#and some is. not. (The Kindly Ones is fucking unreadable fight me)

[thedreadvampy]

also let's be honest I'm like 50% less interested in Things Neil Gaiman Makes if Dave McKean or Chris Riddell or Charles Vess aren't anywhere to be seen like come on man. what can I say. I'm an illustration guy.

[skiitter]

A prompt, my dear. Hermione and Draco + “who hurt you?”

Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, the majority of which were less than desirable to any sensible person, but one thing he was not was late. His punctuality was a point of pride, in a sea of arrogance no doubt, but Hermione had come to appreciate it over the course of their working relationship. It was something she could rely on, something immovable in an otherwise dangerously murky situation. He may needle her ceaselessly and leave her to do the lions share of the paperwork, but he was always there when he was expected, an effortless air of smugness clinging to him like bad cologne.

This Sunday, however; this unremarkable, overcast Sunday in late September he was late. It was the day after her 24th birthday as well as their final meeting. The report had been ostensibly completed, the field work essentially finished, and the conclusion inevitably drawn. After the better part of a year dedicating 1/3rd of every weekend to spending most of the day with Malfoy, Hermione's Sundays were about to become her own once more; a prospect she was not all that excited about.

Everytime the chirp of the bell above the door announced a new arrival, she would glance over, expecting to see a shock of platinum hair above a signature sneer and everytime, she was disappointed.

"Another tea, miss?" The waitress asked, her expression a perfect blend of professionalism and pity.

"No, no thank you." Hermione spared another look out the window, searching for him among the crowd. "Actually, I think I'm done here. Could I get the check?"

Bundled up against the autumn chill, Hermione paid and left the Cafe' and it's memories behind. It wasn't quite noon yet, and the streets were slowly filling with the townspeople emerging to go about their days. She smiled at a few passersby but was otherwise lost in her own thoughts as she made her way to the Apparition point.

Maybe Malfoy had just decided their final meeting wasn't all that important. To be fair it was more of a formality than anything else. His decision to not show would have no negative consequence on anything other than her feelings. Feelings, of course, that she was deliberately not thinking about.

As she rounded the corner, absorbed in her denial, she didn't see him until it was too late. With an audible "oof" she ran straight into Malfoy, colliding chest to chest. She immediately bounced off but he caught her arm before she could hit the sidewalk.

"What--Malfoy?"

"Graceful as always, Granger." He let her go and she stared, wide eyed and confused, at the state of his face.

"Merlin! Your face it's--"

"Your manners leave so very much to be desired." He looked cross but it was hard to tell beneath the bruising. An ugly, mottled patch of purple marred the left side of his face, stark and violent against his pale skin. It was fresh, the edges red with the recent impact, and it appeared to have just narrowly missed his eye.

"Malfoy," she reached her hand out, ghosting her fingertips over the bruise. "What happened?"

He sneered at her and jerked away. "Keep your obligatory Gryffindor concern to yourself, Granger."

"It's not an obligation!"

"Says the war hero."

"Will you--ugh!" She huffed and dragged him back around the corner, off of the sidewalk and into an alley. "What happened?" She repeated.

"Nothing."

"Malfoy."

He looked around, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her. "I made a wrong turn at Diagon Alley, is all."

"A wrong turn?" The incredulity in her voice was palpable. "To where? A boxing ring?"

"Just drop it, Granger."

"I will not just drop it. Look--look at your face!" She closed the space between them. "Malfoy, please. What happened?"

He sighed and the rigidity of his shoulders softened. "I forgot, okay? I went to Flourish and Blotts to get you your bloody birthday gift and when I left, I ran into some adoring fans."

"What--"

"Our former school chums don't take kindly to my presence in Diagon Alley and, after our last little spat, I'd forgotten the warning they'd left me with." Malfoy's jaw tensed and he squinted up into the clouded sunlight. "They took it upon themselves to remind me."

Hermione balled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter, Granger."

"Who?" She took a steadying breath. "Who hurt you?"

"I don't know. I vaguely recognized them from Hogwarts. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. It was categorically not fine. Malfoy was hardly the first of their class that had been on the wrong side of the war to be attacked. Harry had spent a significant amount of time trying to dispel such violent grudges and, to the best of her knowledge, it had been handled. Clearly, she was mistaken.

"We need to report this to the Ministry. Harry needs--"

"Absolutely fucking not." Malfoy gave her an indignant look. "The last person that needs to hear about this is Saint Potter."

"Malfoy, Harry's job is dealing with--"

"No, Granger. I said no."

"So what? Those nasty little insects just get to get away with it? No. I refuse. We didn't go to bloody war--"

"I was on the wrong side of that war, remember? So, yeah, we did go to war for this exact scenario to exist." He could see the lack of effect his words were having written across her face. "Granger. Please. I don't want this to become another of your crusades."

She reeled as if she'd been slapped. "Crusades?! Malfoy, it's about the injustice of it! You don't deserve to be attacked in the streets for something you did nearly ten years ago!"

"The court of public opinion begs to differ."

"Oh they'll beg alright," she snapped. At her genuine anger, his features softened and Malfoy gave her an unreadable look before looking away.

"You're such a fucking Gryffindor." He said it with an air of affection, though, and it helped to ground her back in the now.

"Thank you." Once more she placed her hand upon his bruised cheek and, to her surprise, he leaned into the touch. Her breathe caught in her lungs and she swallowed. "We--we should take care of that."

"It's just a simple spell. I'll handle it."

"No," she insisted and stepped away from him. "I will. It's the least I can do."

"This is hardly your fault."

"You went to Diagon Alley for me, remember?" She looked him up and down. "Speaking of..."

"I've been attacked and you're worrying over your stupid gift?" His tone was lighter than it had been since she'd ran into him.

"Of course I am. It's not everyday the evil Draco Malfoy buys you a gift." Hermione nodded to the Apparition point behind them. "Let's go."

"What about the Cafe? You can't honestly expect me to deny our Waitress her weekly opportunity to oogle at me." He gestured to his outfit: an expensive and perfectly tailored muggle suit that Hermione had forced him to buy after he showed up to their first meeting in robes.

"I've already been. It'd been weird to go back now. Besides, I think the bruise will overshadow your fancy slacks."

"Women like a man with scars."

She snorted. "It's hardly a battle scar, you git." when he gave her a pleading look, she rolled her eyes and looked around, to make sure they were alone. Satisfied with the lack of muggles, Hermione drew her wand and tapped it gently to his cheek. The static heat of magic bloomed between them and the ugly purple faded away, leaving his pale cheek unblemished once more. "There."

In the process of her healing, Malfoy had stepped completely into her personal space and the look he was giving her was heavy, deliberate.

"This isn't over, Malfoy. I'll find out who did this, with or without your help. They don't get to just attack you and get away with it."

"I'm hardly a weakling, Granger. I fought back."

"Good. It'll make them easier to identify."

"You're not going to let this go." It was not a question.

"No. I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because." She gave him a defiant look and he tipped her chin up with his hand. "You're my--"

"What? I'm your what?"

"Friend?"

"Is that all?" He was dangerous, but in a completely different way to the bully he'd been in their youth.

"That depends."

"On?"

"On what you got me for my birthday." She grinned and he laughed, pressing his forehead to hers a moment before pulling away and offering her his arm. She looped hers around it and let him steer them back in the direction of the Cafe.

After a lunch of finger sandwiches and tea, Malfoy finally handed her a perfectly wrapped gift that she immediately tore into. It was the latest book in a series on beasts that Rolf Scamander had been releasing, and it wasn't supposed to be out for another week.

"How did you get this?"

Malfoy shrugged, as if it was the least important thing in the world. "Money is an exceptionally good incentive."

"I love it. Thank you." She beamed at him and he cleared his throat as if it would distract her from the flush creeping up his neck.

"It's no big deal, Granger."

"To you maybe. It is to me. You know how I feel about birthday gifts." They both thought back to the spectacle she'd made of his back in June.

"I did fight for my life while I was out getting it." He grinned but the smile faded at the sharp look she gave him. "I'm joking, of course. Just a little fisticuffs, nothing serious."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am. You didn't have to go all the way to Diagon Alley for this."

"Sure I did."

"Just submitting your half of the report would be gift enough."

"Lucky for you I've done both. Besides, I'm sick of using that bloody report as an excuse to be around you." Hermione blinked, unable to process the weight of what he'd said. At the shock on her face, he shrugged again. "Come on, Granger. You can't possibly think I care about work this much."

"I--you--what?"

He leaned forward and captured her chin in his hand. "My fierce, naive little lion. You're horribly dense." Malfoy gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and pulled away. "Let's go before the Waitress gets jealous."

"But. What."

"I've rendered the great Hermione Granger speechless. I am truly magnificent." His laugh brought her to her senses and she launched herself across the table to kiss him.

"Sod the waitress."

She did, in the end, figure out who hurt him and in true Hermione Granger fashion, made them rue the day they laid hands upon someone she loves.

[specialagentsergio]

wish i were

summary: Emily’s back where she belongs, but she’s learning that you can’t come back from the dead the same as you were before. Spencer’s reeling from betrayal and broken trust. Then there’s you—their safe port in the storm. But you’re not okay either, and you have a choice to make.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: lots of swearing, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, bittersweet ending

a/n: it’s finally here. thank you all for your patience. i wasn’t planning on posting angst and unrequited love on valentine’s day, but i don’t want to wait another day to post this; i’m kinda sick of looking at it tbh. anyways, i hope you enjoy it and it lives up to your expectations. sorry it’s so long. apparently i have a lot to say.

word count: 8.7k

series masterlist || masterlist

Ten weeks ago.

“Absolutely not,” Emily croaks out. Her voice is rough and broken from the breathing tube, and it hurts her throat to speak, but she ignores it. “No. I won’t do it.”

She can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She’s only been awake for a few hours and she’s already fed up with the bullshit the world is throwing at her. Right now, it’s in the form of her boss asking her to fake her own death. “You can’t seriously think this is an acceptable solution.”

Hotch is unreadable, his unit chief face firmly in place. “It’s for your own safety.”

Emily scoffs, then immediately winces at the pain that shoots through her midsection. But she continues. “So put me in a safe house or something. I’m not making my friends bury me.”

“It’s for their safety as well,” he replies. “Doyle’s still out there. He’s targeted them before. You know he’ll do it again to get to you if he finds out you’re alive.”

“Then let them in on this,” she argues. “They can keep a secret.”

His expression slips—just a little bit, but she sees it. It’s hesitance.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” she asks, a feeling of dread settling over her. “I want to see her. I’m not making a decision like this without her.”

Hotch folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not your decision to make, Emily,” he says quietly. “It’s already done.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She looks him up and down, searching desperately for any sign that he’s lying, that this is all just some cruel joke, that any second now you’ll be walking through the door, a smile on your face—

There are none.

Her lungs burn and she’s forced to take in a breath. “You son of a bitch,” she whispers. “You... son of a bitch. How dare you? How dare you.”

He doesn’t so much as flinch as her voice increases in volume, which only serves to make her angrier.

“How fucking dare you! You let me see (Y/N) right now, you bastard!”

The door opens—her heart leaps—

It’s JJ, who, if Hotch is to be believed, is the only other one to know about this. JJ hurries to her side and reaches out, but Emily yanks her arm away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarls. “You—” Her eyes land on the water pitcher on the table in front of her and she lunges forward, the searing pain it causes barely registering. She seizes it and throws it with all the force she can muster.

Hotch doesn’t move out of the way, letting it hit his chest and soak the front of his clothing. Its accompanying cup follows, then the TV remote. It’s not until she grabs the vase of flowers that he ducks out of the way. The glass shatters on the floor. All the while, she’s screaming obscenities at him.

JJ tries in vain to calm her down, holding up her hands placatingly. “Emily, please—”

“Don’t talk to me!” she yells. “You have the audacity to come in here and speak to me when you know I’m alive and my girlfriend doesn’t!”

“Emily!” Her voice is stern. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Don’t use your fucking mom voice on me, Jennifer, I’m not a fucking child—”

“What’s going on in here?” A pair of nurses enter the room, no doubt drawn by the commotion.

“She’s bleeding,” JJ answers immediately. “I think she might have aggravated something when she sat up.”

“She’s not supposed to be sitting up at all. What did you two do?” one of the nurses scolds.

“She just got some bad news—”

“Well, isn’t that a nice way to put it!” The nurses are trying to coax her into laying back down, but Emily resists it. “A really great way to describe the two of you trying to force me into letting my family and girlfriend think I’m dead!”

“I think some of the stitches tore,” the second nurse says.

“Go get the doctor,” the first one instructs an orderly standing in the doorway.

Movement catches Emily’s eye and she looks towards it to see Hotch taking a step backwards.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams. “I’m not done with you, you motherf—”

“Agent, please, you need to lie back.”

“And you two need to leave,” the older of the nurses says.

Then there’s a third person at her side. Judging by the white coat, it’s the doctor. “What’s the problem?” he asks them.

“She’s agitated and we think some stitches might have burst.”

“Damn right I’m agitated!” Emily cries. “They’re trying to—I—” She looks past the doctor to find that JJ and Hotch are gone.

“Emily, we’re going to give you something to help you relax,” he tells her.

Her vision goes blurry and she can’t figure out why until she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks. She lets the nurses push her back now and her head thumps against the pillow. “Please—” she chokes on a sob. “Please, I want to see my girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?” the doctor asks kindly.

“(Y/N). We’ve been together for almost a year. I need…” Her limbs are starting to feel heavy. “I need to call her, or—or something. She thinks… she thinks….”

“Shh, you’re okay,” one of the nurses soothes. “You’re going to be okay.”

Emily blinks slowly and shakes her head. “But she won’t be. She…”

The world fades to black.

---

There are tear stains on your pillowcase.

That’s the first thing Emily notices when she walks into your bedroom. She recognizes them so quickly because similar ones were on her pillows in Paris.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to run the sheets through the wash,” you say when you notice her looking.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She sets her bag on the bedside table, careful to jostle Sergio as little as possible. He’s in her arms, pressed against her chest and purring loudly. He definitely remembers her—she’d been a little worried that he wouldn’t.

Emily is absolutely exhausted. It has been a very long day. Doyle is dead, Declan is safe, and now all she wants to do is take a nice, hot shower and curl up in bed with you. But you haven’t been able to keep eye contact with her for more than a few moments at a time.

She expected something like this to happen. She knew once the relief of seeing her alive wore off, there was going to be a heap of more, uglier emotions surfacing.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

You glance up at her just briefly, busying yourself with stripping off the pillowcases and replacing them with a clean set. “I don’t know what to say, Emily,” you sigh. “I just… I don’t.”

She strokes Sergio’s back a couple of times to calm herself before replying. “You can say anything. You’ve been through so much, and I… I’m not going to hold what you’re feeling against you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

It confirms her suspicions. “(Y/N), you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she says. “Hell, you could even yell at me if you wanted to and I’d be okay with it.”

You snort. “I don’t want to yell at you. But, um, could I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. Well…” You shuffle from one foot to the other. “I’m… not really sure how to ask this, but, how… how did this happen?”

Your voice is hesitant. You’re holding back, but Emily can read between the lines. “You mean, how could I let you think I was dead?” she corrects softly.

You breathe in sharply and wrap your arms around yourself. Your eyes are wet when you look up at her and nod.

Emily tries not to let her next words come out too fast, lest it seem like she’s dismissing your feelings or making excuses. “I didn’t get a choice.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. “When I came to after surgery, the funeral had already been held.”

Your mouth drops open. You stare at her for a few seconds, then blink several times. Your eyes move around, focused on nothing in particular as you try to process what she’s just told you. Eventually, they settle on the bedroom door behind her. “I’m gonna punch his face,” you whisper.

Emily can’t stop the genuine laugh that bubbles out of her. “Yeah, Hotch heard similar things from me.”

“Oh my god, Em,” you breathe out, and her heart skips a beat at the nickname. “That must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” she admits. “But at least I knew you were alive and that I’d see you again someday. It can’t come close to what you went through.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t the suffering Olympics. It was harder for you in some ways than it was for me, I’m sure. Like, if I was waking up after being stabbed, I’d want my girlfriend there holding my hand.”

Emily’s eyes prick with tears as she listens to you, remembering how it felt to be at the hospital without you there to hold her hand through all the scary bits. But you? You had buried her, and now you’re here considering how Emily had felt throughout all this. She’s not sure if you’re actively trying to make her fall even more in love with you, but if you are, you’re succeeding.

“I can’t promise to never be mad at you about this,” you continue, “but I’ll take being mad at you for actually being alive rather than being mad at you for dying.”

“That’s… really mature of you,” she observes.

“I started seeing a therapist a few days after the funeral,” you say with a shrug. “Can you put Sergio down and help me change the bed sheets?”

She nods and places him gently on the floor. She’s about to ask why you’re wanting to change them right now, when you’re clearly just as exhausted as she is, when she finds a tie wedged between the top and fitted sheets at the foot of the bed. She frowns as she lifts it up—it’s not one she recognizes as yours or hers, but she does think she’s seen it before.

“Oh, so that’s where that went,” you say.

“I don’t remember you having a tie like this. Is it new?”

“It’s Spencer’s,” you clarify.

“Oh. What… what’s it doing in your bed?” she asks hesitantly.

“He would stay over sometimes when I couldn’t sleep and he’s too long—“ you spread your hands apart “—for either of the couches.”

“I see.” Emily smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric and crosses the room to put it on top of the dresser, trying to tamp down the sting of jealousy. The other side of your bed is supposed to be hers.

“Nothing happened,” you say and she realizes she’s frowning.

“I know,” she replies, and she does—she just wishes it had been her in the bed with you. But you’ve at least given her a good lead-in for her surprise. “Anyways, you wouldn’t have even had the time with the amount of online Scrabble you were playing.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “How do you know about that?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “I was there for every game, sergio2010.”

It takes you a moment to put it together. “You’re cheetobreath?” you ask. “I thought that was JJ.”

“It was her idea,” Emily says. “And that’s what you were supposed to think.”

Your reaction delights her—you start laughing. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I had to stick it to Hotch somehow,” she defends, barely holding back her own laughter.

You shake your head fondly as you finish tucking in the fresh sheets. Emily helps you spread the comforter back over the bed and return the pillows to their spots. She isn’t sure what to do after that, though, and nervously clasps her hands in front of her. You’re silent for a few seconds, watching her from across the bed.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” you say eventually.

“Um, okay,” she replies. “But you know, I could go stay at a hotel instead if you’d prefer.”

You shake your head. “You’re gonna join me.”

“Ah.” Emily swallows, part nervous, part thrilled. “That’s… I mean, yeah. Okay.”

You hold out your hand in invitation; she circles the bed and takes it.

After, when you’re both clean and settled into bed, she pulls you as close to her as she can. “This is so nice,” you sigh into her skin. “You’re so soft, Em.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Um, thank you?”

“Spencer’s bony,” you explain.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, I know. I fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet a few years ago and it was painful.”

You giggle. “Did you know he talks in his sleep?”

“Morgan’s mentioned it. You learn anything else when you were snuggled up with him?” she teases, running her fingers through your damp hair.

“It wasn’t like that,” you protest. “We didn’t snuggle. I’d just kind of… press my forehead on his arm and one leg against his.” Your voice lowers as you continue, “I just really missed being close to someone.”

“I did, too,” she whispers back. “I wish it had been me, but I’m glad you had him.”

You nod against her in agreement. “I love you, Emily,” you say, briefly tightening your grip on her.

“I love you, too,” she replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So much.”

You drift off to sleep quickly, and she’s not far behind.

It’s the best sleep she’s had in months.

---

Spencer’s barely heard from you since the hearing last week.

He’d gotten plenty of texts from Jennifer (all of which he ignored), but only a few from you. That’s probably normal for most adult friends, but not for you two, especially so when the fact that you were the only two people not to apply for reinstatement to the BAU is taken into consideration. He thought that he’d be able to seriously talk about it with you, to share his feelings and maybe work it out together. But all he had gotten was a brief message:

Emily was reinstated, so I’m going back, too.

It left him frustrated, but when it came down to it, he understood—he was the same. Since you were going back, so was he.

On Monday morning, everyone’s first day back together, he gets off the elevator and is immediately confronted with the last person he wants to see.

“Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend,” Jennifer says.

Spencer barely resists rolling his eyes, instead keeping them fixed on the file he’s holding. “I had to deal with some stuff with my mom.” It’s not a lie—he did have to check in with his mom. It just didn’t take as long as he’s implying. “Have you seen Garcia?”

“Uh, she’s with Rossi,” Jennifer answers, and she sounds startled by his behavior, but he doesn’t care. You’re at your desk, and as he passes by, he takes your arm.

“Wha—Spencer?” You’re taken aback, but you let him pull you along and into a file room.

“What?” you repeat when he turns to you after closing the door.

He tucks the file into his bag, the folds his arms over his chest. “I barely heard from you last week.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Well, yeah, I’ve been busy,” you say. “Emily’s moving in with me so we’ve been taking her things out of storage and to my apartment to unpack.”

Spencer glances away, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy in his chest. Just two weeks ago, he was in your bed and he’s quickly been replaced. And sure, he knows you don’t feel that way about him, but it was easy to pretend you did when you were asleep right next to him. “Not busy enough to make a decision about work,” he points out.

“So?”

“You’re the only other one who didn’t apply for reinstatement to the unit,” he replies. “You’d think that would be something for us to talk about.”

“You never said you wanted to,” you say, giving him a little shrug.

He doesn’t resist the eye roll this time. Does Spencer know he’s being a bit unfair? Yes. Does he care? Not particularly. No one bothered to seriously check in with him last week. He wasn’t expecting everyone to, but he was expecting it from you. He’s only been at work for five minutes, but his emotions are already running high, and he doesn’t care to reign them in. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

“You should’ve. I can’t read your mind.” Now you’re getting defensive. “And what does it matter, anyways? You’re not my boyfriend; I don’t have to run my decisions past you.”

“I know that,” he snaps. He really could have done without hearing you say that. “I’m just there to warm up your bed when you’re lonely is all, huh?”

You’re shocked for only a moment before pivoting to anger. “I didn’t make you do anything. You could’ve said no. And I certainly don’t owe you anything from it.”

“Clearly,” he mutters.

You heave an angry sigh. “Look, I know you’re mad about the whole thing, but don’t take it out on me. I don’t know why you’re so surprised that I wanted to spend the past week catching up with my girlfriend after thinking she was dead for ten weeks. If you wanted to talk, you should’ve said so. Stop being such an ass.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. You’re right, and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. He just looks down at the floor, avoiding your glare.

When it becomes clear to you that he has no intention of responding, you mutter, “whatever” under your breath and duck behind him, walking out of the door and leaving him alone again.

---

The case has been miserable.

In rural Oklahoma, their unsub is burning his victims with acid. Not the worst they’ve seen, but not pleasant, either—this job never is.

You’re still mad at him, which is bad enough, but he’s also had to watch you be far more… touchy with Emily than you ever were before. It’s not super apparent—you still keep it professional at the local P.D. and when you’re out on work assignments, but you’re going out of your way to find any excuse to touch her that you can outside of that.

Then there’s the motel they’re staying at and its thin walls. He heard a few things last night from your room next door. It was quickly followed by shushes, but he heard enough to infer what was going on. So he’d dug his noise-canceling headphones out of his bag. It had been a good solution at the time, but then he’d fallen asleep with them on. As a result, he’d slept with his neck at an odd angle. It’s midday now and it’s still aching.

To top it all off, there’s Jennifer. He’s been trying to keep his distance from her, and had thought the snide remarks he hadn’t been able to hold back might encourage her to stay away. But she keeps pressing the issue, and when she tells him she thinks he’s mad about micro-expressions, he can’t hold it back anymore.

“You think it’s about my profiling skills? Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

She protests, so he brings up Dilaudid. He knows it’s a low blow, and that she still feels guilty about them splitting up all those years ago, leading to his abduction and subsequent problem, but he doesn’t care. He just wants her to hurt like he is.

The team is staring and Emily says his name, but he just tells Jennifer that it’s too late to be sorry and leaves without another word.

Outside, he sits on the curb in front of one of the SUVs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He’s not alone for long, though. Just a few minutes later, he hears footsteps coming from behind him. The sound that involuntarily comes out of his throat can only be described as a growl.

“God, Jennifer, what do I have to do to get you to understand that I want you to leave me the fuck alone!” he nearly yells.

But it’s not Jennifer that answers. “It’s me,” you say softly.

Spencer sighs. He drops his hands from his face but doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“Can I sit?”

He’s not sure he wants to be around anyone, but it’s hard for him to say no to you. “Sure,” he says dully.

You join him on the curb, but keep a few feet of space between you. You don’t say anything, though, just sit quietly, letting him make the first move.

“How are you okay?” he asks eventually.

“What?” You sound incredulous. “I’m not sure where you got that idea. I’m so mad at Hotch that I can barely breathe when I’m in the same room as him.”

Spencer considers this for a moment, recalling when everyone’s been in the same room during this case. He realizes that since he’s been preoccupied with you touching Emily and trying to avoid Jennifer, he’s missed how you tense up whenever you see Hotch, and that you keep him out of your eyesight whenever possible.

“But you’re fine with Emily,” he observes. That does honestly confuse him, because he’s mad at Emily as well. And if it had been you in her place? He’s not sure he’d ever be able to forgive you, even without you knowing the way he feels about you.

“For the most part,” you say. “I still feel a little mad at her sometimes, but it helps me to remember that it wasn’t her fault.”

He finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being alive in Paris and not telling you isn’t her fault?”

“She didn’t really get a choice. When she woke up after surgery, the funeral had already happened,” you explain. “Hotch made the decision without her.”

“Hmm.” He files that information away to think over later. “And Jennifer?”

You shrug. “I can’t be too mad at her, since she did so much for me during those weeks.”

He snorts. “Yeah, out of guilt.”

“Probably, yes,” you concede. “But not having to pack up Emily’s things and take them to storage myself, feeding Sergio and bringing him to stay with me, bringing me hot meals when I was surviving off of cereal alone because I could barely get out of bed, let alone cook for myself… it went a long way.”

On the one hand, it’s a bit comforting for him to hear how Jennifer helped the woman he loves. On the other, she could have ended your pain with three words—Emily is alive—but she didn’t. She let the woman he loves suffer the pain of the loss of a partner.

And she sure didn’t bring him hot meals.

This shouldn’t surprise you, Spencer. You’ve always been the afterthought. The burden. You should be used to this by now.

He clenches the fabric of his pants in his hands. “That doesn’t make me any less angry,” he mutters.

“That’s fine.”

“You can’t expect me to just—wait, what?”

“That’s fine,” you repeat. “I’m not trying to tell you to just get over it or whatever because she was nice to me. Like Em told me, you’re allowed to be mad.”

Spencer bites his lip, resisting the urge to ask you to stop calling her Em. You’re the only one that calls her that—or rather, is allowed to call her that, and it’s obvious why. It’s also similar enough to you calling him Spence that he’ll always start comparing himself to Emily when he hears it, and he’s been trying to stop doing that for months.

“Maybe you just, I don’t know,” you continue, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You could just try to be a little less passive aggressive with JJ?”

He opens his mouth, about to flat-out refuse, but before he can, you tack on, “For me? Just a little bit?”

God damn it.

“Only if she stops bothering me,” he says bluntly.

“Yeah, she, um… she was crying when I left, so I think she’s got the message now,” you say quietly.

He feels a bit guilty upon hearing that, but not enough to apologize, or even really regret it. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, he rationalizes to himself. She’s the one who decided to push it anyways.

After a few moments of silence, you reach out and pat his knee. “I love you, you know.”

He knows what you mean, knows that you don’t mean it like that, but his heart still skips a beat. He responds to you with a nod.

You push yourself to your feet, tell him to take all the time he needs, and you’ll see him when he’s ready to come back in, then walk away.

When he’s certain you’re out of earshot, he whispers back, “I love you, too.”

---

Emily sits down across from him on the plane, and Spencer is immediately reminded of the morning after he caught you and her together. That time, Emily had folded her hands in front of her on the table. This time, she slides something across it to him. He looks up from his book and sees his missing tie, wrinkles ironed out and folded neatly.

“It was in her bed,” she explains when his brow furrows.

Spencer wonders if that made Emily jealous.

He’s not a good enough person to not hope it did.

“Thanks,” he mutters, putting it away in his bag.

Emily’s quiet, but she doesn’t leave. She must have something else to say. He sighs. “What is it?”  

“Are you going to Rossi’s house tomorrow night?” she asks.

He looks back down to his book. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure I can make it.”

“Okay. Well, Reid, you can be mad at me for as long as you need to. I’m okay with that.”

Spencer frowns. He kind of wishes she wasn’t being so nice and understanding. It makes it harder to be upset with her, and he wants to be upset with her.

“I’d like to say something to you, though, if that’s okay,” she says.

He reluctantly looks back up. “What?”

Emily holds his gaze. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

He blinks. “Uh, for what?”

Her voice wavers slightly with emotion as she speaks. “For looking out for her when I couldn’t.”

His eyes drift away from Emily and to the couch where you’re sleeping. “My pleasure,” he replies quietly. When he looks back at Emily, she has a curious look on her face.

For the first time, instead of panicking over keeping his secret, instead of shying away, Spencer looks right back at her. A few seconds later, he thinks he sees a flash of realization in her eyes, but it’s so quick he can’t be sure.

“Well, thank you,” she repeats, and takes her leave. He watches as she leans down and tucks the blanket closer around you. He closes his eyes, leans back in his seat, and imagines a world where he was the one adjusting it instead.

---

“You’re gonna go weeks, months even, feeling fine. And then you’re gonna have a bad day.”

Emily can barely get the hotel room door open, her hands are shaking so much. A bad day. What Hotch called it, she thinks, was a bit of an understatement.

She’s just come back from taking a witness statement to help wrap up the piano man case—or rather, she was trying to take one.

“I was told that you would only give your statement to me.”

“Why didn’t you let me pull the trigger?” Regina asks.

“Because you would be in prison.” Emily understands why Regina is mad at her, and she’s fine with taking the brunt of it. Lying to her to stop her from shooting the unsub was the right thing to do. “I know it’s hard--”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like…” Regina pauses briefly, anger radiating off of her. “When the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.”

Emily breaks eye contact and looks down. She knows exactly what that’s like.

Regina recognizes it. “Wait--”

Redirect, redirect, redirect. “Look, I’m here as a courtesy--”

“Something happened to you.”

“So do you want to give me your statement or not?”

But Regina is relentless. “What did you do to him, huh? Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?”

Emily sits down heavily on the spare bed, drawing your attention away from packing up your things for the flight home. “Em?”

She just shakes her head, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and closing her eyes. “It was the right thing,” she whispers to herself. “It was the right thing. I did the right thing.”

You sit down next to her and place your hand on her back. “What happened?”

Emily swallows hard, feeling sick to her stomach. Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck; she tilts her head to try and dislodge it. You catch on and pull it to the side for her.

“Talk to me, baby,” you urge gently. “Just something, anything I can do to help.”

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. “I—I think,” she stutters. “I th—think I just ruined a woman’s pe—peace of m—mind for good.”

You start rubbing circles on her back and ask, “How?”

“You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you.”

Emily shudders involuntarily. “I… you know how we found the unsub with a—a victim?”

Slowly, in sentences fractured by gasping breaths, swallows to hold back the nausea, and even a few sobs, she recounts what Regina said to her.

You murmur something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, then, ever so gently, you pull her into your arms.

Emily Prentiss isn’t one to break down, not in her own home and especially not in front of others. She controls any “negative” emotions as best as she can, her feelings only displayed through a trembling voice, misty eyes, or run-down nails. Screaming, tears, and nervous gestures were not befitting of an ambassador’s daughter, after all, and those habits formed in childhood have stayed with her until this day.

But there’s one person who’s the exception. There’s one person with whom those walls just don’t seem to exist. That person, of course, is you.

You pull her into your arms, and Emily Prentiss breaks down, because she can. She can because she knows you’ll be there to help put her back together again.

“You never had a chance to mourn your own death, did you?”

She hadn’t understood what her therapist meant when she said it yesterday morning, but Emily thinks she does now. This time last year, what Regina said would have unsettled her, and she would have felt sorry for her, but she probably wouldn’t have dwelt on it much. It’s not last year, though. It’s this year, and she’s coming undone in your embrace over Regina’s words, words she knows will never leave her.

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Still… your monster’s dead. I have to live with mine. That’s my statement.”

Emily has a promise to keep, so she boards the jet early. A few minutes later, Hotch slides into the seat across from her and waits. It still takes her a few moments to collect herself enough to say the words.

“I’m having a bad day.”

---

Spencer’s not sure if you’re going to be able to keep doing this job. He became very familiar with your nervous tics and outward signs of stress during those weeks, and now he can notice them almost immediately.

You seemed okay for the first few months. A few habits cropped up now and then—biting your lip, tapping each fingertip to your thumb in turn—but that was fairly normal. It’s a stressful job.

But then your bottom lip starts getting chapped again, and during conversions with anyone other than Emily, you’re quiet; you often have to be prompted to share your thoughts.

He tries to find out what’s wrong, but when he asks, you shut it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “But, um, you probably should talk to… somebody, you know?”

You barely look up from your paperwork as you respond. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been seeing a therapist since this whole shitshow started. I’ve got Emily, too. If anything, I should be telling you to go talk to a professional.”

Spencer just says “okay” again, then a few minutes later he excuses himself to go hide in the bathroom and nurse his hurt feelings. He knows you weren’t trying to be mean. Flipping around the suggestion to him most certainly came from a place of love. But he’s not interested in receiving any kind of psychiatric care—he’s actively opposed to it. So being told anything of that sort upsets him and often makes him angry.

Today it’s just salt in the wound, though. The wound itself is Emily. And god, does he ever feel guilty about the resentment that crops up every time her name is in your mouth. She was dead, and every day she was gone, he wished she weren’t. He cried countless tears over her and would’ve given anything to at least be able to say goodbye.

Then the impossible happened—she came back. He didn’t have to say goodbye at all. And sure, there was the initial relief and happiness, and the warmest hug ever, but now he finds himself resenting her. He’d never wish for her to be gone again, but he can’t stop the jealousy, no matter how hard he tries.

Recently, when Emily was shot during a case in California, he held back your hair as you leaned out of the door of the SUV and threw up upon receiving the news. Spencer Reid would never deny that he’s a germaphobe, but he wants that. He wants to be the one taking care of you, the one whose shoulder you fall asleep on, the one going home with you at the end of the day.

He doesn’t want Emily gone, never, ever again, but he wants you back. Those ten weeks, as awful as they were, weren’t the worst he’s had, because during that time, you were always seeking him out. He knows you didn’t want him that way, but if Emily had really been gone, he thinks one day, that might have changed. The thought always brings tears to his eyes.

Still, he would settle for having you the way he did during the years before he fell for you. Things just haven’t been the same since Emily came back. You don’t stay up late talking anymore. You haven’t a movie night in months. You don’t ask about the books he’s reading or what he did over the weekend. This is it: this is exactly what he was afraid of happening when he found you with Emily.

Spencer doesn’t think it’s personal. He thinks it’s because you’re barely hanging on these days, and just don’t have the energy anymore to do things like you used to.

It still hurts, though. He wonders if it’ll ever stop hurting.

---

Respite can come at the strangest of times and in the oddest of ways. Today, it comes to Emily in the middle of a hostage situation at a bank, in the form of a job offer.

The team is trying to find the I.D. of the Queen of Hearts, one of the robbers, when she gets a surprise call from Clyde Easter, her old Interpol Unit Chief, who gives her the information he knows about the unsub. He doesn’t know her name, but he reminds her that she’s seen the unsub before, at a robbery in Paris while she was living there. Then when the team learns that their unsubs want to fly out to Chad, she calls him back.

“Well, unfortunately Interpol doesn’t have many assets in that particular region in Africa. Maybe that’s something you could help me with when this is over.”

Emily scoffs. “Work for Interpol again? That’ll be the day.”

“Not work, darling. Run,” he corrects. “You see, I’ve been promoted. So, the team’s yours whenever you want it.”

“It’s a hell of a time to bring that up,” she says, ignoring the questioning glances she’s getting from you, Reid, and JJ.

Clyde asks her to think about it, but there’s no time to do that now. She pushes it to the back of her mind and goes back to work.

By the time the day is over, she’s tired. Just tired. You both narrowly survive the explosion in the bank thanks to the alcove you were in, trying to help two elderly patrons. Then a mere hour later, you scare the shit out of her by finding Will strapped to an active bomb and deactivating it yourself. So Clyde’s offer doesn’t come up again until the next morning, when light is spilling through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with a soft, warm glow.

You face each other in bed, legs twined together under the covers. “What was that about working for Interpol again?” you ask softly, tucking your arm under your head.

“Clyde was promoted,” she replies just as quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful morning feeling. “He offered me his old job. He wants me to run the London office.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

Emily blows out a breath. “I’d like to at least… consider it.”

You reach out, finding her hand in the sheets and lacing your fingers between hers. “What’s stopping you?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” she replies, squeezing your hand back.

“Well, then I think you’re more than just considering it,” you say. “You wouldn’t bring it to me if you didn’t want to take the job.”

Emily thinks for a moment, then admits, “I… I do want to take it. But I have to know what you think, honestly.” She was already robbed out of making one life-changing decision without you in this past year. She has no interest in that happening again.

“Honestly?” you repeat, shifting a little. At her nod, you continue, “I think it’s a good option for us.”

“Us?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, us,” you affirm. “What, you think I’m just going to stay here if you move away?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. This is the first time we’ve talked about something like this.”

“Fair point,” you say, then sigh. “We’re… both struggling here in D.C., Em. I know it and you know it. This place, this team. It used to be my home, but now, I just… it’s not like it was before.”

“You don’t trust Hotch anymore,” Emily says quietly.

You let out a small, broken chuckle. “I’ve tried. I’ve been trying so hard. I know he did what he thought he had to, but I just… I can’t.”

“It’s okay to feel that way,” she points out. She lets go of your hand to reach up and wipe away a tear that breaks your lash line. “In fact, I’d say it’s reasonable, with what you went through.”

You close your eyes and nod, putting your hand on top of hers to keep it on your cheek. “I know it’s been hard for you, too.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I wanted to come back, and at first, I felt like I was home. But I just can’t go back to my old life and pretend that nothing happened. The only time I feel at home now is… well, it’s when I’m alone with you, just like this.”

“Emily Prentiss, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” you say, cracking a smile.

“Oh, stop,” she says, but she’s blushing. When your giggles subside, she speaks again. “I would love for you to come to London with me. But I don’t want you to forget what you’d be leaving. There’s still a lot of good here.”

You nod. “There is. I’m just not sure it’s enough anymore,” you say softly.

“I understand. You can think about it. I don’t need an answer now.”

So you don’t give her one, not right away. But you do a few hours later. So Emily picks up her phone and dials Clyde’s number.

---

JJ’s a beautiful bride, but Spencer’s eyes keep drifting over to you. The dress you’re wearing tonight is wonderful; from the cut to the color, it suits you perfectly. But that’s not what’s really got his attention. It’s the way you’re carrying yourself. You’re smiling, and you seem truly happy, without any reservations. But there’s also a bit of sadness clinging to you, and he can’t tell what’s causing it.

The party has been going on for a while by the time he finds himself dancing with you. You’d asked him, and now you’ve steered him a little ways away from everyone else. “There’s something I have to tell you,” you say just as he’s about to ask what’s going on.

To his dismay, he doesn’t have a clue what it’s going to be. He doesn’t like not having at least an idea. He swallows, then says, “Okay.”

You can’t meet his eyes; you look down to the floor instead and watch your feet move in time together. So whatever it is, I’m not going to like it, he thinks, and his anxiety spikes. “What is it?” he asks, tightening his grip on you without really meaning to.

You take a deep breath, then look up. “Emily and I are leaving.”

His heart drops and he stops in his tracks, causing you to stumble a little over his feet. “Oh, shi—sorry,” he says. “I just—you’re leaving the BAU? But you’re still going to be in D.C., right?”

You sigh, then guide him off the dance floor and to a quiet spot not too far away. “You remember what Emily said about working for Interpol again yesterday?”

“Interpol?” he repeats, his voice pitching upwards. “You mean, like, overseas?”

“London, to be specific.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say. Things were a little rocky between you and him when Emily came back, and for a little while afterwards, sure, but recently he’d started to feel like he had his best friend back.

Apparently he couldn’t be more wrong.

Spencer’s used to people leaving. First it was his dad, then Ethan. Elle was next, quickly followed by Gideon. JJ was forced out, and although she ended up coming back, it didn’t erase the pain he felt in her absence. And then there was everything that happened with Emily.

So, Spencer’s used to people leaving. In a way, he almost expects it.

He just wishes it would stop hurting so damn much.

What is it about me? he wonders. What is it that makes people run away? There’s clearly something wrong with--

“Hey!”

He jumps, startled out of his introspection. When his eyes refocus on you, you put your hands on your hips.

“I don’t appreciate people being mean to my best friend, you know,” you tell him seriously.

“Uh…” He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“That includes him being mean to himself,” you continue. “I know what you were thinking.”

“What? No, you don’t,” he protests.

“Don’t I?” You put the tip of your finger on your chin. “Was it or was it not something along the lines of, people always leave me, why do they do that, there must be something wrong with me?”

He hates that you’re right, so he doesn’t answer, just scowls and looks away.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“Sure,” he mutters. Sure it isn’t. You’ve only just added your name to the list.

“I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look at me.”

Spencer doesn’t, and your resulting sigh sounds so frustrated, and then he thinks, Oh, great work, Reid. (Y/N) tells you she’s leaving and what do you do? You piss her off. Honestly, it’s no wonder--

And then your hands are on his face, cradling his cheeks, and he’s too surprised to resist your gaze anymore.

“It’s not your fault, Spencer,” you say, your voice equal parts firm and gentle. “You didn’t drive me away. Not even close. There’s nothing inherently wrong with you, okay? You didn���t do anything wrong.”

He sniffs, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotions you’ve just caused. “Well, I could have gone without picking a fight with you on our first day back at work,” he says, sniffling again.

“What’re you tal—Spencer, that was almost a year ago.”

“Nine months.”

“Whatever. The point still stands. You’re not why I’m leaving, okay? You’re…” you trail off and he’s alarmed to see your eyes grow wet. “You’re the opposite, actually. You were the only thing keeping me here when Emily was gone. And now, you’re why it’s so hard to leave.”

“I am?” he whispers before he can think better of it.

“You are,” you affirm. “I think Emily’s actually a little worried you’re gonna talk me out of it.”

It gets a laugh out of him, but right after a little sob escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut. When you hug him, he immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your middle tightly.

“Hey, this isn’t the end, okay?” you say, and he can tell from the way your voice is trembling that you’re crying, too. “I know you like to ignore it, but we do live in the digital age, and I’ll be hounding you to talk to me at least once a week. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I’d certainly hope not,” he murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other, trying not to cry too much. Eventually, you pull away. “Besides, it’s not like I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Our flight isn’t for another ten days. I’m gonna be around.”

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, then swipe at your face, clearing away the tears. “Um, we should head back. You still owe me a dance.”

And dance with you he does, swaying gently from side to side with his hand resting on your waist. A look over your shoulder shows Emily and Derek dancing in a similar manner; judging by the way he’s holding her, she told him the news as well.

He has an eidetic memory, but Spencer makes the effort to commit this moment to his brain all the same. He wants to remember the way you’re holding him, resting your head on his chest and running your thumb over the back of his hand every so often. He wants to remember how your skin feels against his, the texture of your hair. The lighting in the backyard and the way it makes you glow. The words that you said, telling him that it’s not his fault, that nothing’s wrong with him. He’s not quite sure he believes it, but you’ve never lied to him before, so he’ll try to accept it.

The song ends, and tears threaten to fall again when you pick up your head and take a step back.

“Hey, no more crying tonight,” you say. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying, and I don’t want to cry any more tonight. Save it for my grand exit at the airport terminal.”

That makes him break into a smile and he’s able to blink back the tears. “Okay.”

“Do you mind if I take this dance?” It’s Emily, and she’s looking at him, head tilted in your direction.

“Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “No, um, go—go ahead.”

He passes your hand to her, and what he feels is silly. You’re not some prize to be won; you don’t belong to anyone other than yourself. But he feels like he’s passing you off to Emily, almost… entrusting you to her. The look Emily gives him makes him think she understands this.

“Wait,” you say before she can properly take you into her arms. You lean towards him and press a kiss to his cheek.

Spencer doesn’t stay around to watch you two dance. He retreats back into the house, fingertips on the spot you kissed. He lets them sit there for a moment, then forces himself to drop his hand. It’s far past time for him to try and move on. He doesn’t want you to leave, but it might be what he needs.

Maybe, just maybe, with some distance, he can begin to heal.

---

On the first day at work without you, Spencer finds a small frame on his desk. He immediately recognizes the picture inside of it—it’s the one you’d kept as your lockscreen for months, much to his dismay.

It’s a picture from the relatively early days of your friendship, well before he felt anything that wasn’t platonic towards you. You’d dragged him out on a weekend off to a nearby amusement park, because, “you can’t die without having ridden a roller coaster at least once, Spence.” He had no desire to do so, but he didn’t have any other plans, so he went along with it.

The roller coaster ended up making him vomit, and the picture is from shortly after that. You’re holding up the camera with one hand and making a peace sign with the other, smiling from ear to ear. He still looks a little queasy, only managing a small smile, but he still looks somewhat happy. And he was, that day. Other than the nausea, he’d had a lot of fun with you.

He picks up the frame and feels something on the back of it. He flips it over and finds one of his lilac colored post-it notes, displaying your handwriting.

“When it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”

Tears blur his vision. Doctor Who. Of course you picked Doctor Who. And you’ve written something else, too, in smaller letters:

If you don’t answer my calls at least twice a month, I’ll tell JJ you’ve been stealing from her Cheetos stash for eight years. Love ya.

He laughs out loud, a little wet giggle that he has to follow up with a sniffle. He slips the note under the frame’s felt backing to keep it safe, then rearranges his things until he settles on the perfect spot for it to sit on his desk. He retrieves a fresh sticky note and scribbles down a reminder to himself to call you when he gets home, sticking it the cover of one of his books. After all, he can’t have JJ knowing about his thievery. The team’s good at what they do, but he doesn’t think anyone would be able to find his body once JJ’s done with him.

His eyes drift back to the photograph, coming to a stop on your face. He misses you already. He even misses the ugly bits, when you’d snapped at each other, when you were crying on his shoulder. When he saw you with Emily that first time. It’s an odd mix of emotions. Longing, nostalgia, grief, happiness, safety. Belonging.

Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.

Spencer couldn’t agree more.

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

tell me what you thought here!

oh my god, i can hardly believe it’s over. there’s still going to be a small epilogue, but it’s optional. thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who read and supported this series and your enthusiasm for it. you’ve made me so very happy. and if you relate to spencer in this, i want you to know you’re gonna find your someone someday. if that’s what you want, i believe you’ll find it eventually. much love to all of you. 💖

series taglist: @sobereinstein , @zizzlekwum , @goldensatine , @closetedreidstan , @afuckingshituniverse , @uswntxx , @johnmulaneyslut , @90spumkin , @mcntsee , @zhuzhubii , @shadyladyperfection , @mggbler , @eva-cadeau , @esmesisle , @anothergayinthelife , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @zozoleesi , @calm-and-doctor , i think that’s everyone?? so sorry if i missed you.

[misskikuwrites]

Piece by Piece (2/2)

Bederia Week 2021: Day 4- First Argument/make up

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Tags: fluff, hangovers, mutual pining 

Words: 7,533

@bede-x-gloria

-

Gloria woke up feeling as though she'd been flattened by a stampede of Dubwool. Her head throbbed. Her throat was dry and raw, and the light streaming through the gap in her curtains seared her eyes as if she was staring straight into the sun. She rolled over, turning her back to the window, and groaned hoarsely. She squeezed her eyes shut. Buried her face in her pillow as a wave of nausea sloshed in her stomach. She felt ill. Whatever sickness she'd picked up last night, it had quickly taken hold.

 Great, another reason for me to hate the Gala, Gloria thought, and swallowed thickly. Pain lanced her throat as she did. She moaned into her pillow when another wave of nausea hit her, stronger this time. Her throat tightened. She curled into herself with a faint whimper. 

 I don't want to be sick, I don't want to vomit, I don't- 

 Another surge of nausea, rising higher up her throat. Gloria let out a sharp puff of air through her teeth, trying to keep the nausea at bay, to fight it down, to stop herself from retching. Pain drummed behind her eyes with every beat of her heart. She remained curled in a tight ball when her bedroom door clicked open and soft footfalls approached her bed. 

 "Not feeling so good, huh?" Gloria's mother's voice sounded too loud in her ears. The bed depressed next to her. "I've brought you some water and some painkillers if you're feeling up to taking them." 

 Gloria cracked an eye open at her mother. She had to blink away tears that formed beneath the onslaught of painful light. Her mother smiled kindly at her, holding a plastic cup in one hand and a pack of painkillers in the other. 

 "Don't worry, Hop told me what happened." Gloria's mother placed the cup and the medication on Gloria's bedside table, and gently touched her daughter's shoulder. "Hangovers are never pleasant, but to experience one at your age, when you'd been given alcohol without your knowledge… oh, hun." She smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry you're going through this." 

 Gloria blinked at her mother, her eyes slowly widening. A cold cloak of dread settled over her shoulders as pieces of last night came back to her. Fragments of colour, of faces and names that were now a blur, the bubbly sensation of sparkling wine on her tongue. Elliott. The boredom in his eyes, the way he'd shrugged when Bede had confronted him. Nausea crawled high up her throat. She tasted bile. 

 "Fuck," Gloria hissed through her teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the prickling of tears that threatened to fall. "He gave me alcohol." 

 She hadn't picked up a virus. She hadn't caught something from someone at the Gala last night, from dancing and mingling with people for hours. Gloria had a hangover. 

 A shuddery breath escaped between her lips as they wobbled, and Gloria clenched her jaw in indignation. A different kind of pain thrummed through her chest, through her veins, blending with a surge of nausea. How could he do that to me?! She'd trusted Elliott. Lowered her guard around his sweet, understanding smile, and he'd taken advantage of her. Used her for his own entertainment. Her throat burned with ire, with the fury she wished to spew at him for doing such a thing to her. No longer did she shrink at how naive she'd been to trust him. No, it wasn't her fault. Elliott had plied her with alcohol, had woven his lies, in a way that left her unsuspecting. If not her, he would have done it to someone else. She at least had gotten home safely. 

 Gloria sat up with a groan, wincing as her head throbbed from the movement. She grabbed the cup of water off her bedside table and gulped down a mouthful before popping the painkillers into her hand and taking them with the rest of the water. Her mother took the cup off her and stood. 

 "I'll bring you some more water," she said. "If you're feeling up to it, you should come and have some breakfast. You haven't eaten since you left for the Gala last night." 

 Gloria sank against the head of her bed with a sigh. "What time is it?" 

 "Just after ten." 

 That explained the heavy gnawing in her stomach. 

 "Hop's here too," her mother continued, "he stayed overnight to make sure you were okay." 

 "Mm…" Gloria closed her eyes. Her headache made it difficult to think, memories of last night lying faint and out of reach. Breakfast sounded delightful, but she wasn't sure if her stomach would cope with anything more than the water and pills she'd taken, and didn't want to risk bringing them up. Exhaustion weighed heavily in her bones. Slowly, she sank beneath her blankets as her mother went to leave the room. 

 "Go ahead and sleep," Gloria's mother said. "I think you deserve to take it easy today after all that."

 Gloria grunted in response, already burying her face in her pillow, longing for sleep to take hold. It wasn't long before she began to drift off again, strange memories of Bede filling her mind. Faint light illuminated the blush on his face. Her fingers cupping his cheek, dusting her thumb across his flushed skin. Bede tentatively resting his hand over hers. His eyes widening in shock. He was close, so close, and the look on his face- 

 Sleep took hold before she could wonder why he'd looked at her like that. 

 - 

A few hours later, Gloria groggily stumbled from her room. She shuffled into the kitchen, driven by the ache in her stomach, and stopped to stare at Hop where he sat at the dining table. 

 "Morning, Glo," he said cheerfully, before catching himself. "Wait, I mean 'afternoon.'" 

 She glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. It was already past one o'clock.  

"I really slept that long?" Gloria asked. She shook her head in disbelief, instantly regretting the motion as her head pulsed with pain. She swallowed a groan and dug out a box of cereal from the pantry,  pouring herself a late breakfast. 

 "We figured it'd be better to let you sleep it off," Hop said. "Feeling any better now?" 

 "Eh."  

She no longer felt like she was going to heave her stomach out through her throat, but the dull throbbing of her head remained. Everything was too bright, too loud. Gloria flopped into the chair opposite Hop, and slowly munched away at her cereal. 

 "Where's mum?" she asked. 

 Hop watched her with a curious look on his face. "At work. She only took the morning off so she could look after you, but you seem to be doing alright now." 

 "I just wish this headache would go away," Gloria huffed. "Guess it hasn't been long enough for me to take another dose, huh? I should've slept in more." 

 "You can have more pills in an hour," Hop said. "Until then, you've just got to suffer. Sorry!" 

 Gloria snorted. "Wow, thanks for the sympathy." Sarcasm rolled off her tongue in between mouthfuls of cereal. She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't help noticing that he was still giving her a strange look. As though he was waiting for something. "What?" 

 Hop stiffened and his expression froze in place. "I didn't say anything." 

 "Then why are you looking at me like that?" 

 He glanced away. "It's, uh, nothing, really. But you should probably check your phone." 

 "My phone? Why?" Gloria frowned at him. He was avoiding her gaze, shifting awkwardly on the chair. Uncomfortable, uneasy. Something had happened. "What did you do?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. 

 "Me? I didn't do anything!" Hop balked. 

 She glared at him suspiciously for a moment longer before standing and marching into her room to retrieve her phone. She snatched it off her bedside table and clicked the screen to life. There were a few unread messages waiting for her. Gloria read through them as she stalked back to her half-eaten breakfast; one from Sonia, another from Marnie, both filled with concern and asking how she was. Leon had typed out an apologetic message, saying that he'd heard the rumours about Elliott and wished he'd cautioned her about them last night. The sincerity - and guilt - in Leon's text made Gloria smile softly as she slid back into her chair and returned to munching at her breakfast. Hop still had an expectant look on his face, sitting on the edge of his chair. He looked away quickly when she glanced up at him. 

 It was like he was anticipating something. Gloria frowned, and turned back to the messages she hadn't read yet. There were three unread texts from Bede, one of which he'd sent a week ago when she'd bolted halfway through him teaching her to dance. He'd sent the message in reply to the excuse she'd given him that something had come up and she was busy. Gloria hadn't been able to gather the strength to read his text. She'd left it unread for a week. In fact, she'd kept her phone off for the first few days, dreading a phone call from Bede. Gloria felt her stomach twist in trepidation now as it had a week ago. She felt Hop's eyes on her. Felt the thorns of fear dig into her heart as its grip tightened around her again. She wished to shove her phone aside, to ask Hop point-blank why he was looking at her like that, to leave Bede's messages unread for as long as she could. 

 But she couldn't. Gloria took a deep breath, quiet and subtle enough that Hop wouldn't notice her fear, and checked the messages from Bede. Immediately, her fears from a week ago were dispelled. The text Bede had sent in reply wasn't accusatory at all, wasn't suspicious or gruff. He'd accepted her excuse, and hoped that everything was okay. At the end of his short message, he'd reminded her that she could always ask him for help. That was it. Gloria stared at the message in disbelief as the weight of her fear dropped from her shoulders. She'd been so worked up over nothing. It was almost laughable- almost. Her gaze drifted automatically to the two remaining messages Bede had sent, both from last night, and her blood ran cold. It was the third and final text that froze Gloria to her core.  

When you're feeling better, please call me. We need to talk. 

 Dread crashed over Gloria. Like she'd been caught by a towering wave, the air stole from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Her head was underwater. Her mind churned. It left her winded as though she'd been dumped by that very wave, toyed with and spat out on the hard sand. 

 We need to talk.

 She felt cold. The spoon slid from her hand and sloshed into her cereal, her fingers going numb. She was going numb. Her heart thumped painfully loud in her ears, and she slowly lifted her gaze from the words on her screen to look at Hop. 

 "What did you do?" Gloria asked. She forced the words out through the fear constricting her throat. "You told him?" 

 Hop blinked at her. His uncomfortable unease shattered into an expression of indignation. "What? No! Of course not!" He bristled, huffing at her. "Why would you even think that?" 

 "Bede wants me to call him," she said, studying Hop closely. Still unconvinced. "He said… he wants to talk." 

 There it was- Hop stiffened as if he expected her to say that. He knew. 

 "See! You know something!" Gloria jabbed an accusatory finger at Hop. "What did you tell him?!"  

"I didn't say anything!" Hop protested. "Didn't need to - not that I would've anyway - with you making it obvious like that." 

 "Like what?" She frowned. "What are you talking about?" 

 What did she do? Her mind spun, wracking her memory of last night for whatever it was Hop was insinuating. Had she given her feelings away without realising it?

 "Glo, I saw it. There's no point pretending you don't know what happened," Hop said. He shifted uncomfortably, looking away from her. 

 Gloria's stomach swirled anxiously. "Saw what?" She thought back to that moment on the balcony with Bede. Her memory was fuzzy, clouded with intoxication, the very words she'd said to him were muffled as though she were trying to listen to someone speaking through a thick pane of glass. 

 Hop glanced at her incredulously. "You seriously don't know?" 

 "If I did, I wouldn't be asking you!" Gloria said, huffing in exasperation. "What are you talking about?" 

 He opened his mouth to speak, before pausing. Hop studied her for a moment, a few seconds passing as his expression turned from frustration to surprise and then the unease returned. He looked away. 

 "Gloria, how much of last night do you remember?" Hop asked, quieter than before. 

 "All of it," she said confidently. Hop turned back to her and Gloria's heart flopped. Suddenly, she doubted herself. The look on his face, the fact that he'd asked that question in the first place, sent a prickle of fear down her spine. 

 "What's the last thing you remember?" Hop asked. 

 "I…" She struggled to find her voice. "I remember coming home…" The memory was a blur of nausea and tears. "I think- I think mum helped me out of my dress and got my makeup off…?" The more she thought about it, the fuzzier her memory was.  

"And before that?" Hop looked as nervous as she felt. "At the Gala?" 

 Gloria pursed her lips in thought. "Um… I remember getting into a Sky Taxi somewhere? Marnie was there too, I think?" 

 Hop nodded slowly. "Anything else?" 

 "I remember Elliott," Gloria huffed. "That asshole. He came out onto the balcony with another drink. That's when Bede confronted him and…" she trailed off as her expression soured, lips curling in distaste. "He admitted to giving me alcohol on purpose. For his own amusement. The whole thing was such a shock, I started crying. Bede, he brought out this lacy handkerchief from Arceus-knows-where and helped me clean up my makeup." 

 Gloria breathed a faint, sheepish laugh at the memory. "I must've looked like such a mess." 

 Hop nodded slowly. "What about after that?" 

 Gloria frowned. "I already told you. We got out of the Gala and went home." 

 Hop went quiet. He chewed the inside of his cheek awkwardly, again shifting on his chair, and his nervous mannerisms sent a trickle of panic down Gloria's spine. She was missing something. Something big. 

 "Hop, what happened?" she asked. Her chest felt tight. Too tight. It was difficult to breathe. She felt dizzy. Hop refused to look at her. Her cereal, having turned into an unappetizing soggy slop, sat half-eaten in front of her. She stared at it as the pounding of her heart clouded her mind, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her pyjama shorts. 

 "Hop," Gloria asked again, "what happened?" 

 What did I do?  

Hop's answer sounded far away. Like he was talking to her in a dream. 

 No, not a dream. 

 A nightmare.  

"You kissed him." 

 Gloria couldn't breathe. "Haha, very funny Hop." She wasn't smiling. Neither was He.  

"It… wasn't a joke." 

 It didn't make sense. Hop didn't make sense. 

 "What…?" She looked up from her cereal. "What do you mean it's not a joke? I didn't-" 

 Dread. She felt dread. 

 "I- there's no way I'd-" Gloria couldn't say it. "I wouldn't do that." 

 But she couldn't remember. Her memory, no matter how hard she tried, remained dark. 

 "I saw you kiss him," Hop said, looking away. He winced as he said it, knowing the pain his words inflicted on Gloria. The dagger he drove deeper into her heart.  

"Are- Are you sure it was me? Not someone else?" The world was growing fainter around her. Words spilled from her lips in confusion, in desperation. Out of fear. "How do you know that I- that I did it and not… not Bede? Maybe he was the one who-" again, she couldn't say it. Caught on her tongue, she couldn't give that word a voice. 

 Hop grimaced. "No, it was definitely you who kissed Bede. You, uh, had your hand around the back of his head and… pulled him towards you." 

 Gloria's heart stopped dead. Shadows danced in the corner of her vision, creeping across her eyes. Her lungs burned, and only then did she realise that she'd been holding her breath. The world tilted beneath her. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. No words, no voice. Not the terror she felt crushing her heart.  

"I'm sorry, Glo." Hop sounded far away. "I really am." 

 She shook her head slowly in disbelief. Eyes wide and unseeing, nothing made sense. She didn't see Hop move, hadn't noticed it, until he was right beside her, touching her shoulder gently. She let out a breath, a silent gasp. 

 "What… what do I do…?" Gloria asked. The words barely made a sound on her lips. If Hop hadn't been at her side, he wouldn't have heard her. Waves of heat built behind her eyes, blurring her vision with tears as panic took hold once again. 

"What do you want to do?" Hop asked. 

 She closed her eyes as tears began to fall. 

 Nothing. She wanted to do nothing. She wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Forget everything that happened. Forget that she- 

 She'd kissed Bede. Somehow, under the influence of alcohol, all her inhibitions had been swept away. All her fear had been reduced to dust. Somehow, her feelings for Bede had broken through. 

 A sob escaped Gloria's lips as she crumbled. Beneath the weight of her fear, she cried. Even though she couldn't remember it happening, she couldn't remember kissing Bede, she wished she could forget. 

 She wanted to forget it all. 

 "He knows," Gloria said in a broken whisper. She stole a breath, opening her eyes and rubbing away the tears on her cheeks. "There's no way he doesn't. Not after I… did that to him." 

 Hop gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You don't know that for sure! You were drunk, remember? Bede might just think you kissed him on impulse!" 

 "Which is probably what happened," Gloria huffed. Then it hit her. "Oh, Arceus. What if I told him that I- that I like him…?" 

 Even saying that much made her wince. Admitting her feelings out loud left a vile taste in her mouth, and the very thought that she might have told Bede how she felt while drunk sent a ripple of terror through her body. The gap in her memory threatened to swallow her whole. 

 "Hey, don't think about the worst case scenario," Hop said, "and look, even if you did tell him, you've got an excuse! You were drunk." 

 "You don't turn into a completely different person when drunk, Hop." She shrugged off his attempt to reassure her. "It's bad enough that I… kissed him. But if I told him how I felt as well… no amount of excuses or backtracking will save me now."  

Gloria exhaled heavily, deflating in her chair as if all her strength, all her willpower, had fled her body with her sigh. Her insides were twisted and jumbled, chest uncomfortably crawling with nerves. 

 "What am I supposed to do…?" she asked. There was no way forward for her, no way out of this. She was trapped. 

 "Call him," Hop said with a shrug. Gloria balked at him with an unappreciative stare. "You're gonna have to face Bede sooner or later," he reminded her. "May as well get it over and done with."  

Gloria turned away from him. Hop was right, but that didn't help the rolling waves of nausea in the pit of her stomach, nor the dread hanging above her head like a guillotine ready to drop. She reached for her phone and paused. 

 She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to face Bede or her mistakes. How could she, when she despised the person that love - mixed with alcohol - turned her into? Gloria clenched her jaw and picked up her phone, focusing on the bead of disgust that burned in her stomach and the pain it caused. Love was vile. It corrupted. It fueled jealousy, fed delusions, made her see things that weren't there. Made her question herself- and her friendships. 

 And it left her vulnerable.

 There was no point in waiting any longer. Gloria dialed Bede's number without another thought. She straightened in her chair, ignoring the surprise on Hop's face as he took a seat beside her, and listened to the ringing. Despite her determination to get this over and done with, nerves sparked to life in her chest. Her heart pounded. She jumped when a click sounded, and a sudden rush of warmth flooded her veins as Bede spoke into her ear. 

 "Hey, Gloria." His smooth voice washed over her, and for a moment, she forgot how to speak. "You got home in one piece, I assume? How are you feeling?" 

 Like her heart was in her throat. 

 "Not- Not too bad," Gloria said, "I slept most of it off, just got a mild headache now." She breathed a sheepish laugh as her mind spun, and tried to swallow the giddy feeling building inside her. A simple phone call was all it took for her walls to crumble, for her feelings to take over, for her to fluster at the sound of his voice. 

 Love. It turned her into someone she didn't recognise. 

 And that made her sick. 

 "Y-You said you wanted to talk?" she asked, trying to shove aside the flustered, love-struck side of herself, and felt the disgust still burning a hole through her stomach once again. The sharp sensation of pain flooded her mind with clarity. Heaviness returned to her gut. Regret, mixed with fear. A reminder of what she had done to him. 

 "I did," Bede said after a pause. "Although, I would rather we spoke in person. Are you busy right now?" 

 Gloria swallowed. She felt cold. Her nerves froze in place, trepidation seizing her heart. 

 Somehow, she remembered to answer him, remembered how to speak. "No, I'm free." 

 "Good. I'll come by soon, then."

Gloria closed her eyes, accepting her fate. Steeling herself to fight back tears. "Okay," she said. "I'll… see you soon." 

 "Bye, Gloria." 

 She hated - and loved - the way he said her name. 

 Gloria hung up without saying anything more. Hop watched her expectantly as she placed her phone on the table, and her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. 

 "He'll be here soon," she said. The dramatic shift in her emotions, from giddiness at Bede's voice to the hollow ache in her heart that she felt now, sapped the strength from her bones. 

 Hop kept watching her, his eyes searching her face. The concern in his eyes made her heart clench. 

 "I'll be fine," she said, though she didn't believe it. She stood from her chair, getting up to dump the rest of her soggy cereal into the sink. Her appetite was long gone.

 "I know," Hop said quietly. "But you always say that." 

 Gloria felt his eyes on her back, knew the painful expression he wore. She breathed in slowly, before turning to face him with a smile. Hop's concern was so genuine, so heartfelt, that it threatened to shatter the mask she'd built to protect herself. 

"I'll be fine," she said again. Firmer this time. 

 Hop's expression didn't change, and Gloria left him there as she retreated into her room, in part to change out of her pyjamas, but also because she couldn't bear to lie any further to Hop when he looked at her like that. 

 -

 Minutes passed like hours. When Gloria spied movement on the street outside, she shot to her feet, yanking open the front door before Bede could knock. Nerves twisted inside her gut as she forced herself to smile. Keenly aware that Hop was watching her.

 "Hey, Bede!" Gloria said, slipping out the door around his side, tugging the door closed behind her. "Why don't we go for a walk?" 

 She didn't give him much of a choice in the matter as she strode down the garden path and onto the street. Driven by nerves, her heart pounded in her chest like she'd sprinted to Wedgehurst and back. She wanted to run. To bolt again. Relationships, feelings, dealing with emotions like these was like trying to juggle handfuls of jelly. Scrambling to keep it from sliding through her fingers. 

 Gloria flashed Bede a smile, as bright as she could muster, as he stepped down the path towards her. This wasn't a battle she could fight, not a foe she could conquer with her Pokemon. She was on her own. 

 "You appear to have a lot of energy for someone with a hangover," Bede said, lifting an eyebrow at her.  

His voice made her heart skip. "You should've seen me earlier," Gloria said. She hid the tension in her body behind her smile, behind her laughter. "I felt like I'd been barrelled over by a Wooloo!" 

 She started down the street, away from her house and the Slumbering Weald. Bede fell into step with her, and she stared straight ahead, not even daring to glance at him. The space between them felt infinitesimal. She sped up slightly, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts so there was no chance their hands would accidentally brush, and Bede remained at her side, matching her pace. 

 "There's a nice spot down here by the lake," Gloria said. She turned abruptly and marched through the knee-high grass. Skwovet scattered into the trees, Rookidee fluttering away into the clear skies above. A Chewtle turned slowly as she passed it, mouth hanging open. If Bede wanted to talk about the very thing she dreaded, she wanted to be away from the public, away from Wedgehurst, away from Hop. The building tension inside her chest left the threat of tears in her eyes, and she swallowed thickly. She clenched her jaw, blinking hard. She couldn't cry now. Not when nothing had happened yet. But she felt like she was hanging by a thread. A split second, a single word away, from falling. 

 Bede caught up to her as she headed down a dirt path that wove away from Sonia's house, leading towards the lake. By the waters edge stood a single wooden bench, facing out across the shimmering surface of the lake. Wind rustled through the thick grass, a myriad of Pokemon calls filling the silence. Gloria swept towards the bench and plonked herself down on it unceremoniously. She sat - deliberately - as close to the edge of the bench as she could, leaving the majority of it empty. For this conversation, she wanted as much space between her and Bede as possible. Enough space for her to breathe, to think. 

 Whether Bede noticed how she'd seated herself or not, he gave no indication. He sat what would have normally been a comfortable distance away, and Gloria fought down the urge to stiffen at his proximity. Although it was only Bede with her, she felt like a thousand eyes were watching her every movement. Watching the way she breathed, shallow and tense. Noticing the tension in her posture. She couldn't hide here, not from Bede. When he turned to face her, her expression froze. He looked away. 

 And Gloria could no longer breathe. Words caught on her tongue, lodged in her throat. Her heart cantered away in her chest, faster and faster as seconds of silence ticked by. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. No sound, no air, as if an invisible vice had tightened around her throat. 

 "Elliott has been dealt with," Bede said, finally breaking the hold that the silence had on Gloria. "So you needn't worry about him any longer." 

 Elliott? Her gut churned at the mention of his name. She found herself straightening, confusion and curiosity drawing her gaze to Bede. 

 "What do you mean?" Gloria asked. "What happened?" 

 Bede, thankfully, kept looking out across the lake. "Ms Opal is acquainted with his father," he said, "and called in a few favours. From what I've heard, he's been stripped of multiple privileges, including his position at his father's company, and will be sent to his uncle's estate in Kalos for the foreseeable future." 

 Gloria blinked for a moment, stunned. "You mean he's…?" 

 "Gone." Bede nodded. "He'll be too preoccupied with mopping up his own scandal to cause any more with you. His father and Ms Opal made sure of that." 

 The tension Gloria had been holding in her chest fled all at once, and she sank into the bench in disbelief.  

"I… thank you," she managed to say. It took a few seconds for Gloria to collect herself enough to speak properly. "You didn't have to do that for me… Ms Opal, too. I-I don't know what to say." 

 "'Thank you' suffices," Bede said, looking at her with a satisfied smile. 

 Her heart skittered. "Thank you," she said breathlessly. Their eyes met and Hop's voice echoed in her mind. 

 "You kissed him." 

 Panic returned. Gloria's heart lurched high up into her throat, her blood running cold. She cut her gaze away from Bede as crushing fear pressed down on her shoulders, on her lungs. The silence between them was deafening. 

 "Gloria, I wanted to-" 

"I'm sorry!" The words stole from Gloria's throat on the back of a sob. Vision blurring with tears. "Hop- Hop told me what happened," she continued, fingers pressing against her lips to stop them from trembling, to stop her from sobbing again. "He told me what- what I did. To you." Her eyes closed in shame. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she took a deep, shaky breath. Fear was crushing her heart. "I'm so sorry," she said as a whisper. Faint and broken. "I was drunk and… and I don't even remember it. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry." 

 Gloria shuddered as she exhaled, feeling that pieces of her soul had broken away and fled with her breath.  

"Please-" It caught on her tongue. "I just… don't want you to hate me…" 

 Bede straightened. "Why would I hate you?" 

 "Because I kissed you, Bede!" She turned to him, vision blurring with tears, facing her fears. "I forced myself on to you when you were just- just trying to help me, and… I did something so despicable to you…" 

 Again, she turned away. Closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

 "I don't hate you for that," Bede said quietly. "Although I must admit I am a tad… confused." 

 Gloria swept the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, her breath hot in her throat, and looked at him. Bede stared at his hands in his lap, fingers woven together. His brow was furrowed ever-so-slightly in thought. 

 "Why did you kiss me?" he asked. His voice, as soft as the wind caressing his platinum blond curls, left Gloria numb. 

 She opened her mouth, finding she had no voice. She swallowed. Looked away. "I-I was drunk and I… don't actually remember k-kissing you, so… I don't know." 

 The gap in her memory of that night tightened the hold that fear had on her, like a string of razor wire wrapped around her heart. Piercing her flesh with every breath. It hurt to speak. 

 "You told me once that you'd only kiss someone you had feelings for," Bede continued, "and yet, last night you kissed-" 

 "-Don't." She saw nothing. Felt nothing. 

 Nothing but fear.  

"Please." It was a plea. A desperate cry that escaped the hollow of her throat. "Please don't- don't say that. Don't ask me that. I can't-" 

 Tears. She felt them on her cheeks. Felt Bede's eyes on her. 

 "I can't…" her voice broke. Gloria shook her head, pressed her palms to her eyes, and blocked it out. She blocked everything out and shut down. Broken gasps escaped through her clenched teeth, each breath making her body shudder with agony. She curled into herself. Dug her elbows into her thighs as she doubled over. A gentle touch on her shoulder made her wince, and Bede took his hand back in an instant. 

 His touch had burned. 

 "I'm… sorry." Gloria barely heard Bede speak through the darkness encasing her mind. "I won't say anything more."  

The regret in his voice hurt more than anything else. Gloria tried to steel herself, to fight back her tears and push through her fear, as a rush of shame surged through her chest.  

She was the one who'd kissed him. She was the one who'd gotten drunk and forced herself on him. Didn't he deserve answers for that? 

 Gloria pulled her palms off her eyes and sat up straight, blinking up at the sky above in order to dry her tears. She sucked in a breath, then another, forcefully controlling how she exhaled. Slowly, slowly, easing the fear off her heart. Bede sat in silence beside her. Respectfully, he kept his gaze elsewhere as Gloria calmed herself down. When she felt as though she could finally speak, she laughed instead. That made Bede look at her in surprise. 

 "You know, everyone's always making a fuss about their 'first kiss,' making it out to be this big thing, something important," Gloria said with a rueful smile. "All that build up, and I can't even remember it." She shook her head, laughing quietly. Regret tainting her voice. "Can we just… forget this ever happened?" Gloria turned to look at Bede, trying hard to smile through the pain. 

 Bede's expression shifted as he met her eyes. There was worry, regret, and something more to the depth of his eyes as he mulled over her words. 

 "I'm not sure I can forget it that easily," he said.  

The smile on Gloria's face threatened to break. She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I… I thought that would be the case…" She looked away from him. "Was that… was that your first…?"  

"It was." 

 Gloria pursed her lips to stop them trembling. "I'm- I'm really sorry…" 

 "It's not a big deal," he said, shrugging half-heartedly. "It's just a kiss." 

 Gloria scoffed. "That's easy for you to say, I don't even remember it! It's like I haven't had my first kiss at all." She slumped on the back of the bench with a huff. "It would've been better if I did remember it, since then my first kiss would be over and done with and I wouldn't have to worry about it. I don't even know what it's like to- to kiss someone…" 

 She trailed off, remembering that she had, in fact, kissed Bede, even though she had no actual recollection of it. She let out a heavy sigh. Of course she'd kiss the one person she'd fallen for in her entire life and be unable to remember it happening. 

 "It's honestly not all it's cracked up to be," Bede said. "Really, if you think about it, all kissing is, is two people pressing their mouths together. The significance placed on kissing is out of proportion to the act itself." 

 Gloria curled her lips in frustration at him. "Says the one who can remember it," she huffed. "It's like I haven't had my first kiss at all…" 

 "But you have," Bede said. "You kissed me." 

 "W-Well, yeah." She blinked at him, nerves fluttering around her chest at how matter-of-factly he'd said that. "It just… seems a bit unfair that I had my first kiss and can't remember it, so it's like I've still got that importance attached to it." 

 She wasn't making much sense. She couldn't think straight with Bede's eyes on her, when talking about this. About kissing.  

She'd really kissed him. That alone was astounding, it was difficult to believe. But it had happened. Gloria had kissed Bede. She curled a lock of her hair behind her ear as she tried to push those thoughts away, feeling her cheeks begin to burn. 

 "I kinda feel like I've missed out here," she said to fill the silence. Gloria laughed sheepishly, aiming to lift the awkward air between her and Bede. When she looked at him, her eyes immediately flicked to his lips. 

 She looked away quickly. 

 "Do you want to know what it's like?" Bede's voice washed over her like soft ribbons of silk, each word stealing the air from her lungs. "You said you'd rather get your first kiss over and done with…" 

 Somehow, Gloria managed to peek over at him. The depth of his eyes stirred something inside her. Something warm, something that built in the pit of her stomach and flooded her veins. 

 "I…" She struggled to remember how to speak. "I mean, since I've technically already had my first kiss, it would be better to, y'know, get it over and done with so I don't have to worry about it anymore. Just- Just so I know what it's like." Gloria cleared her throat. Her eyes kept flicking towards his lips, yet it was harder to hold his gaze when he was looking at her like that. In a way she couldn't describe. "But- well, who knows when that will happen," she continued quickly with an awkward laugh. "Or if it ever will." 

 "Do you want to?" 

 Gloria gaped at him. For a moment, she wasn't sure that she heard him correctly.  

"Do- Do I want to… what?" she asked. Her voice was quiet. Barely louder than a breath. 

 Bede seemed closer to her than before. His gaze was captivating, and she couldn't look anywhere else but into his eyes, as though trapped by those deep, alluring violets. Bede seemed immune to whatever hold Gloria was under, searching her eyes for a moment in silence. 

 "If you'd rather get your first kiss over and done with," Bede said, "I could kiss you."  

She felt his words against her lips. Heat consumed every fibre of her body, and she couldn't breathe. Her mouth dropped open, fumbling over her words, scrambling for a way to answer him. 

 Did she want to-? 

 "I… but you…?" Her mind was addled. Her lungs felt like they were full of helium, filled to the brim with too much air. Was he really offering to…? 

 "You've already kissed me," Bede reminded her. His tone was light, and without accusation. Merely staring a fact. "And since you don't remember what it was like, if you want, I can show you. You've had your first kiss- all I'll do is repeat it." 

 How could she answer him? Gloria had her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, unable to find any words. It didn't feel real. All she could do was nod. Something shifted in Bede's eyes. His gaze softened, deepened, and Gloria startled when he trailed his fingers across her cheek. 

 "Tell me to stop," Bede said, his voice soft yet lower than before, "if you don't want this." 

 Gloria found herself nodding again, though she couldn't think straight. She felt his knees brush against hers. His fingers wove into her hair. 

 "This- This won't change anything between us, right?" she asked quickly. She sounded far away, distant and strangely light.

 Bede's answer dusted across her lips. "Not if you don't want it to." 

 He was close enough that looking into his eyes made her dizzy, noses almost brushing. Their breaths mingled together in the shortening distance between them.  

"Close your eyes," Bede said, and she obeyed instinctively. Her eyes fluttered shut the second he kissed her. A quiet gasp died in her throat. Her mind span. She leant into him, against him, as he slowly melded his lips against hers. 

 And oh, she knew she shouldn't be doing this, she shouldn't be kissing him like this, but the warmth of his kiss took hold of her in an instant, and everything else fell away. Her fear, her regret, nothing else mattered to her in that moment. She forgot to breathe. Forgot her inhibitions. The sensation of Bede's lips gliding over hers was all she could feel. How could he say that kissing didn't live up to the hype when it felt like this? Like she was walking on air, floating, giddy and breathless. Even though she didn't know what she was doing, she followed each and every movement of Bede's lips with her own. She was putty in his hands, melting against his lips. Melting into him. The softest moan spilled from her throat as Bede suddenly broke away from her, leaving her stunned. She blinked in a daze. The world was fuzzy around her. Her lips tingled with a sensation she'd never felt before, warmth pooling low in her gut. 

 It was like waking from a dream. Bede cleared his throat, turning to face the lake, while Gloria's mind began to slowly work again. Clarity hit her in an instant. Then embarrassment. Like a clap of thunder, it jolted her alert, and she flushed. Her fingers touched her lips, unable to comprehend what had just happened. What they'd just done.  

Gloria could still feel Bede's lips against hers, so warm and gentle, featherlight yet firm. He'd kissed her. 

 Bede had- 

 Arceus. There was no going back now. 

 -

 "Was that… sufficient?" Bede asked, needing to say something, anything, to break the heated silence suffocating him. He didn't dare look towards Gloria, knowing fully well that he mirrored the blush that burned across her cheeks. 

 Gloria jumped at the sound of his voice. "Y-Yes, it- it was," she managed to reply. 

 "That's… good." He cringed internally at how strained and tight his voice sounded. Gloria appeared stunned, unable to stay focused on anything around them as she glanced from him to the lake, to her hands in her lap, and then off to the path they'd followed to get here. 

 Bede took a breath and tried to calm the racing thoughts in his mind. He'd kissed her. Somehow, his desires had gotten the best of him and he'd offered to kiss her, and Gloria had agreed to it. He'd kissed Gloria becaused she'd let him.

 Gloria, who refused to fall in love, who'd sworn she'd never kiss someone she wasn't dating, had agreed to let him kiss her so she knew what it was like. 

 It was like Bede's insides had been turned upside down and back to front. He was in disbelief, in shock, wondering again and again if that had really happened. All it took was a single glance towards Gloria, and he had his answer. Their eyes met and her whole body twitched. Her blush doubled in intensity, mouth dropping open, her gaze flicking to his lips for a split second before she deliberately looked elsewhere. Heat trickled down Bede's spine at her reaction. 

 Arceus. Who knew he'd ever have this affect on her? He could still feel a memory of Gloria's lips against his, and his heart skipped as she, again, touched her fingertips to her lips. 

 "Gloria," Bede began, and she jolted, spinning to face him. 

 "Y-Yes?" she squeaked loudly. 

 Bede fought the giddy smile off his face, smothering the rush of pride he felt at gaining such a delightful reaction from her. 

 "Nothing needs to change between us," he continued, "like you said. Alright?" 

 Gloria nodded emphatically. "O-Of course!" Her eyes remained wide, her expression stunned, and it made Bede smile. Warmth towards her blossomed in his chest. 

 "Now do you see what I mean when I said it would be hard to forget?" he teased. 

 "Mm…" She pressed her lips together, looking away quickly. Her gaze was distant and forceful, as though she was tossing over something in her mind. He longed to ask her, to delve into whatever it was that had her so torn, but the way she'd fractured before him when he asked why she'd kissed him made him push his questions aside.  

The wound of Gloria's that he'd thought had healed into a scar was still raw. It ran deep. 

 No, Bede was a fool to have assumed otherwise. She was still protecting herself. Building up walls in a desperation Bede had felt himself long ago. Like a wounded Pokemon, cowering at the slightest noise, he knew why she reacted the way she did. 

 After a moment, Gloria managed to look at him and hold his gaze. He offered up a smile as he stood. 

 "Shall we head back?" he asked, holding out a hand to her. A gesture of goodwill. Of hope, that things were still the same between them. 

 Gloria looked at his hand, her eyes widening a fraction, before she took it. The smile she gave him was warm, as though she'd untangled whatever it was she'd been struggling with a few moments earlier. Her hand fit snugly in his, and she gave it a squeeze. 

 "Let's go," she said. 

 Bede knew in that instant that, although they'd assured each other the opposite, something had, indeed, changed between them. 

[bosspigeon]

sunshine on a rainy day

Pairing: M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3669 Summary: Unit Bravo helps Juni with rooting through the sodden mess of his bedroom, and Mason tries to figure out just what the hell is going on with the detective.

I have no excuses or explanations for this. It’s just self-indulgent corny nonsense.*shakes Mason like an Etch-a-Sketch until he can acknowledge his goddamned feelings*

Please check out this cover of “My Girl” by Kele Okereke that inspired this whole thing, because it makes it gay and it brings my little homosexual heart so much joy~

Mild CW for references to sex/m*sturbation

Things are still… weird, with Juni.

Of course, he’s pretending they aren’t, and he’d be very convincing if it were anyone but Mason he’s trying to convince.

His smiles are too brittle, too tense, and they don’t make his nose scrunch up like they should. His laughs are too-sharp and high-pitched, strained with effort, and he hasn’t snorted once. He radiates tension the second Mason looks his way, hides behind his hair like he’s afraid to look him in the eye. When Mason first met the detective, he thought he was soft. Too soft. The sort Mason would chew up and spit out if he cared enough to bother, but then he dug a little deeper, hit a nerve or two, and found that shiny spine. He found that, when pushed, Juni had bite.

He may have gotten a bit addicted to the bite, and now that it’s gone, he feels completely off-kilter. Juni still responds when he flirts, of course, blushing and fumbling like always, but it feels… different, somehow. And it has since the bakery.

He apologized, and he thought that would make it better, but it hasn’t, and now he’s caught between frustration and what might be... guilt?

Clearly, he’s hurt Juni somehow, and he’s not sure how to fix it.

Why do you need to fix it? Why do you care?

He shakes it off. They’ve got more important things to worry about right now. He’s got to keep his head in the game.

“I’m sorry,” Juni says miserably, again, and Mason wants to shake him. What part of this is his fault?

“It’s not your fault,” Nate says kindly, before Mason can get snippy and make Juni withdraw into himself even further. “You can’t be blamed for bad luck.”

Juni snorts, grabbing his arm. “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” he recites, like it’s something he’s said before. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says “I Just Hope Both Teams Have Fun” and it’s a bit odd to see his arms without the cover of his usual sweatshirt. He keeps rubbing at his inner arm and the bird inked there. A self-soothing gesture, as if he’s not used to exposing so much skin. His nails are bitten all to hell, too. A mess of tells, this man.

“That’s the spirit!” Felix says cheerily, punching the air. The look Juni gives him is dry as a desert, and Mason feels a twist of something hot and acidic in his gut he can’t name. He wants to chuck Felix in a dumpster at least once a day, but the urge hits him like a truck out of the blue, and he can’t pinpoint the reason.

Fuck, he’d kill for a smoke.

“I’m still sorry,” Juni says again, squeezing his forearm. “For, y’know, the whole squad needing to babysit me for this.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Nate exclaims, as if the very thought that Juniper believes their helping him sort through his soggy belongings to see what can be salvaged to be a chore is somehow an insult. “We’re happy to help.”

Juni gives Nate a soft-eyed smile that lights up his whole face, and that acid feeling burns more.

“You cannot be left unaccompanied,” Adam says stiffly, eyeing the horizon as if the Annunaki will swoop down on them in a parking lot in broad daylight. “It is best that we move as a unit when able, to ensure your safety.”

Juni ducks his head, still smiling. “Thank you guys,” he mumbles, and then he almost keels over when Felix slings his arm around his shoulder to shake him. Mason stifles a growl, and while Felix doesn’t notice, Adam and Nate both glance back at him with twin unreadable expressions he meets with the blandest look he can manage.

“I, for one, am looking forward to snooping through your place some more,” Felix snickers. Juni pushes him off.

For the most part, the flat is still in one piece, most of the damage contained to the bedroom, though the floor in the hallway is a bit waterlogged as well. Nate tuts in disappointment as the warped boards creak pathetically underfoot, no doubt mourning the fancy pattern to the antique wood. Mason can smell the water damage, mold and rot that no doubt caused the collapse in the first place, and the choking reek of plaster dust.

Juni sighs as he pushes open his bedroom door. The mess is even worse than Mason thought it would be, from what Juni told him. The bathtub that apparently crashed through his ceiling is gone, but the gaping hole remains, still shedding debris onto the ruined bed. The heavy antique bed frame itself is cracked clean in half, the mattress sagging in the middle, and Mason's chest squeezes.

Juni was right there seconds before an entire fucking bathtub came down on top of it. He could have been crushed.

He jolts when he feels fingers on his wrist, and when he looks down, Juni isn't looking directly at him, but towards him. "You can wait outside, if you want?" he suggests softly while Nate goes trotting into the room to cluck and fuss over Juni's bookshelf. "I know it smells kind of gross in here." His nose wrinkles a bit, and Mason hears the thick clicking of his throat as he swallows uncomfortably. No doubt, the smell’s not doing him any favors either, hyper senses or no.

"Did you bring a mask or something?" Mason asks rather than replying, gesturing to the plaster dust settled all over everything, floating in the air now that they've disturbed it. "Your lungs are already shitty enough."

Juni flushes a pretty, rosy pink and fumbles hastily for his bag with a little blurt of, "Oh, yeah!" He puts it on, and Mason wants to groan. Of course it's got a stupid little cat mouth on it.

"Juni," Nate calls, his voice heavy with sadness. He's holding a book in his hands as carefully as if it were an injured bird. "You have a collector’s edition of The Velveteen Rabbit?"

"Had," Juni corrects, his eyes crinkling with a sardonic little smile Mason can't see, but knows the shape of intimately enough to picture. “It had reproductions of the original lithograph illustrations too.” He gives Mason a quick sidelong look before pattering over to take the book from Nate and sadly try to peel apart the pages.

Felix sidles up to Mason with about as much subtlety as a bathtub through the ceiling while Nate assures Juni they can salvage the book, and likely a good amount of the others, if they are very careful. The younger vampire gives him a startlingly critical look that he tries to hide under his usual smirk. "You guys are ridiculous," he scoffs. Mason snaps out a hand to cuff him, but Felix dodges and rabbit-punches him lightly in the ribs. It’s surprising enough from someone as ambivalent to fighting as Felix is that Mason doesn’t even think to dodge, and when he glowers at him, Felix glowers right back.

It’s not terribly impressive on him, but points for trying.

“Be nice to him,” Felix hisses, and this time Mason is ready enough to swat his hand away before he can get jabbed again.

“I’m plenty nice to him,” he drawls, affecting an easy smirk.

Felix studies him for a long moment, then looks him dead in the eye, smiles glibly, and says, “You’re so pretty.” He reaches out like he’s going to pat Mason’s cheek, but he dodges and stalks away to help Adam move some of Juni’s heavier furniture that might still be salvageable. Felix makes a beeline for the bathroom, probably to rifle through Juni’s medicine cabinet or something.

Juni leaves Nate to meticulously pick through his bookshelf and slip blotting paper (which he made sure to bring the second Juni voiced his doubts the small collection of books in his room would be salvageable) between the pages and setting them aside to pack up and take back to the warehouse, where he has the supplies to take care of them. He starts bagging up clothes, while Adam and Mason prop his mattress against the wall to get it out of the way. He’ll have to get a new one for sure. Just being close to the damn thing makes Mason want to retch with the smell of the mildew. Juni drifts by to start bundling up his bedding, and his knuckles skim against Mason’s lower back.

A shudder rolls up his spine, and he settles as his senses calm down enough for him to actually assist Adam. The mattress isn’t heavy for them by any means, but it’s bulky enough to be a pain for just one of them to carry.

Juni is setting to work boxing up all his little trinkets and knickknacks (and he’s got a lot of them) when Felix comes barrelling out of his bathroom with something purple held victoriously above his head.

“Hey, Juni!” he yells, and all of them, even Juni,  wince at the volume. “What’s this?”

Once he’s stopped, and is no longer a brightly colored blur in the vague shape of a vampire, Mason can actually see what he’s holding aloft like a trophy. Once he realizes what it is, he can’t help but smirk. Before he even looks at Juni, he can feel the heat radiating off him, his blood rushing, his heart rate spiking.

Even if Mason didn’t know what a goddamned magic wand was, Juni’s reaction would be a dead giveaway.

Faster than Mason has ever seen the detective move, he bolts across the room and snatches the thing out of Felix’s hand, hiding it behind his back. “Where did you find that?” he yelps, his voice pitching high and cracking.

“Your closet,” Felix says brightly, his eyes glimmering with mischief. He’s clearly caught on. “Should I not have touched it?”

“It’s clean!” Juni squawks, his face almost glowing red. “Don’t be gross!”

“Man, now I really wish I’d picked that locked box in there open,” Felix cackles, and Juni smacks at his shoulder and then breaks for the bathroom before the vampire can make good on that promise. He slams the door behind him and Mason hears the click of the lock, while Felix laughs so hard he has to brace himself against the wall and hold his stomach.

Adam and Nate are deeply focused on their own work, admirably pretending they haven’t noticed anything going on outside their little tasks.

It takes a while for Juni to be coaxed out of the bathroom again, but even mortification that makes him blush so ferociously that Mason can feel the heat of him from three feet away wouldn’t allow him to shove his duties off on someone else. He does bring a small wooden trunk out of the bathroom with him, closed with a little heart-shaped padlock that Felix could break off easily if he wanted to. Juni seems just as aware of that risk, so he guards the trunk with his goddamned life, even going so far as to sit on it and glower at Felix while he helps Nate pack up all his waterlogged books and fragile little trinkets.

Mason does give the trunk a very pointed look, trailing his eyes up the detective’s body and meeting his gaze with an easy smirk, just to watch him flush even redder, and while he does go so red the smattering of freckles across his nose almost disappears, he looks away sharply and hides behind his hair.

Mason barely resists pulling an Adam and crushing the weird little ceramic owl he’s packing away.

The rest of the day goes pretty uneventfully afterwards. He and Adam move and dry off furniture, drag stuff that can’t be saved outside to be thrown out, Nate delights in every interesting little antique he finds and mourns the damage done to them, Felix flits around and pretends he’s helping when he’s really just having fun rooting through the detective’s things, and Juni helps where he can and avoids Mason’s eyes as they track his every move. Even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to shake the awareness of Juni, wherever he is in the room.

After they’ve packed everything they could into the Agency SUV, they head off. Juni is quiet on the ride back, sitting close to the window with a box of junk in his lap. Felix is between him and Mason, completely ignoring the odd tension and distracting the detective by asking about whatever random tchotchke he pulls from the box. Mason just stares out the window and tries to ignore the niggling desire to light a cigarette, only slightly mitigated by the fact that he doesn't even have one on him.

Later, once they’ve hauled everything to Juni’s room (or in the case of the books, to Nate’s room to be subjected to the tenderest of mercies) Mason sits on the roof alone for a long while, staring consideringly at an unlit cigarette and twisting it between his fingers. His head feels heavy with everything weighing it down, a twisting, confusing mess writhing in his skull. He tries, once again, to direct his thoughts to easier things, but every time he tries to think about Juni squirming underneath him, thighs squeezing his hips, gasping his name, his thoughts inevitably turn to gentle fingers on his cheeks, a bright laugh lighting up his insides, hazel-green eyes looking up at him with… with what?

He growls and shoves the cigarette back into the pack, cramming it into his pocket.

“What does this mean for us?”

Since when is there an “us?”

He falls back onto the roof with a thud, the rough surface making his skin scream with prickling discomfort, but he ignores it. He closes his eyes, tries to quiet the jumble of his thoughts. He unleashes his senses just a bit, driven by instinct and a need to focus on something, anything else, and takes a slow, deep breath. He hears the low murmur of Nate’s voice somewhere below, in the den. Adam’s there too, naturally. He can’t make out the words, but the conversation is easy and familiar, soft with intimacy.

He snorts. The two of them are fucking ridiculous. You’d think they’d have realized they’re basically married a couple centuries ago, and yet…

Felix isn’t hard to locate, though he’s deeper in the warehouse, where the bedrooms are. He’s loud, as usual, so Mason can hear him a bit better, but still he’s not quite close enough to make out words. He focuses a little harder, relaxes his body and exhales slowly. Along with his voice, there’s a light twanging, which eventually strings together into a rhythm. Music? Felix listens to music often, but it’s usually louder, faster-paced. Grates on Mason’s nerves like absolute hell, but this is slower, brighter. And then he hears Juni’s voice, and his senses rush in like a hungry dog spotting a rabbit.

A laugh, low and sweet.

Mason is rolling to his feet and off the roof before he even has a chance to think about it. It’s the work of a few seconds to slip through the window, and he keeps his footsteps light as he slips through the warehouse like a ghost. He passes the den and glances in. Adam and Nate have their heads close together, talking in low voices with files laid out neatly on the coffee table in front of them, two glasses of wine carefully placed a safe distance away from their paperwork. Adam gives him a quick look over his shoulder, and the ever-present tension in them eases somewhat. Mason nods and continues on by.

The twanging music gets louder as he stalks down the stairs, Felix’s bright voice more raucous than ever, but it’s easy enough to tune out when he hears Juni’s answering laugh floating from Felix’s open bedroom door.

“Are you gonna stop heckling me and make a request?” he asks, and Mason can hear the sunny plunking notes of a ukulele under the words, as if the detective is absently plucking the strings as he talks. Mason vaguely recalls Felix triumphantly hauling the little green instrument from underneath Juni's shattered bed frame, scuffed and covered in wet stickers, and Juni sighing sadly at the broken strings.

“Well, what do you usually play?” Felix asks, his bed creaking. Mason can picture him flopping around like a drunk fish, and he has to stifle a snort.

“I mostly just do covers and stuff.” A rustle of cloth, Juni’s shrugging. “I’ve written a few things, but I’m already giving myself heart palpitations performing in front of people, so I think actually performing something I wrote myself would kill me outright.”

“Well, you’re performing for me, aren’t you? And you seem pretty calm.”

“Since when are you people?” Juni snorts.

Felix barks out a laugh. “Rude!”

There’s a bit of a tussle, a discordant twang, and Juni yelps. “Careful, careful! I just replaced these strings, asshole!”

Felix gasps, affronted. “I’m telling Nate you called me that!”

“No, don’t tell Mum!” Juni whines, and they laugh together more.

Mason shifts from one foot to the other, pressing a hand to his stomach as if that’ll help quell the strange feeling there.

“Stop stalling,” Felix prods, and Juni shifts and sighs heavily. “Fine, fine, but don’t make fun of me, or I will cry.”

“Scout’s honor!” Felix chimes, and Mason wonders where the hell he heard that phrase.

They’re both quiet, and then Juni strums at the strings, just dabbling a bit before he actually starts plucking a rhythm. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day,” he croons, and Mason perks up almost instinctively, sunshine echoing in his ears. Juni’s singing voice, much like his speaking one,  is soft and a little breathy, but it warbles with clear nerves. “When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May…”

Felix gasps, delighted, and Juni falters for a moment, but doesn’t stop.

“Well, I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way? My guy, I’m talkin’ ‘bout my guy...” Mason slides forward, towards the door as if pulled on a string, and he sees Juni sitting at the end of Felix’s rumpled bed with its blindingly bright sheets, cross-legged with his back mostly to the door, but Mason can see his face in profile. Felix is lying at the head of the bed on his belly, with his chin propped up on his elbows.

His golden eyes flicker to Mason, and he smirks, raising his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out quickly, before Juni notices. Which he likely won’t, eyes closed, dark lashes fanned out across his freckled cheeks.

There’s a smile curling his lips, small but happy, and it only widens when Felix begins snapping in time, laughter coloring the lilting notes. “I’ve got so much honey, the bees envy me. I’ve got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees…” He leans into the chorus, rocking back and forth along with Felix’s snapping. "Well, I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?"

Mason braces a hand on the doorframe, if for no other reason than to stop himself walking into the room. He has no idea what he’d even say, but he knows he’d spook the detective, skittish little human he is, and break whatever odd spell has fallen over them both.

Juni’s voice gets stronger, bit by bit, as he settles, rising with confidence. He hums along to his strumming, and the smile that lights up his face sticks behind Mason’s ribs, along with the words of the song.

As Juni trails off with a dreamily sighed, “I’ve even got the month of May,” Felix claps loudly and cheers, an enthusiastic audience of one. Mason winces back away from the door, scowling and shaking his head.

He should leave. Either leave, or butt in just to watch Juni get all flustered, but something holds him still, keeps him quiet.

“I think I know that song,” Felix says slowly, and Mason doesn’t need to see his face to know the teasing smirk spreading there. He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Juni snorts. “Everyone does, Fe. It’s from the 60s.”

“Yeah, but you sang it differently,” Felix presses. “Thinking of someone in particular, were you?”

Mason looks around the door frame just in time to see Juni whack Felix solidly with a pillow. “It was a cover!” he exclaims, his cheeks going ruddy. “A cover of a cover!” He smacks Felix with the pillow again, a solid whump muffling the vampire’s bell-like laughter as it hits him in the face. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’ve got sunshine,” Felix warbles, snatching the pillow before Juni can swing a third time and hugging it to his chest.

“It’s a cute song!” Juni insists. “I like cute songs! I’ve got a ton I could have sung, but I picked that one, because I heard a cover once that made it about a guy instead of a girl, and you might not be aware of this, Felix, but I am a homosexual.”

Felix’s hand flies to his mouth, amber eyes going  comically wide. “No! You? How long were you planning to keep this from me?”

Juni very carefully sets his little green, lovingly restored ukulele to the side for safekeeping before he tries to wrestle the pillow back from Felix so he can hit him again.

Mason figures it’s a good time to take his leave, before Felix decides to use his presence as a scapegoat from the detective’s wrath.

He slips up the stairs, his head heavy, something… just something stirring in him he can’t even begin to parse.

Juni’s soft voice follows him back to the quiet of the rooftop, a gentle strain chasing itself around in his head.

Sunshine on a rainy day...

[tiaragqueen]

Can I request a yandere garou not letting his s/o breakup with him !!

At Variance

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Garou x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,7k

✂ Trigger Warning: Slight violence, possessive behavior, yandere theme

[Edited]

***

It’s official, Garou has become one of my favorite characters. A villain with a soft spot for kids makes me go soft myself.

Part 2

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“You think you’ve changed your mind. You’d better change it back or we will both be sorry.” - Don’t You Want Me [Human League]

There was a time when you used to love Garou.

You remembered very well those memories when he used to train under that old man, Bang, as if they happened yesterday. Garou was his beloved student, not to mention the best among other trainees. A prodigy, you could say. Never once did he skip training, no matter how exhausted and pained he was. He had trained hard – too hard, in your opinion – to the point where his back developed muscles as well, thus making it seem bigger and broader.

Sometimes, he would come to your house with bruises and scratches littering his toned body. You used to fuss over him, occasionally scolding and telling him to take better care of himself. You wanted him to know that you couldn’t be around him forever. However, he simply dismissed your concern with a flick of his hand.

“If you can’t be around me anymore, then I’ll force you to,” he said. You didn’t mull over the meaning for too long, thinking that he was joking. But you couldn’t deny the confidence from his words, or that self-assured smirk, as if he was sure that you wouldn’t be able to leave him.

Well, you certainly hadn’t thought that way. You loved him, after all. What kind of a girlfriend was you if you break up with him simply because he had said some… questionable things?

As his lover, it wasn’t unusual for you to visit the dojo yourself. You would come and cheer on him, sometimes bringing some food for him and the others. Bang had grown accustomed to your presence and considered you as a ‘good supporter’ for Garou, much to your delight. His students had befriended you too, mainly because of how often you came, and referred you as the ‘Wolf’s Lover’. Of course, they still kept their respectful distance to avoid any… unpleasant consequences. Garou was, after all, a possessive boyfriend.

But that was a long time ago. Now, you didn’t have the same feeling for him anymore.

And no, it didn’t happen because you loved someone else or other equally bad reasons. Different opinions had long caused a rift between the two of you, ever since his confession to destroy the fake peace. Your belief in heroes and their ‘biased’ justice as he had oh so kindly put it, versus his belief that an ultimate monster would take the stage someday. And the worst thing was, he believed himself to be that ‘ultimate monster’.

Now, you had to admit that his motive was somewhat noble. He wanted to bring peace – the absolute peace – to the world, and possibly end all the wars, bullies, fights, and the like. Everyone wished for that too. But the way he carried out that intention was simply wrong.

Defeating the heroes? Sure, some of them might not be as pure as they seemed. However, it would be unfair to lump them in the same label, whereas not all monsters were keen on dominating the humankind.

Uniting people through fear? What would happen when they finally put him in his place? What would he do? You couldn’t think of a better outcome than killing him, had you were one of those normal people. Heck, the heroes would probably think so too. But Garou was your boyfriend; someone who had chosen to stick with your annoying guts and accompanied you through thin and thick, no matter how awkward he was at comforting you.

“You did what?” you asked, staring at him with an incredulous frown. You wondered if sleepiness blocked your hearing somehow since he had barged into your apartment unannounced. After all, you were in the middle of napping when he entered through the window.

Honestly, it wasn’t the first time he’d done that. Sometimes, you questioned if he even knew the use of a door. But the news he’d brought to you was shocking, to say the least. Probably more when you witnessed him beating up his fellow trainees at Bang’s dojo at that time.

“I said I beat up all those fuckers.” He raised his chin and grinned smugly, ignoring the way you gaped like a fish out of the water.

“But they didn’t… do anything wrong.” Your voice turned softer as you tried to comprehend the absurdity of his story. He’d told you that he’d gotten a letter from the Hero Association, announcing that they would recruit criminals as heroes. Well, they wouldn’t know Sitch’s true intention had that ninja didn’t reveal it. There were some high-class heroes in there too, acting as the bodyguards. But what you didn’t understand was why Garou even bothered to come if he would only beat them up in the end.

Was he really that bloodthirsty until he was willing to fight all the participants – including the heroes in charge – right in front of the minister? If so, then maybe he was too far gone now. Or maybe he had always been this way, and you just failed to acknowledge it in favor of clutching your values and morals.

“Exactly!” he exclaimed, still bearing that sick grin you used to think as ‘sexy’ in the past. “They didn’t do shit until that motherfucker went to recruit them to join his shitty organization.”

You examined his face. Like, truly examined it. From the drops of blood that splattered across his cheek to those dilated, amber irises that reflected his restrained excitement and triumph. As if he took pride in his so-called victory.

This couldn’t be overlooked any further.

“Garou…” you began gingerly yet softly, scared that he might snap the moment he heard what you were about to say. “I don’t think we can continue this relationship anymore.”

Your heart started to beat faster when you saw his grin dropped. “Huh? The hell are you talking about?” he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Swallowing the nerves that clogged your throat, you mentally prepped yourself up to tell the thing you’d been wanting to say and face the consequences.

Were you, though?

Garou was quite unpredictable, and while he had never laid a hand on you, it didn’t mean he couldn’t do it now. He had the strength and speed to incapacitate you. You’d be damned if you fight him.

Not that you could, though. You would most likely lose at first attempt.

“I think we should break up.”

There was a moment of thick silence that surrounded the living room. You peeked through your hair, attempting to decipher his otherwise stony face. It wasn’t common to see him act this way – so stiff yet unreadable – and you knew that it couldn’t mean anything good.

“What?” It was like the role was reversed. Now, he was the one who asked for clarification.

“I said we should break up.”

“No…” he muttered, a frown distorted his dangerously captivating features. “You said ‘I think’. Well, I don’t fucking think the same way if that’s what you want me to say, [Name].”

“Well,” you rolled your shoulders in fake nonchalance and boldly stared at his eyes. “We definitely should. We have different beliefs about heroes and such, and with how you’re acting now, it’s best if we part ways. You can continue your hero hunting, and I can do my own things.”

Garou fell silent again. Slowly, he lifted his left hand before slammed it down against the coffee table. You stiffened, watching the once intact desktop split in two through your peripheral vision. Splinters of wood scattered on the marble floor, but that was the least of your concern.

It was the message he conveyed to you. He was stronger than you, therefore you stood no chance against him. You were fully aware, and you acknowledged it. That was why you never acted upon those violent thoughts whenever he spoke about his burning hatred towards phony justice and heroes. Still, you could discern the other idea that he’d implied to you.

This was what you could and would be if you kept resisting him.

“We won’t last long, Garou.” you mumbled, despite the underlying threat. It might sound as if you were trying to appeal to his conscience, while in reality, it was nothing but the truth. A couple with contrasting opinions – especially about something as subjective as peace, justice, and society – could never survive. At least, that was what you thought.

A hand wrapped itself around your throat, instantly cutting off the oxygen supply from entering and leaving. Garou glowered and clenched his jaw; the very same expression he always showed to his enemies. Or, in other words, this wasn’t his usual playful and sadistic self.

This was a serious Garou.

“Is this how you fucking repaid me, after I’ve protected you from those weak ass villains?” he asked through gritted teeth.

You wriggled at the increasingly tight grip and clawed his skin, face blanched. It was moments like this where oxygen became invaluable to you. “Garou, let me… go.”

“Honestly, [Name], I’ve never thought that you would be a fucking coward. Breaking up with me? Really? How the fuck would you protect yourself, huh? You’re weak! You need someone strong like me to protect you.” He breathed heavily through his nostrils and observed your pathetic attempt to release yourself from his grasp. “You think we can’t last because we have different beliefs? Don’t make me laugh. In half a year, I’ll grow stronger. More powerful! And I’ll show you, and those shitty heroes, that a villain can change the world too. I’ll be the ultimate monster and bring the peace! And you’ll regret ever doubting me!”

Garou threw you on to the couch unceremoniously before you could pass out, or worse, die from strangulation. You coughed and inhaled deeply, trying to fill your lungs with air as much as possible. Meanwhile, Garou headed towards the exit with no apology whatsoever and looked over his shoulder.

“We’ll make this shit works. No buts or what ifs.” He pursed his lips in dogged determination. “Remember that.”

The aftershock and exhaustion finally settled in when you heard the slam of the door that sounded distant in your ears. You collapsed, the buts and what ifs became your last thoughts before everything turned dark.

[thelonely]

MAJOR ep. 28 spoilers

(find it on ao3 here)

Mama has been to more than her fair share of funerals.

Well, if you can call them all funerals. Her line of work didn’t do kindly by folks looking for a traditional burial. All too often, she’d had to scoop up ashes post-battle and spread them, collect bones and dig holes for them, lose sight of a coworker mid-fight and never catch hide nor hair of them again. There were too many anomalies to be explained, too many questions raised. Seeing those names slowly sink on the “Missing Persons” list and knowing still hurt, after all these years.

And hell, some folks in the past didn’t want to go through the ceremonial bullshit; they just wanted some dirt over their remains and a salute, before sinking off into that eternal sleep. Fair enough.

Mama’s definition of a “funeral” wasn’t always clean enough to entail the hearse, coffin, and grave plot. It was the exception, rather than the norm.

Which is why she’s surprised that Ned Chicane, of all people, wanted—and got—a traditional funeral. Let alone a crowded one.

(Maybe it was for the theatrics of it. Scratch that, it was definitely for the theatrics of it.)

Ned Chicane, once again, brought the town together—they had watched him go down the first time, and they were here to watch him go down for good. They owed him that much.

Duck and Aubrey and Mama and Barclay, Jake and Leo and Kirby and Sheriff Owens, Agent Stern and Hollis and Kevin and Eugene. People who loved him, people who dealt with him, people who hated him. People who disagreed with him, people who were inspired by him, people who thought he was a scam and disgrace. In this little ski town where everyone knows everybody, it does not go unnoticed that two particular people are missing. But, considering the circumstances, no one can blame them.

The residents of Kepler hover by the graveside as a priest says a few words; Ned didn’t strike anyone as a particularly religious man, but the sentiment is nice, regardless.

Duck gets up and chokes out a speech—it’s hard to tell if it’s due to the occasion, or just public speaking nerves. But he gets through it nonetheless, talking about the mysterious man that one day emerged as the owner of the once-dinky Cryptonomica, and how he wasn’t an open man but he was an amicable one. A brave one.

And because Ned had no one else that was willing to speak, the speeches end and the crowd breaks briefly before burial.

The Amnesty Lodge group gathers, talking idly with flowers and programs in their hands. It’s probably the first time that Mama has seen Duck not in the ranger uniform—but of course, he’s still wearing the hat. Barclay has trimmed his beard close, and Jake is in dark hues instead of neon ones.

Aubrey is also not her usual self. That much is obvious to anyone with any degree of familiarity with her.

The normally chatty magician is quiet; she stands eerily still, hands curled in her black dress as she listens to everyone chat. Her weight is subtly shifted to her good leg—she refused to use crutches at the service.

Mama is used to strange situations: to magic and monsters and violence. But nothing ever feels quite as strange, quite as wrong, as a funeral.

“I wish I had some… some, I don’t know, some cryptid keychains I could drop in, instead of these flowers.” Duck raises his bouquet accordingly: pink carnations. “I mean. Twenty-two years, and I never saw a damn flower in his place, not once. Did he even like flowers?”

“If he did, I sure doubt he would’ve told us—or if he did tell us, whether we would’ve believed him,” Mama replies. “Damn near everything that came out of that man’s mouth sounded like a lie. I don’t think dropping flowers will be an egregious sin against him.”

“I thought about maybe bringing some Nerf darts. I guess that wouldn’t go over too well, though, huh—”

Suddenly, Jake nudges Aubrey’s arm. “Hey, look.”

His pointed finger gets the group’s attention; they all turn to look at the item of interest: the grave marker, a couple yards away. They hover for a moment, scouring the letters. Eyebrows lower, foreheads wrinkle. Aubrey averts her eyes.

“Well, this sure solves that mystery, don’t it,” Mama finally says.

The marker reads: Edmund Kelly Chicane.

“I found it on some legal documents around the Cryptonomica,” Kirby pipes in from behind them, noticing their stares. His black suit fits baggy around the legs and tight around the belly, and it feels alien to see him without an RC Cola in hand. “Seemed more official, to put the full name on it.”

Mama nods and Kirby turns back to whatever discussion he was already having. The group is quiet for a beat. Then:

“...Just feels wrong,” Duck mumbles, removing his hat and shifting it from one hand to the other. “Having his full name out here, well, it’s like—like seeing the guy naked. Jesus Christ. Let the man have some privacy, he freakin’ beefed it.”

Mama stares for another moment, then: “I think I’m partial to ‘Ned Fuckin’ Chicane.’”

That earns a small laugh from the group—from everyone except for Aubrey. Mama looks at her with barely concealed concern, but Aubrey doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, but really: this all feels wrong. The flowers, the name—hachi machi,” Duck says again with a note of disgust. “This ain’t Ned’s style.”

“I’m not exactly sure what else we’re supposed to do?” Barclay says. “He’d at least like the high turnout, if that’s any comfort.”

But Duck is barely listening. He pivots, looking at the scene around them: the townsfolk, the marker, the rows of chairs, the grave itself, the program in his hands—

And then he gets an idea.

He slides a pen out of his front pocket, flips the program over, and jots something down in loose letters. Clicks the pen closed and stares at his handiwork for a moment. Rips off that last page.

Aubrey, standing to his right, merely looks up at him with the question in her eyes. Duck, catching her stare, turns the paper towards her.

It reads: Fucking.

The park ranger shrugs. “This felt like something he’d appreciate more than just some stinkin’ flowers.”

And with that, he strides towards the grave, gives one final look at the coffin within, and drops the piece of paper. He glances up at their group. He mouths the name: Ned Fucking Chicane. And then he walks back.

This action does not go unnoticed. As Duck makes his way back to their group, other attendees peer into the grave—some laugh, some look appalled, some smile nostalgically.

“Duck,” Barclay says, his voice verging on giddy. “Where did you come up with that?”

The park ranger doesn’t seem to share the same excitement for the act. As he gets closer, he slaps a hand to his face, head bowed.

“What did I just fuckin’ do,” he moans under his breath. “I go to a man’s damn funeral and drop curse words on his grave? Have I gone bonkers? Why didn’t any of you stop me?”

“Duck—” Mama interjects.

“Fuckin’ hell, guys, I might as well have just shouted a big ol’ cuss in the middle of his final rites—”

“Duck, stop. No, look,” Mama says, planting a firm hand on his shoulder and giving him a small shake. “Look.”

Pens have emerged from pockets and purses, and the residents of Kepler are scribbling on their own programs. They write, and then they line up.

Everyone contributes something.

Boss, Bastard, Conspiracy. Danger, Superstar, Entrepreneur. Black Diamond, Flamboyant, Brave. Fuckin’, Effin’, Fucking.

The coffin is almost entirely concealed by paper. Middle name after middle name tumbles down into the hole, and it takes a good twenty minutes for the stream to taper out.

Aubrey watches her friends and neighbors drop their pieces in. And yet, she can’t bring herself to join. She just doesn’t know what to write.

(After everything… what could she write?)

She still hasn’t written anything by the time that they’re told to gather around for the end of the ceremony. Feels a swell of panic when the first shovel breaks the ground and tosses earth onto the pile.

Dirt cascades into the plot and the town watches silently as his titles are buried—until the only name that remains is the one on the gravemarker.

And then the service is over. People hover by the filled plot, saying final goodbyes to each other, exchanging hugs and words. It’s a flurry of movement for all but Aubrey.

Instead, Aubrey thinks.

She thinks as she says goodbye to the other attendees, telling her that they’ll see her soon. Barclay says he’ll have some soup at home. Duck says he’ll pop into the Lodge sometime tonight.

She thinks as the bulk of the town shuffles away, quiet conversation bubbling between them:

Remember when Ned crashed that stupid drone into a tree and the national parks office got flooded with calls of Mothman sightings for three whole days? Remember when he had the live studio audience of kids for Saturday Night Dead, and how he scared them senseless by dressing up in a yeti costume and jumping them? Remember when he went on Google Reviews and made the Cryptonomica the most upvoted place in Kepler—. And then they’re too far away to hear.

She’s almost alone: just her, Mama, and a heavy silence remain. And finally, Aubrey writes something down.

She walks on numb legs to the grave, coming to a slow halt beside it. With a slight wince, she bends over and slots her paper into the freshly turned dirt. She rises and gives it one final glance.

Mama calls from a few yards away, eyes shining with sympathy; Aubrey nods and rejoins her.

“You ready?” Mama asks, her big hand spanning Aubrey’s entire back.

“Yeah. I… I’m ready.”

They slowly move away, towards the trees. Neither of them look back.

A lone piece of paper flutters in a soft wind, unread.

The sun sinks and the stars twinkle into existence overhead, clear and cold. They shine brilliantly, beautifully over the headstone, and while the man beneath them is gone, this final middle name is not.

Written in careful, cursive letters:

Friend.

[readbeneaththelines]

His Possession Pt. 4

A/N: Debts are collected, one way or the other. Unfortunately, you were the collection for your father’s debt.

Yoongi is ruthless, cunning, and obsessive.

Characters: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings’ violence, language

this chapter has an extra warning: Rough handling of reader. please read with caution.

Word Count: 3845

This is NSFW, PLEASE READ WITH DISCRETION.

cr to owner of gif

"Morning, sir. Morning ma'am." He greeted you with a cordial bow. You climbed in, Yoongi sitting next to you. In the small space, you felt a bit self aware of the close proximity to him. His aura exuded confidence and authority. He seemed very straightforward but complex at the same time. One moment he was being nice to you, but the second someone crossed him, he switched as if a lightbulb was turned on. He definitely did not like being disobeyed, and it had you wondering just how far he could be pushed, and if you had the guts to find it out for yourself. 

“If I were, to say, not do what you told me. If I were to fight you at every turn, what would you exactly do to teach me a lesson? Would you beat me, or worse, do to me what you did to Hoseok?” You looked at you with confusion in his eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t do to you what I did to Hoseok! He hurt you, and almost..” his words fell off as he turned away from you. “I would never hurt you like that. Punishment yes, but never like that. If I were to ever have you like he wanted to have you, it would be on your own accord, not forced. I may be a hard ass, and yes I am very serious about obeying me, but I would never do that. You have my word on that.” You had to admit, after what he did to one of his own men for even trying it, that he was telling you the truth.” 

“So, what kind of punishment could I expect if I disobeyed you?” You mulled over the question, considering what he actually would punish you with. “ I don’t know yet, depends on your transgression, I suppose. A small infraction may mean no access to anything. Back in the small room again, I guess. Bigger infractions, I’d just have to wait and see. Do you really think that I am capable of beating you senseless?” You just stared at the back of his head, thinking what he possibly was capable of doing. “I don’t know if you are or not Yoongi. I can’t read you, you’re as complex as the universe. You threatened me when I hit you, telling me that I’ll regret it, but then turn around and ask if I think you could hurt me. Honestly, yes. I think you are capable of hurting me, but I would like to think that I am wrong. Let’s make a deal.” He turned on the seat, looking at you with question.

“I am not one bit happy about my predicament, in the least. But it seems like I have no choice in the matter. My fate has been sealed. If I promise not to fight you tooth and nail, you promise that if I do slip up, you won’t hurt me. Deal?” You held out your hand, worried and anxious that he would not agree to your terms. When he took your hand and shook ti, you let out and audible sigh. 

“I’m not a monster, Y/N.” It was your turn to look away as you spoke. “Yes, you are Min Yoongi, but even monsters can change.”

The rest of the ride was made in silence, neither of you looking at the other. When you arrived at your first destination, you took a deep breath, not knowing what was expected of you. AS if reading your mind, Yoongi took you arm to get your attention. “While we are here, just keep quiet. Don’t say anything, okay. The less you know and the less you say, the better off you’ll be.” stepping out of the car, he pulled you to your feet. Wrapping your hand around his arm, he walked you into yet another enormous mansion. 

You were both greeted by a butler, who bowed deeply in greeting. You returned the greeting with a fake smile, your grip digging into Yoongi’s arm. “Just relax” he whispered in your ear. Remember, just stay quiet, nod and smile when greeted. Donn’t answer any questions. I’ll be right beside you. You quickly nodded, walking fast to keep pace with his longer strides.

“Min Yoongi.” A deep bass voiced called out. The man was at least in his mid to late forties, tall and well built. He had an almost chiseled face, jawline and cheekbones prominent. He was at least five or six inches taller than Yoongi, and he exuded dominance. “What do we have here, Yoongs, a pretty little thing like that. Is she joining the ladies for drinks while we talk?” Yoongi looked down at you, his face unreadable. “I think she will prefer to stay by my side, if that’s okay with you.” The taller man laughed, the sound reverberating off the walls of the empty foyer. “Have it your way, but I think the little missus will be bored with out chatter, don’t you?” Again, they both looked at you, you heart racing and you cheeks heating under their gaze. “I think I will be fine joining you gentleman. If it’s in regards to finance, I’m may be able to offer some advice. My degree was in finance after all. The older man smiled at you then Yoongi. “Bring her on in, she may prove to be a bit useful.”

Yoongi leaned over, his mouth close to your ear. “A degree in finance? I thought I told you to stay quite.” You glared up at him, a stern grimace on your lips. “If I have to stay by your side, then at least let me see if I can maybe help.” With a roll of his eyes, he began walking. “Just keep quite unless they talk directly to you, okay?” You smiled coyly “yes sir.” 

There were at least twenty men gathered in the space, all of them immediately going quiet and looking in your direction as you entered. A few catcalls rang out as Yoongi led you to his spot at the conference table. The look in his eyes at those that whistled had you shaking internally. IF there ever was a death glare, what he was giving them was it. “Make one move for her, and it will be the last move you make gentlemen.” The anger was evident in his tone as he talked, and those he spoke to immediately shut their gaping mouths. “Alright men, let’s get started. We have several matters to go over. First order of discussion, the shipment going out tomorrow.” 

The discussion went on for several hours. You listened only half-heartedly as you replayed events of the past two days. You suddenly felt the weight of many eyes on you. Looking up, you were caught off guard at aol the men staring at you.

“What? Did you say something?” a few chuckles rang out before the leader of the gathering talked. “We were wondering if you had any input as to investing.” You glanced at Yoongi, who was watching you like a hawk tracking its prey. “Yes, please tell us what you have to say.” The sarcasm dripped from his tongue,his eyes telling to that if you messed up, your earlier deal was off.

“I would recommend investing in several ventures. In order to keep curious and suspicious eyes away, I’d say put at least ten percent into a legal business or two. The returns would substantiate the initial investment in no time. I would also negotiate with the shipyards. If they are like most companies, they will have already started raises their costs, knowing you’ll pay to keep them quiet. The prospect of them losing your money will do one of two things: they tell you to shove it, or you get a lower price and their business stay in good hands for protection. Another thing I would suggest is this. Spread the money out, in small increments, to various safe businesses or investments. The less you look like your up to something, the better off you will be. You will have returns that could possibly triple your investments. But, again, that is only my suggestion.” 

You caught several looks from some of the men, an expression of near awe on their faces. You felt as if you were under a microscope the way they watched you. “Damn, Yoongi, where have you been keeping this one? She has brains on top of those looks.” Yoongi gave a nervous smile, looking at you with a sideways glance. “Yeah, she’s a complex entity, isn’t she?” His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him in a protective manner. You jumped slightly at the sudden movement, still trying to keep that damned fake grin plastered on your face. 

“Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse us. I have a dinner party tonight, and the missus and I need to get ready. As always, it was good to see you all. Let me know when we need to gather again.” He shook hands with everyone as you politely bowed. 

“Yoongs, bring her next time. I might just takeup her ideas. And besides, she a mighty pretty thing to admire, and if she wasn’t yours, my my, i bet she would be a nice addition to my family.” The leader’s crooked smile mad your bile rise in your throat, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. 

“Thankfully Siwon, she is mine. Woldn’t know what I ‘d do without her.” Yoongi planted a kiss to your temple. “Ready babe?” You nodded, dismissing ourself with another bow as Yonngi’s hand dug into your waist. Once outside of the closed doors, Yoongi spun you around, anger flaring in his eyes, his tone filled with venom. “I told you to keep your mouth shut! Damnit Y/N, if your ideas fail, he’s not as forgiving as I can be. You may have just signed our death warrant!” 

“I actually do know what I/m talking about Yoongi! I do have a degree in finance, I also know a bit about money handling. I have been invest for the past three years. My money is my own, outside of my family’s. Tripled my return in the first year, thank you. So, my ideas are valid and will work! And one more thing, if you ever fucking put your lips to me again, I’l cut those damn things of that face of yours!” That being said, you stomped off to the car, slamming the door behind you before the driver knew what was going on. Yoogi, went around, climbing in the other side. 

“Don’t you walk away from me! I’m not through talking to you!” his face had turned bright red, his temper flaring. “Well, I’m through talking to you, so kindly shut up!” The instant the words left you, you knew you had crossed a line. This man made your worse side come out every chance it got, and that was not a good thing for you. You saw him slowly close his eyes take a deep breath. When he exhaled and lifted his lids, what you saw had your body hugging the door. The eerie calm before the storm. His already dark brown eyes were now a pitch black, his breathing slow and steady. The only other thing that alerted you to how angry he was, was the twitching of his jaw muscles. 

“I’m- “ you were cut off immediately by him. 

“Don’t you dare say another word to me. It would be in your best interest to keep you thoughts to yourself before I test my own resolve not to beat some sense into you. You’re either going to be the death of me or the death of yourself. I’m shooting for your own death right now.” 

You were visibly trembling by this point, a true fear encompassing you, the man next to you radiating heat and hatred. Shit! You thought to yourself. I fucked up this time. Indeed you had, but you had no idea just how much you had.

The second the car drove up to the house, Yoongi was out of the car and at your door. Flinging it open, he grabbed your arm and pulled you out. Not giving you much chance to walk upright, he dragged you through the door and down the hallway. 

"Yoongi please" you begged, but it feels in dead ears. You caught a glimpse of Jimin and Joon, the look on their faces telling you what you feared… Yoongi was pissed, and you were the cause.

You were shoved into the bedroom, the heavy door shutting loudly behind you. Yoongi gathered the straps of your dress in his hands, the force causing you to stumble backwards. With one swift motion, he tore the dress of of you, leaving you with nothing but your bra and panties to cover you. You yelped at his action, your breath caught in your lungs.without warning he was pulling your arm and walking you hurriedly back out. The men moved aside as he passed by, their faces white as you pleaded silently with them to help you. You knew were you were going, back downstairs to your little prison of a room. 

With out uttering a word he pushed you inside and locked the door in your face. “Please! Yoongi! I-I’m sorry I talked back to you!” Please! Just listen to me!” You words were met with silence. You collapsed onto your makeshift bed, pulling the thin blanket around you to cover your nearly naked form. No noise came from the other side of the door. No dinner was brought down to you, and by evening your bladder was painfully full and begging for you to empty it. You were cold, hungry, and hurting. When you couldn’t take any more, you bunched up the blanket and relieved yourself. Throwing it in the far corner, you curled into yourself on the matress, no longer having anything to cover your bare skin. Wrapping your arms around your body, you ran your hands up and down your arms ina vain attempt to warm yourself. You fought sleep as long as you could, your eyes finally closing when you realized that this was your punishment and no one was coming to your rescue.

Some time during the night you felt  hand gently shaking you. "Here, put this on." You blinked against the darkness, making out Jungkook outline beside the bed. He helped you into a shirt, taking care not to touch you in any way. Then you felt something warm being wrapped around you. You watched through half closed lids as he gathered up the wet blanket and carried it out. You snuggled into the warm blanket, sleep taking you over once again.

“Yoongi you can’t leave her in there to starve. She’ll have to come out at some point.” Jungkook said while everyone ate breakfast. “She’s not a prisoner, she has basic needs.” When he saw Yoongi’s face, he went silent, stuffing a fork full of food in his mouth. 

“She’ll come out when I let her out. She needs to learn that I mean what I say. That insolent bratty side of hers needs to suffer a bit.” Jungkook nodded, as did the others. “I know Yoongi, but like Kook said, she has basic needs. The bathroom, food, water. Are you just going to let her slowly die in there?” Namjoon spoke up. “Fine let her have five minutes for the bathroom and take her some fruit. But that’s it.” 

“Okay, but she’s practically naked down there, and It’s cold and damp in that area. She’ll risk getting sick, and then what will you do.” Yoongi sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at Jungkook. “I said bathroom and fruit, I don’t care if she’s cold. A little suffering should teach her not to talk back to me.” They finished eating in silence, Jungkook jumping up the instant he finished and grabbed some fruit from the center bowl. Yoongi shook his head at the youngest’s sense of right and wrong. He knew he had taken her a blanket and a shirt down last night. He watched everything transpire on the monitor from the security room. Kook always had a bit of a soft spot for those that were suffering. To know that he was in the family, and to know what they did, made Yoongi wonder why he stayed. He knew, though, that it was because he brought a new perspective to how Yoongi treated people. With Jungkook around, he was forced to think about what he did. 

Everyone left, leaving Yoongi at his seat. Maybe he was being a bit harsh on you. Maybe Kook was right, and you had learned your lesson. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he made his way to the security office. Settling down in front of the monitor that showed her room, he watched the interaction between Jungkook and you. He had brought you several pieces of fruit, a bottle of water and a change of clothes he took from his own room. He led you to the bathroom, handing you a washcloth and towel. Several minutes later, you emerged, clean clothes on and a freshly washed face glowing red from the scrubbing you gave it.Yoongi, watched as his maknae sat on the floor and watched you eat, a smile creeping across your face as Jungkook talked. He really did have a way with people, Yoongi thought to himself. Once the younger man left your room, Yoongi walked out. 

“She asked if you would talk to her.” Jungkook said as he passed Yoongi in the hall. Were you ready to grovel and beg from another chance? Curiosity got the best of him and he made his way downstairs. He was about to turn the handle when he caught the faintest sound of crying coming from the other side of the door. He stood frozen, the raw sound of your hurt and pain filling his ears until he couldn’t take anymore. Turning the handle slowly, he cracked the door open, peeking his head inside. “You wanted to talk to me?” He had to work at sounding unaffected by your emotions. The sight before him when you looked up had him holding his breath. Your eyes were almost swollen shut form crying, your entire face damp from tears. There were dark circles under your eyes from a fitful slumber, and your cheeks were a bit more sunken in. You held the fruit in your hands, but they were untouched, the water bottle still unopened. The faint odor of urine still lingered in the room, and he knew you had relieved yourself sometime last night. Guilt engulfed him, a feeling he very rarely acknowledged. You words came out in a mere whisper, shaky and broken with the strain.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong to talk back to you. I understand my punishment.” The last words could barely be heard over the renewed sobs that shook your body. He stayed in his place, just watching you in your most vulnerable state. It hit him, he really had stripped you of everything. He took away your family, stripped you of your clothes, and of your basic needs. He told you he wasn’t a monster, but by his actions he was showing you he was. Taking cautious steps, he made his way over to you, taking the blanket and wrapping it around you. A strained quiet filled the room, Yoongi afraid to move and you afraid to look at him. 

“Do you feel okay?” he asked, lowering his head to look you in the eyes. You hid you face, avoiding his attempts to get you to look at him. “Y/N, just answer me. Dammit it, woman!” The rise in his voice made you cower away in fear. “Sorry, I’m not used to having to worry about someone’s wellbeing, except for my men.” You still refused to look at him, your head buried in your knees. “Fine, if you’re not going to talk.” Yoongi rose to his feet, walking towards the door, in slow deliberate steps. Before walking through the doorway, he looked over his shoulder at you, shaking his head when you stayed in your little ball of trembling nerves. Just as he was about to close the door, the sound of your stomach emptying what little contents it had, made him turn back around and rush to your side. Placing a hand to your head, he felt a twinge of something unfamiliar, concern. 

“You’re burning up.” He looked you over, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “I’ll be right back, just lay down.” he took his phone fro his pocket, stepping out of the room to make a call.

“Bring me some tea, and call Dr. Choi please. Yes I’m downstairs, just do it and don’t ask questions.” He stepped back inside your room, pleased that you at least did listen and lay down. You were feverish, groggy, and uttering something that he couldn’t understand. 

Jin and Taehyung brought some tea and another blanket. They quickly dismissed themselves, only to return when Dr. Choi arrived. “She’s in there, she has a fever, chills, and throwing up.” Dr. Choi waled in, coming to sit beside you. “Miss, may I check you out?” You nodded, barely noticeably, and rearranged yourself so he could look you over. Several minutes passed before he emerged. 

“You trying to kill her, Yoongi? You know better than anyone, the atmosphere down here is not suitable for someone to stay, unless you plan on torturing them..” Yoongi, hung his head, “I was just trying to teach her obstinate ass a lesson. That’s all” he murmured under his breath. Peering into the room, he closed it softly, then turned back to the doctor. “What’s wrong with her?” 

“She appears to be coming down with possible pneumonia. How many nights has she been down here?” 

“Two. She ate breakfast yesterday with us, and then we had a meeting.” Recalling yesterday’s events, Yoongi remembered you didn’t eat anything after breakfast. Nor last night. It had been over twenty four hours since you ate or drank anything. Plus you had peed in you own room on the only blanket you had, until Jungkook brought you one. That one was thin, and not much, and all you had on was a thin t shirt of his. 

“She needs fluids, Yoongi, and nutrition. What did she do that made you punish her like this? It had better be for good reason.” Dr. Choi made Yoongi look at him. “Yoongi, answer me.”

“I, she, she talked back to me. I was mad. She has pushed my buttons so much these past two days. I snapped.” he thanked the doctor and walked him out. “I will bring the necessary things for her later today, after my house calls. Try to get her to drink something, or eat something. And get her upstairs, out of that damned cold damp air.”

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570 @seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17@kingsuckjin @kpoppingthempills

[pynches]

give me your hand (save me) 1/6

a/n submission for day 2 of the @trc-wlw-week

summary: basically a 5+1 fake dating fic in which rowan lynch saves adeline parrish 5 times and the 1 time she didn’t have to

word count: 1098

read on ao3

Adeline Parrish never perceived herself as pretty. Short dirty blonde hair that just reached her shoulders, unevenly cut with blunt scissors in the crappy light of her tiny bathroom, dull blue eyes, ringed with dark circles that always made her look older than she was, thin lips that always seemed to be pulled down. She had freckles littering her face, her body, every inch of her covered with them which revealed more about her than she wanted people to know. The scars running up and down her body were thankfully hidden by the cheap clothes she never really liked but wore for the necessity of them.

Her appearance wasn’t something she thought about often, there were more important things to fill her mind with, university applications, how to make it until her next salary, finding Glendower and saving Gansey from her impending doom.

She became more aware of her appearance, though, with the recent events she couldn’t stop thinking about. She didn’t know what it was that suddenly made her seem attractive enough to other people that they asked her out. Sure, she had gotten some attention from people before, but now they came in rapid speed, asking her for her number, on a date, flirting with her until it made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was Cabeswater. Something had changed when she sacrificed herself, a feeling she couldn’t quite shake but didn’t particularly dislike either. She didn’t know what it was, she just saw the same old her every time she looked in the mirror. People looked differently at her, though, but the possibility of them looking at her and not noticing the dust of the poor outskirts of Henrietta that had settled on her skin like a flashing sign hadn’t even crossed her mind. She couldn’t afford to think like that, until she could.

The first attempt someone made at asking her on a date had been a week ago. Adeline had been grocery shopping with Rowan who had invited herself along, which Adeline hadn’t minded. Sure, Rowan still made her feel awkward and uncomfortable sometimes, stumbling through every conversation that now grew into more of a practised ease the longer she got to know the complexities that Rowan was made of. However, rather than making her want to pull away from her and the things she felt when Rowan brushed her hand accidentally or smiled at her with a seemingly less sharp pull to her lips, Adeline only wanted to get closer. Being one of the only people Rowan tolerated felt less like a poorly executed joke and more like a thrilling adventure Adeline had waited for her entire life.

Rowan was in search of snacks, most likely filling the cart to the brim on top of the actually necessary items Adeline knew Rowan would insist on paying for. They did this dance often, in grocery stores, at Nino’s, the movies that one time. Rowan would pull out her wallet, inconspicuously enough that Adeline mind not notice but she always did and she always stopped her. Yet, Rowan always tried again the next time.

She hadn’t even noticed the boy next to her until he tapped her on the shoulder. Ever polite Adeline Parrish had turned to him with a little smile she reserved for every stranger she encountered.

“I am Aaron and you are very pretty,” the boy said, trying too hard to sound seductive. Adeline reeled back in surprise but quickly schooled her features back into a more neutral expression, one she had practiced in the mirror many times and now came to her more naturally than anything else.

The boy was not ugly and maybe, if her mind hadn’t already been occupied with someone else, she would have laughed kindly, maybe even agreed to go on a date with him, which he was clearly after when he asked for her number.

Her chest tightened uncomfortably. She didn’t want to be impolite and brush him off with the aloofness she felt, but she also didn’t want to succumb to her need to please everybody and agree to go out with the wrong person.

Relief flooded her body when Rowan came into line of sight, her arms full of colourful packets Adeline quickly recognised as candy. She felt something fond curling in her stomach, but she knew her face must have revealed something because Rowan’s eyebrows pulled down into a frown and picked up speed just a little bit. She came to a standing next to her, closer than she usually stood.

“Aaron,” Adeline said, her voice laced with fake-cheerfulness. She quickly took Rowan’s hand and squeezed it in a silent please go along with this. “Meet my girlfriend, Rowan.”

Rowan’s head snapped sideways looking at her with disbelief in her eyes. She quickly recovered, though there was still something unreadable in her gaze. Her arm slowly moved to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer until she was flush against her. Adeline could focus on nothing but the warmth of Rowan’s skin radiating through their clothes, her strong muscles holding her like Adeline had dreamt about more often than she would like to admit.

There was a threatening pull in one of Rowan’s eyebrows alone and Aaron backed off immediately, hands stretched in front of him in a “please, don’t bite my head off” kind of way. Adeline smiled apologetically at him and sighed in relief, sagging more against Rowan’s body while she still had the chance. Adeline felt daring in doing so.

Rowan released her immediately and spun to face her. Rowan’s face was hard and steely, her arms now crossed over each other. Despite the wall that was building around her, Rowan’s eyes were almost vulnerable, studying Adeline as if she could find the answers she needed by merely looking at her.

“I don’t lie.”

Guilt hit Adeline with inhuman speed. She inwardly cursed herself for forcing Rowan to play along, for putting her on the spot with no way out. She couldn’t stand people deciding for her and now she had done it herself. With Rowan no less.

With the way Rowan looked at her sometimes, she thought she might have a chance with her someday. Though, Adeline wasn’t sure enough to voice her crush out loud, to tell Rowan that she had been on her mind for weeks now, to finally confess to the biggest secret she had to bear to date.

And now, when they paid for the groceries without Rowan putting up a fight for once and walked to Rowan’s shiny BMW, Adeline knew she really fucked up.

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Guests

A/N: Imagine living with Jason and his family getting suspicious about his mysterious roomie. It's not what they expected.

Warnings: Maybe 2 swear words.

>>>>————————>

It was a bizarre phenomenon, Jason returning to the same place over and over again. Usually he'd rotate between safe houses or rented accommodation but not this. The family weren't tracking him exactly but they looked out for their own - this situation peaking their curiosity enough for them to check it out.

.

You were lazing on the sofa having arrived home before your partner in crime fighting until you heard the window click. At first you assumed it was him, but you'd grown accustomed to his movements, how he did things just as he'd adjusted to your behaviours and this most definitely was not Jason entering your lovely shared quarters. You were certain it wasn't Roy either, nothing had smashed yet...

Silently you'd grasped your katana from the floor, finger instinctively running across the golden rimmed hilt and swiftly swivelled the perfectly balanced blade as you stood to place a foot on the back of your couch smirking at your intruder.

"You picked the wrong window sweetheart~"

.

The stranger froze, immediately stumbling to a halt rather surprised that he'd been discovered so quickly and held his hands up in surrender.

"Uh sorry... I -" The male didn't get a chance to explain when Red Hood swung through the window with a boot to the intruders back which sent him to the ground only for him to flip back up seconds later.

Before you could move to attack, Jason patted your thigh which urged you to step over the couch and join his side. "Dick is no threat, trust me."

The man in question offered a sheepish wave once your suspicious gaze fell upon him and so you walked over eerily calm, the tip of your sword placed under his chin and used to tilt his head upwards.

"You are lucky Jay trusts you intruder, now would you like tea or coffee?" You gave an unreadable expression but one that stirred an answer.

"Coffee... please..."

You kindly smiled, sheathing your blade to lean against the counter whilst you prepared beverages.

.

Dick took the time to look around the nicely sized space, one that you presumably shared with his brother considering it was a 2 bedroom apartment. It explained the cultural decor and selection of blades decorating the back wall in designer fashion - obviously they were not 'decorations', they were sharpened weapons you and Jason regularly alternated between on the field. Although one thing caught his eye, a jar full of money on the side.

"A swear jar? Really?"

"Don't be ridiculous, it'd take more than that to stop Jason's foul mouth. This is more fitting for the both of us - in fact it pays the bills." You laughed, placing the warm mug into his hands before spinning the glass to reveal the label that read 'Talked Shit about my Mentor'.

Jason nodded in agreement with a prideful smirk whereas Dick pulled out a few dollars with a haphazard shrug.

"I get it, I've said 'fuck Batman' at least once." Now you and Jason mocked shock with over dramatic gestures and you held onto one another for support during your laughter whilst Dick sighed at your childish antics, although it was endearing to see Jason so free around someone. Another interruption via the front door concerned the three of you so once unlocking it you were greeted with two young men of whom you'd never met but when glancing back to a sighing Jason you instantly knew to let them in.

"Told you knocking like a normal person was the best option Grayson." Damian wore a smug grin, obviously witness to Jason hitting him through the window earlier.

"For once... ugh... I agree with the demon spawn." Tim sighed, emphasising his distaste on the matter - you knew of his family and were aware that these two had a rocky relationship at times.

.

You could tell the youngest took the time to admire the widely decorated interior, Jason's cultural taste intriguing him in particular.

"Your lover brings out the most in you Todd, you are truly yourself around them."

At that point, everyone snapped to the two of you due to your uncharacteristic silence - the reaction being two intimidating vigilantes with crossed arms staring them down supposedly unimpressed by Damians accusations.

"Ya hear that babe? They think we're dating." Snark surrounded his cocky tone, but their assumption deserved such a blunt response considering you’d only just met.

"Well Batman fails at training adequate detectives then." Along with your own sarcasm came a playful elbow to your ribs courtesy of Jason causing you to release a giggling groan.

"Firstly, he trained me and I'm amazing, secondly pay up (Y/n)."

"I find it hard to believe that you would choose to consistently come back to someone with no feelings being involved, it's out of character. You hate letting people in." Tim suspiciously commented, yourself paying your due to the jar with a concerned expression even though Batman wasn't your mentor (if Jason insulted your mentor then he'd put money into the jar as well).

"There's a lot of components to our relationship that I'm not willing to discuss with any of you. And I hate that you know me that well Timbers."

"Well I like your family Jason, they're good people. Like you said."

"Hah! Knew you appreciated us Jason!" Tim proudly confirmed, finger pointed at his predecessor in some form of triumph.

"Uh whatever - time to go! Get out of our apartment, we're going to bed!" Jason's walls were ever prominent, extinguishing any outer emotion for the Batfam like usual despite it being common knowledge he viewed them as allies at the very least.

"It's been a busy night but feel free to drop by again some time, you're all very welcome here." You made sure to intercede, somewhat grateful for their impromptu visit even if Jason displayed a polar opinion.

"Do not drop by, you're not welcome, (Y/n) is lying to be nice. Now go." Your partner corrected, emphasising disagreement at every chance he could get leaving you to openly defend yourself.

"I'm not lying." You sniggered, raising a brow at your partner’s antics.

"For the sake of getting rid, please don't encourage them." Jason mock begged you, urging you over to his side out of sheer desperation for his solitude that only you were often included in.

Dick glanced between you two admiring the subconscious connection, the way you looked at one another as well as the playfully challenging comebacks you exhibited - Jason was happy. "Looks like a couples dispute, we'll leave you to it. See you next week, thanks for the coffee (Y/n)~" The eldest finished knowingly, understanding that there’d be more time for bonding later on as it became apparent that you were not parting from Jason in the near future.

"You will not see us next week, I'll lock the doors and windows." Jason briskly countered, sending a pointed look to a sheepish Dick who rubbed the back of his neck when recalling his previous entrance.

"TT, I only plan to see (L/n)." Damian was nonchalant about that fact, not even sparing Jason a glance.

"Fuck off Demon Spawn!"

"Make me T-mfph." Dick took the opportunity to silence the youngest Wayne and usher him out followed by an amused Tim and accompanied by a flurry of varying goodbyes.

.

It left you and Jason to bask in the silence of your own company and time to digest the recent bustling activity.

"So they really don't know huh?" Your voice was more solemn than before, lacking its usual playful glint to it. Jason knew you were serious about this one.

"...I thought about telling them, but then I got distracted and honestly, I like this. Just us. For now anyway." You’d been around long enough to detect his sincerity, the wistfulness lacing his voice as he presumably got lost in thought of the future - specifically how they’d react when they knew.

"Mhm, for the record - my brothers in law aren't that bad y’know." A shrug followed your words, gaze flicking to the golden wedding band beautifully crafted into the hilt of your signature katana, Jasons' ring located on the handle of his favoured knife of which accompanied him everywhere - it was unorthodox but suited the two of you perfectly.

"Heh, wait 'til you meet the so called 'Father'. He's a dick but can't be worse than your mentor." Your partner proudly stated, opting to make you a drink before bed.

"Jar." Your voice was smug yet contrastingly stern, and Jason could only whine in defence.

"Oh come on, we both know I've said worse!"

"Nu-uh, still counts babe. In fact that's two in one, so pay up!"

How this marriage of yours had worked continued to stifle each other, but you were grateful to have fallen in love with Jason Todd - almost as grateful as he was to have met you that fateful night.

Almost.

[thisisthedungeonthatneverends]

His Name is Darkness

this is the dark and fucked up fic I was talking about  

Pairing: Regis/Noctis (yes you read that correctly)

Rating: E

Warnings: incest (obvs), consensual father/son incest, self-loathing, unprotected sex, explicit sex

Written for this Kink Meme Prompt: Regis and Noctis have been fighting a growing attraction towards each other for a while. They're both aware of how each other feels but they know they shouldn't act on it and ignore it as much as possible.  Until it gets too much to bear and they give in.

Be mindful of a non-linear narrative structure.

Click the read more if this is your jam.  If not, kindly continue scrolling.

I will be immediately rebloging with the AO3 link   

They won’t be disturbed; Regis had made certain. He’d had the guards vacate the corridor where the king’s suit is located, despite Clarus’ objections. The marble and granite that forms the high ceilings and wide halls of the citadel carries sound far to easily.

Breathy moans fill the bedchamber as the king covers the prince’s neck and jaw with wet, desperate kisses. Regis bites down on the pule point of Noctis’ neck, causing him to cling even tighter to the gold-embroidered black silk robe that is his father’s only clothing.

Regis pulls away and stares down into Noctis’ wide, bloodshot eyes.

“This is fucked up,” Noctis says softly with a subtle shake of his head.

Regis releases his hold of his son’s hips and takes a small step back. “Do you wish to leave? Or perhaps we could simply sit by the fireplace for a while?”

Their eyes meet as they have a thousand times before. Innocent looks between a father and a son; not-so-innocent looks between two people who had wanted each other for years.

“Noct-”

Noctis crashes is mouth into his father’s lips before his name can leave them.

-

They walked together, as they often did, through the king’s private garden. None but His Majesty, save for a select few groundskeepers, and then only during specified hours, were allowed to enter. Not even Clarus was permitted entry unless accompanied by Regis. The shield was elsewhere and it was not the groundskeepers’ shift, granting Regis and Noctis complete privacy.

They made small talk, Regis relaying idle gossip overheard from citadel staff and Noctis talking about school and the photography excursions Prompto would drag him along on. Not that Noctis was unhappy with this. No, Regis could tell that Prompto’s friendship made Noctis genuinely happy, and Noctis’ happiness was Regis’ happiness.

He could not help but wonder, though…

“So Noctis,” Regis said, pausing in their leisurely stroll, “This Prompto boy. You’ve grown quite close over these years, yes?”

Noctis shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. He’s pretty much my only friend outside my royal duties.”

Regis smiled. He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m happy you’ve found someone who brings you happiness.”

They held eye contact. Noctis’ expression was unreadable.

“He..he’s, um” Noctis stammered and looked down. “He’s just a friend.”

Regis’ smile faded. His hand slipped down to the center of Noct’s back, and he could feel his son tense under his touch.

Noctis’s lips parted and his eyes darted back up.

Regis withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. “I should be returning to the throne room or Clarus will have the entire Crownsguard out after me.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ll not suffer Cor interrogating me again.”

Noctis laughed and subconsciously mirrored his father’s uneasy mannerism. “Um, yeah. Ignis is probably about to send out a search party for me, too. See ya.”

“Take care, Noctis.”

So, Regis though as they parted ways, the two boys were mere friends. He was relieved at that, though he would have rather not have entertained the thought of why this was so.

-

Regis opens his mouth to his son’s kiss, granting entrance to the eager tongue. What Noctis lacks in finesse he makes up for in vigor, and Regis returns it in kind. He slips his hands under Noctis’ Tshirt and runs his hands along the supple skin. He stops when he feels old scar tissue beneath his fingers, a reminder of the day he nearly lost his beloved boy. He lets his hands continue upward, slowly tracing the edges of the scar. Noctis pulls away, and for a heart-stopping moment, Regis fears he’s done something wrong.

“Please,” Noctis breaths against Regis’ lips.

Regis understands. He pulls the shirt up over Noctis’ head and tosses it aside.

“For you, Noctis, anything.”

-

Their weekly dinner together consisted of flame-broiled salmon, a wild rice pilaf, and some sort of root vegetable salad that Noctis did not touch, despite his father’s scolding.

“A king must be strong and healthy,” Regis insisted.

“Yeah, well, I’m not king yet, am I?”

Regis laughed and then sighed. “No, no you aren’t. Be finicky for I suppose.”

Noctis smiled through the last bite of fish. It wasn’t often that he saw his father’s smile or heard his laughter, what with the enemy growing closer by the day and the weight of the wall sapping his strength.

But Noctis’ attention was not on those awful things. It was on his the king’s face. His eyes. His lips. Lips that praised and admonished him. Lips that smiled and frowned. Lips that spoke gentle and powerful words.  Lips that-

“Noctis?”

“Hm?” He swallowed his food quickly. “What was that.”

Regis rolled his eyes, but his relaxed expression told Noctis that the older man was not upset.

“His Highness is daydreaming again.”

Noctis chuckled. “His Majesty is right. Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked why you were staring at me.”

“Oh, um,” Noctis felt an unwelcome heat in his cheeks. “I guess I just miss seeing you smile.”

And so Regis smiled again.

“What?”

“I guess I miss smiling.”

-

It’s Regis who kisses Noctis this time, but this time softly and carefully. He places his hands on Nocti’s chest and gently pushes. Noctis allows himself to be lead to the bed and sits down on the edge.

Regis kneels down in front of Noctis and massages his thighs through the thick fabric of his jeans. He smiles softly up at him, admiring the way his pale skin seems to glow by the fire light. Noctis’ eyes never leave his father’s while unbuttons and unzips his pants. He shuffles his hips awkwardly, allowing Regis to pull them off, along with his underwear. Now naked, Noctis blushes.

“You’re beautiful,” Regis whispers and pushed Noctis’ legs apart.

Wait,” Noctis says. “Is...is your knee okay like that?”

“Thank you, my son. I’ll be alright.”

He takes his son’s cock into his hand and gives it a few caring strokes before bringing the tip to his lips.

-

The room was quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace and the sound of Regis’ own heart pounding against his chest. An open book rested in his lap. He had been staring at the same paragraph for the better part of an hour, eyes skimming over words, but his mind not registering their meaning. Other things weighed on the king’s mind tonight.

Other things, namely Noctis.

It was perfectly normal for a father’s mind to be preoccupied with thoughts of his son. The way his smile, rare but vibrant, lit up any room. The way his fighting prowess grew each day he trained with his sword and his magic. The way he would speak and Regis could swear on Ramuh’s staff that it was Aulea speaking through him.

Yes. It was normal for a son to make his father’s heart swell.

What was not normal, however, was for a son to make his father’s cock swell.

Regis sighed heavily and set the book aside, not bothering to mark his place. The hour was late and no matter how painfully he strained against his sleep pants, he would ignore those certain ideas of Noctis.

At least in his waking hours. Dreams, however, were a world unto themselves...

-

Noctis throws his head back and moans when his father’s mouth wraps around the head of his cock.

“Fuck, Dad...”

The vibrations of a small chuckle ripple through him and he shudders. Noctis grips the duvet cover with one hand, while the other tangles in Regis’ hair. He relishes in the silken texture of the soft silver strands and combs them out of the way for a better view. He looks down and almost finishes at the sight. The prince is in awe of the way the king’s face still manages to look so majestic and regal, even with his eyes closed while his lips slip down his length and his cheeks hollow as he sucks.

Pleasure pools in his gut and he continues to moan loudly as Regis sucks harder and bobs his head faster up and down his cock. He mutters obscenities and nonsense syllables, his grip in Regis’ hair tightens and he can’t control how his hips thrust into to hot mouth.

He looses it when Regis cups his balls and rolls them gently between his fingers.

“AH! Dad..I’m close! I’m gonna...”

Regis opens his eyes, lips locked tight around the base of Noctis’ cock, and that’s all the invitation Noctis needs to spill his release down his father’s throat.

Regis hums in satisfaction, sending another ripple of pleasure through Noctis, and swallows everything he’s been given.

Noctis’ eyes slip closed and he collapses back onto the bed. He feels Regis climb up, his arms and legs on either side of him.

“I didn’t want...not yet,” Noctis groans.

Regis laughs. “You’re still blessed with the virility of youth, my boy,” Regis says and strokes Noctis’s face. Noctis opens his eyes to see his father smiling down at him. “And we have all night.”

-

Noctis could feel the darkness of his bedroom like a weight pressing down on his chest. The darkness, the night, synonymous with his own name. He felt it appropriate, as it matched the nature of his shameful fantasy.

He tossed the light covers off of himself and reached into his tented boxers. He inhaled sharply through his teeth when his hand met his cock, as if his own touch had burned him. He should burn for this, he thought. But that did not stop him from taking himself in hand and letting his mind play a slide show of the object of his desire. The king.  His king. His father. His father, smiling at him from across the dinner table, gazes lingering longer than they should. His father, clapping a hand on his shoulder and telling him he’s proud of him. His father, whose hand he wished was the one stroking him to completion.

“Dad!” he cried and came. Cum streamed down his hand and tears streamed down his face.

He didn’t bother to wipe either of them off.

-

Noctis leans up and kisses Regis again, unhindered by the taste of himself.

“Um, lay down and get comfortable. I...I want to return the favor.

“As you wish,” Regis says, still smiling. And oh, does Noctis love that smile.

Regis rolls off of Noctis and makes himself comfortable, his head resting on the pillows at the head of the bed.

Noctis straddles Regis’ hips, mindful of his weak leg and careful not to put too much weight on the older man. He tugs on the robe’s sash and the robe falls open, baring the king’s body. Noctis’ mouth fell open; he was beautiful. He leans down and kisses Regis’ neck and down his chest, eliciting soft breaths and quivering sighs from the king. He runs his hands down his father’s sides, starting below his arms ans slowly moving down his torso, coming to rest on his hips. Regis’ continued noises are like music, and they spur Noctis on.

He readjusts himself, kneeling between parted legs and continuing his ministrations downward until he reaches his destination: Regis’ cock that was almost identical to Noctis’ own but surrounded by a nest of silver curls. Another day Noctis could have jokingly coined any number of colloquialisms relating to the erect cock of a king. But those can wait. His mouth, though… his mouth can not wait; can not wait to feel and taste the weight of his own father. He pushes aside any thought of just how wrong that though is and waists no more time.

-

“I know what it’s like.”

Noctis looked behind him, turning away from the floor length window and his view of the sunset over the cityscape of Insomnia.

“Know what what’s like?” he asked, trying and failing to mask the tension in his voice.

Regis’ beard concealed his expression. “To want something completely out of reach.”

“But… you’re the king. You can have anything, can’t you?”

“Oh, Noctis,” Regis said and stepped closer to his son. He could have reached out to touch his flawless young face. If he dared. “Wise beyond your eighteen years, yet so naive.”

Noctis scoffed. “I’m not naive.”

“And that, dear boy,” Regis reached forward and touched only his son’s shoulder. “is precisely my point.”

Noctis looked down at the hand on his shoulder, no less elegant for its wrinkles and subtle scars from years of baring the Ring. “So, what is it?” Noctis asked. “What do you want that you can’t reach?”

Their eyes met. Eye that were identical save for the age and loss behind one set and the youth and hope behind the other.

They both knew.

Neither answered.

-

It’s almost too much.  Regis stifles his moan because he knows that if he does not exercise control, this will be over far too quickly.  Noctis sucks his cock like it’s his lifeline and Regis girps his hands in the young man’s midnight-colored hair, desperate for something to ground himself.  He hears and feels Noctis grunt and loosens his grip with great effort.

It has been so long sense he has felt another’s touch.  So long that he has yearned for this touch; for Noctis’ touch. For his hands, for his mouth, for his body.  His own son.  He thinks himself a depraved old deviant but cannot bring himself to care, not while his gorgeous prince is licking him from his balls and up his cock to the head before swallowing him back down again.

“Noctis...I can’t...” he warns, struggling to form words past the mounting heat threatening to spill over far too early.

To his relief, Noctis stops, though there is worry behind his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, Son.  I simply wasn’t going to last much longer at that rate and I’d rather not be finished quite yet.”

Noctis sighs with relief and moves back up, hovering over his father as Regis had done before.

“There’s a bottle in the drawer there,” Regis says, pointing to the bedside table.  Noctis opens the drawer and hand Regis the slim black bottle of lube he finds there.  Regis flips the cap open and pours a liberal amount onto his fingers.

“I’m going to prepare you, Noctis.  I couldn’t bare to hurt you.”

Noctis nods and licks his lips in anticipation.  He’s straddling Regis’ hips again, and Regis grabs his thigh with one hand and reaches behind him with the other.  Noctis lets out a small gasp when slick fingers begin to probe around his entrance. 

“Relax,” Regis reminds him.

Noctis nods and breathes deeply through his nose, calmed by the scent of cologne, burning wood, and sex.  His mouth soundlessly falls wide open when a single finger slips inside him.

-

He knew who it was before they even finished knocking.

“Come in, Clarus.”

Clarus opened the large wooden door of the king’s study and closed it gently behind him.

“It’s Saturday.”

Regis smirked. “Are you a bodyguard or a walking calendar?”

Clarus chuckled. “I was reminding you of the date seeing as how you seem to have your head in the clouds lately. Is everything alright?”

Regis yawned, as if to demonstrate the shield’s point. “The ring weighs heavy lately, old friend. As does the state of the war effort. I’m simply tiered.”

Clarus nodded his understanding. “Perhaps your dinner with Noctis tonight will lift your spirits. Ignis awaits instruction to bring him to the citadel at your ready.”

Regis groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Or...did you forget. Again. You know it has been-”

“I know, I know...” Regis huffed and straightened his posture. “I’ve not forgotten. But these plans need reviewing and relayed back to Captain Drautos by morning. I can’t neglect them. Please send my apologies to my son.”

“Very well, Your Majesty. But my I suggest you also do so yourself, and sooner rather than later. He put up a brave face but I could tell that he was quite disappointed last week. I’ve no doubt he’ll be more-so a second time.”

“I know. And I will. Thank you, Clarus.”

Clarus bowed and took his leave.

Regis stared down in shame at the plans on his desk.

They were finished.

-

Regis can feel his son’s thigh muscles quivering under his hand, and he can feel the hole relax around his lubed finger ans he slowly works it in and out. He adds a second wen he judges that Noctis is relaxed enough. He keep close watch over the younger man’s face for any sign of pain, but bliss is all he finds there.

“How does it feel, Noctis?”

“Mmmmmmm,” is his only reply. Satisfied with this, he removes his fingers and lays his hand on Noctis’ hip.

“Please, Dad,” Noctis whines.

“Yes, Son. Are you ready?”

Noctis nods and Regis holds his cock steady.

Noctis places his hands on Regis’ chest to steady himself and slowly, finally, lowers himself down into the ready and waiting cock. He cries out louder than he’d meant to when the head breaches his entrance. The feeling and size is nowhere near comparable to the two fingers that had been inside him only moments before, and it’s more than a little uncomfortable at first.

“Are you hurt?” Regis asks, alarmed by his son’s scream.

Noctis shakes his head. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he repeats, continuing to lower himself, filling himself up until Regis is completely bottomed out inside him. They both take deep, ragged breaths, taking time to adjust to the feeling of filling and being filled.

Once the pain had given way to only mild discomfort mixed with pleasure, Noctis nods his head and mouths, “Okay.”

Taking a firm hold of Noctis’ ass, Regis slowly rolls his hips upward. The moan in unison and Noctis grinds down in time with his father. They repeat their movements a few times until they set a rhythm.

A bit more confident now, Noctis sits up, holding his own weight on his legs. This new angle Let Regis thrust deeper up into him. Noctis’ eyes blow wide and he practically screams when Regis his prostate.

“AH! FUCK Yes!”

As the thrusts come harder and faster and the pleasure cries grow louder and more desperate, Regis takes Noctis’ cock in his hand.

“Noctis...Noctis I’m close.

“Yes! Yes, Dad, please!”

With that plea, the king thrusts hard one final time and spills inside the prince with a deep, guttural moan.

Noctis can feel the heat of his father’s release spreading inside him, and a few more steady strokes of his cock sent him following close behind with his own orgasm.

-

Noctis wasn’t supposed to be here. Not even Ignis knew where he was, as it was late and he had called a ride-share service to drop him off a block away. He’d walked the rest of the way to the citadel and slipped past every guard post he could between the service entrance and the king’s study.

This month had been miserable. His father had canceled their weekly dinners three times in a row and was always suddenly busy any time he went looking for him. This time though, his father would have to see him.

He didn’t knock. He knew the door would be unlocked, so he let himself in.

Regis jumped when the door slammed open.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum, by the ASTRALS you KNOW you can’t just come barging in here!” Regis yelled and threw his pen down on the hard wood desk.

Noctis’ resolve was steadfast and he closed the door behind him. “Why are you avoiding me?” he demanded.

“I’m not-” Regis sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “I’m not avoiding you, Noctis,” he said, all traces of anger gone from his voice, but not his posture, which was rigid and tense. “I’m sorry if this is how it seems, but I’ve simply been very busy.”

Noctis exhaled sharply. His eyes felt hot. He didn’t want to speak lest he cry in front of his father, but he had to make his feelings known.

“Look. I know we can’t...” he didn’t want to say it. He couldn’t say it. And to look at his his father, to see the expression of horror and realization spreading across his bearded face, he didn’t think he had to.

“We can’t!” he said, his voice beginning to crack. “We can’t, I know we can’t but that doesn’t give you the right to just… to just PUSH ME AWAY!”

Tears were free-flowing down his reddened face now, and he couldn’t be sure through his blurred vision, but he thought he saw a single tear escape his fathers eyes as well.

“Noctis,” Regis said softly. “Oh, Noctis, I’m so sorry!” Regis stood and crossed the room as quickly as he could with his limp, not having bothered with his cane.

“Even if I can’t be anything else, please Dad...” Now that he was closer, Noctis was sure.

His father wept as well.

“Please, Dad. Please just let me...just let me still be your son.”

“Noctis!” Regis cried, and took Noctis’ face in both hands. It was the first time he’d touched hid son’s face sense all of this began. “Noctis, look at me.”

And Noctis did. Tear-filled eyes met each other, inches apart.

“You are my son, Noctis. You are everything to me. Do you understand?”

Noctis’ lips quivered, but the rest of him was frozen.

“You. Are. EVERYTHING to me, Noctis,” Regis repeated. “Do you understand me!?”

Noctis sniffled and nodded. He placed his own hands over his father’s and laced their fingers together.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

-

With both men spent, Regis takes hold of Noctis’s shoulders and gently lowers him down to the bed and lays his son’s head on his chest. He pulls the covers up over them both and lovingly combs his fingers through Noctis’s tousled hair.

“You were wonderful, Noctis,” he whispers in his ear.

Noctis smiles sleepily and twirled a tuft of silver chest hair around his finger. “Yeah. You too.”

Regis watches with a contented smile as Noctis eyes drift closed. Within minutes, his breathing becomes slow and even and begins to snore softly.

“You are everything to me,” Regis whispers softly enough as to not wake Noctis.

Now, in the silence, the truth of what they had done begins to creep into the kings mind. But he entertains no such thought. In the morning they would face whatever aftermath of their meeting was to await them. For now, they would sleep in each others arms.

[girlbossgaslightguillermo]

Remembering Part II

A wolfstar thing

You can read part one here but they’re both ok as stand alones too.

PART II

“I found this in the laundry the other day. Kinda fell out. Is it yours?” asked Remus, unfolding his hand to reveal a worn out ring. His voice was casual enough but there was something behind his eyes that Sirius was unable to read. There had been a time when every unsaid word shone in those eyes but now it was in a language unspoken for too long. And the ring, of course, wasn’t really his. It would have been Moony’s, had he said yes, had he been able to ask. Perhaps, in some parallel universe, where James was alive and Azkaban hadn’t happened, that ring would be on Remus’s finger.

“Padfoot? Is it yours?”

“Well uh yeah kind of, thanks for returning it,” he said, eyes not meeting Moony’s as he took the ring from his outstretched hand. Instead his eyes went to those slender fingers and he tried not to feel relieved to see them bare.

A moment came. And then it passed. His eyes suddenly interested in the painting of Walburga behind Sirius, he asked, “kind of?”

“Well, I suppose it was meant for someone else. But that was a lifetime ago.” He tried not to sound too wistful or too sad or too hopeful. Their friendship was now a fragile thing, a flower long wilted. And even as they saw the petals fall off, they put that dead flower in the water, as though it could ever bloom again.

Something fell in Remus’s unreadable eyes. Fuck, he’s said the wrong thing, hadn’t he? Remus had understood what he’d meant. And anything they’d had between them a decade ago was gone. Love was not a one way street, for when it was, the street lights do not glow and the pavements are grey and all the shops on the side are closed. Sirius was tired of walking on that one way street.

“Who was it?” asked Remus, all soft eyes and soft voice. Sirius almost laughed. It was as though the world was playing a joke on him.

“Don’t you know?” he said. “It was you. It was always you. It will always be you.” And then he smiled, if only to keep the tears at bay. Once upon a time, Sirius Black had been a fighter, someone who would have fought the world for Remus. But Azkaban had done a good job of draining the fight right out of him.

“It was always you,” said Remus, his voice a whisper in the wind. “For me too. I tried to hate you so much but I found myself missing you more and more. With every passing month, I began to believe that you were innocent, that you hadn’t done it because you simply couldn’t have. I tried to visit you but Azkaban doesn’t take kindly to visitors. And it was your face behind every Patronus, the memory of our first kiss that got me out.” He pulled something out of his pocket. “I’ve kept this ring for twelve years now. I couldn’t bear to throw it away.”

“After all this time?” asked Sirius, eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

“Always,” smiles Remus. “Sirius Orion Black, will you marry me?” A proposal twelve years too late, all the planning they had done once now irrelevant. Their best man and bridesmaid were no longer but perhaps they’d watch from up above.

“Yes,’ whispered Sirius in disbelief and happiness. “A thousand times yes.”

A/N

Okay I gave them a happy ending. Also I despise Snily with a passion because it’s very toxic and you know what? That quote was WASTED on them. So I decided to use it for an actual healthy and loving relationship.

[mrchalamet-mrstyles]

2018 Fic Year in Review

@perpetuallyvex kindly tagged me in this. Thank you, Vex. I love and miss you and can’t wait to see you in a couple of months xoxo

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3:

I can’t believe it, but in 2018 I posted 13 stories to AO3. It’s the most I’ve ever written and why I am so grateful to have discovered CMBYN. It inspired me to rediscover my love of writing and for that I will always be grateful.

2. Word count posted for the year: 

Looking up this number blew my mind because I had no idea it was that much, but I apparently have posted 187,055 words in 2018- what??? That is the most I’ve ever posted, even during my Sherlock fic writing years.

3. List of works published this year (in order of posting):

the feeling still deep down This was the first fic I wrote back in January 2018. Timmy/Armie RPF. It was prompted by discussions in a group chat and became the first installment in my Futile Devices series which is my take on bts vignettes between Timmy’s birthday in 2017 and PSIFF 2018.

eyes like sky Continuation of the feeling still deep down, from Armie’s pov

Buttons an angsty porny one-off about that sweater. You know the one.

save a prayer It was a prompt I couldn’t resist. Rentboy!Timmy and Armie the actor. But it turned out to be so much more than I bargained for. Still a WIP but will be completed because I owe it to these characters for everything they have given me.

Between the Lines co-written with @694699 this fic took on a life of its own. Following the manic success of CMBYN, the boys’ careers are at an all time high.Timmy’s in London, filming The King. Armie’s in New York for his run in Straight White Men. Their friendship as strong as it ever was, they are still being lauded for their work in Italy, directors are fighting over themselves to work with them, they should be on top of the world.So why aren’t they?A peek into their world via all forms of communication.

white ferrari part 3 in the Futile Devices series. Timmy returns to New York but is in a really bad place. Armie continues to struggle.

la muvi star  A slice of life, bit of bts from my fic Save a Prayer.

delicate  It's 'technically' a college AU. Armie is the star quarterback, Timmy the kicker. But none of that is really important or even needed to know in order to read this. It was just an excuse to write these two getting it on. Finally. And, Armie is only a couple of years older than Timmy.

once bitten  A coffeeshop AU of sorts.

pink+white part 4 in the Futile Devices series

special delivery an excuse to write some porn with a twist?

flicker  This time last year, there would have been someone keeping an eye on it for him, taking the glass from his hand, waving off the waiter with a firm blue stare to keep him from overindulging. This year was… different. He was a real boy now. Grown up and on his own. It was fun, just not the same. My first foray into Stylamet territory (Timothée Chalamet and Harry Styles)

collaboration Inspired by Tim and Harry’s interview in i-D Vice mag. 

4. Fandoms I wrote for: 

I guess CMBYN is ‘technically’ the fandom, and Harry Styles fandom?

5. Pairings: 

Timmy/Armie and Timmy/Harry

6. Story with the most hits: 

Between the Lines with an astonishing 34.864 hits!

7. Story with the most kudos: 

I am so proud to say that save a prayer received the most with a staggering 1347 kudos!

8. Story with the most comments: 

Between the Lines has 2693 comments, but 6 and I both tried to respond to everything in the beginning, so the numbers may be skewed a bit due to that.

save a prayer received 1665 comments which I think is nothing to sneeze at for a solo act. 

9. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

I am definitely most proud of save a prayer. I started that fic with the idea to make it a sexy, cute romp but somewhere along the way, those boys decided they really had some issues to work out. It’s not been an easy ride, but it’s helped me in ways I never saw coming. It was the first Timmy/Armie AU in this fandom, and I’ll always be proud of that.

I’m also really proud of the Futile Devices series. There’s something very pure and ‘true’ about this series. 

10. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

It’s not that I’m not proud of them all, but I know there are some that could definitely be better, given more time, but I’ll leave that up to readers to decide.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

“Really? Then tell me, Armie Hammer , these real friends, how many of them know you can’t sleep at night? How many of them know you are scared fucking shitless about this film coming out?” Timmy steps up close, lifting his chin, close enough they are nearly chest to chest. Armie holds his breath. “How many of them know you want to fuck a rentboy while you have him tied up and defenseless? No wonder you’re divorced. Does your ex know what a fucking pervert you are?”

Armie shoves him before he knows what he’s done and Timmy stumbles back, somehow managing to stay upright, his face a study in shock.

Armie is shaking, fighting the urge to hit something. He’s so much bigger, stronger, than Timmy; knows it would take nothing to really hurt him. He doesn’t want Timmy to become his target— a victim in yet another instance of his life— so Armie moves away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his track pants.

He has no idea what to say. There is no response, not an honest one. Everything Timmy  said, he knows is somehow the truth. No one knows him. Not really. And he hates it. Armie never meant for it to be this way, unclear exactly how it had— isolated and lonely.

“You’re right. No one knows. I don’t even know how you know.”

Floor to ceiling windows flank the fireplace of Armie’s living room. He makes his way over to stand, looking past his own shallow reflection to the ocean beyond, black and endless.

Armie isn’t sure how long he’s stood there and knows he probably could have stood there forever if Timmy hadn’t spoken up.

“Sorry,” his voice barely loud enough to hear from where Armie stands.

Armie shrugs and looks at Timmy’s reflection behind him in the glass. Their eyes meet before Armie lifts his hand, pressing it against the cool, smooth surface— the only safe way he knows how to touch Timmy.

12. Share or describe a favorite review you received: 

Man, they’re all like my children, I can’t pick just one. I do have to say that I’ve never before experienced the kind of feedback and heartfelt messages that I’ve garnered from a lot of my fic. To have people tell me that I’ve inspired them? That they re-read my fics. It’s what every writer dreams of hearing.

13. A time when writing was really, really hard: 

The last half of 2018 was hard for me. Health issues, personal issues, fandom issues. It was a tsunami of funk that left me reeling and without the desire to get words on the page. I waffled on the daily on whether to delete everything entirely, whether it was worth the trouble to try and post anything for this fandom anymore. I think I’ve started to turn a page and have listened to friends and supporters, starting now to remember and understand I have to write for myself first. It’s all for the love of whatever I decide to write. That’s what matters most.

14. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: 

Timmy in save a prayer surprised me most. He’s helped me in ways I never imagined.

15. How did you grow as a writer this year: 

This is a hard question. I think I’ve learned the value in less is more. Streamlining words for maximum impact. Realising I value substance over flash. I need a story and not just sexy times or that sex isn’t the most integral part of a really well told story. I think, moreso in this fandom than any other I’ve ever been in, that that’s become the case and it’s just not something I’m interested in.

16. How do you hope to grow next year:

I definitely plan on finishing things in 2019. Working on original fic and branching out into other fandoms, maybe. I want to get back to writing for the love of a story. That is a feeling like no other and I miss it.

17. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): 

Hands down that would have to be @iknowthebattle. Her unwavering support and guidance and friendship has seen me through some really hard times. But her writing inspires me beyond anything else and I strive with every word I put down to somehow try to live up to her standards. (I never will because, jesus, she’s the real deal) 

And of course, I have to steal Vex’s answer here too and say, the READERS. Every last one of you that have messaged me with love and heartfelt support, to keep going, the comments and all the lovely praise, it doesn’t go unread or unnoticed and definitely makes me want to keep writing. Thank you all so very much. <3

18. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: 

Surprisingly, yes. And I didn’t see it coming when I started it, but save a prayer and Timmy’s struggle became my own as I worked through issues I thought I’d long put behind me.

19. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: 

Cheesy as it sounds- just do it. Who cares if it’s been done before, if it’s a trope we’ve seen a million times? No one has done it the way you will do it. It is true, the more you write, the better you get. Just keep at it. Let life inspire you. Fill the world with your words and love.

20. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: 

I have a couple of ideas and half-formed fics in my drafts that I hope will see the light of day this year. I know I want to finish save a prayer and try to publish it at some point as original fic. But there’s not rush. I’m not sure where I go from here. Timmy/Armie RPF may not be something I write anymore once these fics are finished, so the world is mine for the picking I guess.

21. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

I’ll tag a couple of fandom writers that really inspire me- @iknowthebattle @etal-later @dreamofhorses42 @cumpeachx

And, @cristinasea, I know you don’t write, but you are such a prolific reader and just the bestest pal, we need to come up with one of these for readers, to get your perspective. Maybe we can chat about it ;)

Thanks again, @perpetuallyvex for the tag. This turned out like a walk down memory lane. <3

[hxllycc-blog]

All of the Fools Come Out to Play → Solo

CHARACTERS ➝ Holly Cohen-Chang and Francis Ahn (NPC) LOCATION ➝ Tybee Memorial Hospital TIME FRAME ➝ Thursday, May 3rd, late afternoon TRIGGERS ➝ Mentions of alcoholism and liver failure. idk if that has a more commonplace trigger but pls let me know if there is one and I’ll add it!   NOTES ➝ While leaving work, Holly bumps into her biological father, who she hasn’t spoken to in years. It doesn’t end well. MISC ➝ Literally the most garbage thing I’ve ever written, whattup.

For as many times as she was called to the hospital, Holly didn’t know if she would ever learn the layout. That in large part had to do with the fact she was constantly bouncing back and forth between wards, going to whoever needed a translator at the time. Today happened to be a woman visiting from Brazil, needing instructions in Portuguese on how to take care of the leg she’d broken while on vacation. Nothing exciting, but it meant that Holly would get to head home earlier than she’d expected. Being back in Tybee, even after almost half a year back, was more exhausting than she cared to admit. Of course, most of that exhaustion came from the worry she’d run into someone who had every right to hate her, but this... this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

Well, them hating her wasn’t exactly accurate, but of all the people Holly had expected to eventually run in to, her father had not been one of them. Seeing him angrily staring down a vending machine in the hospital lobby, just as she was getting ready to leave, had immediately frozen her in her tracks. Without thinking, Holly straightened her posture and squared her shoulders, a byproduct of all the times she’d tried to appear unintimidated by him as a child. It may have been years since she’d seen him, and the wrinkles in his face and grey in his hair were of a person who time had not treated kindly, but the familiarity of her own features were mirrored on his. It had taken him only a few moments to turn and see her as well, and all Holly knows is that she should’ve high-tailed it out of there without giving him another thought.

Running away had always been her forte, but all she could do when he said her name was sink back on her heels and let him lead her forward.

At 4pm on a Thursday, the hospital lobby wasn’t too packed, and Holly didn’t know if she should count that as a blessing or not. When she finally did take a seat next to her father, she perched herself on the edge in case he said something that made her want to take off. That’s what she was planning on, anyway. He may have been her father, but the first things she saw when she looked at him were memories of empty beer bottles and fights that lasted way past midnight. Of missed parent teacher conferences, and of him angrily yelling at her the first time he heard her call her stepfather “Dad”. It wasn’t as if Francis had ever done anything worthy of that title.

Still, Holly stayed. In spite of everything telling her to leave, she stayed. The look on his face was unreadable. Or at least it was unreadable to someone who’d barely seen the man in years. Holly didn’t think that they’d had a proper conversation since she graduated high school, and even then it had only consisted of a generic “proud of you” paired with a Hallmark card and $50. He hadn’t even bothered to attend her wedding, for God’s sake, and yet here she was, giving him the time of day as if she owed him it. Maybe she did though; if she could give any credit to genetics, maybe she was just programmed for dysfunction. 

"Liver failure." She hasn't been expecting him to say anything just yet, so the sound of his voice has her startling a bit in her seat. It took his words another couple of seconds to process in her head, and another few for the weight of them to hit her. If her father had bothered to look at her, he would've seen the way her eyes widened and her hands tightened around each other on her lap. He couldn't look at her, though. "Doctors can't say how long it'll take to come full circle, but they um... they did say there's not much that can do besides easing the pain. That's why I'm here, I had to, uh... get another prescription." He held up the slip of paper in his hand to prove his point, but it didn't matter.

If Holly was someone with any less composure, she would’ve screamed. Of course, of freaking course, his liver was failing. She could count on one hand the number of days she’d gone w And he was sitting there talking as if he'd known for ages? Her hand clenched against the side of the hard plastic chair but she didn’t know what to say. That was her problem, she never knew what to say when faced with a painful reality.

“Do you think...” Her father paused to lick his lips and look down at his hands, like he wanted to focus on anything instead of actually making eye contact with his daughter. Suddenly though, Holly was paying more attention just from those three words. She mentally prepared herself for whatever he was going to ask, pushing back the possible questions tugging at the back of her head.

Did he want to know if he could redeem himself in however much time he'd had left? Or maybe he wanted to see if even forgiveness was possible after the first few years of fear followed by over two decades of scarce acknowledgment of the family he'd given up. Holly knew it was stupid to get her hopes up but as she sat there and watched him fish around for whatever words he was thinking, she couldn’t keep herself from feeling the same way she did as a little kid, sitting in the upstairs hallway and hoping that he would make it upstairs to tell her good night rather than passing out on the couch.

"Do you think... you could tell your mother for me?" Holly didn't know that her heart could break anymore than it already had, and yet that felt like exactly what had just happened. She stared at her father, mouth slightly agape, but he still refuses to look at her. "And the other kids, too. I just..." Francis finally looked at his daughter, looking every bit the wreck that Holly felt she was. "It'd be better if this is as clean as possible for everyone. And it's not like any of you want to see me anyway, which... I can't blame you for. Could you do that for me?"

Holly didn't remember herself nodding, nor did she remember her father getting up and leaving. She didn’t remember how long she sat in the hospital lobby, doctors and patients and personnel shuffling around her, their voices muffled in her ears. At some point, she’s pretty sure a nurse stopped to ask if she was alright but they’d only gotten a nod in return. Everything felt numb and somehow, at the same time, it was like her heart had been ripped from her chest. 

Coward.

The afternoon spun in a constant loop in her head, replaying one event after another and then circling right back to the moment she’d seen her father standing in front of that stupid vending machine. Maybe hours passed by, maybe it was only a handful of minutes. She didn’t know and she didn’t care. It was as if God was punishing her yet again for her selfish mistakes by forcing her to break her mother and siblings’ hearts. Because why the hell else would fate decide to put her, of all people, in the same place as him? He could’ve died without them ever even knowing the cause, without it suddenly feeling like the entire universe was weighing down on Holly’s shoulders. Without him turning to run away instead of facing up to his fuck ups.

Must be in the genetics.

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 12 ~The Secret Adversary~

What's up with Willie's I-run-the-show attitude?  Jamie was torn between leaving Claire with Annalise and confronting his older brother. He was up to his eyeballs putting up with his cryptic remarks and knowing looks, the demand for that long-overdue talk with Willie prevailed. Not that Jamie didn't appreciate his brother's stellar capabilities in taking care of things while he was away, but to take over and dictate how to run his life was nothing short of condescending.

Damn it!  He would rather be somewhere else with Claire without the pressure of responsibilities yanking him from all sides. The refurbishment of his house required his attention, preparatory work in the hotel kitchen was mounting, and as if he didn't have enough on his plate, he brought Annalise from France to Scotland hoping it was the right thing to do. 

Annoyance clawed at Jamie's back over having to go after his brother. Without offering any explanation nor consulting him first, Willie had taken over in one swoop and announced that he would be taking Annalise to the doctor's the following day. If nobody had been at home, Jamie would have already shouted at him for interfering. Or maybe worse. Probably decked him too, for good measure. It's not that his brother's behaviour surprised him. Willie being the eldest, duties and family responsibilities were heaped on his shoulders at a very young age while their parents ran a thriving hotel business. So it became instinctual for him to intervene even in his siblings' lives, undoubtedly a habit he had not outgrown. 

As he followed Willie to their father's study room, Jamie was caught off guard. "I was hoping ye'd follow me. How long were ye and Annalise together?" he asked. His brother's face was unreadable, a trait every Fraser possessed when a situation demanded it.

Jamie's eyebrows shot up but, he too, kept his features carefully schooled so he wouldn't betray the anger pounding through his blood. "Oh no, no...bràthair, ye don't get to ask questions here. What the fuck was that all about upstairs?" he asked in a level tone of voice, referring to Willie's recent meddling.

Willie looked surprised as if seeing Jamie for the first time. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he drew out a heavy sigh. "This is about Claire," he revealed before taking out his phone from his jean pocket and swiping a few times on the screen. "Did ye know that she still uses that same bloody password for all her internet accounts for the last ten years? Everybody knew her password. Weel, the whole family, did. She's never changed it."

It was true everyone in the Fraser household knew Claire's password. She broadcasted it during dinnertime when she first set up her email account, excited at the prospect of making her first digital footprint. Worrying she might forget, she revealed to them her sign-in security. Although the family were amused, Willie had warned her not to share that piece of information further and even told her that 1234Claire was a weak password and that she ought to change it. Obviously, the advice was never heeded.

Feeling a tingling behind his neck, Jamie remained silent, waiting for his brother to continue. What has this to do with Annalise?

"There are these messages, ye ken..." Willie proceeded, considering his next words for a moment while his concentration was focused on the phone he held on his hand. "I had to see more, so I logged into her Facebook account."

Jamie's brow puckered in confusion, taking a few seconds for his brother's words to sink in. "Oh for fuck sake, Willie!" Jamie uttered in disbelief, both hands clasping the back of his head. "Are ye stalking Claire? Because that's fucking rank and really, an all-time low. What level have ye sunk into?"

"No! Jesus, no! " Roughly shoving his phone in Jamie's hand, he willed him to look at the screenshot image he had taken from her phone. "Claire has been receiving these offensive messages from some anonymous person. It's been going on the last few months. I had nae choice but to look into it...log into her account to intercept the messages."

"She told ye about the messages?" Jamie's vision swam with red, and he could feel the blood turning into frozen ice in his veins, as he viewed image after image of hurtful words directed at Claire from his brother's phone.

"No. Claire was upset when I accidentally saw the message on her phone screen. I had to pry the phone off her hand to take a better look. I wouldn't have done that if she didn't look so troubled." Willie glanced over to the door as a precaution, in case someone might overhear. When he turned back, his brows were drawn low. "I had to delete the last couple of messages that were sent. They were threats. They may be empty words meant to frighten her, but they're quite upsetting. I think these messages might be the reason I've seen her drinking during the day."

Christ, why didn't Claire tell me?  "What kind of threats?" Jamie's first instinct was to drag her from upstairs, shake the truth out of until her teeth chattered and envelop her in a protective hug.

"Threats to her life..." Willie answered haltingly. "It's probably a prank, but ye never know."

Even having already suspected what Willie's next words would be, it didn't ease the blow of hearing it spoken aloud. Over his dead body would those words ever come true. "And what has all these to do with Annalise?"

"Those messages started around the time you broke up with Annalise, so I reckon it might be her sending them. You may have separated amicably, but disappointments sometimes run deep, ye ken. That is why I wanted to know how long ye've been together."

Jamie stared at an invisible spot on the floor with a vacant expression. "It could be purely coincidental," he argued weakly, his voice trailing off when he remembered Annalise's request to marry her. He had omitted to tell that part of the story to Willie and Claire. Feeling uncertain, Jamie sat down on the chair, bracing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. The thought of the possibility that it might be Annalise sending those messages and inadvertently putting Claire's life in danger, made him feel sick, even if Willie's explanation was wholly hypothetical. "But ...Annalise has those papers from the doctor. I've looked over them. I don't want to jump to any conclusions unless we have a piece of solid evidence. Christ, we're talking about a dying woman here, Willie."  Did I really look at those papers thoroughly?   Damn it, how much have I told Annalise about Claire when we were together?

"Aye, I've considered that. That's why I want Ned Gowan to look at those papers to check its legitimacy." Willie took the chair opposite Jamie, running a weary hand over his already tousled hair. "Jamie, this is no' just some childish name-calling and whatnot like from her schooldays. They're death threats. It may be nothing, but we need to take it seriously."

Ned Gowan was their family lawyer and friend, a kindly middle-aged man, with his own successful law firm. His gentle manner and friendly face belied his reputation as a hotshot legal representative and was feared in the court arena. His mannerisms and friendliness can put any witnesses of the opposing party at ease before catching them off guard with his sharp wit and dexterity during interrogation. His influence was far-reaching and was rumoured to have private detectives working for him to assist with critical cases.

God, so it has come to that.  Jamie suddenly felt weary as he let his head fall back, imploring the ceiling for clarity. "Aye, aye...but until we are sure, beyond a reasonable doubt, we will not treat Annalise differently. And this goes for ye too, Willie," he warned, pointing his index finger at him. He knew that giving Annalise any inkling she was suspected of any wrongdoing, and it was later proven wrong, the accusation may possibly bite them on the arse in the form of guilt. "Annalise can't be the only suspect ye have in mind, surely."

"No. Frank is a maybe. Claire went out a couple of times with him a summer ago. It was nothing serious...just a few drinks at the pub. And recently, she cancelled a date with him, after both of ye got together...so aye, he's a possibility. I doubt it though. He's in his last couple of months of training before he becomes a barrister, so there's a slim chance he would do anything as stupid as that."

"Aye, that's right, go through my friends' list, and mind to tick their name off once they're eliminated from yer suspect list," Jamie bit out sarcastically.

"Am I on the suspect list?"

The brothers' heads snapped towards the doorway to find Geillis leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed in front of her, and an amused look plastered on her face.

"How much did ye hear?" Willie asked cautiously, rising from his seat.

"Enough to understand what's going on." Geillis sauntered into the room, her ankle boots' heels clicking with each step. She tossed an empty sports bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the desk, head tilting back and forth as she regarded the brothers. "My turn to sneak up on ye," she joked, winking at Jamie.

"Geillis, please, not a word to Claire," Jamie stressed, giving her a warning look.

Her lips twitched, accentuating the dimples on her cheeks. "Dinna fash, lads, I won't say a word. That's yer prerogative." A flicker of calculation flashed in her eyes before she continued. "But if I were ye, I would tell Claire what ye know and what ye plan to do. The reason she doesn't confide in ye both is, ye treat her like some freakin' fragile porcelain. She's a strong lass, ye ken, much more than ye give her credit for." 

She paused to inspect her manicured nails before proceeding. "Aye, indeed she drinks to dull the hurt from those messages, but it's because she cannae confide to the people she loves most. Really, lads, ye ought to let her fight her own battles but let her know ye're there to help...not to fight the battles for her." Smiling sweetly, she jumped off the desk and patted them both on the cheek, before retrieving her bag on the floor. "So lads, stop being a couple of skid marks and get yer heads out of yer shite hole, aye? Otherwise, if she finds out ye're sneaking behind her back...weel...tsk, tsk."

Stunned and speechless, Jamie and Willie could only watch Geillis sashay out of the room, her rant still echoing in their heads and her musical voice sailing out into the hallway. "Oh, Claire, where are ye?"

.........

Claire was relieved when Geillis walked in. Although Annalise had been nothing but sweet, she couldn't bring herself to be comfortable in her presence. The thought of Jamie holding Annalise, past or any moment in time had her stomach in knots, jealousy curdling at its pit, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Watching as the two girls introduced themselves to each other, Geillis' easy rapport somehow transformed the strained atmosphere to light and breezy. She had texted her friend earlier to bring an empty bag for her other belongings, and now, she was glad she did. Seizing the opportunity, Claire excused herself from their conversation and escaped to Jamie's room. 

Looking out into the window, she stared at the open fields seeing nothing.  You and Annalise have similarities, orphaned at such an early age.  That thought frequently reverberated through the walls of her head, sending a niggle of discomfort crawling up her spine. She had wondered from the beginning of their relationship, why Jamie seemed so infatuated with her. Was he drawn to her because her start in life was something to take pity on? Or perhaps because she constantly needed saving from the bullies in school? 

Now that I don't need saving, how long until Jamie lost interest? What if I told him about those messages I've been receiving? 

The sounds of the house grew muffled, and Annalise's and Geillis' conversation next door faded away until she could only hear the dull thudding of her own heart. She stood like that for a long while, mentally trying to stamp out the insecurities plaguing her mind.

Through the fog that had descended, she heard a familiar voice as Claire felt an arm encircling her waist and warm breath fanning her neck. "Sassenach." Jamie's tone of voice was thick with concern. "Look at me. What's wrong?"

She turned around to face him, the pressure of his big hands on her, propelling the world back into its usual rhythm. At first, there was only the outline of Jamie's head, surrounded by the sunlight streaming in from the window, but steadily he came into view, worry creasing his handsome face.

"Sassenach? What is it?" he asked urgently.

"Hey, I'm fine," she whispered, clearing her throat to sound more convincing. "Honestly, it's all good. I'm sorry, I was daydreaming, and I didn't hear you come in." Claire leaned her forehead against Jamie's chest, deeply inhaling his masculine scent. The million-pound question was on the tip of her tongue.  Am I a rescue mission?   Am I being used to fulfil that sense of duty so instilled in the Frasers upbringing?

"Speak to me," he said, moving closer and wrapping her in his arms. "Yer back was so rigid, as if ye'd seen a ghost. What's in yer mind?"

"Not much. It's just that..."  Oh God, what if I'm wrong?  The love between them was real, it was right now, and it was all-consuming.  Stop over-analysing and live in the moment.   "Are you staying here tonight?"

Jamie smiled. "No." He raised her right hand to kiss the inside of her palm. "I came in here to pack some clothes to take. May I stay with ye tonight? And the nights after that?"

"Of course, I thought we've decided on that earlier." She wedged her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his waist. The fears she had earlier began to evaporate, settling the chaos in her belly once and for all. It was startling how quickly he can blur every thought in her head and narrow it down to just him. "How about Annalise?"

"Aye, I'll check up on her later. She's no' that poorly that she needs my assistance. Willie will be here to keep an eye on her and make sure she eats. Tomorrow, he'll be taking her to the doctor. And we'll see what happens after that," he explained.

"Right, of course. Shall I help you pack?" She was moving away already, but Jamie didn't let go. Instead, he guided them to a chair and pulled her down to his lap, his arms possessively going around her.

"I'm not done with ye yet," he whispered, his throat worked with emotion. He started to speak and stopped, leaning down to mould his mouth to hers for a thorough kiss instead. After what seemed like an eternity, Jamie cautiously eased back an inch, massaging the base of her spine with his thumb. "Do ye trust me?"

Her honey-coloured eyes fell to half-mast, reluctant to share what had been troubling her just yet. "You know I do, Jamie," she murmured, aware he was trying to read her mind.

"Sassenach, there is one thing I want to ask of ye, and that is honesty. Honesty between us," he said slowly. Feeling her flinch against him, he paused to kiss her forehead before continuing. "We've known each other for a long time, and it may seem we know everything there is to know about one another." His breath released in a long rush, as she raised her eyes to look at him. "Fact is, there are things we choose not to reveal. Like a secret, aye? We are entitled to that, to keep a little bit of ourselves from the world. And that's alright. Like me, there are things that I cannae tell ye, at least not yet. I suppose the same goes with ye. But, what I ask of ye is, whatever we say to one another, there should only be the truth between us. I will not demand anything of ye that ye are not ready to tell me. Do ye think that's fair?" 

She nodded, half smiling. "Yes, it's fair."

"I know I'm asking a lot from ye by bringing Annalise here. God knows how I would feel if the situation was reversed and ye were bringing another man home to take care of. I wouldn't like it one bit." He rubbed his thumb over her collarbone, studying it so carefully she wondered if he was memorising the texture. "I want ye to feel secure in my love, Sassenach."

Swallowing the desire to avoid an uncomfortable topic, she forced herself to reassure Jamie, knowing that this was as difficult for him as it was with her. "Bringing her here was both our decision, Jamie. We both agreed to it. It is kind of awkward being around her, I won't deny it, but it's early days, and I guess we need to give ourselves time to adjust."

A multitude of emotions swam across his face, gratitude and relief for her understanding chiefly among them. "Aye, that's true, but sometimes I have my doubts if it was the right thing. Annalise may need me, but I want ye to understand that ye come first and foremost in my life and it's never a choice." He cradled the back of her head in a gentle hold, willing her to hold his gaze. "If ever her presence becomes too unbearable for ye, we'll find another way. Ye only need to say the word."

Claire's hand lifted at their own accord to frame his face. "Thank you. Just bear with me for the next few days. I'm sure I'll be fine." Feeling the tension eased off Jamie's shoulders, she encircled her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulders.

After a long moment wrapped up in each other's arms, there was a knock on the door. They glanced towards the doorway to find Willie stood there with a strange look on his face.

"Both of ye, will ye come down, please," Willie said in a low voice. "Two police officers want to speak to you, Claire. Something about a crowdfunding page ye set up for..." he gestured with his thumb towards her old bedroom.

Claire understood what he meant. "What about it?" she asked apprehensively.

"They wouldn't say. Best come down and find out." 

Before she could say more, Willie was already heading down the stairs. 

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance (21/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option.

There is an art form to ignoring, a casual nonchalance that comes with ample practice.

They are both masters of it.

Or, they were.

He takes to bringing her tea on shift, a hot mug passed off when she least expects it, most needs it. It’s an old habit, a quirk from before the war. She’d have thought he’d forgotten long ago.

Some things don’t change.

She stays with him when he drinks, insisting on water when she can. He doesn’t fight her, just takes it without complaint, and goes back to his liquor.

“Not scotch” is her only demand. He obliges with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“How come you’re here?” He asks on the fifth night.

She shrugs. “Someone should be. Besides, having a buffer between you and Sally seems to keep things quieter.”

“Wasn’t always like this,” he says, downing a shot.

“Things with Sally or …?”

He nods.

“Growing pains?”

He shakes his head. “No, I fucked it up. Everyone has a limit to how much bullshit they’re willing to take. She hit hers, and I kept pushing.”

“She still cares about you.”

“She probably shouldn’t.”

She sips at her tea. “Am I allowed to ask…?” He grimaces. “I was dry. For about, oh, six weeks. Getting there almost killed me.” He downs another shot and she fights the urge to comment on the irony. “I don’t remember most of that process. She does.”

“Anyway,” he sighs. “We were in a haven. It got hit. I went right back to what had always worked.” He shakes his head. “Was never cut out to parent, Regan. Didn’t expect her to look at me like she did.”

“And so you doubled down.”

“You were always a quick study.”

“Know some, see some, intuit the rest.”

He rolls his eyes, but the mockery is gentle. “Sally took it personally. Didn’t expect that. Don’t know if it makes it better or worse that it was never about her at all. ”

Probably worse, she thinks, but settles for shaking her head.

“When she went AWOL after the ADVENT collaborator … Jesus. I thought we’d already hit rock bottom, but I found yet another way to fuck things up. Always could get creative.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“When she got back, I tore into her pretty good. Worse than she deserved. If I hadn’t fucked it up in the first place, she might’ve come to me instead of going out on her own.”

“You’ll fix it.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know that I can.”

“Always worth a try.”

He offers her a defeated shrug of his shoulders.

“Is this a thing we do now?” He asks after a moment.

“What?”

“This. Talking.”

“It’s a thing we used to do. Things worked better when we did.”

He rubs at his neck. “I thought this would be easier. There are still days it hurts to look at you.”

“You want me to leave?”

He shakes his head. “Anything but.”  He buries his face in his hands. “Regan, I forget how this is supposed to work.”

She leans over the bar and pours a glass of water, setting it in front of him. “It’s okay; I think I remember it well enough.” She takes a breath. “Thank you for having my back with Volk. I don’t know if you meant what you said, but I appreciate it regardless.”

He takes a sip from the glass. “You’re welcome. And I meant it. I trust you.” He shifts. “High time I start acting like it.”

--

“How do we do this?” She asks the next morning, curled next to him on the bed. “What do we give them?”

“Breadcrumbs,” he says. “Enough to get them looking without giving them all the answers.”

“So, what do we open with?”

“Without causing a panic? I was thinking op footage and the accompanying AAR.”

“You have one in mind?”

“Something that can be easily corroborated.”

“An urban one, then. Street cameras. You really want to put terror attack footage out there?”

“I was thinking abduction attempt. No harm in opening on a heroic note. Besides, I think terror footage might strike the wrong tone this time of year.”

She nods. “Agreed.”

“Also might be worth it to leave our names unredacted on the AAR.”

“You want to give them a rabbit hole?”

“I want to minimize deniability. It’s a lot harder to dismiss the scoop as a hoax when there’s names attached, named that have gone dark from their respective career records.”

She nods. “That makes sense. I’d rather keep Shen out of it, if possible.”

“And Vahlen,” he adds.

“God, yes.”

“What do you want to do about Strike One?”

She chews on her lip. “Everyone loves a war hero, right? We’ve got … well, a lot more than five, but they’re a start.”

He nods.

“Are we crazy to be doing this?” She asks.

“If nothing else,” he says after a moment, “our people deserve recognition for what they did, for the sacrifices the made. We fought a long, hard battle and we paid for it in blood. The whole world knows that aliens exist. There’s nothing to hide. It’s time to come out of the shadows.”

“And?”

“Leverage is never bad when dealing with the Council.”

She shifts against him. A question eats at her, an answer she both wants and fears.

“Do you think we’ll ever be okay again?”

He pauses for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like we’ve gone from fighting the aliens to preparing to fight the Council. One war after another. I stand by what we’ve done, but … I’m just want a break. Peace for a little while. I look in the mirror, and I feel like I don’t recognize the person staring back at me.”

He pulls her closer. “We’re not gonna be who we were. None of us are. We can’t go back. But we’ll be okay. It’ll get better.”

There’s a heaviness in her chest, a kind of dread she can’t explain. She knows he is wrong, that things will not get better. The idea makes no sense, of course. There is no indication of a problem that rest and, if she is honest, a healthy course of therapy won’t help. Still, something gnaws at her, a sense that there is something she’s overlooked, something she’s failed to take into account.

He pulls the blanket tighter around them, and presses a kiss to her forehead. She closes her eyes and breathes him in, anchoring herself in the moment.

It’s not real, she tells herself. Everything’s fine.

--

They circle back to North Dakota, gathering some new recruits and needed supplies. Shen sends out a team to begin assembling a small radio relay, a needed diversion from their current R&D efforts.

Central sits down across from her at breakfast, face grim. “I’ve got it on good authority we’re gonna be hearing from Volk.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Interesting.”

“There’s an rendezvous they need us to oversee.”

“Thought Volk made it pretty clear he didn’t have much use for XCOM with me at the helm.”

He doesn’t meet her gaze. “He can be reasoned with.”

“Mmm,” she intones. “So, what’s the op?” “Reapers aren’t the only big players in the Resistance. You wouldn’t be here without them, but they didn’t work on their own.  A group called the Skirmishers got us the intel on your location.”

She nods.

“Skirmishers are ex-ADVENT. Needless to say, people aren’t lining up to work with’em. They’ve been at it with the Reapers for the last ten years or so, but they’ve agreed to a temporary ceasefire, if you oversee the meeting.”

“You were always the better diplomat.”

“I’m not who they need.”

She shakes her head. “They don’t know who they need.”

“So, you won’t do it?”

“No, but if this is gonna work, I need you to be … you. Come on. When haven’t I made a delicate situation worse?”

“Plenty of times.”

“Bullshit.”

He offers her a small chuckle. “You’re direct with people.”

“Some people are scalpels, and some people are battle axes. We both know where I fall.”

“With these two groups? That’s not a bad thing.”

Volk is back in contact sooner than she’d like, his scuffy face leering down at her from the view screen.

���Commander.”

“Volikov.”

“Though we prefer to work alone,” he starts. “Sometimes, we could use backup. We could use your help … if you can bother that is.”

“Central’s already briefed me. We’re happy to facilitate how we can.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve got a request.”

“I’m listening.”

He leans back and crosses his arms. “My people would feel better with a friendly face watching their back, especially with these ADVENT bastards. John’s girl’s a known quantity, maybe the only one among your people --- unless you’re willing to send John himself. I’d like her on the op. ”

Of course. She knows a counterplay when she sees one, and Volk’s is well thought out. Either she fields Sally and strips Central’s agency in the matter, or she refuses, allowing any hitch in the field to be pinned squarely on her shoulders.

Fucker, she thinks.

There is, however, almost always another option.

She turns to Central, whose face has set into an almost unreadable mask. “She’s not eighteen, so it’s your call, not mine.”

His gaze shifts to Sally, who stares at him with a sort of wild hope in her eye. “Come on,” he sighs. “You’re not going out without armor this time.”

“Really?”

He purses his lips. “I don’t like it, but if having you on the ground helps keep this op from imploding on itself …” He trails off.

A wide grin spreads across her face. “So, what am I getting gear-wise?”

“You think I’d ever hear the end of it if I fielded you with anything other than a sniper rifle? Stop looking so happy; this is serious. Come on, let’s go.”  

He heads for the armory and Sally follows after, mouthing a silent cheer at the Commander. She stares after them for a moment, before turning her attention back to the screen.

“Consider this an act of good will, Volikov. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“We’ll see, Commander. Volk out.”

--

“I think I’m out of out time I can buy for you,” he says over lunch on the third day of her sabbatical. “They’re not happy coming to me for answers.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t take kindly to the system intrusion?”

He offers her a wry grin. “I might have implied that they were the ones to blame for the whole situation. Something about a lack of funding for critical systems maintenance and upgrades.”

She covers her mouth, trying to hide her smile. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m honest.”

“Usually.”

He shrugs. “They leave us to operate on a need to know basis. I’m just returning the favor.”

She shakes her head, but her expression betrays her. “If you brief me tonight, I’ll take command in the morning. I’m sure the Spokesman will be thrilled to hear my dulcet tones again.”

“I did my best to make you a welcome return to normalcy.”

“So,” she purrs. “The Boy Scout can play dirty after all.”

“Come on, Regan,” he says, lightly. “I thought I’d already done a good job establishing that.”

“Terrible!” She mutters, and pulls him into a kiss.

They sit in the Situation Room that night, piles of papers sprawled across the table. There is nothing new, nothing he hasn’t already alerted her to, but they’d be fools not to make a show of it. The energy spikes have increased in frequency; repairs on the base are well underway; the skies have been clear; the Council has expressed concerns about the systems breach.

All is as it should be.

They sign the reversion of command order, and she fights the urge to rest her head on his shoulder.

The break has helped. Having another voice in Council matters has helped. There is still the crushing sense of doom in her chest, the nagging sensation that there’s something she’s forgotten, something coming down the line that she’s neglected to prepare for, but she is learning to live with that particular sensation.

She stands before the Spokesman the next morning and could almost swear that he sounds happy to see her.

“The Council is … relieved to see you have returned to your post, Commander.”

“Thank you,” she nods. “I’m grateful to Mr. Bradford for his assistance over the past several days. It was an inopportune time to have taken ill.”

“Given the week’s events, the Council would strongly agree with your assessment.”

“We have full comms through Alpha and Beta sections,” she offers, “and full internal monitoring through Alpha. Repairs have put off our timeline for Firestorm delivery, but I’m confident in our ability to have global coverage by early February.”

“Has your team made any progress in identifying the source of the disturbance?”

“Only that it was non-terrestrial in nature.”

“Alien.”

“Yes.”

Her stomach knots.

The Spokesman sighs, startlingly human. “Do you or your team have reason to believe another incursion is imminent?”

“Negative,” she answers. “We believe there’s a correlation between the energy spikes we’ve been encountering, and the pulse. We believe the former to be the result of technology already present on Earth.”

“Very well,” the Spokesman intones. “We will be in touch.”