you’re lying, love.” Charlie said, rubbing her arm gently. “You’re my wife…” mewled Charlie, hanging onto the last word longer than usual. “I’m keen to noticing these things.”  
“Oh yeah?”
“Indeed,” he quipped. “You have a rather easy tell, too.” Charlie gave a quick side glance in (Y/N)’s direction, smirking. “You tend to push your hair behind your ears, bite your lip and flick your eyes ever so slightly.”
“I do that all the time.” mumbled (Y/N).
“Does that mean? No…” Charlie gasped. “Could you’ve been lying to me the whole time I’ve known you?”
“Charlie…” (Y/N) groaned.  
“Okay, fine,” He laughed. “But you’ve been acting off these last couple of weeks. Not drinking, barely getting any sleep—”  
“—which I’m trying to do right now, thank you!” (Y/N) quipped, pulling the covers higher.
“Your mood has been real shit lately too. One moment you’re all smiles, the next you want to send me to the dog house just for looking at you.” Charlie sighed. “And I know it’s not,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “‘that time of the month’ yet, because it was last week, right?”
“No, and stop talking about my period like you’re afraid to say it.”
“Huh… It’s normally around the third week of the month, no?” He mumbled. With a gentle shake of his head, he continued. “Flower, all I’m trying to say is that even when you went to the doctor, they didn’t diagnose you with anything, right? I’m just worried something is wrong with you, (Y/N)”
“Nothing is wrong with me, Charlie.”
“Nothing? You run to the loo to empty your lunch like it’s your job,” He laughed. “I’ve never seen you like this. It’s almost as if—”
He stopped.
“Charlie?” (Y/N) turned around to check on her husband. Charlie just sat, staring forward. “Honey?” 
“(Y/N),” He continued to stare forward. “Are you…?”
“Darling,” She sat up, gingerly grabbing his hands. “Look at me.” 
Charlie’s eyes were brimming with tears, begging to be let go.
“I wanted to tell you tomorrow, a Christmas present,” (Y/N)’s eyes were swimming with matching tears. “But I guess one present early couldn’t hurt, no?” 
His eyes flicked back and forth from his wife’s, waiting for any sign of an answer. (Y/N) nodded her head slightly, fighting back the tears. Charlie wrapped his arms around his wife, hugging her tightly, afraid to let her go. “You’re kidding!” A flurry of kisses brimmed (Y/N)’s head, forming a crown upon her temple. “Love! This is a great—no—the best gift you could’ve given me”
“You’re excited?” asked (Y/N), giggling in her husband’s embrace.
“Of course I’m excited,” Charlie pulled away slightly, meeting his brown eyes with (Y/N)’s, darting between the two rapidly. “A baby. Our baby.”
In an instant, their lips met. Softly at first, crescendoing slowly into an intensity as bright as the stars above, burning hot at the sight. The moment was broken only by the parting for air, quickly returning to the fire before. Was it the thrill of their family below? Or the joy of the family growing between the two? Perhaps it was a bit of both.
“How long?” asked Charlie, rubbing (Y/N)’s upper arm gently. “I mean, how far along are you?”
“Remember that Quidditch match your friend Andre invited us to?” (Y/N) giggled.
“I don’t remember much of the match,” Charlie said, scratching his head. “Come to think of it, you pulled me into an empty stall and we—” His cheeks flushed, burning up to the tips of his ears. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” (Y/N) laughed, brushing Charlie’s hair out of his eyes. “Andre’s team won in the end, by the way.” Another laugh.
“Well, I suppose we both scored,” Charlie joined in the laughter. “But that was about two months ago, no?”
“Something like that. I found out last week at the doctor’s office,” said (Y/N). “It was the hardest thing to keep from you! I was so scared that—”    
“—that I’d be upset?”
“Something of that sort, yeah,” (Y/N) mumbled. “Of course I was being a real idiot about the whole thing, I realized that the second you figured it out.” 
“Love, I come from a family of nine,” Charlie held his breath. “Now, that’s not to say I want to rival my parents in the baby-making contest, but I’ve always wanted a little piece of that happiness. Especially with you.” 
“Charlie if you keep saying shit like that I’m going to cry,” (Y/N) warned, choking back tears, a common theme in the past few minutes. “I can’t believe I was even remotely worried.”
“What was there to be worried about?” Charlie asked, stroking (Y/N)’s hair, fingers twisting the ends lightly.  
“I’m not sure. We just got married a little over a year ago, after a bloody war had started no less—”
“—to be fair, we got married during the war.”
“I suppose we technically eloped before the war was over.” (Y/N) mumbled, tracing her hand up Charlie’s chest, resting gently.
“We also got married before Bill,” Charlie laughed. “Not an important detail, but one that I like to rub in his face.”
“Besides your points,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “We’re newlyweds! We’re young! I mean, we never even really had the whole ‘baby’ talk before. I was worried we weren’t ready, hardly after a war,” (Y/N) gulped. “I was worried you’d be scared.”
“Love, of course I’m scared. Babies are terrifying,” said Charlie. “With their little hands and tiny feet.” He feigned a grimace, clearly joking. “But you’re right. We are young, but that just means more years of being a family, no?” 
“I guess…”
“Now, you’re also right about the ‘baby’ talk. We haven’t really talked about it,” Charlie looked down at (Y/N). “Let’s have it now.”
“I think it’s a little late for that.” (Y/N) giggled.
“Do you ever want to have kids?” Charlie asked, ignoring his wife’s growing laughter.
“Yes.” 
“Do you ever want to have a child together?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s all that matters, right?” Charlie said, his brown eyes meeting (Y/N)’s. “Who cares if it’s a little before we might have planned? I know that we’re going to love the shit out of our child.”
“I know you’re right,” (Y/N) mumbled. “But you don’t have any worries about all of this?”  
“Only one,” said Charlie. “I mean, if it’s not a boy to take on the Weasley name, I may consider a divorce.” Charlie hummed, smirking lightly. 
“Charlie!” (Y/N) slapped his chest rather firmly, eliciting a slight groan from the redhead. “If you keep joking like that, I may consider divorce first.”
“Flower, you know I could never divorce you,” Charlie laughed, placing a kiss to his wife’s temple. “Besides, with the amount of brothers I have, the Weasley name is rather safe I reckon,” Another kiss to her temple. “Come on, let's get some sleep.” It took only a few fleeting kisses, happy murmurs and mumblings before the couple finally retired for the night.  
“Well, look at the lovebirds!” George sang from the kitchen table, setting his coffee mug down, eyeing up (Y/N) and Charlie descending from the stairs. “Unusually well rested. Obviously not taking advantage of their own room I see.”
“George,” said Molly, sternly shooting a glance at her son. “Happy Christmas you two.”
“Happy Christmas, mum,” said Charlie, placing a peck to his mother’s cheek. “Happy Christmas George.”
“Yeah, yeah. Christmas or whatever,” George sipped from his mug. “You lot slept in a bit, the rest of the family is outside. You know, completing a family tradition and whatnot. So disgraceful.”
“Ah, but the real disgrace, George, is the fact you also are missing out on the snow angels,” (Y/N) chirped, grabbing a plate of hot breakfast from Molly. “Besides, everyone’s coming in for breakfast soon anyway. No one can resist Molly’s cooking.”
“Oh (Y/N), you humor me,” Molly laughed, opening the window. “Breakfast!” She called out to the rest of her family. One by one, the clan filed into the kitchen, sitting in their respective seats.
“Mum, you outdid yourself again! This food looks delicious.” Bill said, piling a load of eggs onto his plate. He handed the skillet over in Ginny’s direction, eliciting a scowl to the yellow mush beneath her nose.
“Kiss-up.” Ginny mumbled, immediately passing the cooked eggs over to Ron.
The rest of the family began eating, enjoying a rare moment of silence in the Burrow. Only sounds of scraping forks and the occasional burp echoed through the walls. Fred and George were the first to finish their plate, diving into another round of home cooking immediately after. Charlie and (Y/N) sat together, gently hold each other’s hands while they ate, Charlie sitting at the end.
“While you’re all sitting down, I suppose now’s the best time for your gifts!” said Molly, cleaning up the table. She quickly exited the kitchen only to reappear with a rather large bag. “Careful not to get any muck on them, I don’t want to do any washing today.” With a flick of her wand, the colorful stack of wool dispersed evenly among the family, a jumper settling in everyone’s lap.
“Jumpers? Oh boy, what a surprise!” George laughed.
“Really shocked our socks off, mum!” Fred added, unfurling his pile of purple.
“Oh hush,” Molly smirked. “Just go put them on and humor your mother, would you? You seem to find every other opportunity to do so.”
The twins groaned and pulled the fabric over their heads, both of the violet jumpers were adorned with their store’s logo on the front. Bill’s had a niffler, Ron’s had a Chudley Cannons print, Ginny’s had two crossing brooms and Charlie’s had (not surprising anyone) a large white dragon.
“What about yours, love?” said Charlie, elbowing (Y/N) slightly, the light blue wool rubbing against her arm. She turned to face him, the green jumper was decorated with a book and quill, the cover oddly resembling her first book. “Wow! That looks amazing!” He exclaimed. “Mum, how do you keep making these year after year?”
“With patience and a whole lot of love.” Molly smiled.
“Her enchanted knitting needles help too,” Arthur added, brushing biscuit crumbs off his new maroon sweater, ignoring the icy glare from his wife. “Besides, it’s a tradition.”
“A tradition getting harder every year,” Molly sighed. “Thankfully none of you are getting married any time soon, no need to worry about adding any other jumpers to my long list!” She laughed.
“Besides for next year, of course.” said Charlie offhandedly. (Y/N) froze.
“Next year? What’s next year?” Bill asked.
“Yeah, I don’t reckon Fred or George are going to meet anyone by next Christmas.” said Ron.
“Hey!” The twins exclaimed.
“Well…” Charlie looked up, all eyes were on him. A quick glance was given to (Y/N), who shared an equally pale face as him. He shrugged, raising his eyebrows. “You never know when people can meet each other, no? I mean, (Y/N) and I met in a coffee shop of all places!”
“Charlie…” (Y/N) began.
“Hell, we even eloped! Do you know how easy it is to do that?” Charlie continued, nervously bumbling longer sentences. “We got married in like, an hour once we set our sights on it!” He chuckled loudly, trying to drown the attention away from his sweat.  
(Y/N) stood up, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Before Charlie continues to blabber like a right idiot,” she said, shutting her husband up successfully. He sighed loudly. “I’m pregnant.” The entire table sat in stunned silence.
“That’s amazing!” Fred shouted, breaking the silence, jumping from his seat. “My best friend is having a baby!” He wrapped (Y/N) in a large hug, gripping her tightly.  
“Again, am I chopped liver?” George laughed, running over to join the hug. “A baby! Promise that you’ll name him George! Or Fred. Not terribly picky on that.”
“Boys! You shouldn’t hug (Y/N) that hard,” said Arthur. The twins loosened their grip slightly. “Congratulations you two,” He glanced between the happy couple. “Children are a blessing.”
“Is that why you had seven of them?” Ron asked, getting slapped on the shoulder by his mother.
“Oh (Y/N),” Molly cooed, fighting back her tears. "My first grandchild! We couldn’t be more thrilled for you!” She ran over to Charlie, embracing him in the warmest bearhug she could’ve mustered. “I can’t wait to start knitting their jumper! It’ll be so tiny I won’t mind the extra on the list.”        
“How long have you been keeping that secret, Charlie?” Bill asked, smiling at his brother, amused at the kisses their mother was placing on Charlie’s cheek.
“He’s barely known a day,” (Y/N) frowned in Charlie’s direction. He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve only known for a week. It’s still early, but we’re excited.”
“I hope it’s a girl,” Ginny added. “That way we’d finally be on our way to have a boys versus girls Weasley quidditch match!” 
“With my quidditch skills and (Y/N)'s creative mind? I’m sure they’d be an amazing quidditch player!” Charlie bubbled in delight. “Though, how young would be too young to get them on a broom?” 
“Charlie! We’re not putting our baby on a broom!” (Y/N) scolded. “Besides, they could easily get my quidditch skills.” 
“But you don’t have any quidditch skills?” Fred said, cocking his head.
“You can hardly keep yourself up on a broom!” George added.
“Exactly,” (Y/N) hummed, sitting down, a hand resting on her barely existing bump. “I say we stop hypothesizing and projecting onto the baby. Whatever they choose to be and do will be great…” (Y/N) sighed. “Because Charlie and I are the best, so our baby is going to be the best baby ever.”
“Nailed it, darling.” said Charlie, high-fiving his wife.
“You two really deserve each other.” Ron groaned.
“We do,” Charlie hummed, beaming down to his wife. “We really do.”
With the big news out of the way, the Weasley’s enjoyed the rest of their holiday morning, welcoming Percy and Harry home later in the afternoon. Once the two were caught up on gifts and laughter, the family had finally found peace in their holiday. No more big secrets, no more stressing about keeping said secrets. Just a relaxing and calming holiday before the whirlwind of parenthood whisked Charlie and (Y/N) up into a tizzy. But they were ready.
They’re Weasleys, after all.  
__
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gravelyhumerus · 4 years
Text
Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter Ten
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Title: “I may just take your breath away”
Relationship: Jemily
Total word count: 47,939
Summary:
Emily tries apple cider, things get corny, Spencer wins a prize, and the night ends with a kiss.
Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months. Takes place over the span of the first semester of their sophomore year.
Read it on AO3
Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue
“See, I told you it was good,” JJ grinned up at Emily, adjusting the blue scarf that was wrapped tightly around her own neck against the cool air. 
Emily licked her lips as she held a paper cup filled to the brim with apple cider tightly in her hands. 
“Ok fine,” Emily admitted, “You were right, cider is good.”
JJ watched as she took another sip, as a smile spread across her face at the taste. JJ knew she was right, that apple cider at a fall fair always tasted better than anything from the grocery store. 
The two of them walked across the leaf-strewn grass, trailing behind their friends to talk. When JJ had told Penelope about her conversation with Emily about how the girl had never been to a fall fair, her roommate insisted that they rally the troops to make it happen. 
Both JJ and Emily still had a lingering cough, but other than that, they had just about made a full recovery. Somehow, the others had escaped coming down with the same thing, and so all of them were able to make the trek to the other side of their college town to attend the fair. JJ had the day off from soccer, a rare thing these days with playoffs imminent, and during essay season, and she intended to make the most of it. 
JJ kept catching Emily looking at her. It was the same way that a wild animal would look at her if she was offering food, nervous, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She could tell something was bothering her. But knew the more she probed, the more Emily would shut down. 
She wondered if Emily felt awkward after sleeping in her bed, and worried that she had pushed things too far. JJ had been forward, and felt slightly guilty about that, but in her own feverish state, her sole focus had been to make sure Emily was alright. JJ reminded herself that Emily was here, and hadn’t run from her despite all that had happened. She could take a slightly closed-down Emily over none at all, any day. 
The fair itself was located on a farm on the outskirts of the city. Their school had arranged for a shuttle bus to facilitate this wholesome entertainment for their undergrads. It deposited them on a muddy grass field filled with carnival games, a midway, vendors and miscellaneous fall themed activities.
Golden leaves shone in the sunlight, and JJ raised her face to feel its warmth. It was a nice day, the first after weeks of rain. Her wool sweater was more for the fall festivities than for warmth, as it was pleasant outside, but she knew once the sun set she would be grateful for it. 
Emily was looking as beautiful as ever, wearing a maroon turtleneck underneath a black corduroy jacket that looked soft to the touch. Her lips matched, painted with a dark purple-red hue that made her look elegant and mysterious.
She hoped that today would be fun for Emily, knowing that the girl missed out on a lot of the childhood staples of the average American, and JJ wanted to rectify it. Hopefully it would also ease some of the tension between them as well. 
JJ gasped when she saw the petting zoo near the entrance, which was a spacious zone filled with chickens, goats, two llamas, some sheep, cows, and most importantly, the most beautiful horse she’d seen in ages. It was, in fact, the only horse she’d seen up close since that summer, and it was quite scruffy up close.
In her excitement, she found herself reaching out her hand, grasping Emily’s and pointing as she exclaimed: “Horse!” 
She internally cringed at her own behaviour, but Emily looked excitedly where she pointed and followed at her side as she veered towards the animals. 
The horse was a brown gelding, with a black mane and a stripe down his nose. As JJ approached he leaned his head over the fence in anticipation of some treats. Slowing down, JJ approached, still hand in hand with Emily, quietly and calmly so that she didn’t startle him. 
His brown eyes watched her, his ears forward and relaxed, and leaned into her outstretched hand as she reached to pet his nose. JJ’s cold bare hand met warm horse face and her mind flashed back to all the times she rode her grandmother’s horse as a kid.
“He looks like Socks,” JJ giggled, as the horse tried to nibble gently at her sweater, “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
“Socks?” Emily asked, with a quizzical look on her face, keeping distance between her and the horse. 
The others caught up with them, milling about the petting zoo and interacting with the various animals. Derek and Penelope bought some feed with a quarter from the dispenser and used the flat of their hands to feed some sheep.
“One of my grandma’s horses,” JJ explained, “His name was Socks. He was her favourite and when she got too old to ride, I would.”
“You ride horses?” Emily asked. 
“Not that well,” JJ admitted, “But Socks was patient with me.”
Noticing Emily’s hesitance, JJ smiled at her, trying to reassure her friend. 
“Do you want to pet him?” 
Emily nodded. JJ guided her hand onto his neck, leading her as she stroked it gently. A look of awe crossed Emily’s face and JJ couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. 
JJ removed her hand and let Emily take over, watching as the horse nuzzled Emily, taking great interest in her hair. JJ reached her hand out—and just in time—moved his mouth away just as he attempted to take a mouthful.
“Don’t be rude,” JJ exclaimed, guiding his face away from her friends hair, “That’s not for you.”
Emily’s jaw had dropped, holding onto her hair in horror. 
“They do that sometimes,” JJ explained. 
Emily nodded sagely before nervously returning to give him another pat, her reservations clear on her face.
“Why Socks?” Emily asked, after a moment. 
“He had white marks on his legs,” she explained, “They looked like socks.”
“Seems reasonable,” she said. 
The crew left the petting zoo and walked towards the carnival games area. A wave of nostalgia hit JJ like a truck. Every fall when she was a kid, she and her sister would always beg her for their parents to take them to the fair, insisting that they play all of the games and go on the rides multiple times. In retrospect, it probably cost a ton of money which they definitely could not afford, but her parents would hand them a stack of tickets and let themselves be dragged around the fair by the two girls. 
JJ closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of popcorn, funnel cake and corn dogs—not altogether an entirely pleasant smell—but one that brought her back to being six years old and walking hand-in-hand with her sister.
Emily knocked their shoulders lightly, the motion bringing JJ back into the present, locking eyes with Emily.  
She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that this was Emily’s first fall fair. The other girl looked onto the attractions with apprehension, gawking at the sheer mass of fried food and the loud rides and hordes of people swarming the games. 
“These games are all rigged,” JJ explained. “They’re next to impossible to win.” 
“But you can win,” Emily said, a challenge in her voice. 
JJ nodded.
“I’ve seen some folks walking around with that bear at least,” JJ gestured at a fuzzy brown teddy bear that sat on the top shelf of the dart game’s prize shelf. Other prizes included dangling stuffed snakes and some other plastic toys. 
“It’s cute,” Emily commented, smiling up at the bear.  
JJ smiled as her whole group went head to head on the water gun game, lined up in a row and shooting at the targets as if they were at a shooting range. Each played the game with the focus and determination as if it were a life or death situation, and not a carnival game. 
After, they all spread out around the stalls of games, competing with each other or going it alone as they played games that interested them. 
Emily’s smile kept crossing JJ’s mind as the games wore on, and the thought of that bear stuck in her mind. It’s cute, Emily had said. JJ could get it for her. She was great at darts. 
JJ circled back to the dart game, slamming a five dollar bill on the table and getting a handful of darts. She tossed one. The balloon popped. Another. Pop. Another. Pop. She hit every single one she threw. 
This was harder than it looked, as the balloons were barely filled, it needed a lot of force, and a wicked aim to pop them. JJ, luckily, had both. 
“Pick something from the first shelf,” the employee told her. 
JJ frowned, looking at the fluorescent stuffed animals on the first row. They looked cheap, and none were as cute as the bear, which sat between a monkey and a rabbit on the top shelf. 
“How do I get the bear?” she asked. 
“Win again,” he said, with an apathetic shrug. He was just a teenager, probably only getting paid minimum wage. JJ couldn’t help but glower at him.
JJ sighed, paying him for another round. She knew that the toy itself was worthless, but it wasn’t about that. It was about winning it for Emily. 
“What are you doing?” A voice asked her from behind as she lined up her next shot. 
Spencer. He was standing to her right, clutching a plastic bag in his hands. He wore a pair of sunglasses and smiled awkwardly in greeting. 
“Darts,” JJ answered, “What does it look like?”
She looked at the bag. It was clear and filled with water, with a small goldfish swimming around inside. 
“You won a fish?” JJ asked.
“Yup,” Spencer said, gesturing over at a game that was essentially beer pong, but instead of cups full of alcohol, it was a series of fish tanks. 
He explained that he had won on his first try, and now was a proud owner of a goldfish. JJ was certain it would die before they got back to residence, but decided not to burst his bubble. The kid was smiling at his fish, looking proud of himself. 
JJ turned back to the game and focused on an orange balloon that waved in the wind. She threw. Hit. The balloon popped. 
“I just want that damned bear,”  JJ hissed, gripping the dart tight in her hand. 
“Why?” Spencer asked, his forehead furrowed. 
“Why” was a great question! For my not-girlfriend because I’m just such a good friend, was the answer, but she wasn’t going to say that . Because I want her to like me, and I want her to date me, but I can’t work up the courage to ask her. Because she might be gay, but might not, and I haven’t even asked her that. Because all I want is for her to smile. 
JJ sighed. 
“I want to win it for Emily, ok?” JJ said.
“You could buy her a nicer bear if you wanted with this money,” he pointed out. 
“I know,” JJ said, aiming her dart. Another hit. “I just have to hit three more and then I win.”
JJ was being pointedly obtuse, she knew if she began to explain, it would all come rushing out. She could handle Penelope’s teasing, but that was her limit. 
Spencer began to speak, but she shushed him. She threw another. Hit. The balloon popped with a satisfying pop. Two more. 
Reid held his fish up to his face, examining it close up. Just as she was about to throw her last shot, she felt a hand clap her on the back in the unmistakable gesture of Derek Morgan greeting her. 
“What’re we playing, kids?” he asked. 
“JJ wants the bear,” Spencer informed him. “For Emily.”
Derek grinned at her. JJ ignored both of them, squinting at a bright red balloon and taking her aim.
Pop. She did it. Both Derek and Spencer cheered for her, despite their earlier misgivings. JJ slapped the metal barrier between her and the employee in glee as he nodded approvingly at her achievement. 
The employee used a telescopic grabber to lift the bear off a tall shelf and handed it to her with a smile. 
She hugged the bear to her chest, elated with her accomplishment despite Derek’s probing looks. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with Emily’s best friend these days. He seemed to know something that she didn’t, and she caught him smiling at her and Emily when they spoke. 
JJ was relieved when he shifted his attention to discussing the logistics of goldfish ownership with Reid.
The three of them wandered through the stalls, taking a break for Reid and Morgan to pick up candy apples, then ran back into the rest of the group. Penelope, Hotch, Rossi and Emily were still at the water gun booth, cheering Emily on as she played against a boy that looked like he was about their age. 
A bell rang, and a light flashed over Emily’s head. She had won. 
JJ walked up behind her, watching as Emily got to point out her prize. She pointed to the exact same bear as JJ had tucked behind her back. 
“JJ will love it,” Penelope said to Emily, neither girl knowing that JJ was right behind them. 
“Love what?” JJ said, confused. 
Emily turned around looking at JJ, clutching the bear to her chest. 
“Uh, you said you saw these bears around,” Emily said, “I thought you might want one.”
Derek and Spencer both burst into laughter, as JJ felt blush creep over her face. Emily held the bear out to her, with a shy look on her face. To her left, Penelope’s jaw had dropped and both Hotch and Rossi’s usually serious expressions were filled with bemusement. 
JJ pulled out the bear from behind her back and presented it to Emily. Both girls were holding identical bears out to each other, each having independently decided to win it for the other. 
“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Penelope squealed. 
JJ and Emily exchanged identical bears, both feeling quite silly. JJ was speechless, simply grinning at Emily, who smiled down at her. 
Hotch broke the silence after a minute, pointing to what was in Spencer’s hand. “Is that a fish?” 
   “We should do the corn maze next!” Penelope squealed, pointing at the painted wooden sign leading towards a field with what looked like an endless maze. 
“Mazes are actually quite simple,” Reid said, “You have to hug the right side wall for the duration of the maze and you will eventually reach the exit. It beats getting hopelessly lost in the hopes of entertainment.” 
“That’s one way to do it,” Hotch commented, looking over to a smirking Rossi.
“Come on Reid,” Derek chastised, throwing an arm around his shoulder, “You couldn’t possibly think that’s the best way of doing it.
“How do you suggest we should approach it?” Spencer asked as he shrugged Derek’s arm off of him.
“You gotta get a feel for it,” Derek replied. “Remember where you came from.”
Spencer made a non committal noise.
“Getting lost comes with the territory,” Derek added, “It’s part of the fun.”
Emily gave him a look, but didn’t contribute to the debate. 
“You won’t be saying that when you’re lost, cold and surrounded by corn,” Spencer retorted.
“He’s got a point about the corn,” Hotch quipped. 
“I’ve never seen this much corn in my life,” Emily admits, “I haven’t spent much time around farms.”
Emily touched her hair absentmindedly,reminded of the horse trying to eat it from earlier in the afternoon. “Aren’t you a farmgirl, JJ?” Derek teased.
“No!” she said, “I lived in the suburbs near Pittsburgh. She lived an hour away so we’d visit on the weekends and on holidays.”
“They had cows!” Penelope blurted, “She showed me pictures once. They’re so cute as babies.”
JJ nodded, she loved visiting her grandma when she was little. She and Ros would be allowed to collect the eggs in the morning, and JJ always loved grabbing hay for the horses. 
“What’s your take on mazes?” Derek asked her, “Oh farm girl?”
JJ punched his shoulder in retaliation.
“I say that you two should put your money where your mouth is,” JJ said, “See whose method works in the end.”
“You talking about a race?” Derek asked. 
“That seems only fair,” Emily said, “Since both of you have such strong opinions on how to go about tackling this maze. Let’s see who’s right.”
“Shall we split up?” Hotch asked.
“Very Scooby-Doo of you, sir,” Penelope cooed, “I like it.”
Hotch did not acknowledge this beyond a glare. 
As they approached the maze entrance, a teenage girl, a bit younger than them and wearing a green shirt branded with the name of the farm handed them a map and began to explain the rules of the maze. No smoking, drinking, cheating by ducking under the red ribbon that marked the paths, she told them.
She then offered them a map, a black and white printout that marked out the route. 
“No thanks,” Derek said in a haughty tone, “We’ll figure it out ourselves.”
“I legally have to give it to you,” the girl said, her braces giving her a slight lisp. “It’s a safety issue.”
Derek and Spencer looked at each other, each taking a map, but folding it up and placing it in their pockets. Hotch also took a map, as did Emily. 
“I call dibs on Der-bear,” Penelope said, wrapping her arms around his bicep. “And JJ will go with Emily of course.”
“I’ll follow the wall,” Hotch says, “Reid, you better be right about this wall thing.”
Rossi looked around and seemed to decide to see whether the boy-genius was onto something or not. 
JJ felt a little shy at the assumption that she and Emily would naturally be together. Penelope was getting more and more bold with her attitude towards the two girls. 
The teams set out into the maze, splitting up at the first fork in the road, the boys staying right, Derek and Penelope heading straight ahead, and JJ and Emily veering left.
“What do you think of your first fair?” JJ asked, fiddling with the stuffed bear in her hands. 
They trudged through the muddy maze, with the sound of the fair in the distance, a pleasant hum of music and the clamour of the rides. 
“It’s not what I expected,” Emily said, “I only really saw this stuff in movies.”
“Better or worse than you imagined?” she asked. 
“Better,” Emily said, “but that’s probably just the company.”
“Good friends make a difference,” JJ said. 
“Yeah,” she agreed, “friends.”
JJ hummed, smiling as she felt the breeze in her hair. She loved the outdoors. She spent way too much time cooped up in the library these days. Emily, on the other hand, was picking her way through, careful not to step in any puddles or trip on fallen corn stalks. 
“Left or right?” Emily asked as they neared an intersection.
“Right,” JJ said. 
They headed deeper into the maze, turning left, then right, then hitting a dead end and back tracking. The corn rose above their heads, limiting their vision to a few feet in front of, and behind, them at all times. 
A few times, they bickered over directions, as JJ was certain that they were walking in circles. 
“How long was this supposed to take us?” Emily said, after twenty minutes passed. 
“Not this long,” JJ admitted. 
“Where are we?”
“I have no idea.”
She stopped, and paused waiting for Emily to do the same. JJ listened hard, straining her ears to listen for the direction of the music. 
“I can’t hear the carnival anymore,” JJ said, “We must be on the far end of the maze.” 
“Are we lost?” Emily asked. 
“I think that’s the whole point of it,” JJ said with a laugh. “Let’s head this way.”
“Should we check the map?” Emily asked. 
“Sure.”
Emily looked at JJ expectantly. 
“ You took the map, Em,” JJ said with a laugh. 
“No I didn’t,” Emily replied. She rifled through her pockets, then held up her hands in a gesture of: see? Nothing!
She checked her own pockets, and inside the small purse hanging over her shoulder. No map. 
“You sure you don’t have it?” JJ asked, hearing the stress in her voice. 
Emily’s eyes widened, checking her own pockets more frantically. 
Neither had it. JJ began to laugh. Of course she’d get lost in a corn maze with Emily. Of course. 
JJ’s phone pinged. Penelope had texted her.
Penny G: where are you? are you making out in the corn? 
JJ: no, we’re lost. are you all done already?
Penny G: yup. Spencer was a few minutes behind us  
“They’re already out,” JJ explained to Emily. 
“Figures,” Emily huffed. 
Penny G: we can wait for you? we’re going to try the rides 
JJ: i’ll text you when we get out, go ahead
JJ slipped her phone back into her pocket, noticing Emily poking at the edge of the corn with her hands, trying to peer through. 
“More corn,” Emily said, sounding defeated. 
JJ thought for a second, trying to weigh their options. 
“Get on my shoulders,” JJ blurted. 
“What?” 
“So you can see,” JJ said, “I’ll lift you up.” 
Emily looked flustered for a moment, opening and closing her mouth at the thought, but eventually nodded. 
JJ knelt down slightly, letting Emily put her legs on either side of her head. JJ knew she was strong. She could lift more than double her own weight at the gym. Once Emily was settled, she lifted her with ease, standing straight up and holding onto her thighs with her hands to steady Emily. 
“I see, uh, a highway behind us, more fields,” Emily said, then JJ turned a bit to give her another angle, “We’re almost there. We’re on the far right side, but the path is fairly clear. We go left, then it doubles back. But I think I can get us out of here.”
JJ stumbled under Emily’s shifting weight as she turned, finding herself tilting forward before she could adjust, tipping forward and sending both girls tumbling into the corn. 
Emily landed on top of JJ, their limbs tangled, with a loud “fuck!” as they made contact with the mud.   
JJ sat up, rubbing the back of her head where Emily had accidentally kicked her. 
“Sorry,” JJ said, “are you ok?”
Emily sat up, rubbing her wrist which caught most of her weight. Both girls had come out of the fall mostly unscathed.  
“The corn broke my fall,” Emily said with a laugh. 
They burst into laughter, and JJ reached out her hands to help Emily up. 
The girls retrieved their bears, both unsure whose was whose, and began to make their escape from the corn. 
Emily navigated them out of the maze, which, despite their tumble, made JJ’s idea worthwhile. 
“I don’t think I ever want to see corn again,” Emily said as they left the maze. 
“I guess you won’t have roasted corn for dinner?” 
“God no.”
They laughed. 
For the next hour or so, they visited the midway, braving an assortment of spinning rides that bore names like The Annihilator, and The Brain Blender, that were next to carousels and other rides clearly meant for children. 
JJ had a blast, she was definitely an adrenaline junky and the rides gave her the same endorphin high as sports. 
Emily was clearly nervous, but was a good sport. She took a couple rides off, claiming to need to babysit Spencer’s new fish (he decided it was too cold out for the goldfish, so he had been wrapping it in his coat to keep it warm. Emily did the same during her time as babysitter as Spencer rode the ride.)
The sun began to set, and as the sky filled with colours, the carnival lights dazzled them, glowing in a rainbow of incandescent light. 
“One more ride?” Hotch asked them, as he noticed their energy fading and their stomachs growling. 
“The Ferris wheel!” Penelope announced, “we have to.”
“The last Ferris wheel I was on was the London eye,” Emily commented. 
“We’ll miss jet setter,” Derek replied, “this will probably be a bit less glamorous.” 
They waited in line for it, laughing and goofing around. JJ smiled at her friends, while her nerves grew in her stomach. She tugged on her sister’s necklace, pulling it tight against the back of her neck to calm her. 
“Hey,” Emily whispered, “what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” JJ said back, quietly. “Just a little nervous with heights.”
Emily smiled down at her, with no trace of judgment on her face, and JJ softened. 
“Didn’t you just ride The Bonebreaker earlier?” Emily asked, talking about a ride that locked them in a cage, and flipped them in punishing rotations. 
“Those are different,” JJ said as tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to find the words to explain. “You’re strapped in, and there’s a cage. Ferris wheels have just the bar. You’re exposed.”
“Are you good to do it?” Emily asked, concern etched into her features.
“Yeah, of course,” JJ said, setting her shoulders back and gritting her jaw. “I’m not actually scared.”
JJ forced herself to relax, making good on her promise, leaning onto the chilly metal barricade. She was so happy that her little troupe of Penelope and Spencer had expanded to include all of these new people. Their dynamic was fun, and warm, and felt… right. 
“This would be a beautiful photo,” Penelope exclaimed, pulling out her phone and gesturing at the whole group to get in close. 
JJ turned to face the camera, smiling wide and meaning it. Reid and Emily wrapped their arms around her shoulders, and she was squished into the big group of friends. She felt the happiest she had felt in years, despite the creeping fear building up inside her. 
The line moved quickly and they were shuffled into their seats, two by two. Emily and JJ were together, like before, and soon they were slowly lifted into the sky, side by side. 
“It’s beautiful,” Emily gasped.
She looked down onto the fair, leaning forward as she gazed into the quickly shrinking fairgrounds. 
Emily’sbeautiful, JJ thought, looking at her friend as she looked out into the night. 
“Yeah,” JJ agreed, feeling a touch of vertigo, breathing deep to keep calm. 
“Thanks for bringing me,” Emily said. 
JJ clutched the bear tightly, as though someone was going to take it away from her.  
“I told you that you’d like it,” JJ said, focusing on Emily’s face instead of the height. 
“I admit it,” Emily said. “I like apple cider. Fairs are fun. I’m a country girl now.” 
“Not yet,” JJ said, “we’ll work on that.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Emily said with a smile. 
The Ferris wheel slowly turned as new passengers boarded, raising them higher into the air until they were at the very top, when they stopped. 
Emily leaned forward, then back, making the chair swing slightly. JJ gasped as her stomach clenched, the fear of her plummeting to her death high on her mind. 
JJ realized that her hand had shot out and now rested upon Emily’s. The other girl did not pull away. 
“Sorry,” Emily giggled. “I had to.”
JJ glowered at her, but knew she was kidding and wouldn’t actually put her in danger. They rested at the top of the Ferris wheel, their chair swaying slightly, hand in hand for a few minutes. 
JJ shifted closer to Emily, mentally telling herself that she was doing it to get closer to the warmth. Emily leaned towards her, allowing their shoulders to meet softly. 
“We’ve been at the top for awhile,” JJ said, a little nervously. “Do you think it’s stuck?”
“I can’t imagine these things get stuck,” Emily assured her, “it’s probably someone getting off or on.”
This did nothing to quell the bundle of nerves in JJ’s stomach. She clutched the bar even tighter. 
“JJ look at me,” Emily said, her voice soft, but stern. 
JJ complied, tearing her eyes away from the ground far below her feet and focusing on Emily, sitting right next to her, feeling her warmth radiate out from her hand. 
“You’re ok,” Emily said, calmly. “Don’t worry.”
JJ believed her, knowing that whenever they were together, nothing ever seemed to go wrong. 
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world faded away. JJ got lost in her warm brown eyes that looked at her with concern. Emily had done a perfect wing of eyeliner, sharp on the corner, and covered her lid with a neutral brown eyeshadow. Emily was so beautiful. Her brows framed her eyes so perfectly, forming a graceful arch. Her cheekbones were sharp and her smile warm, but rare on the serious girl’s face. JJ took her in, relishing the moment to look unheeded. 
JJ felt Emily’s grip on her hand tighten, and there was something about her eyes that beckoned her closer. JJ felt herself, acting almost on autopilot, leaning towards Emily as if she’d done it before.
Emily’s arm, which was thrown casually over the back of the chair, wrapped around JJ’s shoulders, pulling her oh so slightly closer. An invitation.
Without thinking, JJ found herself just inches from Emily, their breaths mixing as their foreheads touched. 
Jennifer Jareau couldn’t believe this was happening, that Emily Prentiss, the girl across the hall, who she had been pining over for months, was probably about to kiss her. 
She did not think of the billion ways this complicated their friendship, or the fact that she didn’t know if she could even handle jumping back into a relationship, or how she was thirty feet in the air on a rusty ferris wheel, all she could think about was the idea of Emily’s lips on hers. 
Their lips met. Before this moment, JJ thought the phrase “sparks flying” was an exaggeration, but the electricity that she felt when Emily kissed her set JJ’s body on fire. 
Her lips were soft, velvety, perfect. At first, it was chaste, with their hands nervously still holding onto the railing. Then, it deepened, lips moving slowly against the other. Emily’s hand moved from on top of hers up to her face, pulling her closer than before. JJ did the same, tangling her fingers into Emily’s black hair. Their matching stuffed bears were squished between them. 
JJ’s mouth opened, and Emily’s tongue gained entrance, rubbing against JJ’s. It felt heavenly, and in that moment JJ decided that she didn’t want to do anything else in life but kiss Emily. 
Their kiss was gentle, yet needy, with a passion that made JJ’s head spin. Emily’s hands rested delicately on her face, stroking her cheek, and wrapped almost protectively around her back. 
The two girls only came up for breath, kissing like their life depended on it. 
JJ felt her heart race, but a wave of calm washed over her. It felt like a kiss she had had a thousand times, and one she would have a thousand more. As familiar as something that she had experienced in her past lives, and something she knew she wanted to do for the rest of this one. 
Suddenly, the chair rocked, and the Ferris wheel roared back to life.
They pulled apart, looking away from each other and catching their breath. JJ could feel a blush rise up her face as Emily tugged her arm out from behind JJ’s back.
Neither made eye contact as the Ferris wheel spun around, the carnival blurring out as they picked up speed. 
They turned once, twice, a third time, before it slowed to a stop and people began to exit. 
JJ no longer felt the acute fear of heights tug at her stomach, on the contrary, now it was the knowledge that she had just made out with her floormate weighing on her mind. 
Her head was spinning and her lips tingled with the memory of the kiss. Her blood roared in her ears, as anxiety took over as her brain flashed with all of the million ways this could go terribly wrong. 
Wordlessly, they dismounted and waited quietly for the rest of their group, who all babbled about how pretty the wheel was and how Derek wouldn’t stop swaying the chair. JJ scanned their faces, wondering if anyone could tell what had happened.
JJ drifted alongside the group, lost in her thoughts, unable to meet Emily’s eye, clutching her bear tightly to her chest all the way home.
98 notes · View notes
ill-skillsgard · 3 years
Note
A little something where the reader and Kasper were together in highschool, but broke up, only to meet a few years later and rekindle their love 😭
Awww, yes! I haven't written any fluff in so longgg. And I love Kasper with my whole heart. Please, more Kasper stuff! I need him in my life. +
Sports was never your thing. You had seen the odd hockey game, took part in Superbowl festivities if not for the hoards of fried food, and caught a fraction of the Olympics every four years. By no means were you a fanatic and certainly didn't fit in with your sports fan friends, all of which had dragged you to a European football game. You agreed to go with only a flutter of hesitation. It's not that you wouldn't have fun drinking overpriced beer with your pals; it was that you had no emotional ties to either team and couldn't genuinely join in the cheer of a win or the disappointment of loss. To you, it was all just a game, and the points weren't real.
Admittedly, it was impressive watching the players finesse the ball with nothing but their feet and heads, and you cheered on with the rest of the crowd. During the hubbub of a recent goal, the guy your friends had introduced you to shook his fists and bellowed curses. His name was John, and he had been the most zealous with the fanfare and criticisms.
"Ah, we'll get 'em next time," you supplied. "It's only fifteen minutes in."
"Not with the way these guys are playing. Look, I could run circles around that forward, and our goalie is acting like a total pansy."
You flinched from the comment. John ground his teeth together and waited for the next drop-in. As you sipped your beer and sat down, the empty seats on your right filled up. Soon, you were boxed in with showgoers who all bore the colour green in some fashion. The away team's colour. This did not sit well with John, and you became invisible.
John continued to yell and boo the other team, rousing blowback from the surrounding enemy. It was okay, you told yourself. Maybe it wasn't a match. He was far too loud and not in a fun way. His comments continued deteriorating into ignorance. You kept your eyes on the field and the players, blocking out the negativity standing next to you. Your only solace was that John's screaming blended in with the other hollers and hoots from the stadium chairs. Friends to the left were fully ensconced in the intensity of the plays that they didn't notice or chose to ignore John's slurs.
The crowd tightened like a knot while the ball careened toward the home team's goalie, then snapped like a rubber band. The keeper dove a fraction too soon, and the ball sailed between outstretched arms and hit the net. It happened in a blink, and so too did the fight that broke out next to you. Your full drink flew, splashing down your shirt as you were knocked back into the stranger next to you. At first, it felt like falling. You scrunched your face in anticipation of a hit, but only two arms caught you and whirled you away from the violence.
When you looked back, you saw a white and green jersey, and beyond that, John restrained and screaming at another man in the row before.
"Are you okay?"
You looked up at the person who had shielded you from flying elbows but not from flying drinks and saw a face that aligned with the vaguest of memories. He was tall, and somehow his scent took you aback. You had breathed it before.
"Kasper?"
"Holy shit, it's you!"
"You remember me?"
"Of course I do! Oh my God. Jesus, what's going on? Are you with him?" Kasper asked.
You backed away like the rest of the units around your seat. Security recognized the scuffle, though John was well on his way out after a half-ass apology to your mutual friends. Once John's spot was vacated, they came to you with apologies. Kasper remained next to you. They dabbed at your wet shirt, but it was no use. Your front was soaked.
Kasper pulled off his jersey and tried handing it to you.
"Here. Take this. Go to the washroom, and change into it. Don't worry, it's clean. I just bought it. Plus, I have others."
"Really?"
"Yes! Go, get cleaned up and come back to watch my team whoop your team's ass!"
"Actually, I don't really have a team. This is my first game. I really don't have any stock in either of the players. I just like that they're having fun."
Kasper laughed and thrust the jersey into your arms.
"Now you have a team. Go on!"
Strangely enough, you listened to Kasper, a boy you once dated for a total of two weeks in high school. He had been an exchange student while his family temporarily relocated for work. They worked in movies, and dating Kasper had been a thrill for the whispers and enjoyable because he was a nice guy. Circumstance had forced your adolescent fling apart, but you did not part on bad terms.
After many years, the landmark of dating Kasper shrunk on your timeline until it was nothing but a blip. You thought of Kasper from time to time, though the thought of ever seeing him again seldom crossed your mind when you had done so many other things. It made the coincidence seem like fate. And when you returned to your seat wearing his jersey, the glimmer in his eyes affirmed what you hoped to be true. He was overjoyed to see you, too.
Kasper's team won the match, and as fans packed up to leave the stadium, Kasper turned to you with a mischievous smile.
"Are you in town for long?"
"A couple of days," you said.
"Come out for a drink with me."
"When" You chuckled.
"Now. We're going to a pub right now."
You looked back at your friends who had secretly deemed your chance encounter with a past beau as the best thing to happen to the entire group. They encouraged you and agreed to meet with you later on or, if things went well for any of you, in the morning.
Kasper led you out of the venue and stuck close enough your arms brushed. The conversation flew. Memories upon memories hashed, evolving into stories, questions and laughter. Soon, Kasper was touching your hand until you hooked his pinky. One small finger gave way to two, three and more. You looked down at your clasped hands, and both of you giggled and turned warm.
"I'm so glad I ran into you. You're gonna love this place," said Kasper.
"I will?"
"Yes! Don't worry. We're almost there."
Thrust under poor lighting, you met a gaggle of Kasper's friends and stood by listening to the Swedish conversations with a sheepish grin. Not long after, Kasper hid you away in the corner of a booth at an Irish pub with a similar crowd to the place you had just left. The low ceilings and sturdy décor loaned the atmosphere a cozy intimacy, and the highbacked tables shielded flirtatious looks.
"Can you believe we dated when we were kids? What did we know about anything back then?"
"I can believe it. You were pretty. You're still pretty. And fun. Wait... You're not seeing anyone, are you?"
"Do you think I'd be holding your hand if I were?"
Kasper blushed. "Yeah, I guess not."
"I'm glad we ran into each other, too. Can you believe my friends tried setting me up with that asshole at the game? They texted me and said he's usually chill. He must have had too many beers and lost his filter, so they say."
"Who cares about that guy."
You stared at Kasper's welcoming lips, turned up lazily and lopsided. There was enough glow on his face to light your private little corner. Kasper turned down another beer and continued staring at you like he was expecting you to say something.
"I'm just going to come out and say it... I really wanna kiss you right now. Can I do that?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
The words slipped from your mouth, and soft, plushy kisses took your breath and replaced it with the taste of beer and tongue. You settled close to Kasper, circling his torso and splaying your hands on his back. He clutched your shoulders and stroked your collarbones and the sides of your neck. When he scooped your jaw upward to ease his angle, you both pulled away slowly and watched your eyes open.
"What else are you doing tonight?" Kasper asked.
"You tell me."
"Should I behave? I don't want to put pressure on you."
"No way. I have the night to myself, and I'd love to see where it goes."
"Well, aren't I lucky?"
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Text
Riding High
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One Shot- Whamageddon
Summary: Frank loses a Christmas time bet…
Warnings: Bad Language words
Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher
A/N: This is my first entry for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork and @sagechanoafterdark s Festive Writing Challenge. My prompt is- “Did you put antlers on the dog?” This takes place in the Riding High timeline, alongside Ch12- ILY which was their first Christmas together.  (FYI Whamageddon is a real thing that me and my friends play every year without fail...and its HARD!!!  https://www.whamageddon.com/)
Chapter Song:  Last Christmas by Wham
Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist
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Frank parked his truck in the space next to Fliss’ jeep and hopped out, making his way over the lawn to his apartment. That had been an awkward job, really awkward job if he was honest. It had taken him a lot longer than anticipated to locate the problem in the fuel pump, and at one point he was expecting to have to roll it over and finish in the morning which he really hadn’t wanted to do, as Saturdays were the one morning of the week he was able to lie in, uninterrupted and the thought of having to drag himself away from that pissed him right off. Thankfully, Bill had come to his rescue and collected Mary from school, dropping her with Fliss at the yard, something he knew Mary loved and Fliss seemed to enjoy too and it had given him the extra couple of hours he needed to finish up.
As a result whilst he was now tired, dirty, covered in grease and ready for a beer, he could relax that evening knowing he didn’t have to haul his ass out of bed at six am. He’d be able to at least sleep until Fliss’ alarm went off at eight. Mind you, even then he tended to go back to bed after they’d had breakfast, or nap on the couch until about fifteen minutes before Mary was due home. After all, he didn’t have horses to muck out and ride.
Fuck that.
As he traipsed up the steps to his apartment he could hear the sounds of Last Christmas by Wham playing and he cursed. “Fuck!” With a groan he pulled out his phone and opened up the group message, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He typed a single word “Whamageddon” and hit send. This was a game he and the boys played every year. It was a contest to see who could go the longest time over the holiday period without hearing that infernal fucking song. The rules were simple, you weren’t allowed to be a dick by tricking each other and sending messages, videos or emails containing it, and it had to be the original version, so covers, remixes and people singing it didn’t count. It also relied on all of them being honest enough to own up, but they were the Circle Of Truth after all. So far it had claimed Simon and Greg, leaving him and Jake in the running…and now he’d just lost meaning Jake won the forty-dollar pot. Mind you, the last 2 years they’d played it said forty-bucks had been used to purchase drinks on their night out so it wasn’t like he’d actually lost anything, just the satisfaction of beating Jake. But the fact he’d lost that was annoying in itself.
Fuck you George Michael.
Shoving his phone back into the pocket of his dirty jeans with an annoyed growl, Frank yanked the door open and instantly was hit with the sweet notes of nutmeg and ginger as something baked in the oven and the loud sounds of giggling and singing from the lounge. He passed through the small kitchen and paused in the doorway as he saw Mary on the couch,  bouncing up and down, her hands in Fliss’ as his girlfriend danced in front of Mary, twirling round, Thor bouncing along with her occasionally issuing the odd, excited bark. Fliss’ wore a headband upon which a pair of reindeer antlers were fixed whilst on Mary’s head sat a Santa hat which was adorned with light up stars.  The irritation of losing instantly left Franky’s system as he could do nothing but smile as he watched the pair of them dancing like idiots before Mary glanced up and saw him and gave him a grin. Fliss turned and smiled, waving him over. He shook his head, gesturing to the fact he was filthy but she simply grinned even more, and bent her finger at him, arching an eyebrow. The fact she seemed to get turned on by him being covered in grease greatly amused Frank and he simply met her down right filthy look with one of his own before she pouted at him as he was refusing to play. As usual when she fixed those eyes on him, he simply rolled his own and gave in, striding over the room where he dropped a kiss to her lips as Mary plonked the hat she had been wearing on his head just as the song ended.
“You just lost me a bet.” Frank looked at Fliss, then Mary. They both frowned at one another before Fliss gave a groan.
“Whamageddon?”
“Whamageddon.” He confirmed.
“Sorry!” she winced, shrugging as he returned Mary’s hat to her head, pulling it down over her eyes “We made sugar cookies though if that’s any consolation?"
“You’ve been busy.” Frank smiled and Mary nodded, pushing the hat up so she could see.
“We’re gonna decorate them tomorrow afternoon before we got to V and Bills.”
“Who’s we?” Frank arched an eyebrow.
“Me and you” Mary shrugged.
“That so?”
“Yup.” Mary nodded “We got ready made tubes of icing and stuff so even you can’t mess it up.”
Fliss laughed at the affronted look on Frank’s face as he narrowed his eyes at Mary before he reached out and grabbed her causing her to shriek as he tickled her sides.
Mary giggled, her protests becoming louder and lounder as did her laughter until, after one particular loud shriek Frank gave a yell and jumped, looking down at Thor who was stood behind him, his head cocked to one side, tail wagging furiously as he issued a loud bark.
“He just bit my ass!”
Fliss laughed even harder “he’s only playing. If he meant to bite you properly, you’d know about it. He’s never bitten anyone properly in his life.”
“Ha, he’s my bodyguard!” Mary straightened her hat once more before she hopped off the couch “Are you taking me to Roberta’s now?”
“Damned straight I am.” He mumbled, shooting the dog another glare before he turned back to her “You got your stuff?”
“Yup.”
“Okay come on. What do you say?” he nodded towards Fliss who rolled her eyes.
“Thanks for watching me and baking and stuff!” she wrapped her arms around Fliss’ waist and Fliss smiled, bending over to give her a hug. “Night Lissy.”
“You’re welcome babe. See you tomorrow.”
Mary skipped off and Frank turned to Fliss giving her another quick kiss.
“You know, you don’t have to make her thank me.” Fliss smiled as he pulled away. “She comes as part of the package.”
“She can still mind her manners.” Frank shrugged “Be back in five.”
Thor made to follow but Fliss grabbed his collar to stop him, before she grinned and after faffing with him for a second let him go. He padded after Frank and Mary, neither of them paying him any attention, although Frank didn’t fail to notice the grins the three of them were getting as they walked down to Roberta’s. Most likely thanks to the hat Mary had on.
Mary pushed Roberta’s door in and they all stepped inside, Roberta coming out of the kitchen to greet them.
“Mary Christmas!” Mary grinned and Roberta scoffed “Geddit? Mary, Merry…”
“Yeah I get it.” Roberta shook her head as Frank let out a snort. Her attention turned to him and she folder her arms, looking him up and down “You look like you just crawled outta some kind of pit. You’re filthy.”
“Yeah, well, been working.” He shrugged as Mary padded past into the living room. “Erm…forgetting something Stack?”
“Oh….” She turned and grabbed her little rucksack off him before she continued.
“Night then.” He shot sarcastically, receiving no response. He shook his head and turned to Roberta “We’re not going out so any issues…”
“There are never any issues Frank.” Roberta rolled her eyes “So, get….” She trailed off as her eyes fell towards Thor “Did you put antlers on the dog?”
Frank turned to look at Thor who was indeed sporting the antlers that had five or so minutes ago adorned Fliss’ head. He gave a snort, now realising why everyone they’d passed had smirked or laughed at them. “No, I didn’t” he shook his head as Thor’s tail began to thump on the floor. “That one’s down to Lissy.”
“You sure you’re not just feelin’ extra festive this year?” she teased and Frank gave a little smile.
“I’m looking forward to it, yeah.” He admitted, his eyes flicking back to the dog before he looked at Roberta. “Been a funny year. Some ways I’ll be glad to see the back of it, in others…” he trailed off as Roberta lay her hand on his arm.
“It was tough, I know. But…it all ended well.” She shrugged “You got that little girl in there and, well, a bigger girl waitin’ for you back home.”
“I’ll tell her you said that!” he grinned and Roberta slapped his arm.
“You know full well that wasn’t what I meant, besides, I’ve seen more meat on a damned grasshopper than there is on Fliss.”
“So now you’re calling her skinny…you know, I never had you down for size shaming Roberta.”
“Get outta my house before I hit you with the mop.” Roberta pointed behind him to the door causing Frank to laugh.
“See you tomorrow.” He turned, patting his thigh signalling for Thor “Come on Rudolph.”
Obediently the dog trotted after him as he left and made his way home, a soft smile playing on his face. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, snorting at the message of victory from Jake. He then noticed he had another message ftom Fliss. 
His phone wasn't great on picture messages, it was old school after all, but it was good enough to make him stop in his tracks. Her red, lace bra clad breasts flashed back at him along with the message "on second thoughts, maybe sugar cookies aint enough of an apology...I'll say sorry properly"
Frank swallowed as he shoved the phone back into his pocket and set off home, his pace doubled.
Thank you Whamageddon...
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apothecarinomicon · 3 years
Text
Spring week 1 part 1
I’m not quite sure how to begin.
I’m not typically one for journaling but it would appear to be part of the gig, as it were. I found this book—the one I’m writing in, heavy and musty and leather-bound—sitting on the table when I arrived, open to a blank page. There are at least a thousand pages filled before it, and no matter how many blank pages I flip past this one I can’t reach the back cover without closing the book entirely.
Mòrag told me things that present themselves for investigation here tend to be worth exploring, and if my gut tells me what’s right not to stray from its guidance. But I’m getting ahead of myself—you don’t even know who I am.
My name is Fionn Gill, and I’m a witch. I know, I know, but I don’t get into all that “warlock” “wizard” shit. It’s just a way to separate and belittle the same practice based solely on the gender of the practitioner, in my opinion. My specialty lies in potion-making, though I’m not very experienced. I’ve really only just finished my training—I’m from Huntsmanland and they’re not nearly as magically-inclined there as they are in High Rannoc. This is the first part of the country I’ve visited other than my tutor’s homestead and I must say, it hasn’t made the most stellar impression.
My tutor Edith received a letter stating that services would be required in the town of Greenmoor, and since the letter didn’t specify her services, she sent me to take care of it. I don’t know if she expected it to be an indefinite position, but here we are.
I didn’t bring a lot with me—just enough for the journey. It was about all I could carry walking. I arrived in Greenmoor with just about the clothes on my back, hoping they had an apothecary of their own so I could get this over with.
I’ve never really been one for small towns, and nor do they have much love for me. I’ve always thought I was meant for adventure—movement, action, peril, all of it. Small town life just feels so… stagnant. Nothing changes, no one grows or changes or has anything interesting to talk about. It’s enough to drive you mad.
Not to mention the natural suspicion of outsiders. I could see it on Mòrag McKinney’s face, even as she greeted me at the edge of town in her official capacity as mayor. Her hair was done up in a huge bun of thick braids on top of her head—a hairstyle with a formality at odds with her armored clothing.
She seemed surprised when I told her I was the witch. That’s not uncommon—like most intellectual and healing work, witchcraft is traditionally the domain of women. Even in the relatively forward-thinking country of High Rannoc, I tend to get some variation on ‘oh, how progressive!’ when I tell people my vocation. Often if you get a man doing witchcraft, his neighbors will whisper certain things about him. My neighbors back home were whispering those things about me anyway, so that wasn’t much of a hurdle to me.
Mòrag (she insisted I call her by her first name once we’d been properly introduced) gave me a brief tour of Greenmoor. It is, to put it lightly, tiny. I’d estimate a population around fifty. Near everyone has a job that serves an internal function to the community, with maybe the exception of the innkeeper. There are blacksmiths, miners, a carpenter, a tanner… she didn’t indicate any artists or poets or anything of that sort to me, which was disheartening. Even when I thought I would only be here briefly, I was hoping to enjoy the finer things the locals had to offer. The closest this town comes is a library, but I sorely doubt they have any kind of collection of works by local authors.
Mòrag pointed out all the magical resources in town, and some of them impressed me—the lunar tower and ritual circle in particular looked useful. She did not show me any apothecary, and following her aforementioned advice, I took that to mean there wasn’t one. Can’t wait to go out and experience the joys of foraging in the wilderness myself.
Once we’d gone through the entire village, she showed me to the cottage where I’ll be staying. It’s a little ways away from the town proper, down a walking path through some trees. It’s little more than a one-room thing, with only the washroom closed off from the rest of the space. The walls and door are made of dark wood, and the outside still has bark attached in many places. The roof is sloped and overgrown with moss and ivy. Inside the main room there is a bed, a large set of shelves which ought to have reagents and potion-making materials on them but are mostly bare, and a table on which this book sits. The washroom has a tub and a latrine—no plumbing to be found. Out back sits the remains of a garden, only one plot of which looks salvageable. A ways back into the trees there’s a creek. Most of the rest of the clearing is in the early stages of becoming overgrown, with trees and bushes and flowers starting to stretch themselves out and remembering how to be wild.
Mòrag told me the witch who was here before me was a bit of a recluse. No one in town knew very much about her, and she seemed to prefer it that way. They came to her for her healing potions and never made it past small talk and kept inviting her to parties and festivals even though she never attended. And then one day nearly everyone in town woke up with a gift from her—the farmers received her animals, the barkeep her ferments, the innkeeper and bakers her crops. As the townspeople tallied their gifts they realized it amounted to nearly everything she owned. They went together to her cottage to ask her why she’d given it all away, and found her cottage—this cottage—empty. The ensuing search turned up no body, no note, not a shred of evidence to speak of. It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air. As the townsfolk talked and wondered what had happened, they quickly realized no one knew her well enough to provide any real insight. They couldn’t even come to a consensus on what her name was.
They had quickly moved on to discussing the more pressing issue: the town was lacking a healer. The general store owner had worked with my tutor Edith in years prior (Edith loved to tell stories of the time she spent pursuing the culinary arts). Thus, the letter and thus, my presence.
Mòrag told me she hoped I might be more engaged in the community than my predecessor. I decided to refrain from telling her not to get her hopes up, and instead expressed my confusion: I’d thought this was a single gig, that I was to heal someone of their illness and then leave.
She disabused me of that notion with rather more intensity than I think was warranted.
She told me that unless my predecessor reappeared, I was all they had. She said Edith had spoken highly of my abilities in her return letter (I doubted that—Edith never spoke highly of anyone). She told me I would receive a base pay of 20 silver per cure to start, and that if I did the townsfolk well and they grew to like me, they’d most certainly be willing to pay more. She told me that the folks of Greenmoor were good people, even if they were a bit disaster-prone and some of them could make good use of a little more common sense.
And, well, how do you say no to that?
When I asked where I would be getting my materials, she told me the areas surrounding Greenmoor were rich in natural resources. So it will be as I feared. I’m glad I brought my off-road boots.
Mòrag left me to get settled in and I immediately took stock. There are no reagents on the shelves (of course not! Why would there be?), but I did find a cauldron, mortar and pestle, and a copper alembic (which is used for distilling)—so at least once I have the reagents I’ll be able to do some basic cooking with them. I also found a small leather-bound book with vague descriptions of some of the areas surrounding the village. I should be able to cross-reference it with my notes on the environments where useful reagents can be found to make searching for materials a bit less painful.
I pulled a matted tangle of weeds out of the garden plot, but it looks like whatever was planted underneath already shriveled away to nothing. Well, at least the land’s clear now.
One thing that I knew I’d need if I was going to be able to handle this was a familiar. I’ve never been one for conjuration but in this case it’s an unfortunate necessity. I was supposed to be getting one within the next few weeks at Edith’s anyway, and I already knew the process. You’re supposed to have a more experienced witch observe your first time, but that’s just academic formality—there’s nothing actually dangerous about the process.
I found what looks to be a quarter cran basket (was my predecessor into fishing…?) under the bed, and set out around the property collecting small rocks and flowers and toadstools that had the right kinds of vibration. They were for use in the ritual, but also collecting them was a good start to cleaning the property up. Because if I’m going to be living here, it cannot stay looking like this.
I took the basket into the woods near the creek and laid its contents out in a circle as wide as I was tall. Before I placed each one down, I held it for a moment and asked it to help me with my task. Then, I sat in the center of my circle and closed my eyes and tried to meditate. Clearing my head has never been my strong suit, but I’m usually able to fudge the process enough to do what needs doing. This time took a bit longer than usual but eventually I managed. I felt my energy (spirit, consciousness, whatever) radiating out from me, pink and orange and bright and loud, first to the edges of the circle and then beyond. All of it asked a single question and listened for the answer.
The response came from much closer than anticipated, when I felt something small hop onto my knee.
I opened my eyes and looked down to see a frog staring back at me, blinking lazily and making small, guttural noises. Her back was green and rough and slimy. One of her eyes was milky, pointing vaguely off to the left, while the other gazed straight at me. The tips of her toes (three on each foot) edged closer to brown than the rest of her body.
Having clearly presented herself, she now asked if my gut said we would be good partners.
I’ve named her Ailean.
And now here I am, writing all of this down. I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage this every day. Whoever reads this may have to settle for a few times a week. With that said, I do think I’d like to go back and read what my predecessor wrote. Maybe it’ll give a clue as to where she’s gone, and help me escape this position sooner. She seems to have been quite the prolific writer—getting through her logs could take months, especially if the townsfolk keep me particularly busy with their various woes. I’ll have to start reading sooner rather than later.
Speak of the devil, there’s a knock on my door. It hasn’t even been a full day and I might already have my first customer. I’ll finish this later.
⇦●〇●⇨
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fanfics4all · 4 years
Text
Painless
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Request: Yes / No 
Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Word count: 3200
Warnings: SCHOOL BOMBING, CURSING, it’s criminal minds so read at your own risk! 
Y/N: Your Name 
PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 
If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 
Masterlist 
(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)
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Another day at work. Another day of someone dead. I thought as I walked into the office. I saw everyone was already in the round table room and sighed. Another case. I put my stuff down at my desk and walked into the room. I took my seat next to my boyfriend Spencer and gave a smile at everyone. 
“Does anyone remember this picture?” Garcia asked, bringing up a picture of a man and a girl looking distressed. 
“Hotch and I were there. That’s Principal Doug Gavens. We had to drag him to safety.” Rossi said, making everyone look at him. 
“High school bombing in Boise, right?” Emily asked. 
“School shooter and school bomber.” JJ said and it triggered my memory. 
“A kid named Randy Slade shot three students and then set off an I.E.D. in the cafeteria via cell phone, killing himself and thirteen kids total, but not before posting all his plans online.” I said and Garcia nodded. 
“It was one of those “Where were you?” events. My whole campus was glued to the T.V..” JJ said. 
“Last night, Principal Givens was killed by a bomb modeled exactly like the old one.” Garcia said. 
“It feels like the unsub wants to attack the man who kept the school together after the bombing. It’s a pretty symbolic target.” Morgan said. 
“And this week is the tenth anniversary of the massacre.” Hotch said. 
“And today is the first day of a four day event to commemorate the bombing at the school.” Garcia said. 
“Except commemorating it isn’t enough for this unsub.” Emily said. 
“No. He wants to relive it.” Hotch said. We gathered our things and got on the plane. We were all sitting down and going over the case files. 
“Perpetrators of school violence are often sophisticated with their weapons. Randy Slade carried his bomb in his backpack. This guy hid his in Givens’ clock radio.” Spencer said. 
“Yeah, and progressive. Each one tries to top the body count of the one previous.”  
“And they’re loners by default, not by choice. They try to join various social groups, but they get shut out.” JJ said. 
“Randy Slade wasn’t a loner at all.” Hotch said. 
“The family cooperated fully with us. He was a high-functioning psychopath, straight-A student, varsity wrestler, lots of girlfriends.” Rossi said. 
“With an above-average intelligence that made him incredibly resourceful. His explosive of choice was Semtex.” I said looking at the files. 
“It’s found at demolition sites, but it’s held under lock and key.” Spencer said. 
“Which made us consider the possibility of a partner. Never found one.” Rossi said. 
“Slade was too much of a narcissist to share credit. But he was also an impulsive teen, which is what bothers me about this unsub.” Hotch said. 
“His sense of control?” Emily asked. 
“And the end game that he’s working toward.” Hotch answered with a nod. 
“Slade’s pathology revolved around the big kill. This unsub could have done the same if he’d waited for the candlelight vigil.” Hotch added. 
“Which means there’s no blaze of glory fantasy here. This unsub has more bombs made, and he’s savoring the anticipation of his next attack.” Rossi said. After we talked everyone moved to their own spots to think and relax before we had the hard work to do. I sat next to Spencer and smiled at him. 
“This poor town.” I said and he sighed. 
“I know, but the odds are against them in this situation.” He said and I nodded. 
“I know, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.” I said and he nodded. 
“It’s a hard thing to deal with.” He said. 
“Yeah…” I sighed. We tried to keep our minds on things that would help us, instead of how much people were hurting right now. 
As soon as we landed we dropped our stuff off at our hotel then split up. Hotch and Rossi went to the station with Emily and Morgan. Spencer, JJ and I went to the crime scene. We walked inside and it was a mess, not shocking though considering what happened. 
“Okay, so the unsub has to be tied to the school somehow, right?” JJ asked. 
“Current student, alumni, family member who lost someone…” I listed off. 
“It could be Slade groupies celebrating his hero. He taped nails to the exterior of the bomb, specifically to rip open flesh. That’s a sadistic detail of Slade’s the unsub copied.” Spencer said. 
“Except he tricked Givens into blowing himself up. A groupie probably wouldn’t show that much self-control.” JJ said. 
“But someone with an ax to grind against the principal would. Maybe he’s a surrogate for the tomenters in high school he can’t punish.” Spencer said. 
“Who were yours?” He asked us. 
“I don’t even remember.” JJ answered. 
“You don’t even remember? Wait, were you one of those mean girls?” Spencer questioned. 
“No.” JJ said. 
“Valedictorian, soccer scholarship, corn-fed, but still a size zero. I think that you might have been a mean girl.” Spencer said. 
“Spence.” I said. 
“I was actually one of the nice girls, even to guys like you.” JJ answered and I shook my head. There was no stopping this now. 
“Guys like me? I’ll have you know that my social standing increased once I started winning at basketball.” Spencer said, I always forget that he coached basketball. 
“Oh yeah? You played basketball?” JJ asked. 
“Actually he coached it.” I answered. 
“You coached it?” She asked. 
“Yeah, I broke down the opposing team’s shooting strategy.” He said. 
“Is that why Morgan kicked you two out of the pool last week?” She asked. 
“Yeah, it took him three rounds to realize we were hustling him.” I answered with a laugh. 
“Huh.” She said and we went back to looking at the crime scene. As soon as we were done looking we got a call about another murder. So we made our way there. The three of us looked around and JJ decided to call Hotch and tell him.
“You’re on speaker JJ.” Hotch answered. 
“So, we might have another one.” She said. 
“Might?” He asked. 
“One of the North Valley alumni was killed in her motel room.” She answered. 
“No bomb or gun this time. Looks like he used his bare hands.” I added. 
“You got a name?” Hotch asked. 
“Chelsea Grant.” Spencer answered. 
The next day Spencer and I returned to the crime scene with Hotch. It was good to come back and look at it with fresh eyes. 
“The unsub crushed Chelsea’s throat so she couldn’t scream, then he pulverized her ribs, sending fragments of bone into her heart.” Spencer said. 
“Principal Givens was high-profile. Chelsea wasn’t. Right now the only thing connecting them is they’re both on the kill list.” Hotch said. 
“A list that Brandon kept secret for ten years, but he was in custody when this happened. So the question is, how did the unsub get the exact same list?” I asked. 
“Well, we ruled out a partner, but not conclusively.” Hotch said. 
“Slade made every part of his plan public. It doesn’t make sense that he would hide a partner.” Spencer said. 
“He didn’t want to share the credit. And this weekend is the partner’s best chance to claim it.” Hotch said. 
“Let’s go back to the station, we have a profile to deliver.” He said and we followed him. 
When we got back to the station we gathered everyone up and we were ready to deliver the profile. 
“Partners of dominant psychopaths are usually submissive, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be intelligent or that they’re physically weak.” Hotch said. 
“This unsub laid low after the bombing and successfully evaded police and FBI. That took cunning and patience, which he’s exhibiting now with his current murders.” Morgan said. 
“We think he fits the loner profile Slade debunked. He grew up in an abusive home, which kept him from forming the normal social bonds in high school.” JJ said. 
“We interviewed all the outcasts from back then. How did this guy slip through?” Chief Cole asked. 
“Even outcasts eventually form friendships. But this unsub was the outcast the outcasts rejected.” Spencer said. 
“Exactly, he won’t stand out in any capacity, and as a matter of fact, most of his fellow students probably won’t even remember graduating with him.” I said. 
“And that invisibility is what made him attractive to Slade. This partner wouldn’t steal the spotlight.” Rossi said. 
“Slade targeted the cafeteria because most of the names on his list ate there together during fifth period.” Spencer said. 
“So his hatred festered when the names on the list emerged from the cafeteria as media heroes. And now he wants to finish the job that Randy started.” Morgan said. 
“Emotionally, this weekend is more a high school reunion to him than a memorial. We go to reunions to show who we grew up to be. Often that means changing everything about who we were.” Rossi said. 
“Consciously or not, Randy Slade revealed clues as to his partner’s identity when he detonated his bomb. Agent Prentiss will be conducting cognitive interviews to see what the survivors might remember.” Hotch said. We answered a few questions the cops had then went on to try and work out who this guy could be. Emily was with the survivors now working on them. 
“So, as you can see from your board there, this kill list is weirdly similar to high school. 
“Group on is like the popular kids, prom court, football team, dean’s list. The Heathers, if you will.” Garcia said. 
“Kids in Slade’s social circle.” Hotch said. 
“What about number two?” JJ asked. 
“Uh, mmhmm, that would be the kids from the other side of the tracks, 180-degree difference, kids this close to getting kicked out, Stoners, burnouts, mental cases. Chelsea Grant is on this list.” Garcia said. 
“Maybe Slade targeted them because they disgusted him?” JJ asked while Spencer’s phone was ringing. We have been doing a lot of that since we got here. 
“But they didn’t threaten Slade’s sense of superiority. He wouldn’t have even cared about them.” Hotch said as we ignored Spencer’s phone. 
“So maybe the partner put them on the list. They’d be closer to his social status than Slade’s.” I said as Spencer’s phone stopped ringing. 
“Why would the-” Spencer was cut off by his phone ringing again. 
“I’m so sorry.” He said, taking his phone out and hung up. 
“Why would the unsub list kids that he fit in with?” Spencer asked, putting his phone away again. 
“Apparently that’s how this clique worked. The kids in it were meaner to each other than kids on the outside. Garcia, separate out all the kids who got into trouble regularly. Then eliminate the names that the partner put on the list. Now, who’s left that came to the memorial?” Hotch asked. 
“Right. Whoever made the list wouldn’t put their name on it. Uh… sir, I think- I think I’ve got him. His name is Lewis Ramsey.” Garcia said. 
“Where is he?” Hotch asked. 
“Uhh… According to his cell phone he’s at a local bar.” She answered. 
“Send it to Morgan’s phone.” Hotch ordered and called him. Morgan brought him in and him and Hotch started interviewing him. Once they were done they told the rest of us. 
“You buy it?” Emily asked. 
“He fits the profile, and the evidence points to him, but he seems sincere.” Hotch said. 
“He’s not the unsub. He was the partner, but look at how Slade added “All the losers in this Godforsaken school.” This capitalization isn’t an accident. Look.” Spencer said and wrote it on the white board. 
“L-S-R, Lewis Stuart Ramsey.” He said. 
“So Slade named his own partner.” I said. 
“Ironically, Lewis’ marijuana addiction saved his life.” He said with a nod. 
“Well, that puts us back to our original problem. If the unsub isn’t the partner, how did he get his hands on a list that Slade and Lewis kept to themselves?” I asked. 
“The only answer is that part of the profile is wrong. The unsub’s vendetta has nothing to do with the list. Did you get anything from Jerry Holtz?” Hotch asked Emily. 
“Only that he mixed up the cell phones that Slade used. It felt like he was making the story up, but I only had a hunch.” Emily said. 
“We need to find him now. There’s a connection to the victimology that we’re missing. Whatever he’s holding back might be the key.” Hotch said. We found Jerry, but he was dead. He was killed at the school. We made our way there and Emily met us there. 
“Jerry Holtz? How long?” She asked. 
“Less than an hour. Security guard heard the commotion, but the unsub was already gone.” JJ answered. 
“The only people who knew we were doing the cognitive interviews were the other survivors. The unsub must be part of that group.” Emily said. 
“Well, we don’t know that for a fact. He could have been lying in wait.” I said. 
“Look, Hotch wants me to go through the victims’ lives and find the overlaps. We can compare their histories with the unsub’s.” JJ said. 
“What else do we have to go on?” Emily asked, looking at Spencer and I. 
“Spence said the unsub would have broken his hand beating Chelsea to death. Did you notice anyone with a cast on their hand, someone who seemed hurt?” JJ asked. 
“No.” Emily shook her head. 
“I might know why.” Spencer said and we all looked at him. 
“This unsub doesn’t feel pain.” He said. 
“You mean he has pain asymbolia?” I asked and he nodded.
“We need to get back to the station. Spencer told them about his theorie and no one understood what he was saying.  
“In english for the other people in the room.” Morgan asked. 
“There’s a medical condition called pain asymbolia, where patients register harmful stimuli without being bothered by it. They’ve been documented holding their hand over an open flame because their brain doesn’t send pain signals to the central nervous system.” Spencer explained. 
“Sounds pretty rare. You sure the unsub has it?” Rossi asked. 
“The crime scenes prove it. Once Spencer said it, everything clicked. He displayed an unusual level of savagery towards his victims. And consider this, he smashed through a glass display case, but there were no cuts on Jerry. That means he most likely punched through it as a show of force.” I said. 
“Now, the only way the human body could withstand that level of pain is if he couldn’t feel it at all.” Spencer added. 
“It must take a major toll on someone’s emotional development.” Rossi said and Spencer’s phone rang… again. 
“A significant contributor to our sense of empathy is the way we personally experience pain.” Morgan said and Spencer silenced his phone again. 
“And the unsub didn’t develop his sense of empathy because it was cut off. Does every person with Asymbolia have this?” Hotch asked. 
“Actually, most feel empathy just fine, which makes me think the rest of our profile is still accurate. Loner, invisible, outcast, boiling rage- Son of a bitch!” Spencer said, pulling out his ringing cell phone and answered it. I notice Morgan trying to hide a smirk. 
“Hi! This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is-” 
“Reid.” Hotch cut him off and he hung up. 
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Where were we?” He asked, putting his phone away. 
“I’m going to have Garcia check medical records. Uh, what causes Asymbolia?” Hotch asked. 
“Ssss- Severe trauma produces lesions on the insular cortex, usually after a stroke but this unsub’s so young, it’s most likely caused by an external factor.” Spencer said looking at Morgan the whole time. 
“Like a bomb going off next to him?” Rossi asked. 
“Yeah, like a bomb going off next to him.” He repeated at Morgan. Morgan just smirked and Hotch walked off to talk to Garcia. 
“I will crush you.” Spencer whispered. 
“What?” Morgan asked. 
“What?” Spencer repeated and walked off. I looked at Rossi and shook my head with a smirk. 
“You two are seriously pranking each other while on a case?” I asked and Morgan just smiled. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said and I shook my head again. I swear these two… 
JJ and Emily came by a little later with some new information. JJ was rearranging some pictures on the board. We looked on with confusion. 
“Recognize the top ten?” JJ asked. 
“No.” Hotch answered. 
“They were the students that went in front of the cameras after the bombing.” She answered. 
“I thought all the surviving students were interviewed?” I asked.
“After the initial aftermath, yes, but these are the kids that went on talk shows, traveled to other schools. My guess is that they didn’t self-select who made the cut.” JJ said. 
“Principal Givens did.” Hotch said. 
“That’s why the unsub killed him first. He was an outcast who wanted to fit in. Being a survivor should have been his golden ticket.” She said. 
“But he was excluded again, and that’s why he’s killing them.” I said. 
“Yeah. The rules of high school never changed, not even after a tragedy.” JJ said. Hotch’s phone rang and he put it on speaker. 
“Go ahead, Garcia.” He said. 
“Hey, listen up. I crossed-referenced student files with medical records. Now, there were six kids that were knocked unconscious in that blast, but only one fit the outcast profile. His name is Robert Adams, and he just used his credit card at a local restaurant, the address of which I just sent you right now.” She said. 
“I’m on my way.” Hotch said looking at us. Hotch gathered everyone up and JJ and I stayed back. When they came back Robert wasn’t with them. Hotch had to shoot him, there was no other way this was going to end. Once we got everything sorted we got on the plane to go home. I was sitting next to Spencer, who was resting his head on my shoulder while I read a book. We were sitting across from Morgan and Emily, Morgan was listening to music and Emily was reading a paper. He took his headphones off and we heard Spencer screaming from them. 
“Okay, kid, that was cute. But that’s all you got?” Morgan asked him, he was very clearly pretending to be asleep. Morgan’s cell ran and he answered it. 
“Hey baby girl-” He was cut off by Spencer screaming coming through his phone. Spencer had a smile on his face and Rossi held up a white napkin. 
“Uh-uh. Alright, Reid, it’s on. Just know that paybacks are a bitch.” Morgan said. Spencer just responded with snoring. I shook my head at the two of them. 
“You started this Morgan, it’s your own fault.” I said with a slight laugh. 
“Of course you’re taking his side, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes. 
“Well I am dating him, so yes I’m taking his side.” I said and Rossi chuckled. 
Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches2 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @softgamerking @lady-of-lies @simonsbluee @ravenmoore14 @maynardqueen101 @pettyjayy​ @reidssmile​ @currentfangirl-futuremedexaminer 
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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years
Text
Fic: Days to Change a Lifetime
AU-gust Day Six: Hospital AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle
Rated: T
Content Warning: Cancer, character death, terminal illness.
Summary: Mr Gold has a chance encounter with Belle French in the palliative ward, and they get to know each other over the last few days of her life.
Note: As you can probably tell from the summary, this does not have a happy ending.
Days to Change a Lifetime
Gold had always hated hospitals, and he could not for the life of him figure out how his chosen profession had led him to spend so much time in them. When he had decided to become a lawyer, he had reckoned on spending his entire working life in an office. He had not anticipated so many hospital visits. He had definitely not envisaged spending quite so much time in hospice units and palliative care wards.
He was a victim of his own success in a way, having gained a reputation for being good at handling cases involving wills, living wills and medical power of attorney, which was why, on this particular fateful Friday afternoon, he had found himself once more in a palliative care ward. That was how he met her. 
Belle.
He wasn’t sure that he would have noticed her if she had not been looking directly at him and he hadn’t seen that she had the most brilliant blue eyes he’d ever witnessed. Despite her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes, and the gauntness of her face where her illness had taken its toll, her eyes were still bright and mesmerising. 
The second thing that he noticed about her was that she was so comparatively young. Death didn’t discriminate, he knew that, but the patients he met on this type of ward in these types of grim circumstances tended to be a little older.
The third thing that he noticed was that she was alone. Most people had someone by their side during these final days, but she was on her own, and there was no evidence that she had ever had visitors. There were no personal touches in her room, no signs of the life that she’d led. She seemed so desolate, lying there in an impersonal room with no company, and that was what kept him arrested in her doorway, both of them looking at each other and both of them waiting for the next step to be taken. 
“Hi,” he said eventually. 
She smiled. “Hi.”
“Do you…” God, he was making a fool of himself and he’d probably have a nurse telling him to move along and stop disturbing the patients in a minute. “Would you like some company for a bit?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She paused. “Don’t you have your own family here though?”
Gold shook his head. “No, I’m a lawyer. I have a client here, but the meeting is over now.” He came into the room and sat down in the chair beside the bed, feeling more awkward now than he had done when he had been hovering outside. It had been a spur of the moment offer and now he had no idea what they were supposed to talk about. How did one go about starting a casual conversation with a dying woman?
“My name’s Belle.”
“Everyone calls me Gold.”
“Nice to meet you, Gold. It’s bone cancer, by the way. It’s in my spine and inoperable. Just thought I’d get that out there to save you wondering but not wanting to ask personal questions. You look like a gentleman like that.”
“Right. Thank you.” They sat in silence for a few minutes as Gold digested this, no knowing whether it had made things more or less awkward. The silence was companionable at least, and there was no huge rush to fill it. Perhaps, for Belle, knowing that she wasn’t alone was enough.
Presently she spoke. “So, you’re not from round here either?”
“Pardon?”
“Your accent. Scotland, right?”
Gold nodded. “Yes, although I haven’t lived there for over forty years.”
“It’s impressive that you’ve managed to keep your accent all this time. I’ve only been here eight years and I’m already picking up a twang.” 
Belle laughed, and it was good to hear it in such oppressive settings. Sometimes Gold felt that laughter was almost forbidden in these places, as if laughing and making the best and happiest time of the bleak situation was somehow not taking it seriously enough. Belle’s laugh was genuine and musical, and it was the most cheerful thing that Gold had heard in this area of the hospital on all his recent visits. 
“You’re from Australia originally, yes?”
“Right on the money. I grew up in Melbourne. I decided that I wanted to see the world, but then I fell in love with Boston and I ended up staying here. What about you? If you’ve been here for so long then I take it you didn’t have much choice in coming to America.”
“No, I came with my father. I was seven.”
“Do you ever want to go back?” There was a wistful tone in Belle’s voice, a yearning for a home that was now unreachable however much she might not have missed it before. 
“Not really. I was so young when I left, and I have no family there. My entire life is here in Boston. What about you? You must have more ties there.”
He didn’t want to ask about her family, not when she clearly didn’t have anyone here in Boston with her right now. 
Belle sighed. “It’s not so much the people I miss as the places. All the memories from my childhood, places where I used to get ice cream and stuff. I guess you just sort of get nostalgic sometimes, especially when it’s out of reach.”
Gold definitely wasn’t going to ask about her family now, and he wondered where to turn the conversation. Luckily, Belle seemed more than happy for him to talk about himself.
“How did you get into law? And specifically, law that takes you into palliative wards?”
He told her the story of how he had got into his particular line almost by accident, and he was amazed by how animatedly she listened, taking everything in and showing a genuine interest in something that most conversation partners decried as horrifically dull. 
“What about you?” he said eventually. “What do you do?”
It was strange to use the present tense when she clearly wasn’t doing anything and wouldn’t be doing it again in the future, but framing it as if everything was already over seemed callous, rubbing it in her face that her life was nearing its end and far before its time. As much as he did not like spending time in hospitals, and as much as his non-medical clients and colleagues might accuse him of harshness, he had picked up a lot in terms of tact. 
“I’m a librarian. I’ve always loved books. I think I love them more than people sometimes. Honestly, that’s been one of the things that’s annoyed me most about being in here. I can’t concentrate to read; the drugs make the words swim. Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that the drugs take away the pain, but I’d really like to be able to read.”
Gold looked at the book resting on the nightstand. 
“Her Handsome Hero. I’ve never read it, what’s it about?”
“Oh, it’s my absolute favourite. You’d probably hate it, it’s full of romance and melodrama, but it’s a good adventure story too. There’s this young boy named Gideon, who discovers that he’s part of a prophecy and destined to be a great hero who’ll save the trapped princess.”
It certainly didn’t sound like Gold’s type of book, but it was good to see Belle so excited about it.
“I could read to you if you like.” Where was this offer coming from? He’d only just met the woman and she was going to think he was completely weird if he carried on in this vein. 
“Would you?” She took the book and held it out to him. “You probably think it’s silly, I mean, I’ve read it so many times that I can probably recite it word for word, but it never fails to transport me.”
Gold opened the first page of the book and began to read. He had no appointments for the rest of the afternoon; he could stay here until the nurses kicked him out if Belle wanted him to, and he found that he didn’t mind that prospect at all. 
He had read through the first chapter and was getting quite invested in the story when he looked up and saw that Belle had dropped off to sleep. Quietly, Gold closed the book and placed it on the nightstand, making to move away and leave her in peace. He was at the doorway when she spoke, her voice soft and sleepy.
“Will you come again?” she asked. “It’s really nice to have company.”
Gold nodded, although Belle’s eyes were still closed. “Of course.”
X
“They’re beautiful, thank you!”
Gold only realised once he had entered the room that he had nowhere to put down the large bunch of sunflowers that he had brought with him, and he stood there holding them awkwardly for a while until a passing nurse took pity on him and went to fetch a vase. 
“Well, everyone else has them, and I didn’t want you to be the odd one out. I thought that they might give you something a bit more interesting to look at.”
Belle nodded. “Yeah, I have to say that I’m not thrilled with the colour scheme in here.” She looked around at the teal walls. “Why is it always teal? Did a paint manufacturer overdo an order once and all the hospitals in the country decided to take advantage?”
“Definitely.” Gold sat down in the chair beside the bed, and he was surprised when Belle reached out and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were bony and there was not a lot of strength in her grip, but he squeezed back, being gifted with Belle’s wonderful smile in return. When she smiled, it was easy to forget just how ill she was. 
She stayed holding his hand for a long time whilst they talked, until she finally let go and Gold felt almost bereft. Belle picked up the book. 
“Would you read another chapter, please? I really like listening to your voice; you read aloud well.”
Gold took the book from her. “It would be my pleasure.”
They got into a routine over the next week or so. Gold would visit Belle in an afternoon and read to her until she fell asleep. Sometimes that took longer than others; there were occasions where he’d barely got a page or two in before she was back in an exhausted slumber, but sometimes they made it through a couple of chapters. It was one of Belle’s better afternoons when it happened. 
Gold didn’t know what had made him stop reading in the middle of a sentence, other than the look in Belle’s eyes. She was watching him, rather than staring off into the middle distance as she did so many times, imagining the events of the story unfolding in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Belle shook her head with a smile. “Nothing. I think you like this book a lot more than you let on, you know.”
“Well, I don’t dislike it. It’s really not my style, but it’s not bad.”
“You say that every day.”
“It’s still true every day.”
Belle laughed, although there was a lot less power in it than there had been at the beginning of their acquaintance. Gold’s stomach churned; he didn’t want to think about that. 
“You know, I think it will grow on you.”
They fell into silence for a moment, just watching each other. Belle’s tongue darted out to lick her dry lips, and Gold found himself leaning in a little closer. She gave a little nod of encouragement, and he pressed his lips against hers. It was a soft kiss, dry and chaste, but it was given and received in something a little more than just friendship. 
Belle smiled as he broke away, a tired but happy smile. 
“Maybe no more for today,” she said, glancing at the book. “Tomorrow?”
Gold nodded. “Till tomorrow.”
X
Although Gold had known to expect it from the moment that he had first met Belle, and although he’d been feeling a deep sense of foreboding ever since their kiss, it did not stop him being completely unprepared for walking into the hospital that next afternoon and finding Belle’s room empty. 
“Mr Gold?”
He turned, ashen and unable to speak, to find the nurse who took care of Belle most often hovering behind him. Her Handsome Hero was clutched against her chest, and she held it out. 
“She wanted you to have this.”
They’d only got halfway through the story, and even though he’d admitted several times that it was definitely not his type of book, Gold wanted to know how it ended. He took it from the nurse, picking up the note that fell out. 
Dear Gold,
Astrid is writing this for me as my hands are shaking too much. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, despite your reservations about the romance. 
Thank you so much for being here these last few days. You made me remember what it is to feel alive. Please don’t lose sight of that.
All my love and best wishes,
Belle
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iya5rt · 5 years
Text
Kalopsia Project [Bakugo Katsuki x Reader – Tokyo Ghoul AU]
Chapter 2 – How to Find a Part-Time Job
Chapter Summary: You awaken in an unfamiliar place, only to immediately face the threat of being killed for all you’ve learned. Or so you’re told…
Kalopsia Project Masterpost
***
Glossary:
Ukaku – one of the four types (each with their unique set of strengths and weaknesses), into which kagune can be separated. An ukaku kagune is spread out like feathers and is released from the shoulder area, it specializes in high speed attacks, most of the users seeming to have highly enhanced speed.
(excerpts taken from the Tokyo Ghoul Wiki)
***
It was a chilly night, though not untypical for the early fall weather. A handful of street lamps were casting their dim light on the narrow sidewalks, while most had long stopped working, as if whoever was responsible for them had given up on fixing them.
Aside from a handful of convenience stores and the occasional lively bar, all the windows in the area were dark as well. After all, few places remained open for so long.
This applied for the small cafe at the corner of the street too. Due to an unexpected visit by some special customers (the manager had offered them their help, whenever they would struggle finding food by themselves), its working hours had run a little late tonight.
Fortunately, it was already a Friday anyway, and the single student employee that had stayed behind to help his boss had no classes to attend the next day. He was even making up for his tardy childhood friend who, despite promising to come in and help out today, hadn’t shown up all evening. Though it was already passing 9PM, the two were finally almost finished with the clean-up after the long day.
They were so ready to go home.
That was until a wild banging on the door echoed throughout the cafe.
The two exchanged suspicious looks, but the manager moved in to open. His eyes went wide when he found a bruised and scraped up Bakugo panting at the doorway.
Not to mention the unconscious bleeding girl in his arms…
***
Midoriya let out a deep sigh, as he walked into the lounge room, plopping down on a chair and massaging his temple. He had not anticipated the day ending with him having to take care of a wounded human in the middle of the night. At least he was finally putting that first year of med school to use. He couldn’t help but wonder what the other two would have done, had he not volunteered to stay after closing tonight.
Speaking of the other two, he finally opened his eyes to find them looking at him expectedly. He shrugged, clearing his throat.
“She’ll live. Kacchan brought her just in time, since she had lost a lot of blood. Thank god we had some stored in here, since I kinda doubt that’s common for other cafes.” He shifted in his seat, and took to looking somewhere to the side. Gosh, he was tired. “By some miracle, whoever attacked her missed any tricky spots. So I’m guessing she will make a quick recovery, though it’s going to leave a nasty scar. That’s about it, to be honest. But...”
His eyes moved to Bakugo, who seemed to stiffen in response. He wasn’t acting like his usual self and Midoriya was a little concerned.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Kacchan but… that wound – it was inflicted by a ghoul, wasn’t it? With how clean it was, it probably wasn’t your ukaku either. Not to mention how you suspiciously didn’t show up today, despite promising Aizawa-san you would. What… happened?”
The third man in the room cleared his throat, reminding the others of his presence.
“What Midoriya just said. I’m not sure if you really understand this but you brought a human here. You saved her life too. I don’t plan to discuss whether this was the right choice or not but the fact is, it’s not the kind of choice you would make, Bakugo.” Aizawa crossed his arms and waited.
Bakugo meanwhile let out a small ‘tch’ and looked to the side.
“Who cares? I know her from some classes at school. Some sloppy binge-eater transferred and asked her out on a date or whatever. I don’t know, the guy just got on my nerves all the time. What does it matter, I kicked his ass and he ran away with his tail between his legs. He just so happened to be attacking her. I didn’t mean to save anybody.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Aizawa muttered and sighed when Bakugo shot him a glare. “That still doesn’t answer our first question – why did you bring her here? What were you thinking? You could’ve just left her there, you know? Someone would have called an ambulance sooner or later.”
Both pairs of eyes were now locked onto Bakugo, as if piercing numerous holes in his already shaky reasoning. He opened his mouth to answer but his words got caught in his throat. Or rather, he had nothing to say in the first place. He was still trying to figure out that answer himself. Instead, he growled as he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against.
“I told you – who cares!? I brought her here – what of it, dammit!?” With that, he stormed off, slamming the door behind him.
Though their gazes remained locked where Bakugo had just been standing, Midoriya and Aizawa came to the silent agreement not to push it any further. For now.
***
Though it was a slow process, you were becoming vaguely aware of your consciousness. One by one, your senses were returning to you.
The smell of freshly-washed sheets, the muffled sound of voices and the faint ringing in your ears. You couldn’t quite see anything yet, as you were still too tired to force your eyes open. The pillow you had drowsed off on was soft and all you wanted right now was to snuggle yourself against it.
When you made a small move to readjust one of your arms that was going numb due to your odd sleeping position, a sharp pain coursed through your shoulder, spreading to the rest of your arm, effectively numbing it further. You winced at the sudden feeling.
What was this all about?
The pain, which still had yet to fully subside, had awoken you completely, and you opened your eyes to try and figure out what was wrong with your shoulder.
You quickly forgot about that when you noticed you were on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.
You furrowed your brows, trying to adjust to the sudden light hitting your eyes and just as you glanced at the door, a head of curly green hair seemed to peak in. The freckled boy noticed you were now awake and jumped.
“Kacchan – she’s- she’s up!” he called out, before disappearing somewhere beyond the door.
Your heart sank. You’d never seen this person in your life. And this Kacchan he was speaking of? Surely you would have remembered if you’d met someone with a peculiar name like that.
You were most certainly not at home. And you feared something bad had happened to you.
Gritting your teeth through the rest of the pain, you somehow pushed yourself to sit up in the bed, only now realizing your right shoulder was neatly bandaged. You also noticed some more band-aids all across your body, as if you had been in a brutal fight and had been covered in cuts and bruises.
Though that certainly would have explained your awful backache and how heavy your head felt.
But knowing yourself, you would have never gotten in a fight in the first place. Nor would you have let yourself get so drunk so as to forget what could have happened to leave you in such a sorry state.
What was I even doing all day today…?
Let’s see, I had my morning classes. Then I went straight home to… uh… Ah, that’s right – I had a date with Monoma-kun tonight! So I went out, ran into Bakugo-kun, met up with Monoma-kun after which…
After which I…
You grasped a hand over your mouth. Your eyes seemed to water at just the thought.
It all came flooding back in a matter of seconds. All the images and all the terror.
You had… almost gotten yourself killed.
No, not just killed – eaten. Monoma had been the binge-eater you had been hearing about on TV in the recent weeks, and you had been chosen as his next victim.
Your breathing quickened, as the air in your lungs wasn’t nearly enough anymore. You became increasingly aware of the pain in your shoulder and your head was already spinning.
You were hyperventilating.
The boy who’d peeked in the room a minute or so earlier, returned just in time to bring you back to earth. Upon noticing your shaking form, he’d dropped the towels he’d been carrying and had rushed over to your side, hesitantly placing a hand on your back.
“Hey, hey, [L/N]-san, please calm down. Everything is okay, you’re safe now. Safe, okay? I’m here to help you, please don’t worry...” he spoke gently, rubbing circles in your back. Before long, he had helped you steady your breathing once again, stepping back from you with a relieved sigh. “See? I told you – there’s no reason to worry!” he smiled as he went to retrieve the towels he had dropped at the door.
He started folding them again, only to realize he would need new ones anyway, and discarded them on the sofa instead.
“Where… am I?” you muttered weakly, still a bit afraid to hear the answer. What if you had gotten kidnapped? If you were being held captive!? All the bad options were running through your head.
“Yuuei. I thought I told you that already.” Another person appeared at the door. You jumped at the unexpected voice but this time you easily recognized its owner.
Bakugo Katsuki. The ghoul who had…
You gasped. Your first instinct was to crawl back and as far away from him as you could, though your back had hit the wall before you could get very far. You cursed whoever had placed this bed beside it.
Bakugo looked shocked at your immediate fear and his crossed arms fell by his sides. Had that… hurt him?
A new memory surfaced in your mind, and with it, your eyes lit up with recognition once again.
“You… you saved me?” Though it was a question, Bakugo neither confirmed, nor denied it. Instead he only walked into the room and lazily threw himself onto the couch, besides Midoriya’s now useless towels. You decided to take that as a ‘yes’. But then… “Why…?”
He snapped.
“Why is everybody asking me this goddamn question today!?” he raised his voice and you flinched. Bakugo however noticed this, and lowered his voice. “It doesn’t matter – what’s done is done. If anything, you should be thanking me.”
“She might not be thanking you for long though.” A new pair of footsteps entered the room.
Jeez, your head hurt enough already. You weren’t sure how many more unfamiliar faces you could deal with tonight. The man who had just entered had unruly black hair and impressive bags under his equally as tired eyes. He did however seem to speak with a sense of authority, despite the monotonous tone of his voice.
“My name is Aizawa Shota. I’m the manager of this place. That right there,” he motioned towards the green-head who had taken a seat in the chair beside your bed. “Is Midoriya. He and Bakugo work here. And now, the less fun part.”
Midoriya looked down, as if already knowing what his manager was going to say. Bakugo on the other hand, insisted on staring off somewhere into the distance.
“Since Bakugo has slipped up and let out his little secret, it wouldn’t take a genius to take that to its logical conclusion, considering that the two of us are helping him right now. Naturally, this means you’ve been let in on a few touchy subjects you should probably be killed for.”
You paled. Was… was this guy for real…? He didn’t even give the tears enough time to form in the corners of your eyes, before he continued.
“However, Bakugo here seems awfully insistent on letting you live for whatever reason.” Your gaze briefly wondered to him, though he caught you staring and frowned. All the while, you were slowly putting all the pieces of the puzzle together.
“So you… you two are also ghouls, like Bakugo-kun...” You looked to Midoriya, who nodded hesitantly. “And this… this ‘Yuuei’ place is a cafe run by ghouls, for ghouls…? Is that right?”
“We serve humans too, of course,” Aizawa corrected, while you nodded.
“So, I, a human, now know all about this… After being saved by you nonetheless.” You looked down at your lap. You weren’t sure if you felt bad for having those three help you so selflessly, or whether you were afraid this Aizawa person was going to ignore Bakugo and have you killed regardless.
“A lot of effort was put into keeping you alive these past few hours, between Bakugo rescuing you and Midoriya treating your wounds. It would be a waste to throw it all away.” Your eyes widened. “But you have to realize that your only choice now is to take this secret to your grave.”
Aizawa turned away and walked towards the door, only to stop right before opening it.
“Of course, if you think that will be too much for you, you could save us the trouble of having to hunt you down later and just let us know right away. We’ll make it quick for you.”
For the next few seconds the only sound in the room was that of the door creaking open (they really had to fix it, huh?), while you thought.
The choice was obvious – you were not about to get yourself killed right after being saved. It’s almost as if you had just been given a second chance and you did not intend to blow it. Because here was the thing about second chances – they didn’t come around all that often.
All of Monoma’s previous victims? They hadn’t been given a second chance. No, they had been mercilessly slaughtered right there and then.
Why were you of all people different then? Why did you get to alive? You weren’t sure. But… but you wanted to find out. To give your second chance at life a purpose and a meaning.
“I...” you spoke before Aizawa could fully close the door behind him. As such, he stopped to listen. You mentally slapped yourself when you realized you hadn’t thought how to continue. So you did the same thing you had done when you had put the clues together to discover what Monoma was – run your mouth without thinking. Because that had ended well for you last time.
“I really am grateful for everything you have done for me.” You bowed your head. “In fact, I feel like I have to repay you somehow. Ghouls or not, you saved my life and I will forever owe you for this. If… if there is a way...” You lifted up your head and returned a confident look at Aizawa. “If there is anything that I can do for you, please let me know right away.”
No one dared to utter another word.
Until Midoriya broke the silence, that is.
“E-eeeeh!?”
***
An hour later, an agreement had been made.
Aizawa had offhandedly mentioned that they needed a new waitress anyway, leaving the three kids in a stunned silence, as he shut the door in their faces.
Bakugo had been instructed to stay with the girl until she fell asleep again, just to make sure she was not reopening her wounds. Midoriya had promised to stay overnight as well, in case further complications were to arise.
He had taken to cleaning up the room where they had first treated [F/N], as it had been left a mess of medical tools, bloody bandages, and even a few stains on the floor. One could’ve even thought it looked a little like a murder scene. Good thing they had moved [F/N] to a cleaner, less traumatic-looking room.
That’s when his manager had walked in.
“Midoriya?”
“Y-yes, sir?”
“What is it? You seemed to have a question on your mind earlier.” He must have been referring to how shocked he’d looked when Aizawa had announced that he did not plan on getting rid of [F/N] quite yet. Midoriya nodded and spoke, as he returned to sweeping the floor
“Well, uh… How do I put this… It’s not that I’m disagreeing with your decision, sir. I was just surprised – this is the first time we’ve ever let a human know about Yuuei, let alone join us here. And umm, this one might be a little strange but...” Midoriya recalled when Bakugo had first brought [F/N] to them. There had been something very peculiar about the girl. “She has this… weird scent. I’ve never met a human like this before. Though it’s not that of a ghoul either. It’s just… odd?”
“Right. I forgot you and Bakugo had a keener sense of smell. I didn’t really notice anything but I will take your word for it. I’ll have to ask Bakugo about it later too.” Aizawa seemed to consider for a second. “For now, you should call him in the morning. Explain the situation and let’s see what he has to say about this. If he decides it’s fine, we’ll have her stay with us. And if not...” His eyes darkened.
“Let’s… let’s hope it doesn’t come to that… I’m sure he wouldn’t mind – he’s always been so open-minded when it came to humans. Then again, if I were him, I’d surely feel the same.”
Throwing the last of the bloody bandages into the trash, Midoriya finally straightened up, looking off into the distance with a hopeful smile.
“Plus, Kacchan seems to trust her. And if I have learned anything in the years that I’ve known him, it’s that his judgment's always on the mark.”
It had been a long day, a long evening, which had then stretched into a long night. For you, for Bakugo, for Yuuei’s Midoriya and Aizawa too.
But it was the beginning of an even longer story. The story of how you found yourself surrounded by those you had been taught to fear all your life and accepted as a part of their second home.
This was the story of how you – [L/N] [F/N], first met the ghouls that would forever change your life.
***
[CLASSIFIED INFORMATION]
Protocol K78152112
Subject #11
Real Name: N/A
Background: Unknown; presumed to have run away from home.
Results: Body mutations; accelerated muscle tissue development; loss of sight.
Changes were successful but short-lived; subject died of internal injuries.
(scribbled in pen) The closest to success we’ve gotten so far, I guess.
***
Author’s Note: And here we get into the new stuff. As you might have noticed, I decided to replace the original “Anteiku” with “Yuuei”, since I thought it would be fitting. I personally prefer the spelling UA but this just works, you know?
We got to meet Aizawa and Midoriya this week, and we’ll certainly encounter a handful of other characters next week! Fair warning – not everyone from the original BNHA cast is here, but a handful of them will show up! Hope you’re looking forward to it!
Anyway, thank you so much for reading – it would mean the world to me if you left a comment too!! Have a nice week and I’ll be back next Wednesday!
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shittyelfwriter · 5 years
Text
Nightmare
Pairing: Unrequited Castiel x fem!reader, established Dean x reader!sister, Sam x reader!other sister
Word count: 8.3k, one-shot
Summary: Your sisters had made a deal to save Sam and Dean. You had made another deal, with Crowley’s help, to save your sisters. No one had seen it coming when you went missing, but even less had they expected to find you as a shadow of your former self.
Warnings: Usual spn levels of angst, trauma, demon deals, etc.
A/N: Sort of sourced from an old rp I did, and loosely off of Nightmare by Halsey. Another song fic, literally no one is surprised anymore (oof.) I’ve been extremely sick this week as I’ve been working on this, so apologies in advance if it isn’t as coherent as I think? Also apologies since tumbles apparently took away the line break feature and I’ve yet to find a way to fix that. I’ve made an attempt at line breaking in the meantime, we’ll see how it goes. 
More of my writing (masterlist)
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You’d just been so desperate.
There hadn’t been a lot of time to think through what you were doing—there never was with this sort of thing, was there? All you knew is that your sisters had sold their souls for those Winchester boys, and now they owed theirs as debt. You weren’t surprised, exactly. It was just like them to sacrifice for the men they loved, and who loved them in return—they had done the same for the girls before, right? It was a stupid mess, but serious.
And with three days left before their time was up, and no other viable options on the table, you knew what you needed to do.
Oddly enough, you weren’t the type to have enemies. Of your sisters, you were the most polite, and quiet. Innocent, if you wanted to put it that way. For all of your connections to Sam and Dean, you weren’t hated in the supernatural world—if anything, monsters knew not to cross you because if anything happened to you, they’d be shooting themselves in the foot. You only believed in hunting when necessary; preferring to help creatures find ways to live without killing humans. Oftentimes you vouched for the odd vampire, or demon, even angel from time to time—which was perhaps why you were so close with Cas.
Well, close was one word for it. Rumors ran amuck that you two were hopelessly in love—but you weren’t in a relationship, by any means, nor romantically involved. You were very close, and yes you were pining after him, but you refused to ruin what the two of you had because you had a crush.
So it was surprising when you’d called Crowley for a reason other than a case. You didn’t exactly trust the King of Hell, but he had taken a shining to your wit and intellect. Perhaps he even had a soft spot for your well intentioned naïveté—or at least, that’s what he’d told you once before.
“Isn’t it more like you to ask Feathers for help with something like this?” The demon had asked you, and you’d looked down at your shoes, clearly distraught.
“We’re a bit past that point, Crowley. Don’t get me wrong,” you added, looking resolute. “I know better than to ask you to pardon my sisters. There’s a balance to this sort of thing, when you’re trading in souls.”
“Then what exactly are you here for?” He’d asked, and seeing your expression his face had fallen. “Oh no. Really?” Seeing tears jump into your eyes, he sighed. Be it far from him to be compassionate, but he really did have a terrible soft spot for you. “Dearest, I can’t let you do that. You know that, don’t you?”
“Please,” you asked, begged if you were honest. “I know it’s one soul for two, but…I mean, from what Cas has told me, I have a high quality soul.”
“He’s not wrong.” That was reassuring, somehow. Crowley circled around you, assessing you. “Of your sisters, you’re the most untainted. The Winchesters have a way of defiling those around them—your being more removed has done you good. You don’t drink, smoke, gamble, fornicate—still a virgin, which is a near miracle. And that’s coming from a demon.” You swallowed uncomfortably, shifting on your feet. Crowley came to stand in front of you again, his hands behind his back. “Sam and Dean had a heavy price on their heads, which transferred to your sisters when they renegotiated the deal. All of that on you would be…brutal, to put it lightly.”
“I know.”
“And you’re willing to take that on?”
“I don’t have any other choice.”
“You could let them do the time, wait for the boys to save them—eventually.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Crowley squinted at you. “You’d really sacrifice yourself for them?”
You let out a sad little laugh, shrugging. “Why not? I’m the only one who doesn’t have someone to live for.”
He seemed concerned by your statement, frowning and taking a step closer. “I know Castiel for one would disagree with that heavily.”
“Castiel is my friend,” you said, your voice breaking on the word. “Nothing more, nothing less. Taylor and Ariel have Sam and Dean in their lives, they deserve to have that. I want them to have that, and I’ll do what I need to to keep them all safe.”
“Your soul for theirs?”
“Yes.”
The King of Hell turned over your answer for a moment, the silence weighing on you considering how he’d turned you down at first. “On second thought, I do have a proposition for you, Y/N,” and you could tell by the look on his face it wasn’t going to be pretty.
In the end, you agreed to Crowley’s terms. “What will you tell Castiel?” He asked, and you knew he was concerned about the angel coming after him for brokering your demise.
“I won’t,” you said, resolutely. “I’m not going to tell any of them. They don’t need to know.”
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 “Dean it’s been six weeks. Six weeks, and nothing from Y/N.” Your middle sister, Ariel, stood at the map table in the war room, staring her boyfriend of the past few years down with tears in her eyes. “This isn’t like her, Cas is worried out of his mind even though he won’t admit it—”
“I know!” Dean admitted, running a hand down his face. “I know, and you know that we’ve been doing everything we can to try and find her. Cas has been back on angel radio, Sam and Taylor have been working with Rowena to try and track her, but that didn’t pan out.”
“Rowena said something is tainting Y/N’s energy,” your youngest sister, Taylor offered from her seat next to Sam. “It’s impossible to track her the way she is now, whatever that means.”
“I think we all know what it might mean,” Dean said, and Ariel and Taylor immediately began to protest when they were cut off by a deeper voice in the doorway.
“Y/N can’t be a demon.” Cas looked much worse for wear than usual, more disheveled, with red rimmed eyes that if he weren’t an angel might suggest he’d been crying. But he did seem exhausted through and through, so maybe he actually had been crying. “We’ve been over this before, Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah. Her soul is too pure, to become a demon she’d have to commit a heinous crime and none have come up on our radar that have anything to do with anyone who looks like her.” Dean slumped into a seat, clearly frustrated. “I just don’t know what to do, man. Y/N is incredibly intelligent, and capable—if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”
“It doesn’t exactly help that Crowley isn’t picking up his phone,” Sam pointed out with a meaningful look.
“You think he’s hiding something?” Ariel asked, and Sam shrugged.
“I’m just saying. Y/N went missing around the time your deals were due, and seeing as you haven’t been collected by hellhounds, and she’s nowhere to be found—”
“Don’t say that.” Cas’ gritted tone garnered everyone’s attention. His hands were in fists, a furious and heartbroken expression on his face. “If she were in danger she would have prayed to me, I know it. She promised me, and Y/N doesn’t break promises.”
“But what if she chose to be in danger?” Sam asked, saying what everyone was thinking but was too afraid to say. “We all know she used to say that if any of us ever did anything too pigheaded, she’d trade herself for us in a heartbeat. We were so down to the wire, trying to find a way to save Ari and Tay that maybe we forgot that she’d promised that.”
Everyone fell into a miserable silence. They all knew it felt like the truth, but none of them liked it. Cas turned around and stormed from the room, up the stairs to the front door.
“Cas?” Dean called, concerned with his attitude but not surprised. He knew how close the two of you were, how much this must be tearing Cas apart. “Where you going, buddy?”
“To keep my promise. To bring Y/N home,” Cas snapped, but there was a catch in his voice that betrayed his emotion. He slammed the bunker door on the way out, and considering how heavy it was it made quite the clatter. Ariel and Taylor both cringed, exchanging glances, and Sam sighed.
“We should keep an eye out for unusual demon activity,” he said, and they all knew what he was saying.
“On it,” Dean replied, already on his way to the computers. If they were facing the truth, then maybe it would be easier to find you.
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As much as your family and the Winchesters cared about you, this was perhaps hardest on Castiel.
He’d believed what he’d told them: that if you were in danger, you would have reached out, called, prayed to him, anything. Maybe you withdrew from your siblings, but not from him. He was usually exempt from your moody phases, always an exception to your rules. This time, being shut out had him worried much more than he would have anticipated. And it made him wonder how badly you were in trouble, if you hadn’t prayed to him.
He didn’t want to believe what the others were saying. He didn’t want to even think, let alone believe that you would have sacrificed yourself without coming to him for help first. It was tearing him apart to think you’d been so afraid, that even now you could be suffering the full force of two Winchesters worth of torment—and all because he hadn’t realized you were pulling away until it was too late.
It was driving him frantic, leaving him chasing his own tail trying to find any scrap of information as to where you were. And now that that had failed, he was moving onto the next phase: direct action.
He found demons. He tortured them, trying to get them to talk, to let slip where you were. They seemed afraid of him, but not more than they were of talking. Three died before they gave up something he could work with: the address of an abandoned hotel in Chicago, and the promise that Crowley would try to stop him.
“I hope he does,” Cas growled out, smiting the demon in the chair it was tied in before whirling, picking up his angel blade from the table and heading to Chicago.  He needed someone to take his anger out on, in big swinging punches, and Crowley was seeming more and more like the right face to make a punching bag.
Of course he’d called Sam and Dean and the girls. Of course he’d told them to get the dungeon ready, just in case. Either he was bringing Crowley back, or…he didn’t like to think about the other option. But when he reached the abandoned hotel, saw the penthouse windows lit up from the sidewalk below, he knew he was going to have to prepare himself for the worst case.
Not that it made that any easier.
He was surprised to find the bottom floor unguarded. Finding the elevator out of order, he ascended the staircase of the hotel, his apprehension rising with each floor. As he reached the penthouse, he drew his blade and approached the door—surprised to find it open, cracked ever so slightly.
“Castiel.”
It was like a dream, or some sort of reverie the way your voice carried out from the room. Music to his ears, how clear and unharmed your voice sounded. He felt his vessel’s heart skip a beat, his pulse rising as he pushed the door open with his free hand. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe you were okay, almost dared to let himself hope. Almost.
You stood there, in the middle of the room. It seemed lived in, as if you’d been there for a few days. But your back was to him, and you were examining something in your hands, something he couldn’t see. The energy in the room was all wrong, he couldn’t sense your soul—that bright ball of beautiful flame that he always found himself mesmerized by. No, the air felt static, and heavy—there was a demon nearby, and everything in him was clawing to find an answer that meant it wasn’t you.
“Y/N,” his voice was relieved; he just couldn’t help it. After weeks of searching, he was weary of missing you, of being afraid for your life. Seeing you in front of him unscathed was a mercy he hadn’t thought he’d be afforded.
But then you turned, and your face was all wrong. His angelic eyes were horrified to see your face, not glowing softly with the radiance of your soul, but hollowed out into the thing he’d feared most.
“Took you long enough,” you said, your voice still normal sounding and a little amused. It was like you were mocking him, that he’d thought you’d be alright. “What’s wrong, Cas. Aren’t you happy to see me?” You smiled, and it was earnest, filled with the happiness and love that normally greeted him. But then you blinked, and your eyes went black.
“Y/N, what have you done?” Cas asked, his world shaken. It felt like everything had gone upside down, that nothing made sense. He’d grounded himself with you, and now you were the inverted version of yourself. He didn’t know which way was up.
You could sense his confusion, could see it in his form that you could finally look at unharmed. “They always did say that you were handsome, and I wondered how much was true,” you admitted, casting your blackened gaze along his true form. “It used to make me jealous.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”
You quoting verse at him was already twisted enough, but Song of Solomon was a particularly low blow; as if you were mocking his affection, the love you shared but never spoke of.
“Why.” It was a simple question, but it seemed to puzzle you as you came closer, stopping when you were a foot in front of him. He longed to reach out, to pull you close and reassure you everything would be alright, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Not now.
“Why do you think?” You were so calm, so at peace with what you were that it was unsettling. Normally demons were full of anger, venom, spite. But you still seemed like you, if not a bit faded out. Like your personality had been switched from color to black-and-white. “I had no other choice, Castiel. It was either them or me.”
“Why you?” He asked, anger creeping into his tone. His chest rose and fell, barely contained emotion showing itself physically. “Why should you be the one to bear their sins?”
“Why not me?” You asked, tilting your head. You blinked, and your eyes went back to their normal color. It was like nothing was wrong, it was just him and you. “You’ve thrown yourself into danger for us without a second thought many times before, Cas. Why is my doing so worthy of questioning? I did what I needed to do, to protect those I loved.”
“Loved,” Cas clarified, and you smiled sadly, the emotion not reaching your eyes.
“Demons don’t love, do they?”
“Neither do angels,” he countered. “And yet…” His eyes lingered on your face, searching for anything that gave away this was a trick, that you were really you. Your gaze softened, something almost like emotion behind them as you realized the intention behind his trailing off. It made his grace want to reach out to you.
“I’ve missed you, Cas,” you whispered, and he believed you had. He believed that you believed you had. But he knew that like this, you couldn’t properly miss anybody.
“I miss you too,” he replied, unmoving when you set a hand to his cheek. It felt wrong, when you touched him, which was so wrong itself. All he’d wanted for weeks was you to come back, to comfort him. Now that you were, it felt terrible. Your face darkened at both his words and lack of response.
“You should be more grateful,” you said, withdrawing your hand. All sweetness had left you, your tone cold as you took a step back. For the first time, he realized you were holding an angel blade. His relief could have cost him his life, and he wouldn’t have even seen it coming. “I could have been dead, or worse.”
“Isn’t this worse?” He demanded, irritation creeping into his voice. You could see it, the anger rising behind his eyes, the celestial in him spurred to action by your behavior. You saw his wings flutter angrily, but there was a conflict in them—like he knew he was angry, but they had a mind of their own and still wanted to embrace you. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.
“Oh, Cas,” you singsonged, holding your blade behind your back with both hands and swaying from side to side. You were grinning again in spite of yourself, far from aware of how manic your mood changes were. “Do your wings always reach for me like that? Was I just too blind to see it?” His lips turned downward in frustration, and you knew you’d hit a nerve. You faked a gasp. “Is it possible your true form is more forward with your feelings than your vessel? Fascinating—especially considering how little you give me of yourself.”
“I give you more of myself than I do to anyone else.” Hearing him be so firm was even more arousing than usual, and you felt your own wings aching to come forward, to mingle with his despite the contrast of their essence. “I stay with you while you sleep when you ask for it, my arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe. I protect you on every hunt, at every opportunity. I put your safety above my own in all things, and I always answer your call, whether it be in prayer or over the phone.”
“Which I’m assuming is why you’re so offended I didn’t call,” you finished, noting how wound up he was. You rolled your eyes, sighing and abandoning your stare down to return to packing a bag at the end of your bed. “I didn’t need you to save me, Castiel. Not this time. I needed you to let me go.” You looked over at him, sadly. “I still do. There’s nothing for you to save here anymore, angel. And I’m sorry it had to end this way—really I am. But this is the end of the line for us.”
“No. No, I refuse to believe that,” He argued, raising his voice. “The Y/N I know wouldn’t give up so easily. She wouldn’t just surrender to becoming”— he looked you up and down—“this.”
“A demon,” you pointed out, seeing his expression sour at the words. “You can’t face it, can you? That this is what I am now?”
“I won’t,” he growled, staring at you, rage behind his blue eyes. “I won’t accept it, because I’m going to make it right. And once I’ve done that, Crowley will pay.”
“Crowley only did what I asked,” you said, crossing your arms. “I asked him to intervene, he didn’t have to, but he did. I owe him everything.”
“You don’t owe him anything, Y/N!” Cas said, clearly exasperated. “Look what he’s done to you!”
“Made me stronger,” you said, calmly. “Erased my weakness, given me something to do while serving my time—well. My sisters’ time.”
Cas seemed ready to snap, like he was about to boil over and was afraid he’d take it out on you. “Enough of this,” he said lowly, striding forward. You didn’t attack, allowing him to grab your wrist. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t want to go home.” You refused to move, feet planted firmly.
He narrowed his eyes at you, cocking his head. “Do I look like I’m asking?” He said, all sass, and you hated that desire pooled in your stomach from the fiery look he was giving you. Despite that, you forced a firm glare.
“I’m not going back. Not to the bunker, where they’re going to look at me the same way you are right now.”
“We—“ He sighed, rolling his eyes before fixing you with a clear gaze. “We care about you. We want what’s best for you, Y/N, I know you know that deep down.”
“And what’s best for me, Cas?” You asked, arching a brow at him. “To go ‘home’, have you lot try to ‘cure’ me? Go back to being a pathetic little girl, who pines after you like a puppy who’s master only comes home when he needs something from her?” That hurt him, you could see it in his face. “No, fuck that. I’m done being the child of the group. I’m done letting you make a fool of me, like you have all these years.”
“I’ve made a fool of you?” Cas nearly hissed, rounding in on you, so close you were practically nose to nose. His eyes were furious, hurt. “No, little girl, you’ve been making a fool of me all this time. Making a laughing stock of me to my brothers and sisters, who spurned me for my weakness—my weakness for you.” 
“Why should they? It’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.” If you’d had the ability to feel your emotions, you would have been crying. “All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”
“Enough.” He shook you a little, the look in his eyes far more emotional than you would have expected. “I’m not having this conversation with you the way you are right now,” he told you, and you scoffed.
“Please, any other time I’d be too shy to talk about it.”
“Which is incidentally why I don’t bring it up,” Cas said, exasperated.
“So you admit you don’t want to talk about it, right.”
He stopped and stared at you. “And I thought you were impossible when you’re human,” he muttered.
“Surprise, surprise,” you said with a wink, and he sighed. “You gonna let go of my arm yet? Crowley will be back from an errand any minute and I doubt he’d like to see you with your hands on the merchandise.”
“Would you stop talking about yourself like that.” He pressed his lips together, as if he didn’t like what he was about to say. “I know you have an issue with self-loathing to begin with, but this is taking it to an unhealthy place.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You think this is cause I hate myself? No, Cas. Maybe I finally loved myself enough to get out. To stop pining over you, and grow the fuck up.” Your eyes went black, and you saw his anger boil up again. “This is what I’ve chosen to be, and I don’t owe you, or anyone else, a goddamn thing.”
“Is that your final answer?” He asked, and you reached for your blade with free hand. He clutched your wrist tighter, a warning.
“Yes.” He was clearly dissatisfied, but you could tell he wasn’t about to give up. He was about to say something else when slow clapping sounded behind the both of you. Cas turned, revealing Crowley in the doorway—clearly entertained.
“Bravo, Y/N, you him occupied long enough for me to show. Told you it wouldn’t be hard.” He stepped into the room, Cas already bristling. He was shielding you with his body, you realized, finding that funny—but something deeper within you began to worry. Crowley hadn’t mentioned hurting Cas. Was that what this was about?
“You,” Cas said, nearly a snarl, but Crowley waved him off.
“Oh come on. We’re past that by now, aren’t we? You know as well as I do that we both have a soft spot for Y/N. I did what I was asked, save the holy wrath for someone who actually deserves it.”
“You made her a demon,” Cas pointed out furiously. “I think that warrants a bit of wrath.”
“Yes, and she’s lucky she got the easy out. I had to pull some strings to make that happen—do you have any idea the kind of torture that was lined up for Sam and Dean?”
“I’m taking her with me.”
“You’re really not.”
He really was though, because exactly 17 minutes later he was leaving the room, a bit bloodied and bruised but with Crowley pinned to a chair with your angel blade, and you unconscious, slung over his shoulder. Crowley was shouting after him, promising all sorts of foul repayment for his interference, but at that point Cas didn’t care anymore. He was far more concerned with the apathy you’d found in your new state of being—because that didn’t come naturally to a demon, and it made him think something was wrong with the way you’d been turned.
When you awoke, you were handcuffed and chained in the dungeon of the bunker, a dim overhead light making you squint. The last thing you’d remembered was that you’d had Cas pinned to the ground, your blade at his throat as Crowley had yelled at you to finish him. But it all went blank from there. What had happened?
“It’s not important,” came a familiar voice from the corner, and your stomach churned at the idea that your thoughts had been combed through. You noticed Cas there for the first time, sitting in the semi dark, his forearms resting on his knees with blue eyes fixed curiously on you. “What matters is that you’re home now.”
“You’ve made a big mistake bringing me here,” you threatened, but Cas merely sighed.
“Dean’s already spoken to Crowley. We’ve given him something he wants—an item, not a person,” he clarified, seeing your interest. “While he’s still annoyed about the fight we had, he’s letting it rest for now.”
“How long have I been out?” You asked, tilting your head and groaning. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, out of sorts and you knew it wasn’t from whatever had knocked you out. You looked about the room for what could be the cause of your pain, when your eyes fell on the series of needles on the table. You groaned. “Really, Cas? Blood therapy?”
He didn’t answer, but it didn’t seem to matter when the door opened and Dean, then Sam came in.
“Where are the girls?” You asked, your tone again, too normal. It was like nothing was wrong, like everything had just been a bad dream. Only the cuffs and chains around you were a sign that something was amiss, your eyes flickering to black reminding them all that this was real. That you were the nightmare.
“Somewhere out of your reach, for now,” Sam said, picking up a needle. “Is it time, Cas?” He asked, and Cas nodded. “Good.” He came over to you, and even though you struggled he still managed to get the needle into your neck. It felt like your blood was on fire, and you were freezing all over at the same time. You hissed angrily, thrashing about as much as you could.
“You don’t have to do this,” you said, near begging. But neither Dean nor Sam seemed to be in the listening mood.
“Back in an hour?” Dean said to Cas, and again, Cas nodded. You growled in frustration, kicking your feet.
“Talk to me, dammit!” You demanded, but neither brother paid you any mind as they left the room, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone with the angel again. Your head lolled to the side, and you looked at him. You were bleeding from your nose, eyes their normal color but red rimmed, with your bottom lip split from your fight earlier. “Please,” you begged, near whimpered. “Please, just let me go. I don’t wanna go back to what I was before. I don’t wanna go back to being that miserable.”
Cas’ expression shifted to some kind of emotion for the first time since you’d woken, guilt and sadness marring his features. “Did you really hate it all that much?”
You couldn’t reply, your returning humanity hanging heavy in your throat. He got up, and you felt your pulse quicken as he took slow steps towards you. One, two, three. A finger lifted your chin.
“I don’t understand,” he said, voice low, scanning your face—your true face, which was beginning to faintly shine with the light of your soul again, just barely; like a flickering lightbulb. “How did he turn you? I see no signs on you of a sin large enough, no spot on your soul dark enough to warrant your demonic nature. What did he do to make you this way?”
You blinked, eyes heavy with tears. “I’d rather die then tell you anything,” you said angrily, turning your face away and out of his grasp.
“Maybe you feel that way now. But it will pass.” You hated him in that moment, in his surety that he could bring you back from the place you’d begun to feel was safer than your own home—the dark depths of what you’d become. You tugged at the chains again, trying to escape against the odds. You knew there was no getting out. All of you had kept Crowley in this dungeon before, for weeks at a time. All you had was hours, you weren’t even sure how many; but by the feeling in your head, you assumed you were around halfway finished.
“You might as well relax,” Cas said, grunting as he took a seat again. His blue eyes fixed on you the same way they had before, with patience and wariness. “We’re going to be here a while.”
He was right. It was a good five hours before your treatment was nearly done. The boys had been coming in and out on the hour, dosing you and giving you a scrutinizing look before leaving you with Cas, in silence. Your hatred for their coldness has begun to fade into a lonely sadness every time they ignored you—a sure sign of your humanity returning, which only made you more miserable.
One last syringe remained, and this one Cas had insisted on giving to you himself. He came to stand in front of you, your face layered with a sheen of sweat, your hair clinging to its edges. “Please,” you begged brokenly, and it wasn’t clear if you were begging him to stop, or to give the last dose. He paused, looking into your eyes. He could see the shine of your soul beginning to stabilize, but something beneath was ebbing darkness, the source of your demonic energy. Your core wound. His curiosity got the better of him, and knowing that you wouldn’t tell what had caused you to succumb to your fate, he set a hand on your head—stepping into the memory of it.
Just like now, you were strapped into a chair. He was viewing you from the front, as he had been in the dungeon, but you didn’t see him. Instead, your eyes seemed fixed on something behind him. No, someone.
“This will only work if you believe what you’ve done to be a truly heinous sin,” Crowley explained, holding up a vial of inky liquid in front of him between two fingers. “Think you can do that, love? I know you don’t have much to go off of, but—”
“I know what will work.” You sounded resolute, but Castiel could see your pulse hammering with fear, worry. The look in your eyes spoke of regret, sadness, and pain.
“Right then.” Crowley opened the vial, tipping its contents out into the air. It was like a smoke, slithering towards you, a whisper behind it. It wound and coiled around your body like a snake, grasping at your throat. There was no external noise, but inside your head a voice spoke, discordant and echoey.
“What have you done to be worthy of calling yourself a demon?” It questioned, and your eyes slipped closed, tears slipping down your cheeks.
‘I have desired the undesirable. I have longed to love that which is not made to be loved, but to be venerated. I have wished to belong to that which cannot be understood by my own nature. I have loved an angel, with all my heart, and body, and soul, and in doing so, I have defiled his divinity—tainted his light.’  
The smoke hesitated a moment, then snuck into your mouth and nose, making you writhe in pain. When it stopped, your eyes opened, pitch black, your pained expression empty, vacant.
“Y/N.” Crowley said your name, spurring you to awareness, and you looked up at him with dark, oily eyes. He smiled.
“Welcome home.”
Cas took his hand off your head, finding you gasping for air. He felt similarly breathless himself, taken aback by what he’d seen. All the same, it only redoubled his resolve, and he reached for the last syringe, plunging it into your neck. You let out a blood curdling scream, chains biting your wrists as the antidote burned through you, the last of the demon in you washed away. You fell silent for a moment, stunned and in too much pain to think clearly, before a sob overtook you and your head fell to your chest. The emotions were so very much, after feeling so little.
“Y/N,” Cas breathed out your name like a breath of fresh air, relieved beyond belief to see the last of that ghastly face fade away, replaced in full by your soul. He reached out out of instinct, to caress your face and smooth your hair aside, but you whimpered and pulled away. When you looked up, there was so much fear in your eyes it nearly stopped his vessel’s heart.
“Y/N?” The door to the dungeon flew open, Sam and Dean rushing into the room. “Cas?” Dean demanded, wanting to know if it had ended well.
“She’s okay,” Cas assured him, his eyes not leaving yours. “The cure worked.”
“Thank god,” Sam sighed in relief, and he and Dean both came forward to help you, checking you with salt and holy water before undoing your chains, apologizing profusely all the while.
“We couldn’t take any risks,” Sam explained. “We had to get you back, understand?” You’d nodded weakly, and Dean had pointed out how exhausted you looked. Sam picked you up, carrying you upstairs to where your sisters were waiting to help you recover from your ordeal. As he carried you out of the room, you saw Cas talking with Dean, shame weighing heavily on the angel’s shoulders. He glanced up and your eyes met for a moment, guilt all over his face before you hid yours against Sam’s shoulder.
You didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to act after what Cas had seen in your mind.
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It had been four days since you’d been cured. Four days, and you still hadn’t spoken to Cas. 
The others had all thought that the moment you’d had a shower, had a proper meal and maybe a good long cry, the first thing you’d want to do was take comfort in Cas’ presence. It’s what you normally would have done, anyway—maybe even before the crying part, since he usually was your shoulder to lean on.
But you hadn’t. You’d given your sisters an explanation, a half apology for what you’d done but you’d stood your ground that you believed it to have been the right choice. Everyone, Sam and Dean and your sisters all made you promise that you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself like that again; that you’d trust in all of you to find a solution, together. You’d agreed, just because you were too tired to argue anymore. You felt weary all the way down to your soul, just wanting to sleep for the sake of getting away from all your thoughts and emotions. So you did. And when anyone asked you if you’d like them to call Cas, that it wouldn’t be an issue, you’d quietly reply that no, that wasn’t necessary thank you.
“You don’t have to hide from him,” Ariel told you, sitting at the end of your bed. “I know that going through what you did, with him there must have been strange—maybe even embarrassing. But Y/N…you know by now that there’s nothing you can do to shake Cas’ faith in you.”
“He never stopped believing we’d bring you home.” Tay was in the doorway, offering you a smile. “We were all afraid that maybe you were gone for good, but he wouldn’t even consider it.”
“Cas cares about you, Y/N,” Ariel agreed, and you felt your pulse quicken, stomach twisting itself in a knot. “He loves—”
“Do you think I could have some time to myself?” You blurted out, fresh tears in your eyes. Ariel seemed disappointed, exchanging a look with Tay before smiling softly.
“Of course.”
The silence was too heavy, after they left. You rolled onto your side, picking at the blanket, your eyes stinging. The blanket was one Cas had bought you for your birthday; something to make the bunker feel more like home. It was soft, with silk edges, and was a particular shade of blue that usually comforted you. But now, it made you want to break down completely. You got up, swiping angrily at your tears with the back of your hand before tearing the blanket off the bed, folding it hastily. You couldn’t handle any reminder of Cas, not then. The way you felt reminded you of all the times he’d been dead, when you couldn’t handle the idea that he wasn’t coming home to you. You wondered if he’d felt that way. You wondered if he felt anything, at all.
You knew he did, and you knew that the doubt was your despair talking. Because as much as you’d been avoiding Cas, he’d made no effort to come to you either, and you knew why. You felt so, so extremely guilty, broken, that he’d seen your deepest fear, and that it was something that reflected so poorly on him. It wasn’t his fault that you felt like you’d been a weight around his ankle, continuously pulling him back down to earth since you’d met. Your guilt was your own, it had nothing to do with him—but it did make you ashamed, and want to hide yourself away. Which is what you were doing now, you realized, looking down at the blanket in your hands. Hiding yourself away, pushing away any vestiges of his affection. They’d told you your soul had returned, but if that were true, why was there a gaping hole in your chest where your heart should have been?
You sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the messily folded blanket to your chest. You just didn’t see a way out of this, a way where he could forgive you for viewing your relationship with him in such a negative light. You pressed your mouth and nose into the blanket to stifle your noises as you broke down into sobs, screwing your eyes shut as your shoulder shook. This was too much. All of it was too much, and you wished you could go back to just nothing.
Until you felt a hand on your head, you looked up and found a familiar pair of blue eyes on your face. He was looking at you with such sadness that your breath caught, choking on your sobs. “I-I’m so s-s-sorry,” you cried, and the hesitance about him melted away. He knelt in front of you, pulling your blanket out of your arms and setting it on the bed beside you. He opened his arms, and you wrapped yours around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder. “It’s not like you think, I promise,” you told him, and you felt his hand rest on the back of your head again. “Do you hate me?” You asked, in barely a whisper. It had been your biggest fear from the moment he’d seen inside your mind in the first place.
“No, I don’t hate you. How could you think that?” He asked, breath warm against your ear. You could have sworn he was about to cry as well from how thick his voice was with emotion. “How could you let yourself think that you caused me to fall?”
“I…” you stammered, looking for the right words to convey your contriteness. “I suppose it is a bit arrogant of me, to assume,” you began, but he cut you off, turning his head to look you in the eyes.
“No, Y/N,” he said, and you realized there were tears in his eyes. “How could you let yourself feel that kind of guilt, over me? Over something you didn’t do? My multiple fallings out with Heaven…they came from me trying to redeem my own failings, not from you dragging me down to you.” You should have been embarrassed, sitting there with your arms round his neck, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, much too close for casual conversation; but you weren’t, and this wasn’t. It was for the first time like a wall had been fully brought down between the two of you, all reservations set aside. You weren’t afraid to say how you really felt, not anymore.
“I know that,” you admitted, sniffing softly. “I know that you chose to leave all of that behind, that I shouldn’t take the gravity and free will of that decision away from you. But on the other hand…” You bit your lip, turning the words over in your mind to make sure you had the sentiment right before sharing it, fresh tears pooling in your eyes at the brutal honesty of it all. “There has always been this pull between us, even before we became close in the way we’ve become accustomed to, in the…the friendship we’ve had. Castiel, I…I’ve loved you from the first time we met. And so for me, our friendship has always been convoluted, mixed up with my feelings for you into this guilty, one sided thing where you don’t realize how deeply I feel for you, and meanwhile, I’m burdening you with a love you never asked for. Never chose.”
“Didn’t I choose you?” Castiel replied, bumping your nose with his own, raising your gaze back to his. “Don’t I always come back to you, always you over anywhere else on this earth? Always you, when the choice is mine. In making a place for myself here, rather than in heaven, I have always found it preferable to be at your side.” It was true, when he said it. It made what you’d said to him before, in Chicago, weigh even heavier.
“All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to push away the thought of what you’d said when you hadn’t cared about the consequences. But you could tell, by the way that his hand came up to hold your face, that he’d heard you anyway. 
“It makes it easier,” you confessed, mortified as you realized a truth you hadn’t even let yourself admit yet. You sighed shakily, eyes fixed on his tie and unable to meet his. “To believe that I’ve been hurting you, by pulling you down. Because if I believe that—if I believe that I’ve trimmed your wings with my love—then it’s easier to understand why you wouldn’t want me. It being my fault is easier to live with than just…not being enough.”
“The only way that’s correct is that the reason you and I haven’t had what your sisters and Sam and Dean do isn’t just because of me,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. But he was smiling softly, and you could feel your pulse in your fingertips from how hard your heart was beating.
“Oh?” You managed, quietly. Trying not to look at his lips was harder than usual when you were this close and personal.
“It’s also because you’re both incredibly stubborn, and incredibly shy when it comes to romance. I didn’t want to push you too quickly, and for me, the waiting wasn’t a problem. I’ve waited much longer for much less.” You supposed that were plenty true, considering how he experienced time on a cosmic time scale rather than a human one. “But it was never because you weren’t enough, and definitely not because you trapped me.” He tilted his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Why do you feel like your love is such a cage? It’s been my safe place, my succour, but never a confinement.”
“Because angels aren’t meant to be loved, are they?” You said, and you saw the comprehension in his eyes. “Let alone love someone back. I shouldn’t have let myself feel what I did, should I?”
“I thought we’d set aside that kind of thinking after the apocalypse,” he said, and you sighed.
“It was easy to say that I had. Hard to stop, especially when this is new territory and I’m afraid to hope for more. Hoping for more felt selfish.”
“Y/N.” He caught your chin and finally brought your eyes to meet his. It was becoming too much again, too real. Too close to having it all, and you wanted to draw back again, fight your own feelings. But he was looking at you, and this time you felt like you were the center of his world for the look in his eyes. “It’s not entirely true that angels can’t love. It’s more accurate to say that until recently, no angel has ever tried.”
That nearly stopped your heart. “And...some angel did try?” You asked, cautiously, skirting around the real question. Humor crept into his eyes. 
“Yes.”
“And...did they succeed?”
“Almost too well, I’d say,” he replied, sighing and looking up at the ceiling, playing along with your little game just to keep you comfortable. “But of the risks that this particular angel has taken, daring to love is perhaps the one he regrets the least.” He pressed forward, closer into you, and your knees came to rest on either side of him. “You need to hear me say it, don’t you?” He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squinted playfully at you, and you felt tears pricking your eyes again.
“Only if you mean it,” you replied, with a soft smile.
“Don’t you know that I do?” You felt his hands circle your waist. Goodness his hands made you feel tiny sometimes, and you liked it. His breath was warm on your lips, the blue of his eyes so soft and eager just for you. “Every time I’ve stayed, held you all night. Every time I’ve cradled you to me, every time I come when you call. It’s all there, you just didn’t want to hear it yet.” Perfectly sculpted lips pressed gently against yours, a ghosting of affection to lead the words you’d needed for so long. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, words soft against your mouth. “And by now, I know that I always will.”
The last little bit of your reserve melted, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him in. “I love you too, Cas,” you reassured him, between breathless kisses. You knew you didn’t need to say it; that he was the one that could read your mind and heart like an open book. But it was all out there now, the rest of it being told in touch, no more unspoken feelings between you, no more wondering ifs to keep you up at night.
When your sisters and Sam and Dean came to find you later, they found you both tangled up in the blue blanket, your face tucked into the crook of Cas’ neck—but the expression on his face in the dim light from the lamp beside him told them everything they needed to know.
You were really yourself again, for the first time in a long while.
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ventrue-rosary · 5 years
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D&December - Entry 4
Week 1, Prompt 4: Melee
Some more dnd verse Amara/Balthazar fluff. Balthazar’s player doesn’t have a tumblr, Amaranthe belongs to me
Ko-Fi
‘Do you know what today is?’ Illanis asks her over breakfast.
‘My birthday?’ Amaranthe responds, expecting it to be a trick question. Is there some other holiday or festival she is forgetting?
‘Remind me how old you are now?’
‘23?’ 
Ilanis rarely scares Amaranthe. But the continued line of questioning and her cold tone definitely do.
‘23. Five years ago you turned into a woman and you are still not wed.’
‘Mother I’ve been rather busy--’
‘Gallivanting across the world. Yes, Amara, I’m well aware. But it's time to put away the armour and don the gown. You will marry. This year. I think a summer wedding would be quite lovely, don’t you?’
‘You’re joking, right?’ Amaranthe says, despite knowing she is fully serious. 
‘It’s time you settle down and marry a nice, high-born man. No more adventuring and returning with...strange men.’
‘They’re my friends, they’re not strange! Alright...maybe Vander is rather odd but--’
Ilanis holds one hand up, and takes a long sip of her cofwah. 
‘I’m not saying you have to throw them out onto the street. They are welcome here, as they seem important to you. But your little dalliance with the tiefling--it ends here.’
Amaranthe scoffs, turning her face to one side. It is never easy to lie to her mothers face. It just seems to beckon and demand honesty. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, mother.’
‘Please Amara. I was not born yesterday. Your situation is not too unlike mine and your fathers.
‘Then why are you doing this?’
Ilanis reaches for her hand across the table. Amaranthe pulls hers away as tears sting her eyes. Not of sadness, or fear. Anger.
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Amara. I am merely doing what is best for you.’
‘It’s quite clear you don’t know what is best for me.’ She stands, abandoning her untouched breakfast.
‘You’ve barely eaten. Where are you going.’
‘To continue dallying with strange men,’ she calls over her shoulder. 
‘I can’t believe she’s making me wed,’ she laments to Balthazar, as they sit together in the centre of the hedge-maze, safe away from most prying eyes and ears. 
‘Do you know who to?’
Amaranthe rolls her eyes. ‘Does it matter? They’re all the same. Uptight, pompous, weak-willed ...they're not real men. They’re not you.’ 
‘Of course not. There can only be one of me.’
‘A shame,’ she answers wryly. She sighs. ‘I won’t even get to choose. There’s going to be a tournament in my honour.’
‘And you’re the prize?’
‘Yes. How twisted is that? I slayed a vampire, and now I’m just some trophy to be won.’ 
‘Yep. Some lucky bastard will be stuffing and mounting you on your wedding night.’ 
‘Balthazar!’ Amaranthe slaps his arm, but can’t stop the smile spreading across her face. ‘You’re taking this far better than I thought you would.’
‘That’s because I have a plan,’ Balthazar proclaims proudly with a wink.
‘You’re not thinking of...oh no.’
‘Oh yes. Don’t worry, Amara. I have it all figured out.’
‘I hope so. The tourney is in a weeks time.’
‘Damn. She’s wants you wifed soon, huh?’
‘I think she’s mostly wants grandkids soon.’ 
‘Well, you have one more week as a confirmed bachelorette. Why don’t we have some fun in the meantime?’
Amaranthe winds her arms around his neck as his hands grip her hips. ‘I could never deny such a request.’ 
Soon, elven dignitaries from home and abroad arrive at the palace, all of them with their servants and squires, making ready for the tournament. The practice yard is in near constant use by the elves testing and perfecting their techniques. She notices Balthazar silently watching some of the training from the stands, though never deigns to test any of their mettle. 
Contrary to her prior believes of the elven noble combat prowess, she finds several of them impressing her. More than two training dummies explode into shards of wood and hay, and many attend dinner with bruises and cuts incurred through peer on peer training. Though her stance on giving any one of them her hand remains unchanged. She is in love, and they can batter each other black and blue and it won’t make any difference. 
Ilanis, of course, is delighted and points out a few of the stronger ones to her, Lord Arandir and Daravas. Brothers, competing against one another. They did have some muscle to them, perhaps even as much as Balthazar. She simpers and agrees to appease her mother, but refuses to engage with any of them. If they are all content treating her as an object to be won, why should she give any of them the time of day?
The day of the tournament dawns. The stands are open to the public, and many denizens from all across Evermeet come to see who will win the hand of the Princess. Amaranthe sits on the throne next to her mother, who looks resplendent and glowing with joy and pride. She supposes she should feel flattered by the turn-out, but only feels embarrassed. Far too many people come to witness the forging of her future. 
‘Hail and welcome to all of our attendees, whom have come to bare witness to a monumental event that will forever be etched into the annals of our history. Princess Amaranthe Darcelle, first of her name, daughter of Queen Ilanis Darcelle and Sir John Wickenham, will be betrothed to the winner of today’ tournament. May all of our contestants fight with honor and valour. 
Now let us welcome our first contestants.’ 
The crowd cheers as the first two elves walk out into the ring. Both of them walk straight towards Ilanis and Amaranthe, bowing to them. She recognises Lord Lorvellan from his shiny armour that had likely never seen a single battle. The other removes his helmet. He appears to be a sun elf, but the thick black hair and amber eyes she would recognise anywhere. Her covertly winks at her. Amaranthe wrestles against her smile as she walks down the steps, leaning over the battlement to tie her favour onto his forearm. 
‘Fight bravely, sir.’
‘For you, but of course. I look forward to claiming my prize.’ He steps back with one last wink, donning his helmet as he turns to face his opponent. 
Ilanis raises one brow at Amaranthe as she retakes her seat.
‘What? He’s rather handsome.’
She inclines her head with a pleased smile. Amaranthe wonders how much trouble they would both be in when the truth came to light. 
Balthazar spins his sword in his grasp, tossing it up and catching it in the air in his other hand. Show-off. 
Even though his entire face if covered, she could practically see the smug grin as his opponent begins to walk in a circle parallel to him. Balthazar mimics his every step. He lunges, only to make him flinch. It draws a few laughs from the crowd, before they return whispering with anticipation, some of the more impatient viewers urging them to get on with it already. 
Lord Lorvellan takes that as his cue to charge Balthazar. His deflect is almost lazy, slowly hefting up the sword with one hand. Balthazar remains on the defensive, which would be rather uncharacteristic of him if Amaranthe didn’t know any better. He is toying with the poor man. As expected, he claims his first victory without letting a single hit land. 
Lorvellan limps off the battlefield with whatever remains of his dignity.
‘And the first victory goes to…’ the chamberlain stops mid sentence, shame-faced. ‘I’m sorry, but who are you again, sir?’
‘Baron Strahd, of Barovia,’ he says, glancing at Amaranthe as he speaks.
She is so thankful none her knew of Barovia. 
‘Lord Strahd of Barovia!’ the chamberlain announces.
The crows roars, despite knowing neither Strahd or Barovia. They should be grateful of their ignorance. 
‘Are we ready to meet our next contestant?’
The tourney continues, as does Balthazar’s winning streak. 
Ilanis turns to her with a pleased smile partway through. ‘Seems your favour brought your chosen champion some luck.’
‘Yes, so it would appear,’ she says with a nervous laugh. 
The tourney would soon end. And their little secret would come to light. Now Amaranthe needs to think of a way Balthazar’s head stays attached to his shoulders. 
Finally, it comes to an end, and Balthazar’s stands at the victor. 
‘Come forward,’ Ilanis orders.
He does, removing his helmet. As he does, there is a flicker of his form as he drops the illusion masking his true appearance. There is a chorus of shocked gasps and scandalised whispering as Evermeet finally beholds the true nature of their victor--a tiefling. 
Ilanis’s expression freezes, her facial muscles twitching.
‘Good to see you again, your Majesty. Princess.’ He makes a sweeping bow.
If her mothers fury didn’t strike fear into her heart she might laugh at his clearly sarcastic actions and words. 
Ilanis whips around to face Amaranthe. ‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’
‘I swear mother, I had no idea.’
‘Both of you, throne room. Now.’
Ilanis stands and strides sharply back towards the palace.
‘U-um I believe the tournament is over… thank you all for attending and congratulations to our victor--I think…’ The chamberlain awkwardly stutters, but the stands are already draining. 
‘So, how dead am I?’ Balthazar asks as they walk back together. 
‘Pretty dead.’ 
‘Ah well. It was worth it to see your mother’s expression. Priceless!’
‘Not as priceless as Lord Daravis. He actually clutched his chest! Never seen someone look so betrayed!’
They share a laugh, but it dies quickly as they approach the throne room. 
‘I’ll go in first. Maybe seeing me will calm her a little,’ she says.
The guards push open the doors. There her mother sits, half a dozen stained-glass windows painting her as a featureless silhouette against the burning light filling the room of white and gold marble. Though Amaranthe can’t see her expression, her posture shows she is furious, and so very done. 
‘Well, don’t be shy, Balthazar. Come, take your place next to my daughter. That is what you desire, yes? So very much you are willing to use magic to fool dozens of respected noble families and myself.’
‘Your Majesty, if I may--’
She holds up her hand. ‘Let me finish. What you have just done, humiliating me in front of my entire court and half my kingdom...I should have your head for that. But it was a bold move. Bolder than any of that lot would dare. And you did prove the strength of your sword arm. An impressive display.
‘But you also proved something no other candidate could. Your love. Only love drives men into acting like such reckless fools.’ 
Amaranthe peers up at her mother, her fears caving into hopeful optimism. Though knowing her mother this could nosedive into the worst case scenario. 
She sighs again. ‘I realise I am the worlds biggest hypocrite. I love John. And I never married because of him. But that is my biggest regret. Trying to hide my second greatest joy in the world. But my when my first joy was born that proved quite impossible.’ Her head tilts to Amaranthe’s direction. ‘I give you my blessing.’
‘Well, now I feel bad about deceiving you,’ Balthazar says.
‘This time around, it worked in your favour. But if I may impart a small bit of advice, as your soon to be mother-in-law: never try it again.’  
‘Yes, your Majesty.’
‘Now go. It would seem I have a wedding to plan…’
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leswansong · 5 years
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Ladynoir July 2019: When Tomorrow Comes
Day Two: Miraculouses
[ A03 ]
            Adrien clutched his stomach tightly, his hunger pains grew worse and worse. Through the whispers on the streets he had made it there, the court of miracles; Chloe had referred to as the worst place on earth and constantly complained about how it was far too close for her liking, he laughed internally at the sight, it was far better than where he had been spending the past few nights. Carefully his feet edged into the slums, he knew that he would be calling its streets home for the next few nights until he found Chloe.
            He plucked the apple he had snagged from a cart when the person wasn’t looking and took a rather large bite into it, it wasn’t exactly fresh but in his hunger-ravaged mind he really couldn’t care, one bite turned into two and then four until he had nothing but a very thin core in his hands. The apple did very little to quell his demanding stomach but it bought him some time until he found Chloe. He couldn’t wait until that day, he was looking forward to eating his weight in food and the feeling of a warm bath.
            Adrien snuck around the court to get his bearings before he stumbled his way around looking for something he remembered, he noted a few places where he could find make his bed for the night and a few area’s where he would have to avoid. He wandered out of the encampment and back out into the streets, he was sure that he would find his way back, the small chalk marks on buildings (that if you looked close enough you would see that they were actually arrows) had led him to the court in the first place were always there to guide him back to it.
            He headed west from the court first back towards the River Seine and back towards Notre Dame, he remembered travelling along it when he went to visit Chloe on the rare occurrence his father allowed it, he was starting to regret not asking to visit her more often at that moment.
            People didn’t notice him anymore, they paid him no attention in his new set of clothes, he blended in extremely well and nobody seemed to know who he was, it was a relief for him more than he knew. He passed by several market stalls, most of them had different vegetables but one had fruit, he walked past it and quickly reached up to swipe whatever he could, he grabbed hold of an apple and stuffed it into his pocket, he reached up for seconds and grabbed hold of another apple and that one joined the first, he decided that two was enough for now and continued on his way.
            His ears picked up on every little sound around him making him hyper-aware of what was going on around him, the clattering of the brooms people were using as weapons against the cobblestones, the torches burning bright in red, yellow and orange as they were waved back and forth, the screams of the angry crowd when the called for someone’s head even if there wasn’t a guillotine in sight. He could hear everything, the singing and dancing that was going on in the bar to his left and the girl selling the newspaper to his right, they all heightened his already heightened senses.
                                                           -x-
              She pushed herself to walk faster, her legs were tired and they demanded that she sit down but in usual fashion she ignored it; she needed to get home to help her parents and she needed to complete the last half of her deliveries before the sun rose higher in the sky.
            The cries of the revolutionaries echoed all around her, she had grown used to them over the many years the revolution had raged, all the cheers were roughly the same and varied only slightly from time to time. The singing of songs that lasted into the late hours was something she swore she would never forget because of how often they were sung, she could recite them all by heart even if she herself had only sung them enough times to count them on one hand.
            Her trusty basket was once again at her side, this time it was empty, a good sign, nobody she knew had met Madame Guillotine that week and she hoped that they would never meet her.
            She paused just before crossing a wide stretch of street, she could hear the thundering of hooves hurtling towards her, she turned her head and Marinette watched the small carriage quickly turn into a larger one as it quickly approached, the horses were moving too quickly for them to stop, their blinkers stopped them from noticing the small old Chinese man crossing the road and the men driving the carriage were too wrapped up in their own conversation notice the man either.
            She sighed and placed her empty basket down, she bundled up her skirts a little then raced across the street and took hold of the old man's arm, she dragged him across the muddy street to the safety of the walkways, she lost her balance and crumbled to the floor but her attention was on the old man, she was more concerned about his well being than her own even she felt her scraped knees start to slowly bleed and her palms follow suit.
            “Are you okay?” she immediately asked, the horse's hooves clattered loudly behind her and the loud sloshing of wet mud being moved by the large round wheel’s followed it. The man ignored her and continued to stare back where he had once been standing, she followed his gaze and felt sad when she noticed the broken cane lying on the road. “I’m sorry,” she apologised, “I don’t have any money on me but my parents and I run a bakery, I’m sure they-”
            “It’s fine, Mademoiselle, I should be the one apologising, your dress.”
            She looked down, noticing that it was covered in a thick layer of mud and had been torn in quite a few places, she sighed in disappointment, it looked really bad but she didn’t tell the man that.
            “It doesn’t matter,” she assured him, “I can fix it,” although it wouldn’t be as simple as fixing it.
            Shakily she rose to her feet, she hadn’t noticed that her heart had been running as fast as those horses but it was, she looked after the carriage to see that it had already disappeared from sight. She brushed off some of the mud, it got stuck to her hands and she wiped them on her skirt completely forgetting the point of trying to get it off in the first point.
            “Where too?” she asked holding out her hand.
            “A house just a few houses down,” he instructed.
            “But you were-”
            He cut her off, “just to the house,” he repeated.
            She nodded and started to escort him towards his destination when suddenly she remembered her basket, her eyes grew wide at the realisation, she dropped his hand and turned immediately around to race back across the street to collect her discarded basket, She scooped it up from the grown, mud covered an entire side of it, her hand reached down to get rid of it only she stopped halfway, she shook it instead and some of the mud fell off of it but not all of it. She hooked it back on her arm and returned to the old man's side.
            “Sorry,” she apologised, “I needed this.”
            He nodded and took her hand again. Slowly she walked him back to his house, the old man’s legs shook with each step and with each step she believed that his legs would give out but they didn’t, they eventually made it to the narrow two-story building despite the odd looks they got from the people around them.
            “Thank you,” he said.
            “It’s no problem Monsieur,” she replied with a smile on her lips, “I was already heading this way.”
            He nodded, “Would you like some tea?” he offered.
            She shook her head at his kind gesture but continued to smile, “No thank you Monsieur, I must get going, my parents are expecting me.”
            He nodded again and she bowed her head in respect, she turned around and started towards home; she heard the man gently shut his door behind her. She let out a sigh and dragged her feet towards home, she kept her dress bundled up to try and hide the ripped fabric while she walked to preserve some of her modesty.
                                                           -x-
              The roads all looked the same to Adrien, they were all mud filled and had very little of the paved cobblestones he was looking for, he had wandered back towards the court several times because of how lost he had become; he wanted to know how people were able to effectively navigate the long streets without getting lost.
            He allowed his feet to direct him, his eyes focused on the people around him as they rushed about their daily lives with baskets of fruit or laundry. Slowly he was starting to feel like he was blending in, he was also starting to see all the things he had been missing because of his fathers overprotective and controlling nature. He followed someone for a little bit as they led him further away from the court and into an area he slightly recognised.
            He followed the person a little further before he diverted towards the townhouse. He wanted to run, he wanted to jump for joy but he held back his impulsive side and walked the long distance. The tall building slowly came into view, his excitement and anticipation grew with each step he took towards the townhouse.
            He pictured what Chloe would look now, would she have short blond hair or would she still have the long golden locks she had when they last saw each other? Or perhaps she had dyed it to try and hide her identity. Too many possibilities circled his head.
            He paused in front of the house and prepared to walk up towards it, he was jittery and was bouncing on the spot, his excitement was bubbling over and he wanted to go it already. His eyes took in the people around him to make sure no one was paying any attention to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an old man clutching for a cane that had been kicked just out of his reach. Nobody around the man did anything to help him, they continued on with their own business ignoring the helpless man on the cobblestones beside him.
            He looked over at the townhouse than the man and he decided to help the man. He moved into a jog to get to the guy’s side quicker.
            “Here, Monsieur,” he said pushing the cane towards the older Chinese man.
            The man smiled and took the cane from him, he went to stand on his own but Adrien helped him to his feet. The man smiled at him and thanked him, “Thank you, you are very kind.”
            “Its no problem,” he assured and he turned to head back to the townhouse.
            “Monsieur!” the man called trying to draw Adrien’s attention back, the man was successful, he turned and faced him. “For you,” the man said. A small coin purse was thrown his way, Adrien’s eyes followed it and he caught it, he stared at the small brown bag for a seconded and when he looked up the old man was gone leaving Adrien confused at the slightly heavy gift.
            He tossed the coin purse up in the air a couple of times before he pocketed it and he returned his position outside the tall townhouse. He couldn’t see any movement on any of the four floors but he stayed hopeful, he wondered what Chloe would look like; he was so wrapped up on getting to her that he had forgotten that it had been nearly four years since he had seen her, he couldn’t actually remember when he had last seen her. He knew it was for a birthday, he couldn’t remember if it was his own or hers, he doubted that it was hers it wasn’t grand enough but with the revolution, it was hard to tell any more.
            Carefully he approached the door, he took a deep breath before he decided to knock. His knock echoed up throughout the house, it sounded like it bounced off of everything, he pressed his ear to the door hoping to hear something but he heard nothing. He tried not to let his self-doubt get the better of him yet, there was still some hope that Chloe was asleep upstairs and Sabrina had gone out to grab some food for dinner.
            He pushed gently on the doors and the gradually swung open, the kitchen on the ground floor was neat, not a pot was out of place, he wandered further into the kitchen and straight towards the fireplace, his hand ran a few centimetres above the coals that had been neatly left behind, he felt no warmth from it and he felt his heart slowly sink into his stomach.
            His feet stomped up the steps the floors above, all the rooms were empty, only a few pieces of Chloe’s furniture remained within the building. He headed up to the fourth and final floor, the only sign that his childhood friend had ever lived there were small hardly noticeable scratches on the herringbone wooden floors. Adrien slumped to his knees, the feeling of hopelessness and abandonment ran rampant through his mind, he had been so close to a home and now he… he was lost….
                                                           -x-
              Marinette groaned as she dragged her feet up the steps towards her darkened room, the mud had already dried on the fabric causing it to weigh down the dress with every step. She threw open her trap door and dropped her basket on the floor while she continued towards her desk for the candlestick and a box of matches. She opened the box and quickly struck the match, lighting it. She raised the match to the candle and the soft light illuminated the darkened room when she was sure the flame had transferred, she removed the match and shook it to extinguish the original flame.
            She dumped her match into a nearby jar and picked up her candlestick, she moved to her way around her room and started to draw the thin curtains open, the mid-day sun filled her room with a bright light and with a feeling of warmth. She placed her candle back on her desk and set about removing the mud covered dress.
            First, she removed the grey apron that sat atop her dress then she removed the skirts and finally the tightly fitted coat, leaving her with her underskirt and corset, she dumped the dirtied outfit into her wash basket and quickly threw on her spare outfit she had kept for events like this. It was in better condition that her everyday clothes, she usually wore it when she was invited to a special event.
            She picked up her basket and prepared to head back down the steps when she felt something move within it, at first she thought a stray cat had somehow snuck its way into it the basket but opening the flap she found nothing but a box.
            Marinette stared at the small wooden box that was sitting at the bottom of her basket, she didn’t remember how it got in it there. Frowning, she pulled it from the basket and opened it, a bright ball of pink and red light blinded her, her left arm quickly tried to shield her from the light while she resisted the urge to drop the box.
            The light slowly faded and her left arm inched down towards her slide, it took a few seconds for her eyes to recover but slowly her eyes adjusted to her dimly lit room and to the red floating in front of her. She saw blue eyes staring back at her and she froze.
            “Hello! I’m Tikki!”
            She screamed for a second the panicked by throwing the small leather-bound book, her diary, at the creature, it caught it and handed it back to her. Her eyes grew in size and she shakily took the book from the small red creature, she placed it back on her writing desk beside her.
            “There’s no need to panic Marinette, I’m not going to hurt you.” Hesitantly Marinette nodded and cautiously waited for the creature to continue talking, “let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”
                                                           -x-
              Adrien stared up at the ceiling, his head and back rested against the door frame. He reached up and wiped the last remaining tears from his hot and puffy cheeks, an unopened bottle of wine sat beside him on the floor, he hadn’t had the heart to open it yet but he knew that it would only be a few hours before it would be opened.
            Adrien reached into his pocket for his last apple, he tried to ignore the loud sounds of his stomach growling for food, he was starting to get used to not eating as much as he liked and slowly but steadily his body was starting to get used to sudden adjustment all but his stomach, it was still rebelling against the change but it was slowly being bent to his will.
            His hand felt an octagonal shape not the round one he had been expecting but he still pulled it from his jacket. He was greeted by a small wooden box with red characters painted across the top, it took him a second to translate it but the translation didn’t give him much information as to the box’s origins.
            He shrugged and opened it, a green bright light enveloped his vision he used his arms to protect his eyes from it, the light dissipated and he slowly lowered his arms. His vision returned and he immediately noticed that a floating black kitten had appeared in front of him.
            “Ahurissant...” he whispered, his finger inched out to touch the floating cat.
            It yawned and blinked before it noticed that Adrien was reaching out to touch him, “Hey! What are you doing?” it asked in a slightly annoyed.
            “Trying to see if I’ve imagined you…” He replied.
            “Well I’m real,” it snapped, “Sorry,” it apologised, “And you are?”
            “Adrien…” he whispered.
            “Names Plagg, have you got anything to eat? I’m starving.”
            He frowned and slowly shook his head, “sorry… I-” his stomach finished his sentence for him.
            “Oh…” Plagg’s ears flattened against his tiny head, “this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the room around them.
            Adrien shook his head again, “No, a friend’s but- but she’s not here anymore so I guess…”
            He hadn’t planned on Chloe not being there, he looked at the empty room he was sitting in and the few furniture that remained. He could live there for a while without people noticing and he doubted that Chloe had sold the place, not after the hoops her father had jumped through to buy it for her so maybe he could get away with living there a lot longer than he thought. It was much better than the streets and he wouldn’t have to worry about the rain getting to him or people discovering him in the streets while he was trying to get to sleep
            “You were saying, kid?”
            “Hmmm?” he asked snapping back to the conversation, “Sorry I- I must have zoned out.”
            “I can see that, Now what was it that I had to tell you... Oh yeah, the miraculous!” Adrien looked at Plagg in confusion but waited patiently for the small cat to explain.
                                                           -x-
              Marinette stared at the… Kwami? She didn’t know if she had heard her right but here she was trusting the red thing called Tikki to pierce her sensitive ears for the small round earrings. Her knuckles had turned white from how tightly she was clutching her chair, the Kwami hadn’t even gone near her ears yet but she was still terrified. She tried to keep herself still in the wooden chair and out of the corner of her eye she watched the Kwami slowly hover closer and closer to her ears. She took a deep breath and waited for Tikki to do the deed.
            “So… Marinette?” The Kwami asked, “What do you like to do in your spare time?”
            She paused to think it though when she felt the sharp and painful prick at her ears, she let out an involuntary cry of pain and turned to send an angry scowl at the red ladybug.
            “Sorry,” Tikki said apologetically, “You needed a distraction for the pain.”
            Marinette nodded but it didn’t stop Tikki from receiving an upset glare out of the corner of Marinette’s eyes. Tikki sighed and slipped one of the earrings into the freshly pierced ear before she moved around to the next ear.
            “You know my last chosen had her ears pierced when she was born.”
            “Unfortunately mine wasn- Ouch!” she squeaked at the second sharp prick to her ears, Marinette reluctantly passed up the second earring and it too was slotted into its new home. “Couldn’t you have warned me?”
            “Sorry but you would have tensed up,” she replied defending her choice as she floated down to sit on the wooden desk in front of Marinette.
            Marinette’s ears felt heavy and bulky, her fingers slowly trailed up to them and she felt the round studs sitting firmly in place in her ears, a shiver ran up her spine at the odd sensation and she pulled her hand away from her ears before the feeling creeped her out too much.
            “Are you okay Marinette?”
            She nodded, “yeah… just- It’ll get some getting used to.” The Kwami nodded and waited patiently for Marinette to wrap her head around the new feeling on her ears before she continued explaining.
                                                           -x-
              Adrien inspected the silver ring sitting snuggly on his left ring finger, he wiggled them a little bit before returning to Plagg.
            “So there’s this threat… but you don’t know what this threat is... Just that I’ll know it when I see it?”
            “Yep.”
            “And there’s nothing else you can tell me?”
            Plagg shook his head, “Sorry kid, I got the mission this morning and was told hardly anything.”
            Adrien sighed, “Are you sure there isn’t anything you’ve forgotten?”
            The Kwami paused to think the question over, “You might have a partner… I can’t remember anything on an empty stomach.”
            Adrien groaned as the Kwami once again brought the conversation back to the topic of food. Adrien had been dancing around the subject of food, he wanted to make the coin purse last for at least several weeks and he definitely didn’t want to be spending the few francs he had been given on cheese but the Kwami wouldn’t settle on anything other than the prized camembert cheese.
            The Kwami would not compromise on anything, not even promising to buy it once a week would suffice. What the Kwami wanted, Adrien was sure that the Kwami would eventually get and Adrien was already cracking under the small magical creatures demands.
            Rolling his eyes Adrien pushed himself up from the floor. “Well come on then,” he said.
            The Kwami’s eyes briefly lit up before he zoomed over to Adrien, “Are you sure?”
            He sighed, “Yeah… Besides you might remember something important,” Adrien explained.
            Plagg nodded his head and led Adrien down the steps and out the back door to the townhouse. Adrien absentmindedly followed the small black cat down the streets and once again Adrien was surprised that nobody paid him any attention, his father had drilled into him that anyone and everyone would try to befriend him for his money and the revolution only strengthened his father's constant warnings.
            Plagg came flying back to Adrien’s side and grabbed hold of his coat’s lapel, the Kwami started to gently pull on the coat forcing Adrien to move his legs faster so they would get to the Cheese shop faster, he chuckled a little to himself and obliged the Kwami’s request by picking up his pace, he needed to get something for himself too so he wouldn’t have to go looking for something to eat when he got up in the morning.
Made for @ladynoirjuly2019
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kuchee · 5 years
Text
Movement / 3.5k of zutaraang fluffy bloodbending smut (yup), based on my fic Heartlines. 
He should hate how much he doesn’t mind the fact that she has him practically paralysed now. He should probably hate the way Aang watches them calmly. Like he’s taking it for granted, like it doesn’t even faze him that Zuko might allow such a transgression.
Read it on ao3 or below ❣️🌝
Even though Zuko's gotten more than used to Aang and Katara rushing around the palace over the years, it's still odd to see them here in his private bedchambers. There's something incongruous, a little heart-stopping about it. Even sleeping next to either of them invokes a sense of wonder that Zuko hasn't been able to shake yet.
And that's only a part of it. It's difficult to comprehend how dreamlike the last few weeks have been, ever since the night before he flew out of Daoshu. It's something beyond his most fanciful wishes falling into place. He doesn't have to pretend the two most important people that ever walked into his life (though he supposes it should be the other way around) are anything but that.
Katara sits on the bed with his head in her lap, her fingers absently coursing through his hair as she skims a small pile of letters. Aang, likewise, is sitting in a completely different corner of the enormous bed, close to the torches on the walls so he can pore over his own pile. Both quiet for once. They're supposed to be mid-honeymoon right now, yet neither seem to be able to neglect at least keeping up with the ongoings of the outside world, even if they're off duty. He doesn't blame them. Things are changing faster than anyone would have predicted. Not just the nations, but their technologies, cultures, beliefs.
The outside world - something Zuko, of all people, has blissfully forgotten in the minutes spent leaning against Katara's lap. He had a long line of meetings today. He takes the opportunity to just relax, close to the two people he never expected to be sharing this time with.
Zuko looks up at Katara, watching her eyes flit quickly over line after line. He extracts the hand resting in his hair, taking it carefully by the wrist and pressing it to his mouth. His breath hitches. It's too early to shake the feeling that he isn't supposed to be doing this. Katara's skin is smooth under his lips, fragrant with the sea smell that never leaves her, her wrist wiry and delicate. He breathes it in, dragging her hand down until he can kiss right up to the crease of her elbow.
Katara twitches. No doubt that tickles. "Stop it, you're not that smooth," she says lightly.
"I wasn't trying to be smooth," Zuko says. When she puts the letter down and smiles at him, it's an invitation. Zuko tries not to feel out of his element when he cups her face, pulling her down to kiss it. He gets her chin and then her cheek from the odd angle, but it only makes her giggle so he counts that as a win. Katara clasps his face in her hands properly and kisses him, the boldness of her movement sending sparks through his head. She rounds her shoulders, leaning down into him until the curtain of her hair tickles Zuko's face, falls into the hollows of his neck. Her hands slip away towards his naked chest, caressing softly. Zuko kisses her harder at the touch, feeling clumsy the instant he does. He wants to reciprocate that, this tenderness he hardly deserves.
Katara pulls away slightly, drawing her hands over the expanse of his shoulders. The hitch in her breath makes him warm to his core. Her eyes wander, taking him in and Zuko finds himself straightening his shoulders automatically to receive her gaze.
An idea worms its way into his thoughts as he follows the movement of her hands, circling his upper arms. He takes a tentative glance at her face. She lingers there, fingers tracing lightly on his biceps. She looks gripped in thought, a glint in her eyes.
Zuko takes a breath. Should he… ask? Would that be too strange? Would he be able to keep his voice nonchalant, experimental?
Probably not.
But Katara is ahead of him. He can hear her swallow, almost hear her compose the question before it leaves her lips. "Do you want to try something?" she says, her voice low.
Zuko's body tightens, on edge under her hands. He berates himself silently. She hasn't said anything yet. "What?"
A flash of hesitation passes her expression, and Zuko feels disingenuous for asking. He already knows what.
"I can… um, I can use bloodbending to do that," she says, staring down at her own hands, her voice barely above a whisper. "It might be interesting."
Zuko meets her gaze. "I was thinking the same." The anticipation seizes him, shamefully quick.
Katara's mouth parts in surprise, but she doesn't let on much more than that. Her eyes dart aimlessly for a moment before she clears her throat. "Make sure you're… just make sure you tell me what you're feeling," she says.
Zuko nods and swallows, already shuddering inside at the thought. Back in Daoshu, when she had used bloodbending on him, it had been a shock to his senses. Not the bending, necessarily - that was strange but gradual, slow; a bizarre creep of sensation that should have been repulsive if not for the circumstance. It was Katara's attention on him that left him struck. A raw, targeted focus, yet without even a trace of malice. He wasn't fully sure those two things could have coexisted, before that.
It haunted him for days.
Katara hovers one hand over his arm. Like last time, Zuko can't help the rough breath that pushes out of him when she begins. It builds like a throb, a spreading ache, but an elusive one, disappearing when he tries to pinpoint the sensation. The only real indication of how helpless he is occurs when he tries to lift his arm. There's nothing. Not a single nerve responds. He can feel the mattress underneath, but beyond that, it's like looking at someone else's arm.
Katara exhales. Just as stealthily as it had gone, the feeling seeps back into his arm. He closes and opens his fist.
"Does that feel okay?" Katara says. Zuko feels himself nod; her voice swims in his ears, far away. This was smoother than last time. Less hesitation, the invasion swifter. She's gaining ground already.
Katara continues, her body stiff as a statue where he rests against it. The sensation creeps into his shoulder, a faint tingle trickling along his clavicles, skirting down towards his rib cage. He swallows, his mind racing along with the sensation. When he looks up, Katara's face is focused, her elbow poking out in concentration. She's wiry, her hands slender as they draw slowly, inches above his skin.
She pauses. Inch by inch, she drops one hand, retracting it and returning it to his hair. Her breath comes in puffs, but Zuko doesn't feel a single change when he tries to shift, the faint tingle holding him still in place.
She's bending his blood, the expanse of his chest, with one hand.
Zuko's heart spikes at the triumph in Katara's eyes when she glances briefly at his face. His head is swimming. He knows how she feels under his hands, the dip of her waist, her bony shoulders; his face still heating up at the thought of the places where she has let him touch her. This visceral power lay dormant in her, all this time, possible with the lift of a finger. Really just a finger, in Katara's case, her waterbending defter than anyone's.
She's in his chest. With a single decision right now, she could do anything. She could extinguish his life.
The sensation ebbs and flows like a caress: it's all she wants to do to him. He watches her face, transfixed, the pleasure and danger buzzing in his head, pulling him deeper into a delirious kind of state. He can feel when his body slackens, and when she draws it tight, with no say in either sensation. Every inch of him is alert, none more than his beating heart. He wonders if she can feel that, and how strongly.
"What are you- oh."
The voice jolts him back to Earth. He hadn't noticed Aang move across the bed, sitting next to him. Zuko looks from Aang to Katara's hands, not trusting himself to speak right now. Katara, however, hasn't relinquished her position one bit, a realisation that makes him shiver.
Aang's eyes widen, watching them with tentative curiosity.
"Further?" Katara says. Zuko's attention is instantly drawn back to her. Her pupils are dark, and she sounds parched.
"Yeah," Zuko says, looking at Aang, a fevered part of him daring him to say something, to object. Aang only watches. He looks strange in dim firelight, his expression uncharacteristically blank. Zuko tries to put it out of his mind.
He attempts to move his torso again, experimentally. He had expected, back in the Earth Kingdom, that it would feel like a struggle, a force he had to retaliate against if he wanted control of his body. But there's nothing to fight. He can't retaliate against something that's a part of him.
"Is it still okay?" Katara breathes, her question for Zuko but her eyes shifting to Aang. There's a barely perceptible nod somewhere in the corner of Zuko's eye. It pulls him deeper.
Zuko nods too, despite the burn crawling up his neck and down into his groin. This is - this is getting weird. He should hate how much he doesn't mind the fact that she has him practically paralyzed now. He should probably hate the way Aang watches them calmly. Like he's taking it for granted, like it doesn't even faze him that Zuko might allow such a transgression.
Aang puts his hand over Zuko's. The touch is conspicuous in his brain, magnified by the simple fact that he can't touch Aang back. He shifts again, only the lower half of his torso accepting his own demands for movement.
Katara must sense his unease. "Do you want me to let your arms go?" she says, barely above a whisper, demonstrating with a simple swerve of her thumb. A cooling sensation crawls up Zuko's fingers as the feeling rushes back into them. He feels fresh sweat, turning his palm and pressing it to Aang's, but he doesn't know whose it is. Aang is staring at Katara, eyes widened in astonishment. Zuko understands. She hadn't let on how precise she could be, last time.
All in one breath, he says, "You don't have to."
Katara hovers at the edge of the scar that touches his sternum, the sensation seeping lower towards his navel. Zuko's breathing harshens. Everything is heightened here, and his muscles can't fight the loss of movement even when they automatically try to; circling back, pushing against nothing.
Katara, coursing in his veins, is the only person who can control it.
Aang's eyes are back on him. He shifts forward now, eyes raking down Zuko's whole body. It feels vulgar compared to how lightly Aang usually regards his surroundings. Zuko feels naked; defensive.
"What are you looking at?" he says, biting his tongue in frustration when it comes out more as a whisper than a playful snarl.
Aang seems to snap out of a haze, looking up at Zuko with a small smile. He's shifting gears visibly. "You, Your Hotness." He looks pointedly at the bulge in Zuko's trousers. "I can tell that you like this."
Zuko struggles to glare, even more so from the silent laughter he can feel in Katara's stomach, pressed against him. "I can too," she says breathlessly. "I can- I can feel it."
Aang gasps audibly, clearly about to enquire on that statement when Zuko groans out loud in embarrassment. In one uncoordinated scramble Katara cups the side of his face with her free hand, and Aang squeezes Zuko's hand next to him.
Katara leans down and kisses him until he calms. Right.
They aren't making fun of him.
Aang squeezes the grip on his hand, waiting his turn, before leaning up to kiss Zuko. This he can react to, and he kisses back with the fervour that he can't express with the rest of his body, realising only now how fired up he really is.
It's a lot of touch. And maybe he should feel panicked by the fact that his hands are figuratively tied, but there's no room in his mind and body to feel anything else, with the two of them, clogging up his brain, crowding every one of his senses.
Aang sits up again and trails his hands down to Zuko's stomach. Despite the fact that the touch feels the same, Zuko can pinpoint the exact moment his fingers cross the flesh from under Katara's control to his own, just from the reflexive thrust of his hips. Aang quickly undoes the loose waist of his pants, a clumsiness in the movement betraying the excitement that his calm composure hides. Zuko squirms at the touch, lifting up to feel Aang's hands on him. Aang seems intent on evading him, drifting cool air low on his stomach. Zuko lets out a growl of frustration.
"Stop moving," Aang tells him innocuously, a hint of mischief back in his tone. Zuko tries to react, but there's a gentle lilt to his voice that compounds the headiness he already feels, enough to push him over the edge. A desperate moan escapes him rather than the scoff he intended.
He pulls it together and hisses, "What are you talking about, I can hardly -"
"Can you hold him still for me?"
Zuko gapes.
Aang is looking intently at Katara. Zuko can sense no surprise from her, not even a change in her breathing. Was she already thinking that before he said it? He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think past the helpless need building in his groin, coursing through his whole body.
And then they're both looking at him. For permission.
Zuko nods, his face burning.
Katara shifts against the headboard, her body emanating pure heat. Zuko turns, his face pressed into her thigh so he can muffle the moans Aang draws out of him with his hands; so he can hope to survive what's happening. A kiss low on his stomach draws his eyes back to Aang. His mouth presses against the lowest edge of Zuko's scar; a breath that's too long, too lavish to just be a breath. There's a feverish part of Zuko that's grateful for the restraint on his body, just for the fact that they can't see him quiver. Aang kisses him, again and again, like he's deliberately calling attention to where Zuko can't move.
Zuko groans with the urgency but Aang doesn't go where he wants him, and Zuko is powerless to make him. It's certainly bolder than Zuko expected from him. And it's sure as hell more patience than he could give Katara credit for. But he doesn't know, maybe they have practice. Another thought that sends his blood rushing.
Finally, Aang pulls down the fabric from his hips in one strong movement. Katara lowers her hand an inch; a feeling so acute that it might as well have been much more. He thinks he hears them both draw a breath at the sight of him exposed before Aang wraps a hand around him. Like a tag team hell-bent on destroying him, they linger low near his hip bones, the taut skin of his stomach racking with his harsh breaths; the only thing Katara allows him. It's a caress, a careful one; Katara under his skin and Aang above it. Zuko wants to shift, squirm, lift his hips forward to get more but it's obvious from their actions that the only avenue for protest he's given is the rough moans he can't keep from escaping his mouth.
Aang must take pity on him, because he holds Zuko by the hips and replaces his hands with his mouth, kneeling by Zuko's legs. Zuko groans loud enough for Katara to press her hand against his mouth, before kissing him, taking the agitation from him. She lifts her head to watch Aang, and Zuko can plainly see the hunger in her expression even from the way her hair obstructs his view. He wants to touch her, or him; he doesn't know but it doesn't matter regardless. He can't move or think or speak, can only take the relentless attention, the wet warmth of Aang's mouth around him and Katara everywhere inside him.
Maybe she's boiling him alive. It certainly feels like it.
Aang pulls off him, looking at Katara with reddened cheeks and a bashful smile. Zuko huffs in a breath, impatient. No matter how much he tries it comes out aggravated, desperate. "Aang, get on with it."
Aang looks at him pointedly, with a smile that makes him feel lightheaded. "What?"
Zuko tries not to whimper. "I swear if you want me to tell you what, I'll kick you out of-"
Katara kisses him, her breaths harsh on his face. "Tell him," she says, her voice thick with desire.
Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, shaking the frustration out of his head. Katara strokes the skin of his cheeks, presses kisses into his jaw, his arched neck, coaxing for the answer.
"Just do- just put your mouth back on me," he mumbles.
Aang is back on him in the same instant. If Zuko thought he didn't have control before - well. Katara grabs his hair, harder than she probably intends, rewarding him for every shamefully loud moan, spurring him on with bold kisses against his neck, his earlobe. Goosebumps spring up on his immobile arms.
"You look beautiful," she says, her voice earnest, shaking with arousal, "you're so beautiful." Aang concurs silently with only a bob of his head, squeezing Zuko's hand, eyes flitting up to catch Zuko's for only a moment before he turns his attention back with remarkable focus. Funny how he can do that when he really wants to.
Katara tips his chin up into a messy kiss. Her hands really tremble now, and her control falters with it, because Zuko finds he can lift his arms. He reaches for Aang's head instantaneously, jerks his hips until he can feel the sensation build fast - but in a matter of seconds Katara regains her composure. She catches and pins him with startling precision. It's the clean, unthinking power in that action - moving him rather than keeping him still - that sends him over the edge, leaving him helpless to Aang.
He feels mad, strange, like he might burst; an inferno that could engulf anything, only Katara containing him and only Aang channelling him away.
She splays one leg across Zuko's chest, leaving him closer to her warmth. Zuko desperately peppers hot kisses into the trembling flesh of her thighs even as he's hindered by the long, hoarse breaths he has to take. She ends up half-caressing Aang's head with her ankle. For one manic moment, Zuko feels grateful for her for doing what he isn't able to do, forgetting that she's created this predicament in the first place.
Aang pulls off him with agonising slowness, his breathing so uncharacteristically erratic that Zuko feels a smidge of pride. He wipes his mouth on his arm with a hurried lopsided smile, managing only the hint of a kiss on Zuko's lips when Katara yanks him by the neck. She kisses him hard, and he kisses back with equal boldness. Zuko's brain alights with the feeble energy he has left; watching the two of them tasting him and each other eagerly.
Katara releases her hold but doesn't let him go, her hand curled around his face to kiss him again. Zuko pulls Aang down into his arms once the shock wears off. His limbs too light and clumsy, making the movement rougher than he intended, but Aang falls with grace. Katara snakes her way under his arm on his other side. The air is sticky as they catch their breath.
"I think that went quite well," Katara says, looking up with a smile and her eyes wide for a response. Zuko just kisses her so he doesn't have to answer that. She hooks an arm and a leg around him, her hand resting flat on his chest. The touch feels so superficial, and shame bubbles in his chest at that realisation, at the intrusion he let her conduct.
"Yeah," Aang says slowly, stroking the hand on Zuko's chest with his own. "A little unexpected, but very interesting." He smirks up at Zuko. Zuko shakes his head with a half-hearted roll of his eyes. He wraps his arm around Aang, trying to convey every affection that he couldn't earlier. Aang settles into him. The unmistakable hardness pressed against Zuko's thigh makes him feel a little winded. Just from that?
Katara's voice is silvery. "Unexpected?"
"Shut up," Zuko says instantly.
She giggles, nuzzling into him. Her body is conspicuously hot, cloying; trapped between them, something pleasant stirs in Zuko, even though he feels completely spent.
But neither of them make a move. Katara stays pressed into him, lightly caressing him, and Aang shifts to kiss him, intermittently, softly; deftly drawing the residual shame from him like that's some Avatar power itself. Zuko lies placid and full between them, not daring to disturb the peace until he has a good hold on himself. They'll both get what's coming soon.
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