#anyone have any ideas for the rest of their teams? id live to hear some suggestions

[rustingcat]

Pokémon AU

Anyone remember I made a pokemon au? Yeah I thought so.

Pokemon au is one of the first things I drew for this blog and one of the things that really helped me grow as an artist, so it's very dear to me. That and my undying love for pokemon.

So here's the collection of all my Pokémon au drawings and mini stories! Hope you'll enjoy them!

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

[user21340]

the world in her arms

(i don’t own this gif or characters used in this fic)

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: you and natasha have always had quite a flirty and sarcastic relationship. both of you develop feelings for one another but you both are clueless to what the other feels until nat gets jealous and says something hurtful to you. will you make up (or out)?

warnings: minor angst, fluff, swearing, and a mention of death.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: omg thank you so much for 57 followers love you all 💕. sorry for the lack of content i didn’t know what to write and had almost no new ideas. also i’m a youngin and worked my first 8 hr day yesterday so your girl was exhausted and i have finals coming up soon. k thank you for coming to my ted talk, enjoy!

also this song doesn’t relate to the story at all but it’s underrated imo and also sorry for the weird pov changes throughout the story.

“Hey y/l/n! Where are you headed?” Natasha yells from the kitchen while I’m standing in the living room on our shared floor.

“Wouldn’t you like to know Nat.” I say with a smirk.

“Yeah matter of fact I would.” she retorts.

“Chill, I’m just headed to train some recruits with Clint. But don’t miss me too much, I'll be back in a few hours, Natty.” You blow a kiss her way, and she just rolls her eyes partially from the kiss and the use of her nickname but you see a faint pink tint sitting atop of her cheeks before she turns away.

I’ve been training these recruits with Clint for a couple hours and my session is nearing an end. Something I’ve picked up on today is how touchy and how dumb these recruits are acting just for me to correct their form. I don’t have time for this shit I think as this girl has me correct her jab form for what has to be the fifth time this hour.

Non readers pov

Natasha actually does start to miss you because of how bored she is due to the larger training room being occupied for these recruits. She heads down to see if you are wrapping up yet and see if you’d like to grab dinner with her somewhere. She arrives at the training room and heads to the back room where there is a large one way mirror. Natasha, having nothing better to do, watches Clint and yourself interact with these seemingly clueless recruits.

Minutes pass and Natasha honestly likes seeing your frustration every time a recruit asks you a stupid question or something you’d already answered for the hundredth time this session. That is until she sees this handsy recruit keep asking you to correct your form which she sees you fake a smile at and happily correct it. As if Natasha isn’t jealous already she sees you release a genuine large laugh at something a recruit says. Not being able to withstand witnessing anymore of this behavior from you directed towards anyone else except her. Natasha then storms off into the living room.

Readers pov

I was nearing the end of this session when a recruit comes up behind me and asks, “Soooo, is it true that you and Clint are like a thing?” he asks with no trace of humor or sarcasm on his face. I just bust out laughing because one, everyone or at least almost everyone who knows about The Avengers knows that I’m 100% only interested in women and two, CLINT? I mean he is a great guy and all but I’ll never forget the time I went into a diner to have breakfast with him and the waitress assumed he was my grandfather.

twenty long minutes later...

The living room is lively and everyone seems to strike up a conversation with one another. I decide to strike up a conversation with Natasha who is weirdly acting cold all of a sudden.

“Oh my god! You know what I just remembered the other day? My mom used to-“

“Shut up, y/n/n. I don’t care and I don’t think anyone does at the moment.” she exclaims with a small smirk thinking you’ll detect her harsh-morbid sarcasm.

“Oh.” you choke out, “It’s getting pretty late I-I better head to bed” my voice cracks as I mutter a small, ‘asshole’ agony laced in my voice blinking the hot tears away. I start walking towards my room but it slowly turns into a jog, then sprint. Anything to get to my room and release my sadness.

Non readers pov

The room is frozen. Everyone is staring at Natasha.

“I care.” Wanda states heading to your room because she knows you shouldn’t be alone right now.

“Jesus Nat, that was awful. You know you’ve fucked you when even I say it’s bad. Poor girl’s mom passed when she was around 10.” Tony deadpans.

“Oh my god, what have I done?” Nat says burying her head into her hands.

“I’m not too sure how you’re gonna get out of this one Nat, but you’ve gotta fix this.” Sam says.

Wanda reaches your room and hears loud yet muffled sobs while standing in the hallway. She can feel your grief rippling through her body. The only heartache she can relate to is the moment she lost Pietro which is more than an average person should feel. She knocks on the door softly yet hard enough to alert you of her presence.

Readers pov

I hear three soft knocks on the door. I quickly silence my cries and assume it is Nat. I then clear my throat as the knocking continues and muster up enough energy to speak,

“Go away” into my pillow loudly. The knocking stops but I don’t hear anyone walk away just yet.

“Y/n/n, it’s Wanda. Can you let me in please, so we can talk?” she asks, I stand up while groaning and walk towards the door. I unlock it and open it just a crack to make sure she is alone and not with a certain someone. It is pretty short-lived as Wanda pushes the door open the rest of the way.

“Oh hon, I’m sorry.” She says as she wraps me into a tight hug after closing the door behind her. I crumble into her embrace as she rubs small circles on my back. Wanda has always been such a calming figure in my life since I met her, a major part being that she can feel almost all of my anxieties that try to drown me throughout a day. She also knows how it feels to be alone which allows her to relate to my feelings, so she knows just how much missing someone who is gone for eternity hurts.

We hug for what feels like minutes but when I take a quick glance outside my window it is dark out.

“Is it true?” I rasp.

“What?” she counters.

“Y’know that no one cares. All I wanted to do was share a memory that I remembered of myself with my mom and as you know it isn’t too often that I remember these types of things and when I do I love sharing them, so she won’t ever be forgotten. It just hurts so much to be shut down talking about something you truly care about by someone you care about.” I explain while Wanda looks at me with the softest eyes I’ve ever seen while nodding her head slightly.

“Now that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I care and everyone in this compound cares about what you have to say as well as what you are feeling. You know how Natasha can be sometimes with the insensitive comments she makes before realizing what she’s doing.”

“I know but that doesn’t give her the right to j-just say stuff like that. I get how full our relationship is with banter and sarcastic comments but I really thought she was starting to like me.” I frown as Wanda just nods. That’s when exhaustion hits me like a truck.

“Wands, before I ask you this just know you can decline.” I give her a minute to protest, but she says nothing. ” Can you sleep with me?” Wanda’s eyes widen,

”Y/n/n I don’t think that is a good id-“ I realize what I just said and cut her off before things get even more uncomfortable. “Nonono, Wanda, like lay down with me not any of that gross stuff. Ew.” Wanda’s features fill with relief, and she chuckles at my childish comment about sex.

“Of course I will! You just may want to word it a little different next time.” she chuckles as you hide your face with embarrassment. We both get settled on the bed and I feel her two arms pull me towards her and I snuggle closer.

Non readers pov

Wanda slowly gets out of bed after she is sure you are fast asleep and sets off to find Nat. When she does she sees that Nat had barely moved from where she last saw her still with her face in her hands.

“Nat. I know you think you really screwed up, which you did, but it’s y/n/n. You can’t go on without telling her how you feel about her.”

“Wanda, you can’t just look in my mind! We’ve talked about this!”

“Romanoff you know I’m one to keep my promises, so I’d never look without your permission. Maybe if you turned down the volume of your thoughts a few decibels I wouldn’t have heard anything. Also, are you ready that oblivious to the fact the whole team knows you two are like little lovesick puppies for one another when you two aren’t attached by the hip.” she explains, “Now, stop moping around and apologize at least.”

“You’re right, Wands, wish me luck. I hope she can forgive me.”

Natasha gets up and races towards your room. She didn’t want to wait so long to talk to you and apologize, but she thought you wouldn’t want to speak to her after what she’d said.

Similarly, to Wanda’s entrance, Natasha softly knocks on your door enough to wake you even out of your semi-deep sleep.

Readers pov

I jump at the knocks on the door and am confused to see Wanda is no longer beside me.

“Wanda you don’t have to knock, you know that.” I sigh out.

“It isn’t Wanda.” a voice you are able to recognize as Nat sheepishly speaks.

“Oh, what do you need?” I ask, all the heartbreak and ache coming back when I hear the voice I’m usually excited to listen to, as if her speech is my favorite song.

“Can we talk? I need to apologize.”

“Sure,” I softly reply.

Non readers pov

Nat opens the door once she has your permission and sees your usual strong, confident frame look small and fragile. Her heart breaks at the sight of you so broken and in pain because of her own actions. Not to mention your tear stained cheeks when you look towards her. It is silent for a minute or so before you throw your head back onto your pillow staring at the ceiling. This awakens something in Natasha for an unknown reason.

Readers pov

“Y/n, I am so sorry. I know that sorry doesn’t cut it for the amount of hurt I’ve caused you all because I was jealous but I hope we can rebuild what we had but it totally is okay if you don’t want to even though I would love another chance with yo-“

“Nat, calm down. I’m not going to sit here and say I’m fine with what you said because truth be told I love sharing memories of my family when I remember them with you. Not only because I trust you but because I think I care for you and love you more than friends should. I just hope what you said is meaningless or else that is when we can’t rebuild what we had.”

“No y/n/n, I didn’t mean any of it. It was just in the heat of the moment because I saw you laughing at something a recruit said when I was going to ask you if you wanted to go get dinner with me. So, I stormed off like a child and said hurtful things to mask my selfishness because I want you to be mine and mine only.”

“Oh my god Nat. You can’t be serious, I was laughing at something a recruit said because he assumed Clint and I were going out.” Nat bursts out laughing.

“See? Anyone who was told that who knew me would just die of laughter on the spot.” I say as I glance her way while patting the place beside me on my bed. She accepts.

“So you actually like me?” you hopefully ask.

“Possibly depending on if those feelings are reciprocated.”

“They are.” I say.

“Good. Can I also say how sorry I am for saying that to-“ I cut her off but placing a quick peck to her soft lips.

“Uh, uh, uh” I tut, “I don’t want to hear any more apologies come out of that mouth. Could you just hold me?” Natasha is still dumbfounded by the little kiss.

“Of course.” Nat complies pressing your back to her front as she wraps her long toned arms around your frame. I hum at the contact.

At this moment Nat realizes there is no place she’d rather be as she feels like she has the world in her arms.

[fandom-monium]

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be? 

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows. 

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous. 

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about? 

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all. 

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.” 

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are. 

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal. 

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that. 

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed? 

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh. 

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door. 

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug. 

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name." 

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

 "You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions. 

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you. 

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting. 

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you? 

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare. 

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile. 

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles. 

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago. 

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back. 

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile. 

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.” 

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters. 

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism. 

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance 

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 4: Company

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: Whiskey gets a surprised call and he and Frankie have a long talk.

Rating: M

Warnings: Talks of drug use, alcohol, mentions of character death, mentions of canon typical violence, PTSD, violent nightmare

A/N: I really wanted this conversation to happen between these two given their respective histories. We all know that Whiskey needed therapy and in this verse he gets it. It’s also my HC, from what I vaguely know (I’m not an expert and I could be very wrong), that Whiskey was an officer in the Air Force where he flew/placed in jets and that’s how he knows how to fly an F-22 (The Silver Pony).

We are getting some angst and some fluff this time folks!

Also, yes I do have a specific soap in mind for Whiskey, it's Old Glory by Duke Cannon

Huge special thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the betas and encouragement!!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 3: Statesmen & Demons | AO3

He was drowning. He needed...something. He needed help.

Frankie pulled his phone out, went to the recent number that was, as of yet, unsaved, and pressed ‘call’. His shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear as the line rang.

Whiskey’s hair was still wet from his shower, and his white t-shirt clung to his damp skin. Eyeing the take out on his counter, he sank into his couch and smiled at your texts:

Whiskey: Thai sound good, sweetheart?

Bourbon: God yes Jack, I’m starving!

Whiskey: I’ll let you know when I get outta the shower, see you soon sweetheart

He was just about to send you a message to come on over when his phone rang. Glancing at the clock on his stove, then back to the unfamiliar Texas number on his caller ID, he frowned.

“Whiskey.”

His greeting was curt. Who the hell would be calling at 8:30 pm on a Wednesday?

“H-hey Whiskey, it’s me, Frankie. Is… uh, is she there?”

Whiskey’s frown deepened, not that he minded Frankie calling him, far from it, but his voice was cracking like he’d been... crying?

“Oh, hey there, Flyboy. No she isn’t, do you need me to get her?”

“N-no, no… I, uh, I don’t want her to see me right now. I’m, uh,” Whiskey could hear Frankie take a deep breath on the other side of the line. “I’m having a bad night, Jack. Could you come get me? I’m at the hotel.”

Jack shot straight up, practically leaping to his feet.

“Did you…?”

The question clung to the air like lead, crushing both of their chests in the silence.

“No, I haven’t… I just… fuck.”

Jack was moving, grabbing his leather jacket, keys, and Stetson, practically sprinting out the door.

“Don’t worry about it, Flyboy. I’m headed your way.”

He shifted his weight while he waited for the elevator to take him to the parking garage, shooting off a quick text to you in apology. Frankie’s words, “I don’t want her to see me,” rung in his ears and he decided to hold off on telling you what had come up, at least until he could see you at the office tomorrow.

Whiskey: Hey sweetheart, sorry something came up and I can’t do dinner tonight. Everything’s fine, see you at the office, sugar. X

Your phone went off and you quickly unlocked it, eager to hear back from Jack so you could head over. A frown pulled the corners of your lips down at his text, but you knew he wouldn’t cancel on you without good reason.

You: See you tomorrow, cowboy. Better make it up to me ;)

Frankie had left the door slightly ajar and was pacing around his room, arms crossed in front of him when he heard a quick knock, then the handle was turning and Whiskey crossed the threshold. He took a cursory glance around the room: nothing but minibar booze bottles, thankfully. Whiskey let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived when he took in Frankie’s demeanor. Frankie’s face was taut with shame, and his gaze refused to rise any higher than Whiskey’s boots.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Frankie choked out, “ Pope, and Hawk… I can’t disappoint them again. I’ve been clean for three years, and I didn’t…”

Jack shook his head and beckoned Frankie over, wrapping his arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulling him in for a quick, tight hug.

“C’mon, Flyboy, this is not the time nor the place to talk about this. I’m taking you back to my place, and we’re gonna have some whiskey that’s much better than what you’ve had here, and then we can talk.”

Frankie nodded and grabbed his hat, planting it on his head as Whiskey tugged him out of the hotel room. He was so deep in his thoughts and his guilt for having Whiskey come out that he didn’t realize where he was until the elevator dinged. Whiskey unlocked and opened the door to his condo, giving way to a view so incredible Frankie almost forgot to breathe. Across from the entryway, on the far side of the condo, the gorgeous New York night skyline twinkled back at them from beyond the wall of glass windows. Frankie marveled at the rustic elegance of Jack’s home. It had an entirely open floor plan, giving Frankie a view of the dark cherry butcher block island, the top-of-the-line range top, and other appliances, all immaculately clean. For a moment, he wondered if that was because Whiskey ordered out more than he cooked, but then he saw the bags of takeout on the counter and immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, looks like I interrupted your dinner plans.”

Whiskey closed and locked the door behind him, hanging his jacket up on the nearby hook. He glanced over at the takeout, then put his hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, partner. I just told her something came up. You hungry? I ordered her Drunken Noodles, be a shame to put them to waste.”

Frankie was about to decline when his stomach rumbled, and Whiskey chuckled.

“C’mon, Flyboy, go sit down on the couch and I’ll bring the food and some whiskey round.”

With a nod, he toed his dress shoes off (they were all he had without his go bag) and made for the brown leather couch. He sat down a bit stiffly, feeling awkward given the circumstances. Whiskey brought over the containers of food, handing one to Frankie and resting his own on the coffee table before grabbing them the promised drinks. He sat down, and Frankie took his drink in one hand, relishing in the smooth burn as he took a sip, then set it down to dive into his food.

They ate in a relaxed and cozy silence. Frankie finished first, which wasn’t a surprise. When Whiskey finished, he took Frankie’s empty container with him to toss in the garbage before he made his way back. An awkward silence replaced the previous comfortable one, and Frankie found himself having a hard time pulling his gaze from the amber liquid in his glass. Whiskey took a deep breath, then turned on the couch to face Frankie.

“Santiago said you’ve been clean for three years? That’s quite the accomplishment.”

“Yeah, thanks. Doesn’t really feel like it right now. I feel like I failed. I’m worried I’ll slip up.”

“I don’t think you will, Frankie. Neither do Pope or Bourbon.”

Jack didn’t know why, but the words rang true in his mind, even though he hadn’t known Frankie for very long.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to throw three years of hard work away, Flyboy.”

A small smile tugged at Frankie’s lips and he took a sip from his glass.

“Must’ve been weird for Halcón. Last time she saw me, fuck, I was barely with it. The suspension hit me hard. I had been getting my shit together before Colombia and the funeral. I just wanted to be able to fly. I couldn’t and still can’t stand the idea of being grounded. That, and I knew my fianceé would leave me if I didn’t get it together. But then, well, we all went to Colombia.”

“I couldn’t imagine being grounded. I don’t fly often, but to not have the option? I dunno what I’d do.”

Whiskey shook his head and grimaced. Frankie perked up, head snapping to meet Whiskey’s gaze.

“You fly?”

“Mmmhmm, was in the Air Force for a bit, did jets. Statesmen has an F-22, the Silver Pony, that I fly.”

A small buzz of excitement was washing over Frankie, and he subconsciously scooted closer to Whiskey. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to about flying, even if helicopters and jets were two very different means of flying.

“What made you risk it, Flyboy? What happened in Colombia?”

Frankie frowned and let out a deep sigh.

“Pope had been down there for a few years, chasing a narco named Gabriel Martín Lorea. He finally got a break when his CI told him she knew where he was hiding out and where he was stashing his money. He showed up outta the blue asking us, our old team, to come down and do recon, $17k just for a week of recon. If we wanted to stay on after that, we’d be entitled to 25% of whatever we seized, and the rumour was that Lorea had $75M on him. I’m guessing Halcón was busy with a mission for you guys, and I’m glad she was. It ended up being a fucking shitshow.”

Whiskey noted the faraway look in Frankie’s eyes as he sighed and took another swig from his glass, shaking his head as Frankie recalled the events.

“After the recon, Pope said he thought we could do the job ourselves, take all the money and not tell the local governments. We found out that the local agency hadn’t been the ones to pay us the $17k. That had come out of Pope’s pocket. He was so sure that the locals were on Lorea’s payroll, and if he went to the local agency, Lorea would disappear with the money. At the end of the day, none of us could say no. Turned out the rumors of Lorea having $75M were wrong. The house was stuffed, literally, with cash. Tom, our captain, got greedy. He ignored our hard-out time and insisted we take more loads of cash. We ended up stealing close to $250M, then we burned the house down.”

Whiskey whistled. “$250M is a lot of money, partner…”

Frankie barked out a humorless laugh, his eyes rueful.

“Too much. Our helo couldn’t take it all and make it over the Andes. I knew it before take off, and I warned Tom and Pope, but all any of us could see was the money. Tom didn’t want to leave it on the runway. I almost had us over the Andes when a gearbox blew, and I had to get us back to flat. We had to cut the money net, and it was just our luck that it happened to be over a coke farm. It was a bad landing. I honestly don’t know how none of us were seriously injured, but Pope and Tom went to go and convince the farmers to get out of the money. Our comms were out, so we were going off of hand signals. Tom got too trigger happy, and he dropped a few of the villagers. I-I provided cover fire, too…”

Frankie hung his head, no matter how much Will, Benny, or Pope had tried to reassure him, he still held an enormous amount of guilt over what had happened. He felt Whiskey’s hand rest on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch.

“That’s what you were trained to do, Flyboy. You couldn’t have known any different, especially without comms.”

Frankie nodded, taking a large gulp of his whiskey, then continued on.

“A couple days later, we took fire in the mountains, and they got Tom. It ended up being a kid and another guy from the coke farm. We killed them, but there was nothing we could do for Tom. Headshot, he died instantly. 10 years we all served together, and then he was gone, leaving behind an ex and two daughters. It could have been any one of us though, Jack… we all took lives during that mission. Tom just took the wrong ones. It… it could have been me even, I shot some of those villagers, too.”

Frankie felt Whiskey’s grip on his shoulder tighten and looked up to see the empathetic sadness of someone who truly understood how he felt reflected back in Whiskey’s eyes. Frankie cleared his throat.

“We ended up bailing on a lot of the cash, taking only what we could carry in our daypacks and tossing the rest in a ravine so we could haul Tom’s body out with us. At the end of it, we made out with around $5M, but we all agreed it should go to Tom’s family. I got back to find my fianceé had left. She couldn’t stand my leaving with Pope. Looking back, my addiction is probably what really did us in, but I was devastated to come home to an empty house after everything that had happened. Things got… dark after that. I fell back on old habits, fuck, I had barely been clean a few months when we went to Colombia. I didn’t want to think about what we’d done there, didn’t want to feel the emptiness, didn’t want to sleep and deal with the nightmares. I was a mess, and I… uh, I took too much one day. Pope found me unconscious, lying on the ground, and got me to the hospital. When I came to, I realized I didn’t want to end up dead in my shitty apartment, once they discharged me, I checked into rehab.”

Frankie took another drink. No one other than Pope knew that knocking on death’s door had been the turning point for him. Whiskey chewed on his lip, taking a drink and debating whether he should share his past as well.

“Drugs are… a terrible thing to get hooked on. My high school sweetheart, carrying my unborn son, was murdered by two meth head freaks robbing a fucking convenience store. I was on leave from the Air Force, waiting for them to come home when I got the call. I didn’t realize how much it festered in me until about a year back when we were taking down the Golden Circle.”

Frankie nodded. He remembered that he had been glad he was clean by then.

“I’m sorry, Whiskey… I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have-”

Jack’s hand moved from Frankie’s shoulder to rub his back reassuringly.

“Listen, the things you’ve done and seen for our country… and not, well, it’s a lot, and I know it’s not the same as the freaks who… it’s not the same. I almost sabotaged the mission. My hate-addled brain thought it would be justice… It was Bourbon who very literally knocked me on my ass and kept me from making a decision I’d regret. She encouraged me to see a Statesmen counselor, which has been a lot of work, but has been more helpful than I ever thought it would be. Have you thought about that?”

Frankie was distracted for a moment by Jack’s hand. It felt nice, reassuring, safe, things that had been sorely lacking for him today.

“I have and I did, well, I had to as part of the program, and I kept it up for a bit after. It helped, but… I couldn’t really talk about what happened with Tom. Sure there’s confidentiality and all that, but what we did is all kinds of illegal. I couldn’t exactly bring that to a session or group.”

Frankie snorted, a ghost of a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

“Really though, aside from the program I was in after rehab to get my license back, I’ve gotten some hobbies and some other out-outlets. This was just a lot. I needed to not be alone.”

Jack cocked his head at the way Frankie stuttered and subconsciously fidgeted with the bandage on his right wrist. He had picked up from the night prior that Frankie had a thing for pain, and Frankie’s reaction when he had bandaged him up was further proof of that. But using it as his sole outlet or method of working through his issues was something he wouldn’t enable. His eyes narrowed, and before Frankie could blink, Jack snatched his left hand, mindful of the tender marks as he held fast and fixed Frankie with a hard stare. Frankie flinched at the sudden movement then his eyes widened a little.

“You know this ain’t a solution, Flyboy.”

Jack’s voice had an edge to it bordering on a growl. Frankie shook his head quickly.

“Shit, no, Whiskey, the i-impact p-play stuff, i-it’s an outlet, and it’s not my only outlet. I met my old partners, Sam and then later on her husband, a year and a half or two years ago. I was a year clean before I even had my first session with either of them. I met Sam when she booked a flight tour, and one thing led to another… She’d come back into town and sometimes her husband would come with, but we all kept everything pretty quiet. They helped me relax, and they had their fun.”

Frankie was doing his best to be nonchalant, but he couldn’t help the slight bitterness creeping into his voice. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Jack’s tone had thrown him off guard, unexpectedly stirring something in him. Whiskey, of course noticed on both counts, having been trained to do so. He could see through Frankie a mile away. Frankie nervously took another sip from his glass, shuddering as Whiskey’s thumb gingerly rubbed circles over the marks, seemingly accepting his explanation.

“You know, had I known about your… interests, I would have done things a bit differently last night, Flyboy.” He winked at Frankie, then smirked as he examined Frankie’s wrist more thoughtfully. “How are they doing?”

“G-good, thanks. And uh, well, you’re one of 3 people who know.” Frankie murmured.

Whiskey’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise as he nodded and released Frankie’s hand.

“Really? Not Pope or Bourbon?”

“Are you kidding me? Pope would never let me hear the end of it. There are some things he doesn’t need to know.” Frankie chuckled and shook his head. “And Halcón? Well, there was never any reason for her to know. We never did anything together before last night.”

“How long has it been since you last saw Sam or her husband?”

Frankie downed the rest of his whiskey, eyes far away for a moment, remembering their last session, the sharp pain followed by a rush of endorphins and the occasional soothing praise. He shook his head gently, blinking himself out of his memories at the feeling of Jack’s warm hand on his knee.

“It’s been a while, six months? They moved overseas.”

There was a beat of silence, Whiskey could sense there was something up, it was a subtle shadow flitting across Frankie’s face. He decided to push a little more.

“Did you have feelings for them?”

“It was complicated.”

The edge in Frankie’s voice was tinged with pain, and he tried to cover it up with a laugh that came out humorless.

“I guess it isn’t that complicated. After six months, things shifted, and they made it clear I wasn’t part of their long term plan. It became very transactional, which was fine, but there was less and less... care after.”

“Oh.”

The response slipped from Jack’s lips, and he was momentarily stunned quiet before his temper began to flare. His index finger and thumb gently gripped Frankie’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Listen carefully, Flyboy. What I did last night was the bare minimum of what someone should do in that kind of situation. Anything less is negligent. Christ, how was this ever stress relief for you if you were left to free fall afterwards?”

Whiskey’s voice was calm and even, but Frankie could see the fury raging in his eyes. Sensing Whiskey’s desire for understanding, he nodded then shrugged.

“I guess I’d try to go on a hike with one of the guys or go train at the gym.”

Silence fell between them, a muscle in Whiskey’s jaw clenching before he glanced at the clock and let out a deep sigh, willing himself to calm down.

“It’s already just about midnight, Flyboy. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll put on a clean bandage for you once you’re done. You can use my bathroom. There’s a clean towel hanging you can use. Don’t worry about clothes, I’ll leave something for you to sleep in on my bed so you can change while I set up the guest room for you.”

Frankie was about to protest, saying he could do his own bandages, but Whiskey fixed him with a stare and shook his head.

“Go on Flyboy, get yourself in the shower. Head down the hall, second door on the left. Your room is across the hall. I’ll be waiting there with the medkit when you’re done.”

Whiskey took Frankie’s empty glass and stood, taking their glasses to the sink while Frankie got up and made his way to the shower. A pensive frown tugged at Whiskey’s lips. Tonight certainly explained a lot of things. The sharp fury that permeated Whiskey’s chest when they were talking about Frankie’s previous partners returned. How could someone not be bothered with aftercare? It was also clear that Frankie felt abandoned by them. On some level, the poor man was probably terrified of that happening again, if he even entertained the thought of something between the three of you. Whiskey waited a few moments until he heard the water running before heading into his room. He let out a sigh as he grabbed a white t-shirt and a pair of linen shorts for Frankie to wear, leaving them on the bed before he left to make sure the guest room was all set.

Frankie undressed quickly, folding his clothes and setting them down on the vanity in a neat pile crowned with his hat. Next, he made quick work of unwrapping the bandage around his wrist and tossing the materials in the garbage. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the shower and the hot water scoured the last two days from his skin. The relief was quickly replaced with a small whine of pain as the water hit his wrist. Closing his eyes and bracing himself against the wall with his forearm he breathed through the pain, acclimating to the sensation. Frankie took a minute to just exist, trying to enjoy the quiet that had slowly crept back into his mind. Taking a deep breath, he set to work getting himself clean. The steam made the air thick and heavy with the scent of Whiskey’s soap, something akin to leather and tobacco leaves. It clung to Frankie’s lungs, and he could have stayed there enjoying it for considerably longer. But, he didn’t want to keep Whiskey waiting, so he rinsed off and hopped out of the shower. He toweled off, smirking to himself when he saw it was monogrammed (because of course it was), then headed out and changed quickly into the shirt and shorts that had been left for him.

Whiskey looked up in time to see Frankie stride through the doorway wearing his shirt and shorts, smelling like him, his soap. He swallowed thickly and tried to recover with a smile.

“Feel better, Flyboy? C’mon, sit down. Let’s have a look.”

Frankie nodded, then took a seat next to Whiskey on the bed and gave him his right hand. Whiskey hummed his approval at the lack of resistance from Frankie, something the pilot felt tug at his chest.

“This is looking much better, Flyboy, should be completely healed in a few days.”

Whiskey smiled as he finished tending to and wrapping up Frankie’s wrist. Without prompting, Frankie offered his other wrist and Whiskey couldn’t bite back the smirk that followed. He was glad though, glad that Frankie was trusting him with this and was embracing these moments, even if it was for something small. Frankie’s left wrist was considerably better off, but even so, Whiskey was still gentle as he looked him over.

Frankie’s heart fluttered at the intimacy of what was happening. Here was Jack, a man he’d known for barely 48 hours, who was taking care of him, who had dropped everything to come get him, who had spent his evening letting Frankie talk. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him this way.

There was an overwhelming urge building in his chest, and without thinking, he acted on it.

He gripped the collar of Whiskey’s t-shirt with one hand, tugging him closer as Frankie leaned in and kissed him. Whiskey was shocked for a moment, it had been the last thing he had been expecting, but he quickly recovered when he felt Frankie’s tongue swipe at his lip. His hand rested along the column of Frankie’s throat, thumb grazing over the scruff along his jaw as he deepened the kiss, leaning into Frankie and tasting him.

A small moan pulled Jack back to his senses, resting his forehead against Frankie’s and cupping his jaw with this other hand. They both panted, trying to catch their breath, and Whiskey smiled as he gave Frankie another quick kiss. For a moment, Frankie was worried he had overstepped when Whiskey cut off their kiss, but looking into the other man’s eyes, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve had a long day, Flyboy, we’re not gonna do anything tonight. Tomorrow though, if you want, I could help you get rid of some of that stress and help you come down the right way. No rush, no pressure, you can say no and nothing changes. I don’t want an answer right now either, sleep on it.”

Frankie’s breath quickened and his pupils dilated at the thought, but one thing nagged at him.

“What about Halcón?”

Whiskey chuckled and patted Frankie’s shoulder.

“Well it’s what we both want, in a manner of speaking. She’d be onboard, but she doesn’t have to know exactly what we do for now unless you’re comfortable with it. A lot of this is stuff I know she wants to go over on Friday, but for now, when it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it, partner. If you want to do this tomorrow, then we can do it. If not, no harm, no foul, you’re still welcome to stay here and keep me company.”

Frankie nodded, still processing what Whiskey had said and more than a little surprised that Whiskey was inviting him back regardless of his decision. Whiskey stood up then, squeezing Frankie’s shoulder.

“G’night, Flyboy. Holler if you need anything.”

Frankie was back in Colombia. He felt sluggish, his feet refusing to respond the way he wanted them to. He saw the villager from the cocaine farm pop up from the rocky outcrop, but Frankie couldn’t move, couldn’t draw his gun to take him out. He cried out in anguish as the man fired.

“No! Tom!”

Then he was surrounded by Pope, Benny, Will, you, and Whiskey, statuesque as the man who killed Tom lined up and dropped Pope, moving his way down the line. Frankie was sobbing now, he was being swallowed up by the ground, sinking helplessly as the people he cared for were murdered.

Whiskey woke with a start to the sound of shouting.

Ripping the sheet and comforter off, Whiskey glanced at the clock. It read 01:30 and he sighed. Frankie just couldn’t catch a break.

“P-please, No! Po-Pope, God, n-no, Hal-Halcón! Whiskey!”

He really didn’t want to shake Frankie awake, worried as to how he might react waking up from that sort of dream, but Jack had to do something.

“Hey, Frankie, I’m right here, you gotta wake up. Wake up, Flyboy.”

Frankie shot up, feeling like ice water had been poured down his spine. He was wild-eyed and breathing heavily, but once again, Whiskey’s soothing words served to ground him, and he clung to them with all he had. He felt Whiskey pull him into a hug, and Frankie didn’t care about the awkward angle, he clung to the embrace as well.

Whiskey’s heart ached at the way Frankie clutched at him after hearing him call out Pope’s, his, and your names. He had a vague idea of what might have happened, he still had dreams where he couldn’t save his loved ones every now and then. Once Frankie’s breathing calmed a bit, Whiskey tugged him up out of bed.

“C’mon Flyboy, you’re coming with me.”

Frankie didn’t argue, he just followed, grateful that Whiskey was pulling him by his hand, needing that point of contact. Whiskey pulled back the covers on the side opposite of his and waited until Frankie crawled in before he pulled the covers over him, then slid in on his side of the bed. He scooted a bit closer, not wanting to crowd Frankie unless he wanted the contact, and was pleased when the other man scooted back until his back rested against Jack’s chest.

“Get some sleep, Flyboy. I’ve got you.”

Sooner than he expected, Whiskey heard soft snores coming from Frankie. He smiled then wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

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[heyheyloki]

Loving Is (Not) Easy [1]

Summary: Sometimes the best thing you can do is take it head on and wait.

Spencer Reid x M!Reader

Word Count: 4876

1. Sometimes, you need to wait.

The first time you met Doctor Spencer Reid was one that you wished happened under different circumstances. Although, if it did happen different, you highly doubt things would turn out like the way they have. You probably would never be living with him, never be able to be your true self, and never have found the man you want to love for the rest of your life. But, with any love story there will be always things in the way. Your enemy just happened to be time.

Around six months ago was the first time you saw him. He was literally your light in the darkness. He had saved you from a hell you couldn't escape for fifteen years. Over and over again you would wake up in that small room and the devil and his partner would strip you of yourself. They took everything they could from you, yet he was the one to give it all back.

It was around winter, the seasons turning as the green grass began to be dominated by the white fluffy snow. You were never really able to see it though. They wouldn't let you. The only time you got to see the outside was when they would remove the nails from the sheets that blacked-out the window from your eyes. You suppose you could always just try to tear the fabric down, but they would never let you back up in your room without your hands damaged. Too damaged to even touch anything. It stung.

You always believed that your life was supposed to be this way. That you would eventually die before you could even figure out how long you’ve been in this place. Before you could even know how old you actually were. Birthdays, time, those things were long in the first three years up here. After that, everything was such a blur that you barely tried to pay attention to it anymore. You believed in so many things, positive things, and yet as the time went on negative thoughts crawled inside your mind. You would never be able to experience love, or even get a job and normal social life. Something you have been deprived up ever since you came out to them about something personal. Something they thought was filthy and disgusting.

You thought for such a long while that it was your fault, and you still did to this day. Maybe if you had read the signs more you would have noticed. But what young boy notices that stuff? What young boy would think their parents are capable of such acts because of their sexuality?

You never tried to scream. Your mother always told you that if you scream then you’ll get punished. You never tried to learn what that punishment would be. Although, one day the pain was just too unbearable that you let out noise. Your parents didn't like it much. But how can you not scream as they cut open your skin? 

Even with the punishment. Even with the beatings. You think the only thing that saved your life was your scream. You only thank those who heard it, the neighbors. They were the ones who brought him to you. And you thank them every day of your life for it.

It was normal day at the BAU section of the FBI in Quantico, Virginia. The team there had received a case from the police in Denver, Colorado about a possible abusive household. Normally, things like this would be handled by the police only. Although, this case was proving to be more and more gruesome than they ever thought possible.

The team had collected in the conference room, the board lit up with two pictures. One of a man and the other a woman. They looked to be completely normal, normal people anyone would pass at any time of the day.

"Nicolás and Vanessa Perez are a married couple in the Denver area of Colorado." A woman known as JJ stated. She had short blond hair and fair skin. Each of those at the table had a conflicted look on their faces, especially since she didn't show any pictures of them as bloody corpses.

"What's so special about them?" Agent Aaron Hotchner, leader of the team asked.

"Well, they aren't dead for one. Although, neighbors have heard screams coming from the house." She said, her thumb clicking on a button on the remote she carried. A small window of video popped up and immediately began to play. It was focused on the ground, a sidewalk. Even so with not being able to see anyone, the bloodcurdling screams of a male was present in all of their ears. Screams that called out in the darkness when monsters are visible. Screams that should never be made possible. But, it was. Those types of voices were signs of clear distress and pain rather than fear. And everyone in the room knew that.

Once it ended, a couple of people let out a deep sigh. Their hearts speeding up for just one moment before putting back up the shield that helped them do this job.

"Do we know who that was?" Doctor Spencer Reid, the youngest of the agents asked.

"No one had any idea up until a few days ago when a neighbor took this picture." JJ said as she put up a somewhat blurred image of a young individual looking out the window of what looked to be an upstairs room or attic.

"We have any idea who the kid is?" Derek Morgan asked.

"No one can get an ID on him." JJ informed the team. Although, just as she believed they would hurry to Denver, Colorado, Hotchner asked, "I understand the severity of the situation but why did the police need us on this case?"

"Well," JJ muttered. Her thumb clicking a button once more as ten pictures of young woman popped up on screen. The youngest at eighteen while the oldest ranging up to her thirties. "All these woman have been going missing in the area where the screaming can be heard. Police there believe it is this couple kidnapping these young woman, but they have no proof."

"Wait, but the one in the picture there is obviously a young man." Emily Prentiss stared clearly for everyone to hear.

"Yeah, that does seem to be the case." Spencer Reid agreed, his hazel hues keeping on the blurred picture of the young man.

"Either way, I don't like the odds that boy has." Hotchner said, picking up himself and the items he owned from the circular table as he and his team moved out. The screams they all heard from that video echoing non-stop in their minds.

2. Don’t Make A Sound

 When they all reached the police station cops were running back and forth as commotion ensued the place. They looked around at the panic before picking up the pace to the one who calls the shots, the Chief.

"What's going on?" Special Agent David Rossi asked. He and his team watched as the police chief turned to them just after he hung up the phone. Some determination deep within his eyes, or perhaps anger.

"We just got another report of screams coming from the same house." He quickly stated. "I'm about to go visit the home again, you all are free to tag along."

Everyone quickly agreed, however, Hotchner was quick to leave JJ and Reid at the station to start up a profile for the unsubs. Meanwhile, everyone else traveled to the most unsuspecting home in the most unsuspecting neighborhood. It was one of those neighborhoods that would be in an ad back in the day that promoted the American Dream to foreigners. The clean cut green grass, the perfect two story home, and of course, the whit picket fence. When the team came up to the house and knocked on the door the woman answered first. She stared at them with narrowed eyes as she scanned all of the badges they whipped out for her to see.

"Mrs Perez? We have a few questions for you. May we come in?" Derek asked with the deep and silky voice that attract woman left and right.

"Sure," she stuttered. Her fingers scrunched against her thin scarf that hung loosely around her neck as she stepped aside for them. Each one that entered her home allowed another squeeze at her scarf.

As the officer and members from the FBI looked around the home, they noticed nothing out of the ordinary. It was a typically normal home with a normal living room, kitchen, even bedroom. When they all sat down in the living room to talk, Derek couldn't help but notice a door that looked to lead up to an attic. One that would have to be pulled down from the sealing. Thing was though, it had a lock. He kept it in mind as others began to question her. Rossi looking around at the picture of her and her husband along a table, as well as several items that indicated she was religious.

"Where is your husband, Mrs Perez?" Rossi asked. He stared at the back of her head for a moment before going back to the pictures when he heard her reply, "The store, we needed more food."

"Ma'am, we've been getting several reports now of screams coming from your house. Mind telling us what that's all about?" The officer asked, his brows furrowed more the longer he stared at her.

"I have no idea. It's just me and my husband, you see. We don't bother anyone." She stated calmly. Although, even with her calm demeanor, something about this woman irked Derek to his very core. He could feel it in his gut that something was wrong, and almost on some god-given luck a few noises--like footsteps--came from above. Everyone was quick to get a look up, their minds racing. However, when they looked back at the woman on instinct she said, "We have a raccoons nest up there."

"Better get them out soon, raccoons tend to carry all kinds of illnesses." Rossi said in a manner that was almost read as sarcastic, like he wasn't buying any of it. Although, even with the timid questioning, things began to heat up at an exponential rate when he saw a photo of a small boy. In the picture it was easy to say he was a cute kid. Smooth skin, full lips, gorgeous colored orbs, and healthy looking hair. The kinda features for a male that would mature into god-like looks.

"This your son?" Rossi asked. He held the photo up for her to get a look at when she turned her body around.

"Yes. His name is [Name], a sweet boy." She sugared, something about her honeyed words clawed at Rossi.

"So, where is he now?" He asked, walking up to the group once he set the photo down. He watched as she grabbed a hold of her necklace, a cross, as she said, "I sent him away. Boys like those detectives, they get a lot of attention."

"What kind of attention?" Prentiss asked, her arms folded over her chest.

"Attention one boy should not be getting from another." She hissed out. Her hatred now clear for everyone to see. Her dark eyes scanned the room before her voice became strong, more stern. "How would you feel if your son was kissing other boys?"

"I wouldn't care." Hotchner quickly stated, his own eyes burning with hatred as well. However, his hate was targeted somewhere different. "What did you do to him?"

She stared at Hotchner for a moment. Her eyes twisting into something that made his stomach turn at what she could have done to her own son. Then, a moment later, she raised her chin and said, "Somewhere better. Somewhere where he can learn god's will and fix his devil like face."

After the interrogation at the Perez house, the team went back to the station where Reid had been fixing up a board that helped him classify the unsubs.

"Whatcha got, pretty boy?" Derek asked with a small smirk. He saw Reid turn around with a sorta mocking face for a split second before getting into his findings.

"The only connection I could find between the missing woman was that they are all between the ages of eighteen and twenty, not only that but after about a week they are discarded and replaced." Reid started out saying, thoughts now running through his family's minds when he said, "It was almost like they were defective to them in some way."

Derek was the first to speak his mind, even if he didn’t like the conclusion he and many others were coming up with only after meeting the wife once. “When we went there, she went on about sending her son to a ‘better place’ where he can ‘fix himself’. If her and her husband have him and are taking these women, is it a stretch to say that they’re taking these women for him?”

“Well, why would they be doing that?” JJ asked. “I mean, you guys said that it sounded like their son was homosexual.”

“He can still be.” Rossi said, “but the parents think they can fix his sexuality by forcing these women onto him and when they don’t..”

“They’re killed and replaced,” Hotchner finished, his eyes scanning the board before saying aloud, “let’s go give the profile.”

3. Escape Never Looked So Easy

You’ve known this place most of your life and for the longest time you could remember a new girl coming to visit you every week. No, visit isn't the right word. More so forced to see you. You knew what was going on as you got older and you knew the first thing you had to do was help these women in anyway you could. Over and over again you have failed in ways that no one would ever understand. However, you were determined to help this one. You had too. Not only for a lofty sense of justice and pity, but since it was also your chance. She could help. Go to the police. The FBI are here now, they will help you.

"It'll be okay, I promise." You whispered to a scared woman who hugged her knees in her chest. The tears down her face wouldn't stop, staining her pale cheeks. Her wobbly eyes gazed up at you, staring at every possible scar that they left on your face.

"How do you do it?" Her brittle voice asked. Her head leaned to the side as her eyes narrowed and brows furrowed.

It was weird to be asked such a question, but not an uncommon one. They all ask it eventually, and you guess at some point in time you found the answer.

"I.. learned to adapt." You muttered out, your own head leaning downward as you stared at the rotting wooden floorboards. It was quiet for a moment, but you could still feel her eyes curiously watching you. Searching you.

"H-How long have you been up here?" She stuttered, almost scared to know the answer.

This time it was your turn to mirror her look of confusion. You could always tell when it was night and day, when the seasons chance, but you never have been able to count the years that have gone by. That was always the hard part.

"Don't know," You uttered, your voice soft and vulnerable. "All my life, I suppose."

Looking back, all you remember is this place. This way of living. You truly believe the only thing that kept you from believing this was okay in anyway was the books your father sneaks to you. He ended up doing it for as long as you could remember, but after some time whenever she would leave the house he would come up here. He'd teach you things, tend to my wounds, even apologize.

One time, he even tried to help you escape. A while ago, after they put up the tarp so the neighbors couldn't see you from the attic, he left the nails very loose in the wooden boards along the wall. It was easy for you to take it off without making too much noise. The jump down wasn't much given how it's only a two story home and the land would be in some bushes, but she tends to be more concerned with locking you away from the world. Father said it was so you don't 'act on the devil's desires'.

That sentence never did make sense to you. As much as you believe in your own intelligence, you could never wrap your head around it. After all, how would you be acting on the 'devil's desires' when she calls you the devil in disguise. Wouldn't it just be your own desires then? And even so, what's so wrong about desires? That's what makes an individual, otherwise wouldn't we all just be the same?

Father told you it started off with my looks. She believes you’re not their child, and he predicts that's how she can act so monstrous towards you. She apparently used to tell him about how the devil is supposed to be depicted as a handsome man, one with radiant features and charism so he can make others sin. She was always scared of you, of how you would look when you grew older. But, the moment she caught you innocently giving a kiss to a boy, she snapped.

She tells your father that they are ridding great evil from the world. Not so much about protecting you, fixing you. But more about protecting other people, helping other people. She used to call priests all the time when you were younger, but they stopped coming after some time. Your father thinks it has something to do with the fact that she didn't want the priests to see the scars on your face.

The first one she placed on you was on your left bottom lip. It drags from your lip to a little on your chin. It's noticeable, that's for a sure, as well as jagged. Over time, the cuts got smoother. The latest was under your right eye. It was curved to match my eye socket as well as wide more in the middle before riding off. All the other scars just happened to be on your body. Chest, back, legs, arms. She wanted to make sure that you were no longer the devil she imagined. After all, if your face was no longer sinful, if your handsome features were cut up, who would think of you as even the least bit attractive?

You only snapped out of your own thoughts when the girl across from you tapped on your shoulder. Your eyes quickly met hers that were filled with some kinda new strength while you felt wetness stream down your face.

"We're gonna get outta here. Both of us." She said to you. It was the first time someone had offered to take you with them. The first time that they didn't just care about their own escape. Although, you never blamed them.

"Y-Yeah," You stuttered, your voice cracking the longer she stared at you.

However, you decided at this point it would be best to just focus on her. She was more in danger than you were, so, you told her a plan. One that was full proof as long as that woman is out of the house.

"I can't take the tarp down, nevertheless open the window with my hands." You informed her. She guided her eyes to your shaky hands that where riddled with scars and bruises. Some cuts open with dried blood the only thing keeping the wound shut. "They haven't hurt you like they have me yet. So, it's up to you."

"How will I know she's gone?" The girl asked.

"She will be soon. This is the time of the day that she goes out for more supplies. It will take her at least twenty minutes." You informed her. Your head dropping for a second before saying softly, "Get back here with those FBI guys before then."

"Why?" She asked curiously.

You never did answer that question. It was your least favorite of all questions, especially when the answer most of the times is so easy to figure out.

4. God Sent Me An Angel

Fifteen minutes. That's how long she's been gone for. As much as you hope she would bring those people back, you wouldn't blame her if she just ran for the hills. Something like this, it would scare a lot of normal people. Though when does something scary turn into another person's normal? After time? You suppose that could be one answer; maybe even the only answer.

You think it was in a book you read stated that faith could be something of salvation and yet could lead someone onto the highway to hell. You truly believe that is where she will go after she dies, and you do hope that she realizes the truth. The single truth that you are not the devil in disguise. That you are not a sinner. That you are not Satan himself.

It was so quiet, quiet enough to hear your own breathing as it entered through your nose and out your mouth. Your breath laid still in the air, visible by the cool air that surrounded the attic. There wasn’t a heater in there, so the temperature was determined by the weather on the outside. 

One minute. Two minutes. You felt like you had started counting the seconds, lost so much in your head that you didn’t hear anything until the sound of clanking wood rang loud in your ear drums, infecting your brain.

You whipped your head around and stared blankly at the only exit or entrance of this hell besides the now broken window. Although, you had heard the sound so many times before that it was normal, most of the time you wouldn't even go to look. But this time you wanted to see, you wanted to look to see if the true devil was going to look you in the eyes or maybe perhaps it would be an angel himself.

However, you heard no sirens. Heard no new voices or those of those men before. So, the moment you saw the light shine from the house into the attic, you knew you would be staring into the eyes of the devil. And you did.

You knew the moment you saw the disembodied look on her face that my fate was sealed with a bloody end. Perhaps now your suffering can end, maybe now you can actually get some peace.

"Get over here, boy!" She yelled, her words like poison. Yet you hoped in that moment that when she wrapped her hand around your wrist that you would be let to your salvation. Maybe when you die you would see the pretty stars, the beautiful moon that somehow gave you a sense of hope in that dark and cold attic.

Her grip was solid and terrifying, although the fear you had for that woman died a long time ago when she started to slash your face. You couldn't see your father for miles, you had just assumed in that moment that perhaps she killed him as well, just like with all the other woman before. The ones you failed to save but each made a vow to, one they wanted you to keep before they met their end.

It wasn't until you both went into the kitchen and found yourself in the spot that she makes a mess with your body that you felt something. It wasn't so much fear or anger, but more so hope. It was the hope that this never ending nightmare would finally come to a close, that you would finally wake up.

"Sirens.." You muttered to yourself, your voice soft like that of a childs. You watched as her face contorted in fear when some men began to pound on the door and claim to be with the FBI.

When the door was busted down she pulled you close to her and held an object close to your neck, yet before it all she managed to grab the nearest bag and place it over your face. Essentially, even to the end she would rather hide me from them all entirely. With your vision gone, all you had was sound and touch to go one.

"Put the knife down!" You heard a man yell. You could remember him as one of the men that came here the other day.

"Mrs. Perez, let the boy go." A soft voice spoke. You couldn't explain why it was silky and not as deep as the other but gave you a sense of calmness. You could tell you would be fine in that moment, and believed it more than the entire universe.

"I'm not letting such evil into the world! None of you understand! He's the devil himself!" She screamed, the knife's sharp edges more prominent against your neck. You didn't make a sound though. You thought maybe you could get punished if you did.

"Why do you believe that?" The man with the calming voice asked. You could tell he was trying to calm her down to let you go.

Her firm grasp on your shoulder suddenly grew tighter, you believed she could shatter your bones if she really wanted to. "Everything about him. He's a sinner, he makes other people sin." She whispered, "He doesn't look like me or my husband."

"You think he's the devil because of his looks?" He asked.

It was silent for a second before she uttered, "I know he is because of his looks. I tried, I tried so hard to make it so he wouldn't make others sin. So he wouldn't spread such evil into this world."

"Why don't you tell me all about it after you hand him over?" He asked. You could tell all of his words were lies. "If.. If he's in custody with the FBI then he won't be able to spread the evil you speak off."

"Could I.. get rid of him?" She muttered. It was quiet, so quiet that all you could hear was your own breathing until you felt the hand on you shoulder slowly loosen. The knife around your neck moved around and before you knew it you could feel a pair of gentle hands on your upper arms.

You could hear the shuffling next to you and the jiggle of metal as they cuffed the woman next to you. It wasn't until you heard those footsteps echo off into the distance that the one in front of you asked, "Are you alright?"

You only nodded. It wasn't that you had an issue with talking or something, you just didn't want to at the moment.

"I'm gonna take this off, okay?" He asked. Your mind guessed he was taller than you and looked up an inch in turn. It was the first time that someone asked permission to do something to you.

You nodded again and once you did the crinkling the bag ran loud into your ears as the darkness you saw turned into light. When you opened your eyes, you stared at the man in front of you. He was young, maybe in his early or mid 20s. His chestnut hair was on the longer side and did this cute thing were it got curly on the ends. It reached down to his jaw that was sharp. He had pale skin, and had these eyes anyone could get lost in. They were sweet, something you haven't seen in anyone but those woman and your father at times.

The both of you stared at one another for an extended period of time. While you admired the man's features, you thought perhaps he was in shock at how hideous you look. Between the scars and such, you wouldn't be surprised if he thought that. However, the more you looked into his eyes, the more the idea of disgust was pushed from your mind. It was like that emotion wasn't even present as he stared at you.

Though, when he snapped out of his daze, he looked back on his game.

"Hey, there," he uttered calmly. "My name's Spencer Reid. I'm with the FBI, you're gonna be okay, you understand?"

You nodded your head again. You could tell he probably thought you were mute or something so when he started to move away you said aloud, "[Name]."

He was quick to move his head around back at you. The expression on his face was one of shock. He was truly baffled you were speaking, which made you almost retract. Although, I didn't.

"What was that?" He asked in confirmation.

"[Name]." You said more firmly, my natural deeper tone coming through. "That’s my name, since we’re sharing."

This time it was his turn to nod his head a bit, but at the same time, he smiled. It was softer and showed no teeth, but a smile nonetheless. It somehow softened you a tad, almost made you feel vulnerable to an extent. However you knew that it probably had something to die with the fact that he saved your life.

"We're gonna take you somewhere safe. Is that okay with you?" He asked. The second time someone has asked your permission. It truly felt wonderful. It was almost like you mattered, like your feelings were valid.

"Sure," you said. It was at this moment that your turning point would occur and you would be be allowed the freedom to do what you pleased. Something you were deprived of for over fifteen years.

[babi-correia]

Not-So-Ex-Wife

From Anon:

15 and 52 with jay halstead x depressed/stubborn reader whos also in intelligence please? thanks 👍🏻 

Words: 2057 Warnings: Canon-typical violence Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader A/N: Hope you like it!

“What’s up your ass today, (Y/L/N)?”

Any other day, that sentence would be playful banter that you’d engage and reply at the same level. Any other day, you would be in a good mood, even in the early morning. Any other day, you would not want to murder Adam the moment those words left his lips. But today was not any other day.

“Would you mind ever so kindly minding your own fucking business, Ruzek?” You snap, sitting at your desk and logging into your computer to begin the workday.

“Have you had your coffee yet? You sound like you need a caffeine fix.” Adam continues, continuing to push your nerves. You glare at him over the screen, the murderous intent clear as day in your eyes.

“Adam, either you cut it out or the case we’ll be solving today will be your murder.” You growl, sinking back into the chair and watching the computer screen as it loads. You take a pencil from the mug on your desk and twirl it around your fingers, trying to distract yourself.

You clench your jaw when Jay walks in and it goes unnoticed by precisely no one, Adam raising his brow as the pencil in your hand cracks slightly under your grip. Voight walks out of his office, waving a folder in his hand as Jay sits down.

“Halstead, you’re late.” Voight remarks, opening the folder and sticking some pictures onto the whiteboard. “We have a hot case. Some kids were playing on the trail when they found a woman’s body. Tracy Delaya, 25, choked briefly before being stabbed.”

“I’ve seen this M.O. before, back in Homicide.” You say, pointing at the peculiar stab pattern. “All women, early twenties, and by the pattern of the stabbing, I’d say she’s a Taurus.”

“What?” Adam is the one voicing the collective confusion as you get up and take a closer look at the stab wounds on the victim. You get back to your computer, pulling up the cold case files and printing them.

“Back when I was in Homicide we caught a string of cases like this.” You say, grabbing the freshly printed paper and pinning it to the whiteboard beside Tracy’s picture. “Anna, Clara, Dora, Patricia, and now Tracy. Anna was Capricorn, Clara was Aquarius, Dora was Pisces, Patricia was Aries, Tracy is Taurus. He’s following the star signs calendar with his murders.”

“He?”

“We got some DNA evidence on Clara, she scratched him. The DNA was degraded to the point where we couldn’t get an ID, but we could determine it was male.” You grab the felt pen and begin to write under the pictures, scribbling the women’s names, ages, and star signs. “The stab wounds have the pattern of the star sign’s constellation. He’s going after a Gemini now.”

“Do you still have contact with witnesses and CIs involved in this case?” Voight asks, making you scratch the back of your neck as you think.

“It was a few years ago, but I’ll give it a shot.” You say, grabbing your badge and your gun from the top of your desk and clipping them on your pants’ waist.

“Take someone with you.” Voight calls out after you, and you don’t even stop to call the person.

“Adam, come on.” You say, strutting down the stairs. The rest of the team exchange confused looks before Adam follows you downstairs and into your car, sitting in the passenger seat and facing you with a questioning look on his face.

“It’s always Jay. Jay’s your partner. What the hell is going on, (Y/L/N)?” Adam asks as you start the car, your eyes fixated on the road.

“Well, maybe I want to change it up. Maybe I’m too mad at something to even be able to see Jay. Maybe I’m entitled to have feelings.” You say, getting a confused squeak from Adam right as his phone rings with a text message.

“See. He’s asking me why you’re mad at him.” Adam mumbles. “What happened? Why are you mad?”

“Maybe if he didn’t lie to me, I wouldn’t be mad.” You say, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel when you get to a red stoplight. “Maybe if I hadn’t believed that he was different and that we had something nice going on I wouldn’t be like this. I always get my hopes up and now I’m fucked, as per usual, and I’m fucking angry at it, and at myself for allowing me to believe something good was coming out of this.”

“Stop, freeze frame, rewind, hold on for a second.” Adam says, shaking his head as he tries to make sense of what you just said. “You had something nice going on? He lied to you? Are the two of you dating or something?”

“…It’s complicated.” You grumble, going forward as soon as the sign turns green. “We meet up after work for drinks at either his or my place, we talk for hours, it’s been really nice, you know? Like one of those cliché relationship starts from the movies. It was probably just some normal partner relationship and I read too much into it. Anyway, I got carried away into thinking it was something more, and I saw him with someone else yesterday.”

“This… This is confusing. But this is also grounds for me to win the bet.” Adam says, rubbing his hands as you raise your brow at him. “Who was he with, though?”

“Abby McSweeney.” You snap, your grip on the wheel tightening as Adam’s eyebrows reach his forehead. “His darling ex-who-isn’t-really-ex-wife.”

“Oh wow.”

“Yeah. So I’m pissed. Mostly at myself, but seeing his face definitely does not help.”

You can see Ruzek picking up his phone and typing fervently as you park the car. You shake your head and get out of the car, spotting a hooded man walking towards one of your previous witnesses.

Drawing your gun, you creep up until you see the man just a couple of steps away from your witness, something metallic glinting in his hand.

“Chicago PD!” You shout, aiming your gun and stalking forward, making the man stop in his tracks before turning around and running in the opposite direction. You turn to Adam, nodding with your head towards the witness. “Adam, stay with her!”

You take off running after the man, feeling your muscles burning as you sprint as fast as you can, turning corners and leaping obstacles.

“Goddamn it (Y/L/N), wait up!” Adam shouts, sounding out of breath. “50-21 Ida, requesting back-up, two plain clothed officers pursuing a suspect on foot.”

You cut your path through a narrow alley and will yourself to go faster, tackling the suspect to the ground. You shout when the knife in his hand connects with your arm and then knicks your face, making you wrestle the knife out of his grasp and away from him, landing a few solid punches before Adam catches up and points his gun at the man on the floor, reinforcing the idea that he had nowhere to go.

You get up and get your cuffs, arresting the man and wiping the blood off your face.

“Never mind that, Main. Suspect is in custody.” Adam says into his radio, turning to you. “You know that fighting people, both verbal and physically, isn’t the only solution available for when things don’t go your way, right?”

-

The rest of the day seems to trickle by slowly, annoying you to no end. When the clock finally reaches the clock-out time, all of you get up and gather your things to go home for the day.

“Anyone up to go to Molly’s?” Kevin asks, giving everyone puppy eyes. You shake your head, putting on your jacket.

“Not me, I’m going home.” You say, gathering your house keys and jacket. “Long day, I’m sore, I need a bath and my bed.”

“Oh c’mon (Y/N), please join us!” He begs, hugging you from behind and making you chuckle.

“I’m really not in the mood Kev, I’m sorry. Some other time, ok?” You negotiate, making him let you go.

You wave your goodbyes at everyone before making your way down the stairs, making your way to your car. You exit the precinct’s doors and see the tanned brunette standing by Jay’s car, your blood beginning to boil over once again before you shake your head and briskly walk towards your car.

You unlock the driver’s door and get in, just sitting behind the wheel for a while as you watch the rest of the team leave the precinct through your rear-view mirror. With a clenched jaw, you watch as Jay goes to her. You fire up the engine and put on your seatbelt, pulling out of the parking lot and driving back to your apartment.

You curse internally as you park your car in front of your apartment building and see Jay’s GMC pulling up on the opposite side; before, living across the street from your partner and best friend seemed like a godsend, but now it just seemed like a cruel punishment. You turn off your car and undo your seatbelt, trying to get out of the car and into the apartment building before Jay notices that you’re only just arriving as well, but no such luck.

He crosses the road in a jog, catching up to you as you’re making your way up the stairs and grabbing your arm, turning you around.

“What’s going on?” He asks, his blue eyes pleading as he tries to find the answer on your face. “We’re partners, and today you ditched me for Ruzek? You didn’t even talk to me all day. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” You say, pulling your arm out of his grasp. You hate yourself for how much you’re about to lie, but you can’t let him know the truth. “Just felt like switching it up a bit.”

You unlock the outer door, greeting your downstairs neighbor as you pass by her in the hallway. You can hear Jay hot on your tail and curse internally, hoping he just gets the message and leaves you alone.

“You’re not acting like usual, (Y/N). Please, talk to me.”

“Aren’t we all not acting like usual?” You can’t help yourself but remark, rolling your eyes at him. You can hear a little shocked huff coming from Jay as you unlock the door and take one step inside before turning around and blocking the entrance for him. “Look, Jay, I just want to relax a bit and tend to my cuts and sore muscles, ok? Just leave it.”

“I can’t leave it.” He says, planting his hand firmly on the door as you move to close it. “I want to know what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong; I was the one screwing up.” You say, hating the tremble that presents itself in your voice. “I was the one dumb enough to believe you’d ever see me as anything more than a partner and a friend, I was the one dumb enough to believe anyone could love me. Truth is, I don’t deserve to be loved, and I fooled myself into thinking otherwise. I hope you and Abby are happy.”

You’re sniffling by the end of your little rant, your eyes glued on the floor as silence fills the hallway. You meekly move to close the door, feeling the tears brimming your eyes when Jay bursts inside, nearly tackling you. He holds you up and closes the door with his foot, eyes wide with disbelief.

“You think me and Abby are together?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not, this is a huge misunderstanding, oh my god. I’ve been meeting her because we’re finally formalizing the divorce. I served her papers a couple weeks ago. And what bullshit it that about not deserving to be loved? You’re one of the most lovable people I know, (Y/N). Hell, I don’t even know how long I fell head over heels with you, but I did, and I fell so fucking hard, you have no idea.”

The tears fall from your face as he gently cups it, leaning his forehead against yours as you start laughing hysterically before he leans in and presses a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Want to stay and watch a movie?”

“Of course.”

[greenninjagal-blog]

Fool Me Thrice

Hey guys! My three day spoiler free band is up so now you guys get to see what I did immediately after that new video (FwSA) came out! 

Summary: The aftermath of FwSA but Virgil was actually Janus in disguise the whole time. (featuring: Janus breaking down to tears and Roman being really confused.)

Word Count: 4734

Quick Taglist:@alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones  @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

“DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX!” Janus yells, but the incessant bubbling in his stomach causes the edges of his lips to quirk up anyway. It’s a ridiculous, intoxicating feeling, and it’s curling around his insides like a snake coiling around its prey. He wants to smile. He wants to jump. He wants to sing.

But Virgil doesn’t do any of those things unless under threat and pressure and Janus has to keep-- he’s still pretending-- Janus is impersonating Virgil.

He’s not doing a very good job of it, and he knows. Ever since that stranger at the food court, that stranger who might be gay, that stranger whose name is Nico Flores and happens to write songs-- Ever since Nico uttered those silly, little words, and Thomas’s Heart and Creativity had swamped the controls, the more….intellectual sides were finding it hard to….think.

Everything’s fuzzy and blurry and Janus keeps trying to hit back that buzzing between his ears that comes every time that Roman and Patton team up and get lost in their contagious excitement. Virgil, certainly, is probably docile by now, flooded with the warm feelings that make it hard to panic over anything for at least another hour because he’s too busy riding that high of the “honeymoon” phase of dating-- before he remembers that it's possible that Nico might be a Serial Killer who lures his victims into relationships before slicing their throats and hiding their bodies in the woods.

He doubts that Logan’s having fun either: he hadn’t even bothered to show up when they had first spotted Nico across the cafeteria, not even to throw out that suggestion of saying “I see from your stickers we have similar interests. Let us discuss the possibility of future copulation now.” Which, of course, spells all sorts of troubles that Janus is going to have to fix later.

Later which seems to be now, because Thomas is jittery from the excitement flowing off of Roman and Patton and he is going to text Joan all about it which requires none of Janus-Virgil’s help.

It’s a flawless escape. Janus smiles inwardly, at the gooey feeling of pride in his stomach. He did it! One whole video, completely undercover! 

It figures that Virgil would be the key. 

Of all of them...well, Janus has always known Virgil the best. Anxiety and Self Preservation have gone hand in hand since Thomas was in diapers still. Janus grew up watching the curve of Virgil’s tense shoulders, watching the flickering of his eyes watching the entry points of the room, watching Virgil’s smirk curl and his eyeshadow bloom and--

And Janus knows Virgil hates him right now, even underneath the gooey layer of good feelings Patton is pumping through all of the Thomasphere. Janus even thinks that if he pops in to check on the little ball of nerves, Virgil will come back to his senses and start a murderous rampage on his way to stop Janus from ever impersonating any of them ever again. Which is definitely what Thomas needs right now. 

Whatever. He can celebrate his victory privately.

Thomas is happy. That’s all that matters right now. The rest can wait until the good emotions in Thomas calm down and Janus can think clearly again: he’ll get out his fermented grape juice and pour it in a glass so he can feel fancy and then he’ll figure out how to deal with Logan, listen to Patton’s emotional-gushing-that-ends-in-overwhelmed-tears, entertain the Duke’s R rated fantasies with a polite smile, congratulate the Prince for his victory, and then after all that he’ll send Virgil a card via messenger dove to thank him for his...bravery.

And then he’ll go to sleep for two hours, and hopefully when he wakes back up Thomas will not be on fire.

That’s… that’s a reasonable hope, right? He’s not asking too much of the other idiot sides, right?

The buzz between his eyes sharpens for a second, as Thomas shakes his hands some more, with a grin that Janus would absolutely die for. It's almost regrettable because if anyone took a moment to look at him, to look at the way he looks at Thomas, they would see immediately what his weakness is: Janus is Self Preservation, Self Importance, Self, self, self. 

He’s weak for Thomas’s smile. The gut force that drives Virgil to do things is protection, so he tries to make Thomas recognize everything as a threat; for Roman its creation, so he tries to push Thomas to achieve all of his dreams. For Janus it's Thomas’s id wants, so he does whatever it takes to keep him happy.

A smile on Thomas’s face means that Janus is doing good, that he’s doing right by Thomas. Who cares if in the end he’s the villain of the story? Who cares about him when there’s Thomas?

Thomas thanks him again-- actually he thanks Virgil, but Janus' face flushes anyway. The feeling in his stomach washes over him, leaving his knees weak and his lips smiling. Is this what being giddy is? He suddenly understands, suddenly, why Patton subscribes to that whole “Thomas is morally and objectively the best” philosophy; It’s a nice feeling, even if it makes it hard for Janus to concentrate on keeping Virgil’s eyeshadow the right color.

Thomas rushes by him-- almost close enough to touch again and wow Janus’ hands were still tingling from that; He forgot that Virgil was always able to touch their host-- and runs up the stairs to go scream in a pillow and text Joan the brilliant news and Janus takes that as his cue.

Time to wrap it up and go. (to sleep. Oh god, he can hear his bed calling for him already.) 

But when he turns back to the last side in the room, Roman is pressing his knuckles to his lips and staring at the blinds in Thomas’s living room like he can set them on fire with his mind.

“Princey?” Janus asks, his own smile slipping. “What’s up?”

Roman snaps over to look at him-- to look at Virgil, whom he trusts and likes and appreciates and who is definitely not Janus at all. Despite that, the way that Roman is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows that would sing of a scowl if Patton had been doing his job just slightly not as well as he is currently, forces Janus to check to make sure he’s still wearing Virgil’s appearance.

“I can’t figure it out,” Roman says, looking like he just caught his best friends in the middle of decorating for his surprise birthday party. “Why?”

Janus squeezes his eyes closed trying to focus on what Roman was talking about. He knows that he missed at least one thing that was said in the hullabaloo all day, but he didn’t think it was something that Roman of all sides would be upset about. Why, what? Roman got the guy. What was so complicated about that?

Actually asking why is more on brand for Virgil.

For a ridiculous second Janus wonders if that was Virgil wearing Roman’s outfit and pretending to be him the way that Janus was pretending to be Virgil. But Janus is decently sure that Virgil can’t resist insulting Janus for more than five seconds at a time, and they’ve been side by side for hours now.

(And hadn’t that been nice? If Janus had just closed his eyes, he could have imagined the grateful smile Roman had given Virgil had been meant for him.) 

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Ro,” Janus shrugs. “But I’m gonna go. All these good emotions are like...disgusting.” He sticks out his tongue that way that he’s seen Virgil do every time that Thomas has to eat the carrots his mom put on his plate just to sell the act, but Roman’s jaw sets.

“Why did you do that?” Roman bursts out before Janus can get all the way out, “Why? Janus!”

Janus should have run then, should have pretended that Virgil hadn’t heard him at all and let the other sides argue with each other, but his name is so new and shiny and no one ever uses it. The words vibrate through the air like needles and the next thing he knows is that he’s pinned in place, frozen, and Roman is looking very not-happy anymore.

Ha, so he knew. Looks like Janus can’t get through a video without being outed.

“I know it's you, you slimy snake,” Roman says. “Will you stop wearing Virgil’s face already! I want an answer!”

Janus’s tongue flicks in his mouth, rolling over the back of his teeth as he tries to think of the best way to handle this when all of his thoughts have to process through the molasses that is the gooey happiness Thomas is feeling and his own exhaustion.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Janus says, as blase as he can make it.

Which is….maybe not his best idea. The buzzing in his head makes the rest of the room go blurry for a second, in and out of focus and it’s so very helpful. 

Roman’s face goes red, stuck somewhere between being angry and being insulted. He reaches out and Janus’ legs do that thing where they don’t work so when he throws his weight back, away, out of reach, his body goes plummeting to the foot of the stairs as well.

Roman yelps, leaning forward for a moment maybe with the intent to help him back up but Janus throws up a hand to stop him before he knows for sure. His eyelids are heavy, he realizes, and he’s tired and he really doesn’t want to have a fight with Roman right now.

“I had fun, Roman. Thank you for the... entertainment this evening.” He says, dropping the last of his stellar Virgil impression. He wonders how long he had Roman fooled, if he had him fooled at all for any point. Does he dare wonder how many of those smiles were given knowing that it was Deceit in disguise?

(He doesn’t and he resents the implication that he cares what the others think of him.)

“Congrats on wooing the boy or whatever.” Janus climbs back up to his feet and brushes imaginary dust off his tunic. Or it could be real. He’s not sure considering that he’s so tired he can’t see anything in front of him.

“You fiend!” Roman snarls, “What did you do to our Stormcloud?”

“Why don’t you go find out?”Janus suggests, with a half-assed flourish, even by his own standards, “Or better yet, don’t. In the meantime, I’ll be in my room.”

But Roman snags his arm and holds him up and Janus is acutely aware that sinking out with another side is troublesome and takes so, so much focus and energy. (And Romans touch is scalding. It’s burning. It’s white hot and Janus wasn’t aware he had been freezing before.)

“I’m tired of this game, Snakes and Ladders!” Roman says. “Tired of not knowing what you’re up to! Tired of not knowing what Thomas wants! Tired of getting backseat to self care and morality and-- and I’m Tired, Janus! Why do you keep doing this to me?!”

And hooooooo, does that strike something in Janus! The soft feelings in his chest burn right up in an anger he hadn’t even known he had been feeling. But it must have been there for a while because it boils right through him, leaving his chest smoldering and his mouth tasting like ashes.

“You think you’re tired?” He snaps, burns, blazes. There’s something in this throat, and it makes every word catch fire when it comes out of his mouth. And even Roman has enough sense to know that fire is dangerous and that he’s going to be cremated if he doesn’t step back.

“You think you’re tired,” Janus repeats, taking a step forward so that they’re nearly toe-to-toe and he can see the way that Roman’s Adam's apple bobs. “What about me, Roman? Don’t you think I’m tired? That I’m exhausted? That I know I’m going to have to sink back down and figure out what is wrong with Logan and listen to Patton and keep Remus busy and make sure that none of you morons overpower the others and drive Thomas directly into the ground? That I haven’t slept a full night since the whole start of these videos and moral dilemmas and whatever else? Every time I turn around Thomas is making another lie: to his friends, to his family, to himself! Don’t you think that I… that I…”

Roman is staring at him.

Janus’s head pounds. The room around him sways and he thinks that maybe...maybe the reason he can’t think straight right now doesn’t actually have anything to do with Patton’s elation keeping Thomas busy.

“Oh,” Janus says because he blinked and now he’s on the floor. 

He blinks again and Roman is right next to him, looking concerned-- how ridiculous. Roman being concerned for him. Ha.

“Janus…” Roman’s voice is low, which makes Janus aware suddenly that everything else had been so loud all this time. He grits his teeth when Roman waves a hand and magics up… what are those, tissues? Why would he--

Oh.

Janus is crying. He reaches a hand up tentatively rubbing away the tears, and has to swallow a laugh. Oh, he's crying. When was the last time he cried? When was the last time he cried in front of someone else? 

He's so, so tired. And that's the reason-- the only reason, mind you-- that when Roman scooches closer, a centimeter, an inch, a foot, and then rests his hand on Janus' shoulder, Janus doesn't push him off and immediately sink out to his room. It takes too much energy to lock a room, even his, from the others and Roman would surely follow after him and demand answers.

Roman’s touch is a shaky, changing warmth. Janus noticed it earlier when Roman had said the word “Bravery” and Janus hadn’t been able to form an actual response because he was so busy wondering if this was how all touch was supposed to feel. But now he thinks he can count every single atom that is touching him and the awareness hums in his veins in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

He sucks in an equally shaky breath and tries not to look like he’s leaning into the feeling. His stomach rolls around, twisting and churning to the point where it hurts. He might be able to blame this on a stomach bug. The other sides probably wouldn’t look farther than that. They don’t like him enough to look farther than that.

“Janus,” Roman says again, calling him by name and Janus wants to tell him to stop. He sounds like he cares and Janus knows it’s a lie. He thinks it’s a lie. He’s pretty sure it’s a lie.

It’s hard to tell right now, especially when his own inner desire is yearning for it not to be. He can’t trust himself when he’s like this. He always ends up doing something stupid.

Like sitting at the foot of Thomas’s stairs crying in front of Roman.

“Fuck,” Janus says, and laughs, like this was part of his grand master plan that definitely exists. He ignores the tissues Roman places at their knees and uses the back of his palms to get rid of those pesky, unprofessional tears. “My most humble apologies, my dear prince. Too much fun today I suppose--”

“Janus,” Roman cuts him off, and Janus wishes his sharp inhale was a little less noticeable. “Are you… Did….”

Janus can feel how Roman’s thumb is rubbing his shoulder, slow circles like a loading screen while he tries to weave together a sentence that makes coherent sense.

“Why?” Roman decides. “Why are you...why did you help Thomas meet Nico? Why did you force him to do it naturally without any lies? I thought you liked when Thomas tells lies!”

Janus snorts, which is a bad decision because his nose is runny and, god, now there’s snot all over his face, which just makes the lump in the back of his throat grow larger. He snatches up the stupid tissues and tears open the pack.

“I don’t--” Janus wipes away the snot, and tosses the tissue into oblivion. “I don’t want Thomas to lie all the time. Do you think I’m crazy, Roman? I have to manage every lie Thomas tells himself! It’s… It’s… imagine if you had to make a new video script every single day.”

Janus can see Roman’s confused look. It's adorable really, like a puppy that just got told to “Stay.” He recognizes that Janus is saying something, that Janus is talking to him, but the full meaning of the words is lost on him.

“If it's so taxing, why do you do it, then?” He asks, like it's some sort of choice and not his job.

“Why do you make video scripts? Why do you help Thomas practice his lines? Why do you take him on daydreams when he’s bored?” 

“Because he asks me to,” Roman answers without a single hesitation. “Wait….”

Janus leans forward pressing his chin to his knees. His eyes close for a moment, two, three while Roman struggles to understand what Janus isn’t blatantly saying.

“Imagine if Thomas asked you to make a new video script every single day. Do you think you could say no to that?”

Roman makes a wounded noise from deep in the bottom of his soul. It resonates in the air between them, like an elephant neither of them wants to admit is there. Janus breathes in deeply, and wards off the fresh round of lovely wonderful tears that come from his lovely wonderful headache.

“I’m sorry about the court case, Roman,” Janus says. The words feel dangerous, like throwing knives and Roman flinches back, leaving the spot on Janus’s shoulder painfully freezing. “I wanted-- I wanted Thomas to do what he loved. I wanted him to stop lying about wanting to go to the callback and I thought that if I just made it so that only you could make the decision it would be easier! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Janus breathes in, but somehow it seems that all the oxygen in the room had dissipated without their knowledge. He gasps a few times, trying to get a steady rhythm back but the white noise in his head and the itch behind his eyes keep throwing him off. 

There’s laughter-- it takes him a moment to realize it's his own. Which is just great, just fantastic, just what he needed. He finally got the sordid apology out and now he’s laughing. 

But Roman is looking at him not with a scowl, but with some other emotion Janus can’t quite name through his blurry vision. For a second he thinks it might be fear-- which is even more funny than the idea that Virgil had been pretending to be Roman this whole time. In the safety of Thomas’s apartment, when Thomas had just gotten the boy of his dreams, when Janus was on the ground out of secret agendas to hide, what is there for Roman to fear?

“I just--” Janus gasps one more time, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest. “Thomas deserves a win. You deserve a win. That's why I wanted to help with Nico.” He feels like his head is going to pop right off. Maybe if he asks nicely Roman will get out his sword and do it free of charge and relatively painlessly.

“So I...ha, so I spent all day playing dress up,” Janus hates the wobble in his voice. “And now I’m a day behind on managing all my work and now Patton’s going to want to talk about what happened today, and someone needs to listen to Remus and Logan is obviously not doing too well so I have to check on him-- and Virgil too even though Virgil will probably throw something at me but I have to….And then Thomas is going to need me and I have…. I have to…”

“You really… you really do all that?” Roman says in a small voice that doesn’t suit him at all. “All by yourself?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else to help, Roman.” Janus says before he can stop himself.

“I’ll help you!”

Janus freezes. Because, well.

He’s heard those words before, hasn’t he? Not all that too long ago. When the divide between dark and light was more defined and Thomas hadn’t started posting videos with them in it and Janus wasn’t afraid of the purple door in the middle of the hall.

He knows how this conversation goes all too well.

But Janus apparently can’t learn any new tricks because he still says, “No, I can do this myself.”

(“You’ll kill yourself from stress, Jan!” Virgil had yelled. “Then where will we be?”

“I have everything under control, Virgil! I don’t need any help! Just drop it, okay?”

“Thomas and the Light sides are running you ragged and you want me to pretend like it isn’t hurting you? Are you crazy? They need to stop lying so much!” 

“No! I can handle this!”

“Janus!”

“Virgil!”

“I can’t let you keep doing this,” Virgil had said, “If you won’t do something I will.”

“Don’t you dare!”

But he had. And now he was a light side, an accepted side, everyone’s favorite side. And he was slowly convincing Thomas to stop lying by turning Janus into something to be feared and avoided. How quaint. How trademark.)

Roman is staring at him. Janus can feel the weight of his eyes on him, and somehow that's worse than his hand on Janus’ shoulder. It’s heavier. It’s harder to just shrug off. It means something more.

Because Roman isn’t talking. And Janus isn’t hiding.

And if the words weren’t so hard to say, he thinks that maybe Virgil was right, and he should apologize.

“Huh,” Roman says after the silence threatens to swallow them both. He clears his throat and mercifully looks away, staring at that painting over Thomas’s couch. “I didn’t think you were stupid.”

Janus hisses at him, at the idea of him. But Roman flicks his fingers.

“Oh come on, Ouroboros,” Roman says. “You handle all of Thomas’s lies, and then you’re out there looking after each of us sides as well? I think after 31 videos we can all agree that one side being entire in control of Thomas is a bad thing! So why are you still trying to do everything?”

Janus has a very good answer. The best answer. 

But Roman’s elbow reaches out and nudges him and all his thoughts scatter into the air. Maybe that was intentional, but Janus can’t find the energy in himself to really be angry about it. 

“I…” Janus says, “I just want Thomas to be happy.”

“So do the rest of us too, Snakecrates!-- Get it? Like Socrates?-- Not gonna lie, your way to make him happy is truly… the foulest of methods, but at the end of the day we’re all a part of him.” Roman says. “Maybe instead of trying to puppet master this you could...try working with us? Like showing up as yourself instead of using Virgil’s or Logan’s face again?”

Janus snorts again. The backs of his eyelids shoot bright red stars across his vision. “As if. None of you would listen if I did things that way.”

Roman nudges him again. “It's just a suggestion, Slitherous Snape.”

“How many of those do you have?”

“Nicknames?” Roman pauses, and Janus guesses that he’s counting on his hand. “Dunno. A lot. I never get to use them because you show up in someone else’s clothes and I don’t realize it’s you. All the more reason you should listen to me and just show up as your usual self!”

Janus must have made a noise, but his brain is too preoccupied with the fact that the carpet in Thomas’s apartment is actually really comfy and if he buries his head in his knees the room is actually dark. His headache is a dull repetitive thob, like a drum beat that if he doesn’t focus too much on becomes a noise he can fall asleep to.

“I thought you hated me.” He admits, in a quiet tone and only partially hopes that it was too low for Roman to hear.

“Fool me once,” Roman says in a soft tone, humming like it's a melody. “Shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice…”

He sighs deeply.

“And I think that means we need to actually think about talking out things like adults.” Roman nudges him again, and then places his arm around Janus’s shoulders. “But not right now, when you’re half dead from exhaustion. Let’s get you to your room, Jan.”

There’s a cold feeling around both of them, washing over Janus’s muscles like a flood, as they sink down. His eyes open briefly just in time to make out his own room surroundings before Roman drops him on his bed.

Oh, it’s really comfortable. Has his body always sunk into his mattress like this?

“Get some sleep, Deceit,” Roman says.

“Wait... Logan…” Janus definitely does not whine.

“I’ll handle the nerd.” 

There are so many reasons why that’s a bad idea-- Janus knows there are a bunch of reasons because he wrote them down on flashcards to study in between grieving Virgil leaving the dark sides and managing the lies Thomas tells day to day and the ones he had going on forever and the ones that sides told each other and--.

But before he can say any of that, Roman sifts a gentle hand through his hair and Janus loses the ability to think again.

(Janus really doesn’t remember when Roman gained that power.)

He curls up almost unintentionally on his bed, and Roman makes a noise that could have been a laugh, if Janus cared enough to check.

“Sweet dreams,” Roman says softly.

“W…wait!” Janus gathers the last bit of his energy, the residue from the gooey feelings Thomas was harboring, and surges after Roman before he can leave all the way. “How did you... know it was me? And not…”

“Virgil?” Roman offered. “You kept messing with the eyeshadow, Janus. He has that angsty charcoal color on twenty-four-seven. You kept changing it to purple. I mean I liked it, but that’s not his style.”

Janus frowns. “No….he has the purple when he’s happy. I know he has the purple… He only started wearing the black...when he was trying to freak out Thomas.” He sighs and settles back into his pillow. “It glows...when he’s happy…”

Janus has plenty of memories about that, too. They were some of his favorites: Virgil on Christmas morning when the prospect of presents was more scary than the idea of all Thomas’s relatives coming over, Virgil on late nights watching cryptid history shows with Remus and talking about marrying Mothman when Thomas got older, Virgil right after he first appeared to Thomas, glowing in all senses of the word because their host knew who he was. 

Janus remembers being a little upset when Virgil covered it up, because it was another lie then: Virgil was hiding part of who he was and the three of them had always agreed on no lies between them. 

Besides Virgil had always looked younger with the purple, looked more happy, looked more approachable. He looked like he was excited to see Janus and not like he would rip out his throat if they ended up in a room alone together. 

Virgil was purple long before he had been black, and Janus thinks he might have been in love with him even before that too.

Who had he been talking to, again?

Janus gets the distinct feeling something is wrong, but his pillows are comfy, and his mattress is soft and he’s been running on fumes for far too long. He’s fast asleep before he realizes that Roman is still in his room, frowning, and wondering if that meant Virgil had never actually been happy around the Light Sides at all. 

[loove-persevering]

One Day (Spencer Reid x reader!)

Description: A Spencer Reid request :) How about reader is an agent with the bau and is best friends with Reid but when he comes up to the team with the case about Maeve reader gets super upset and doesn’t wanna help because she hurt that Reid kept it from her and when Garcia comes to ask her what’s wrong you confess that you’ve loved Reid since you got on the team.

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader!

Warnings: Death, Violence, Guns. If you’ve watched the episode you know what to expect! 

  Spencer Reid had this approachability aspect about him, he rarely turned anyone down for a conversation and was always up for spitting out the most odd facts. He had is moments of what seemed like doubt in his mind, as if he wasn’t good enough but it took someone to remind him how special he really was to bring back the normal Spencer. 

 As you sat in the bullpin that morning talking with Morgan your legs resting against his desk and you sipped on some coffee awaiting news of a new case you saw Spencer enter. ‘’Hey Spenc!’’ You call out to him like you every morning, but he didn’t stop he walked straight into Hotch’s office standing in the doorway for a short moment and you could see through the blinds Hotch address him. You glance over to Morgan who was looked just as concerned as you felt, ‘’Did he say anything to you?’’ You ask but Morgan shakes his head glancing back to the doorway of Hotch’s office. Spencer walks in a little further and the door shuts completely allowing them only more privacy. 

‘‘Must be serious,’‘ Morgan points out to you. 

The past couple of months you could tell were hard on Spencer, he finally reached out to the geneticist about his headaches, but he also just seemed more on edge. You two lived in the same building and would typically carpool to work together in the mornings but within the past couple of months that changed. You would go to Spencers’ door in the morning just before heading to work but there was no answer, when heading out to your own car his was already gone. By the time you arrived to the office Spencer would still show up after you, you had no idea what or where he was going. 

 ‘’Must be,’’ You reply back taking another sip of your coffee. 

An hour later Hotch called you all together, you sat at Morgans desk still surrounded by the rest of the team. Spencer stood in the back a nervous look spread across his face, you exchange glances with the rest of the team and notice they all seemed on edge as to what this was about as well. When Hotch finally begin to explain what was happening it all made sense, and the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. The man you were blindly in love with was himself blindly in love with someone else. 

‘‘Reid is just as much involved in the victimology as Maeve, we consider him apart of the case as well.’‘ Hotch points out, he gestures to Spencer who steps forward slightly. 

 His head was slightly bowed forward, his shoulders curved forward as if he was drained, ‘’He thinks he’ll get away with this, and he might.’’ He finally says. He takes a breath for a moment, his head seemed a mess; This was not the same Spencer who seemed to always have words this was a broken man in front of you. ‘’I have a wealth of knowledge I should be applying to this case. Behavioral patters of violent stalkers, tactical recovery strategies, victim survival odds. But right now I can’t focus on anything,’’ He painfully admits. ‘’Right now I can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time, which makes me the dumbest person in the room.’’ 

 You watch him as he stood so broken in front of you, so fragile and unsure of what was to come. And for just a second you hated yourself, because you felt a wave of anger, jealousy and more come over you while he was speaking. Spencer was your best friend he knew all the small details of your life and up until and hour ago you could say the same. 

‘‘So please help me.’‘ You glance up at him at those words, the pleading cry not only evident in his word choice but in his voice ‘‘Hel-Help me find her.’‘ He stutters. 

 Along with the rest of the team you stay silent all in shock by what was just admitted, this team was a family and you could only imagine what the rest were feeling at this sudden what seemed like a secret that had just come to light. ‘’We don’t know if we have a case.’’ Hotch mentions. ‘’So we’ll be working on personal time,’’ You all nod your head simultaneously understanding what he was saying. ‘’Does anybody want to leave?’’ Hotch ask, you felt a pair of eyes on you at that moment and you glance up meeting Penelope’s gaze.  You quickly look back to Spencer not saying a word. ‘’Good, lets get to work.’’ He says. 

After going over some of the more basic information with the rest of the team you all head your separate ways to investigate more thoroughly, JJ and Morgan headed to Maeve’s apartment. Drake and Rossi headed to her work and Reid and Hotch to interview her parents, you went with Garcia to do some more background information on Maeve’s past records to get as much information as you could. You felt your phone buzz from your pocket pulling it out reading over the text from Hotch. 

Maeve had a Fiance, Bobby. See what you can find.

You read over the text feeling a mix of anger toward the new information, did Spencer know this? ‘’See if we can find anyone under the name Bobby, but expand it to Robert, Bobby is most likely just what people call him.’’ You tell Garcia and you immediately hear her fingers tapping against the keyboard.

‘‘I can’t believe this,’‘ She tells you, ‘‘Poor Reid.’‘ She mentions. 

‘‘Yeah,’‘ You sigh, ‘‘Poor Reid.”

 Her typing slows down and you see her glance at you from the side, ‘’You know I may not be a profiler but I can tell something’s off with you.’’ She mentions taking her hands away from the keyboard. ‘’What’s wrong angel?’’ She asks you. 

 You sigh realizing you were caught, knowing how pushy Garcia could be when she needed to be it was going to come out eventually. ‘’Okay, you know I only joined the team like a year and a half ago..’’ You start off. ‘’Of course I love everyone on this team and consider you all family, but Spencer is different.’’ You mention to her noticing her eyebrows shoot up, ‘’Spencer and me we just hit it off immediately, I feel calm when he’s around, I feel as if I can be myself around him and he never judges me. We live next to each other, we carpool, Spencer is like a brother to me just like Morgan is and how you and JJ are like my sisters.’’ You mention and her face looks a little more confused at this point, ‘’But Spenc..He’s just... He’s not like a brother because-’’ You start to say but the realization hits Garcias face and she finishes for you. 

‘‘Because you’re in love with him..’‘ She says. Your lips tighten into a thin smile. 

‘‘Bingo,’‘ You tell her. ‘‘He doesn’t know so I have no right to be anything about this whole situation. But he didn’t tell me?’‘ You say your voice laced with hurt. If anything Spencer not telling you hurt the most. 

‘‘Do you think he’s ever picked up on the fact that you- you know love him?’‘ She asks. 

‘‘I don’t think so.. I don’t exactly make it obvious.’‘ You point out. ‘‘Even if I did Spenc isn’t the best at picking up on things like that,’‘ You say letting out a nervous laugh. ‘‘Is it obvious?’‘ You ask her. 

‘‘No, I would’ve never guess if I hadn’t seen your face today when he was talking.’‘ She tells you and you felt an instant relief, the last thing you needed or wanted was the rest of the team knowing that you were indubitably in love with Spencer. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ She says simply. 

You sigh, ‘’If Maeve is what makes him happy-’’ You pause, ‘’Then I’m gonna do everything I possibly can to help find her.’’ You tell her. ‘’I can’t let my emotions get in the way.’’ You say more to yourself rather than Garcia. 

‘‘Y/N-’‘ She begins to say but is cut off by Hotch entering the room. 

‘‘Anything on Bobby?’‘ He asks glancing between the two of you. ‘‘Everything alright?’‘ He asks sounding skeptical. 

‘‘Fine sir,’‘ You say back to him. Garcia quickly gets back to typing pulling up any Roberts in contact with Maeve. 

‘‘I have a hit on a Robert Putnam, I’m sending his address to everyone now,’‘ Garcia says. 

‘‘Come on Y/N, we could use you there.’‘ Hotch says. Garcia gives you a sympathetic smile as you stand up from the chair and following Hotch. 

A short ride later you had arrived at Bobby Putnams house, a short dark haired woman answered the door her face showed a look of confusion but not shock. ‘’Who?’’ She asks simply. 

‘‘We’re looking for Robert Putnam.’‘ Rossi says lowering his ID. ‘’Do you know where he is?’’ 

‘‘He’s in the back,’‘ She says widening the door slightly. Morgan enters in first followed by the rest of you and you glance around the apartment as soon as you entered. 

‘‘And who are you?’‘ You hear Hotch ask. 

‘‘I’m Diane, his girlfriend.’‘ She says. 

You heard the sound of footsteps come from another area of the apartment and you glance up seeing Robert Putnam finally make his appearance, ‘’Hey sweetheart, who is it?’’ He ask. 

‘‘Robert Putnam we’d like to-’‘ Spencer begins to say but stops mid sentence when he finally gets to look at the man. You look back to Robert noticing that he also had a look of familiarity on his face as he saw Spencer. 

Hotch turns to Spencer, ‘’Out.’’ He says simply. ‘’Out,’’ He says now moving Spencer as he stood still looking straight at Robert. You glance at Morgan and you hear Spencers voice just as the door slams shut. 

‘‘What’s going on?’‘ You hear the girl Diane ask. 

‘‘We just want to ask a few questions,’‘ You say to her but look at Robert. 

‘‘About?’‘ Robert ask. 

‘‘Maeve Donovan.’‘ You tell him, you watch Diana turn to him but you were unable to see her face. 

Hotch enters in the room again after only a few moments outside, he didn’t seem to happy. ‘’Agent Rossi and I would just like to ask a few questions,’’ You hear Hotch say as he comes to your side. You realize now that it was him subtly telling you to leave the room. You didn’t need to be told twice so you head out into the hallway noticing Spencer. 

‘‘Hey,’‘ You say to him your voice low and careful unsure of what exactly to say to him. ‘’What was that in there?’’ You ask him. 

‘‘I was suppose to meet Maeve at a restaurant a few weeks ago, when I got there I caught him looking at me and I thought he was her stalker.’‘ He tells you. 

‘‘Spenc..’‘ You sigh. ‘‘You should’ve told us, if he is the unsub-’‘ You begin to point out but he cuts you off.

‘‘I know I’m a material witness,’‘ He says finishing your sentence. 

‘‘I’m sorry Spenc I didn’t mean to-’‘ You begin but he cuts you off again. 

‘‘It’s fine,’‘ He says but his voice sounds anything but fine. ‘’I need some air,’‘ He says shaking his head, he walks past you quickly brushing your shoulder and you stand there unsure of what to say, you watch him walk down the rest of the hallway and then into the stairwell. 

You shove your hand in your jacket pockets rolling your head back, Morgan walks out the door noticing your behavior. ‘’You alright?’’ He asks. 

‘‘You ever feel like no matter what you say you’re only making things worse?’‘ You ask him. 

He smiles at you graciously, ‘’You’re helping, just give him some time.’’ He tells you. ‘’I’m gonna go check on him,’’ He says taking his hand and giving your arm a comforting squeeze. 

_____________

Me for Her

 That is what Reid said, and now he was delivering his promise. You stood outside watching the door close and he walk in unarmed with no vest, all you could do was wait but for what you were unsure. 

‘‘We can’t go in?’’ You ask Hotch feeling your body drenched with adrenaline at the thought of Spencer inside. ‘‘What if he needs us?’‘ You ask. 

‘‘If we go in she could kill them both, we can’t risk it unless we hear something.’‘ Hotch tells you. 

‘‘Like what a bullet going into Spencers chest?’‘ You say carelessly earning a look from not only Hotch but the rest of the team as well, ‘‘I’m sorry.’‘ You say shaking your head. 

So you waited and waited, it felt like hours sitting at the door waiting for something to happen. 

And then it did. 

A shot, before you knew it you were rushing in the door your weapon raised. Spencer was on the floor muttering, ‘’Stay back! Stay back, Stay back!’’ He kept repeating pushing himself up from the floor. You move to the far right side of him your weapon raised. Diane had a gun held to Maeves head. 

‘‘Diane there is still a way out of this,’‘ Spencer tells her. ‘’I offered you a deal and you can still take it, me for her. Let me take her place.’’ He says, you never take your hand off the trigger just hovering it, you stare straight at Diane knowing this was not going to end well. 

‘‘You would do that? You would kill yourself for her?’‘ Diane asks tears running down her face.

‘‘Yes,’‘ Spencer answers without a second of hesitation. 

Diane doesn’t say anything but you hear Maeve speak just above a whisper, ‘’Thomas Merton,’’ She says, 

‘‘Who’s Thomas Merton?’‘ Diane asked her voice uneven and broken. 

‘‘He knows,’‘ Maeve says speaking up. ‘‘He knows,’‘ She says her entire demeanor calming down as Diane keeps questioning who Thomas Merton is. ‘‘He’s the one thing you can never take from us. ‘‘ She says staring straight at Spencer. 

Diane thinks for just a split second before taking the gun right up to her temple, ‘’No.’’ She says. 

Just as the gunshot goes off you hear Spencer cry out, ‘’Wait!’’ He yells. But it was too late, the gun goes off and its defining. You stare at the scene before you unsure of any thoughts in your head as you lower your weapon. You felt the tears streaming down your face as you glance over Spencer falling to his knees. You close your eyes tightly trying to hold them back, but it didn’t help. The only sound in the room besides the ringing in your ear was the soft sobs coming from Spencer. 

____________

A week later you were leaving for a new case, you had just gotten the call about the conference. You heard two familiar voices outside and you shake your head knowing the piles upon piles of things Garcia had already left was only being added to. You step out of your apartment both of them glancing over you a look of sorrow on their face. ‘’He’s not gonna answer,’’ You tell them. 

Garcia looks at you her own eyes looking tearful, ‘’Nothing?’’ She asks only at a whisper. 

‘‘How many of those baskets are yours?’‘ You ask her skeptically, ‘’Are they all yours?’’ You ask. 

‘‘Maybe,’‘ She says sheepishly.

‘‘Whats in that one?’‘ JJ ask. You turn around while Garcia informs JJ on the importance of nuts and seeds on metabolism and lock your door. When you finally make your way over to them JJ speaks up, ‘’Spenc we just wanna know if your alright in there,’’ She says but gets no reply. 

‘‘Knock twice if your conscious,’‘ Garcia calls out earning two knocks. ‘‘Is he ever gonna be okay?’‘ She asks to no one in particular.

‘‘One day,’‘ You say loud enough for him to hear. ‘’Come on we should get to work,’’ JJ says walking toward the steps, you wait a few seconds letting them ahead before you reach into your bag and grabbing out a copy of A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby. 

‘‘One day, Spenc.’‘ You say just loud enough for him to hear. ‘‘Doesn’t have to be today.’‘ You say. 

You begin walking toward the stairs and you see Penelope waiting for you at the bottom of them a smile on her face directed toward you. You take yourself down the stairs step by step finally making it to her, ‘’Come on,’’ You say offering her a smile.

_____________

Part 2?

I’m willing to write a part two to this maybe a time skip ahead? Tell me what you think! If you want to see a part two or want me to tag you in it please comment or message me!

Thanks for reading as always it means the world!<3

I didn't proof read sorry!

[makknays]

connection: severed

a/n: totally don’t just write about my own life as an outlet this is part 1; i wrote it a while ago and i need to figure out where i want this to go...

word count: 1.7k

genre: angst??? idk??? 

Jungkook and you had crossed paths before, just over a year ago to be precise. The two of you had matched on a dating app, not looking for anything more than attention and validation from a stranger, but ended up taking a liking to each other. Everything was going smoothly for 6 months but then both of your destructive tendencies got in the way; he stopped communicating what was wrong and you acted with your emotions instead of your brain. You hurt each other and the trust you had had now disappeared. You both had decided that it was best to stop talking to each other for a while to figure out everything you wanted and needed from each other.

In Jungkook’s defence, he had told you he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship with anyone. You had no idea why he did what he did though. Why he treated you like you were his entire world? He said that he still wanted to be friends, but you knew that was just him being polite. You knew your friends were right about him, but you didn’t want to believe it. He took your heart and tore it into pieces, yet his hoodie was still hanging in your closet after all this time. Every so often your mind would wander back to the time when he loved you back, even though he never said he did, it was evident in his actions that he did. He was always available when you were, always ready to buy you food or offer you clothes when you were cold. 

He could never see you in the state that you were in when you first tried to get over him; you hadn’t left your apartment weeks, barely making it to lectures and classes. Your friends had come around a few times to make sure that you were alive, but even they stopped checking up on you. You weren’t in the state that you were in because of him, no, you were that way because life had become a mess ever since you met him and everything had come crashing down. You no longer knew what to do and where you were going with life; you had lost yourself when you lost him and now you were left to find that girl again

Now here you were a year later, standing across from him at a college party. It was a Friday night, you’d had a long week and wanted to let steam off, so you agreed to join your friend at some party that was supposedly a big deal. He looked just as good as ever and you quietly took in all his features before quickly turning away when he noticed you. “Bea, he fucking saw me; I need to go somewhere else.” “Oh, c’mon ___, it’s been like a year, just talk to him. It’s not like you still have feelings for him, right?” “That’s not funny.” “He’s coming over now, go!” “Bea!” you shouted, but she had already left you to go talk to someone she’d probably hook up with later, at least someone was gonna get some.

“Hi stranger.” “Uh, hey, what’s up?” you plainly spoke, God, you wanted to get out of this conversation but no matter where you looked you couldn’t find an exit cue. “Already trying to find a way to avoid me?” he chuckled and you couldn’t help but notice the way he still looked down when he did. “No, it’s not that at all! I’m just, uh, wondering where my friends are.” “Sure, you don’t have to lie to me.” “I’m sorry,” you sighed “It’s just, I wasn’t really expecting to see you here, or anywhere really.” “How could you not when we go to the same college?” he laughed, you always loved his laugh, the sound of it could light up the whole world. “I don’t know, I guess, I just. I guess I just didn’t want to.” you shrugged, looking away from him, trying your hardest to avoid any eye contact. “Hey, how about we go outside and have a real conversation? Wouldn’t that be better?” he asked before holding his hand out for you; you stared at it and then at him, before sighing and grabbing it. You followed his lead into the garden and sat in the corner, away from all the noise.

“So…” “So…” “How have you been, ___?” “Uh, good, yeah. You?” “Good.” he nodded, looking away and realising just how awkward the two of you had become. “Remember when things were good between us?” he softly smiled. “Yeah, how could I forget? That was the healthiest thing I’ve had in a while.” “Did you date anyone after?” “No, didn’t really want to. You?” “Eh, kinda, but realised I didn’t want to either.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment afterwards, both thinking about how it all went wrong. “Do you want to try again?” he suddenly asked. “Jungkook, you know I can’t answer that.” “Sorry, it was a stupid question.” “Jungkook, that’s not what I mean. I just think we hurt each other a lot.” “No, it’s okay. I get it.” “How about, uh, you and I hang out sometime? Let’s catch up properly.” “Sure, are you free tomorrow?”

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

“Hey, I hope it wasn’t too hard for you to get here; this is one of my favourite cafes ever.” you smiled when Jungkook approached you. “No, no, it was pretty easy actually. I don’t live too far from here. What’s so amazing about it?” “Let’s go in and I can show you.” Jungkook opened the door to the cafe, signalling for you to walk in before him and followed after you. “This is why.” you smiled, pointing at the display of cakes they had on show, as soon as you entered the cafe. Jungkook took a moment to take in the display and the rest of the cafe’s pink and natural aesthetic; there were plants in every corner and even a cat wandering around, asking for pets from customers. “I can see why this place would be your favourite, it feels very you.” he smiled, looking back at you. “Thank you, let’s order and find a seat.”

“So...how’s college going?” you asked as the two of you sat by the window. “You know, it’s okay. Kinda boring, kinda stressful, at least I’ve got baseball though. You?” “Oh yeah, I forgot you were on the team. Same for me though, you know, stressful.” you chuckled, awkwardly tucking a piece of your hair behind your right ear. “So…” “Yup…” “What are your plans for later?” “Oh, um, just hanging out with Bea, you remember her, right?” “Is she the one you live with that dated that really weird guy on the swim team?” “Yup, that’s her. I’m surprised you don’t remember her as the girl who split wine down your favourite shirt, you know, after we, uh, stopped talking.” “Oh yeah...no hard feelings.” he awkwardly chuckled. The two of you had grown a lot more distant than you had even realised and you were now wondering if being here was even worth it; was there even anything you could fix?

“I missed you, ____.” “Jungkook.” “No, hear me out.” you could feel yourself holding your breath, worried about the sudden confession. Who was he to miss you? Especially after what he put you through. You were over it, but you never received an apology and you were just disappointed that he ever did all the things that he did. “I blamed you for so much and I’m so sorry. I never admitted anything was my fault. I didn’t think it was, but looking back, I can see how my behaviour triggered your reactions. I’m sorry I lied to you, I know, it doesn’t take back anything I did or said, but I want to work on getting you to trust me again. You were my everything, ___. I was just as scared as you were, but I didn’t want to show you and I let us grow apart instead. I hate that I didn’t try to fight for us the way you did; I just gave up. I regret it so much, ___. I miss having you in my life. You are such a radiant light and your personality was so addictive; I couldn’t get enough and I find myself missing the girl that would cheer me on and woke me up to good morning texts and photos of her smiling before class.” “Jungkook.” “It’s a lot, I know.” 

“Jungkook. I’m gonna need some time to think about everything you said.” “That’s okay. Hopefully, not a year.” he chuckled, trying to keep things lighthearted. “I was really hurt when you didn’t fight for us. I was hurt when you gave up and allowed your feelings to disappear. I felt like I didn’t know who you were and the person I was talking to didn’t exist. You put me through a lot.” “I’m sorry, that’s all I can say. I want to show you that I’ve changed though.” “Just give me some time to figure stuff out, okay?”

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

“He said what?” “Bea, chill out.” “I can’t believe him, after everything he put you through he’s basically asking to come back into your life like it didn’t happen?” “Bea has a point. ___, your heart is too big sometimes.” Daisy, the third part of your trio, stated. “Daisy, this wouldn’t even have happened if Bea protected me at the party but she left me to talk to him.” “Bea...” “I’m sorry! I thought he was just gonna ask her to fuck or something, you know, something she can defend!” “It doesn’t matter guys! What’s done is done. Now do I give him a chance? Maybe, as a friend? I don’t want to exactly date him anymore...those feelings are gone.” “Are they really?” Daisy teased, knowingly. “For the most part.” you pouted, dragging out ‘part’. “Okay, I got it! Don’t speak to him!” Bea said, she was being serious. “Bea, you know that won’t happen. Especially with how impulsive ___ is with these things.” “Ugh, you’re right. Okay, just be friendly? Tell him this is purely friendship.” “Yeah, that’s a good start...” Daisy laughed. 

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

[11.11pm] you: hey, ive had a chance to think about what you said

[11.14pm] jungkook: oh? 

[11.15pm] you: i think it’s best for both of us if we’re just friends for now, but id like to rebuild that trust we had :)

[11.17pm] jungkook: well, thats better than not having you around :)

[11.19pm] you: are you gonna come to jimins party this saturday ?

[11.20pm] jungkook: would hate to miss it 

[solecize]

EIGHTEEN FOREVER - PT 1.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. it all starts off when the bad boy greaser with a heart of gold, wong yukhei, almost runs you over with his beat up chevy on your way to school. your love story is immortalized through pen and paper, midnight ink and bloodstained envelopes spanning months on end. the sixties are a time of freedom and heartbreak—the time of your life. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. lucas x reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. period au (1960s)  / high school au / slice of life / fluff / angst 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. mature language, alcohol use, violence, drug use, light sexual references, mentions of death, themes of war, implied toxic family relationships, probably some historical inaccuracy but only if u squint 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 7.3k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. not proofread, as usual <3 all of the poems do not belong to me. in addition, smoking is normalized in this fic, in addition to slight tinges of sexism. i do not support either, but the elements were added due to the time period.

for the one with the pretty eyes:⠀ ⠀ 555-968-84 ⠀ ⠀ call me. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ (in the blue chevy in front of you)

on your side of town, graduating high school was as rare as a teenage male walking around with clean knuckles and hair that wasn’t slicked back with thick pomade. you were proud of yourself for making it this far, while all of your other friends dropped out early and had babies or began to work full time. books weren’t for everyone and not everybody could afford it. college was a long shot for most of the graduating class, or at least the ones from your neighbourhood.

“who are ya taking to prom, huh?” kunhang was relentless in sticking his nose all up in your business, bothering you for weeks on end about your date. he began kicking the passenger’s side from the backseat to annoy you further and you flipped him off with a growl.

sicheng watched the two of you with a snort, muttering something about you two being geeks and proceeded to kill the engine of the car, once finding a suitable spot at the drive in.

you rolled your eyes. “why do you keep assuming that i’m even going? why’re you going?” kunhang was your only friend who was going to be graduating at your side.

“because i can. i think that’s more than enough of a reason.”

just a fraction of the kids you knew from your neighbourhood attended prom, most preferring to hit the watering holes to party with fake ids rather than stand under hot lights and drink bland punch. then again, only a fraction of those kids had the privilege of being able to go. however, the event was a waste of time, if anyone asked you.

“i have other things to worry about,” you retorted. “like exams.”

you carried a lot of pride on your shoulders. you were the only child in your household to make in this far in academics, with your mom long gone in the cooler behind bars and your father leaving this world when you were young. your older sister lived the glamorous housewife life and barely spoke to you, turning her nose up at the family that she left behind for fortune. it was just you and your older brother fending for yourselves in that tiny house that was always empty, with you constantly out and your brother always working out of state for his truck driving job.

“it’ll be a gas, c’mon,” kunhang began to pout. “i’ll even let you dance with me.” between the girls that nearly broke their necks whipping around to get a good look at him in the school hallways, you doubted he would be able to.

pretending to gag, you replied. “ew, no.” you laughed and exited the mustang to avoid him swatting at your arm.

the clementine sky was just about dipping into the horizon, brightening the small lot with warmth and comfort. chatter and laughter wafted in the air, along with cigarette smoke and the hug of youth. june’s summer beast was just about creeping in, as other attendees pulled up in miniskirts and wife beaters to beat the heat to a pulp. it was the perfect evening for a crappy movie and an ice cold coca cola.

sicheng teased, “i’m surprised you’re even making it out of that hellhole with a diploma, much less going to the prom.” he poked kunhang’s side and the other male yelped, pulling him into a headlock as the three of you walked. you rolled your eyes.

weaving through the crowd of people making their way back to their cars, you were heading towards the concession area with the boys. as always, sicheng insisted on arriving just a little bit later because he liked being parked far away from the screen.

you were lost in the thoughts of buttery popcorn and a cream soda when you stopped in your tracks, frozen. sicheng and kunhang noticed this, having just released each other in their psuedo fight, and looked at you strangely. you wanted to facepalm yourself.

you exclaimed, “aw, fuck, we’re a whole buncha idiots. we forgot!”

the two boys looked horrified, as they slowly realized what you all had done. immediately, your group scurried back to sicheng’s mustang and tried to avoid shoving into people. the outing had just begun and the last thing you needed was kunhang’s hothead smacking into someone’s jaw.

“chenle! chenle, you good, buddy?”

upon closer inspection, you could hear the sounds of thumping up against the inside of the mustang. sicheng nearly fell over when he reached for the trunk, heaving it up to reveal the red-faced younger male. he dramatically gasped for air and you couldn’t help but giggle at him.

sicheng’s body folded and doubled over, as he tried to catch his breath in laughter. “holy shit! dude, you fucking idiot!”

“me?” kunhang was wiping tears from his eyes, body rumbling with his snickering. “who’s idea was it to bring the kid?”

you loved having chenle around, your younger wisecrack of a neighbour who often tagged along with the three of you. he was an absolute ball of sunshine. unfortunately, being the youngest meant being the butt of everyone’s jokes.

obviously, the boys meant no harm, but you were the one with the softest heart between all of them and was far more gentle towards him. “aw, we’re really sorry, chenle,” you managed to sputter out between your laughter.

“why do i always end up going in the trunk?” chenle frowned, shoulders drooping. “and i ain’t a kid!”

and of course, chenle and kunhang began shoving each other, albeit playfully at the very least. you sighed and came to the conclusion that you were friends with a bunch of goddamn zoo animals and that you needed some female friends. they stopped when you yelled at them to knock it off.

sicheng replied, “sorry, buddy. you’re the smallest one, so you luck out.” of course, it would never be him because it was his car, even though he was the bright one who suggested hiding one of you in the trunk to avoid paying for an extra ticket.

“can we just get our popcorn now?” chenle had officially given up, though his pout stained his face.

you all murmured in agreement, though everyone shared the same shit eating grins for accidentally abandoning chenle in the trunk of the mustang. he continued to claim that he was suffocating the entire time, as you lost yourself in the daydream of a refreshing drink from the concession stand amid the intense humidity.

then, kunhang called your name and that’s when you realize you’d walked ahead when everyone else stayed behind.

the three boys were inspecting something on the windshield of the mustang. sicheng remained neutral, so you figured it couldn’t have been a scratch or crack or something. you jogged over to peer over at what they were all looking at.

“when did someone leave this. . . .?” sicheng trailed off, trying to remember if he saw any figures approach in car. it must have been right after they initially left.

it was a piece of lined paper, likely torn out of a notebook and tucked underneath one of the wipers. the handwriting was clear and you cocked an eyebrow. pretty eyes?

“wow, someone left a note for me,” kunhang grinned.

chenle cleared this throat, looking elsewhere. “uh, actually, i don’t think it’s for you, man.”

you followed his eyes, realizing that he spotted the said blue chevy. a handful of guys lounged around the back of the pickup, some you even recognized from school and others you just knew. there was the former football team linebacker, yangyang. your once upon a time lab partner, xiaojun. even your older brother’s best friend, kun.  there was ten, who worked at the ice cream shop that you frequented.

then, there was the one who was looking straight at you.

everyone knew yukhei, but nobody really knew him. he had a shield of mystery in between himself and the rest of the world, only truly with the same four guys at all times. that’s how you saw him as, anyway. otherwise, to the rest of your town, he was the bad boy with a heart of gold, the boy with witty retorts and the brightest smile that you’d probably ever laid eyes on. something seemed so off about the way he portrayed himself to everyone else, though.

of course, to the rest of the girls at your school, he was the top candidate on everyone’s list for a prom date. you knew that enough, from the explicit whispers from girls that you overheard in the middle of class. everyone wanted him.

that’s why, if he hadn’t locked eyes with you, there was no way in hell you’d believe that yukhei wrote that note for you.

the idea scared you and you weren’t thrilled by the possibility of having wong yukhei. that’s why you immediately crumpled up the notes and tossed it to the side. he watched your every move as you did so.

after all, yukhei nearly ran you over the week before and he clearly could not remember your name.

the week before.

“are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

so, you were a little sleep deprived. you’d been up until the early morning hours finishing an essay worth a chunk of your grade, which shouldn’t have taken so long if it weren’t for the fact that you had to deal with the constant distractions that were your friends. at some point, chenle and sicheng dropped by and decided to make you cookies in the kitchen to cheer you on as you reached the end of the school year—obviously, that escalated into a disaster. you spent a few hours cleaning before you could finally kick the two knuckleheads out of your home.

that morning, you literally rolled out of bed onto the floor when you woke up. this was upon realizing that you slept through your alarm clock for school, snoozing off into the deepest sleep of your life after finishing your assignment. that’s how you found yourself sprinting from street light to street light, hoping to at least make it before the end of second period.

then, there was the baby blue chevy pickup speeding in like lightning from your left. you honestly should have heard it from a mile away, with the gurgle and sputter of an engine humming the disgusting tune louder than anything else on the street. however, you were too lost in the daze of fatigue and trying to remember if you packed yourself a lunch.

you noticed the truck a little too late, as it was a few away from you before you yelped and attempted to hop away, but ended up landing straight on your bottom. the impact nearly knocked the wind out of you and you braced yourself for the crash. thankfully, the driver had enough sense to come to a screeching halt, just about to touch you. this is when you yelled at the male behind the wheel.

the features of his handsome face knitted together. “aw, shit, shit shit—are you alright?” he yelled.

it took half a second to process what just happened, ignoring the stinging ache oozing in your backside. you took a sharp inhale and everything exploded like a volcano. shooting right up in a sitting position, you were met with the eyes of wong yukhei.

“do i look alright?” you snapped and he opened his mouth to reply, but you didn’t let him get even a word out. “you almost killed me, running that stop sign! i’m freakin’ exhausted, probably got three hours of sleep and i had to deal with my brother’s idiot cat almost clawing my eyes out on my way out! i’ve been running for forever and my legs ache like hell and i have to go to work straight after school! and. . .and, worst of fucking all, i’m late for school!”

yukhei simply blinked, staring back at your state, with dark crescent moons slapped underneath your eyes and your chest heaving for air. you were, in all simpleness, a mess. he smiled slightly, running a hand through his precisely twirled up, slicked up hair.  you narrowed your eyes at his response.

he simply replied, “you wanna hop in?”

“i—what?”

“c’mon sweets, i’m sorry. i fucked up, at least let me give you a ride to school,” yukhei said, unbuckling his seatbelt. he began to exit his vehicle, gliding over to you and extended his hand. a smile remained on his lips and your head started to spin.

that was definitely not the response you expected. the only reason you went off on him so harshly was because you were used to dealing with the idiot hoods from your block, who seemed like they were raised without a lick of manners in the very few braincells in their heads. as a woman, you knew that you were going to automatically be treated lightly and built strong walls for that very reason. to have yukhei respond with such quietude was foreign to you and you felt a weight drop at the pit of your stomach for your reaction.

reluctantly, you grabbed his hand and he helped heave you up. you stumbled slightly once you rose a little too fast and you instinctively grabbed for leverage, which happened to be a handful of his leather jacket. yukhei didn’t seem to mind, though, which astounded you because other guys like sicheng and kunhang carried their leathers like their pride and joy, with even the slightest crinkle driving them mad. you apologized regardless.

yukhei attempted to steady you, both hands on either side of your shoulders. “s’okay, no worries. you kinda took a hard fall there.”

you gulped down the ball forming in your throat, trying to look anywhere but into his deep brown eyes. these were the same eyes that girls cursed for tearing into their hearts and bringing on permanent cracks. the same eyes that girls cried over in the washrooms at school. school. you were late for school.

“um, yeah, let’s. . .let’s just go.” you’d been counting time in your head since leaving your front door and knew exactly what time it was, but you still pulled up your sleeve to glance at your watch. anything to avoid looking into his eyes.

something must have creeped in under your skin and taken control of your muscles because you were not the type of person to get into a stranger’s car. alright, wong yukhei was no stranger, but he had a reputation that you were well aware of. it was just as bad. or maybe it really just because you were—

“—late for school again, but i guess i’m used to it and you’re not,” yukhei had been saying, but you were zoned out and had just opened the car door.

it seemed to had only occurred to you then, but you sometimes forgot that yukhei still went to your school. he had a distinct group of friends that he spent time with, all of which had dropped out quite some time ago. he never really struck you as the academic type and as far as you could remember, you never ran into him in the hallways or in class. the only reminders of his existence in the place were the indecent fantasies written about him on the inside of the girls’ bathroom stalls.

“you sure you’re okay, y/n? it is y/n, right?” yukehi glanced over at you from the driver's seat, roaring life back into the pickup with the turn of his key.

you thought you heard incorrectly, but then he repeated it. yukhei actually knew your name and it wasn't just because he was this popular boy that all the girls went after, but you were in shock be ause you'd never even exchanged words before as far as you knew. he seemed to read your mind and gave you a look that read "surprised you, didn't i?" with the raise of a single eyebrow.

yukhei continued as a further explanation,“i sat behind you in history class last year before i transferred out of it.”

clipping in your seatbelt, all you could reply with was, “yeah.” your eyes darted over to the way he mindlessly gripped the steering wheel with one hand, with a beautiful swirl of reds and blues staining his otherwise immaculate knuckles. he let the other one hang loose  out of the window. “you promise to drive safe?”

a goosebump inducing grin, one bright enough to outshine a sun, stretched across his lips. “yeah, cross my heart.” yukhei said this, even as booked beyond the speed limit. you didn’t say anything. “to be fair, sweets, you weren’t exactly lookin’ out when you were sprinting earlier.”

you awkwardly twirled the ends of your hair hanging down your shoulder, but tried to keep an annoyed expression. “i was counting on drivers following road signs, yukhei.”

he smiled even wider. “ah, so you do know my name.”

that was a pretty ridiculous thought, there was no way that he wasn’t just teasing. yukhei had to be even just the slightest bit self-aware enough to see the way he’s flanked by girls at school. he was popular, enough so that quiet kids like yourself who never talked to him knew him. besides, you all lived in a town where everybody knew everybody and chances are, their kids come to know their kids and so on. nobody escaped the little bubble and routine that you all settled in.

something tugged at your heartstrings, though, at the way yukhei lit up.

“what’s the story behind those bruises?” you finally said, cocking your head to the side.

“hmm?” yukhei murmured, as the sight of your school building came into sight. “oh. just a badge of loyalty. you know how it is.”

unfortunately, you did know. around here, boys seemed to travel in packs and each one had each other’s backs to the grave. some found it silly, but there was an air of unspoken understanding.

“some kids from the south side give y’all trouble?”

if you had to guess, you would have probably gone with the reason being yukhei’s hothead of a best friend, yangyang. there was one particularly bad outburst last month, when you and kunhang went to the diner after school, only to be interrupted by a fight erupting between yangyang and some rich kid from the south. of course, the prep had his boys with him to back him up and bring the fight outside, prompting yukhei and xiaojun to get involved automatically. you had watched in amusement from the other side of the window with your strawberry milkshake, as yukhei beat a guy up against his own car.

“not me, my little sister. that shit don’t ever sit right with me, runnin’ their mouths on an innocent girl like her.” something in your brain clicked and you remembered that yukhei had a kid sister, only because she was in chenle’s grade and he used to have the biggest crush on her. “it’s just the two of us and our grandpa, so i feel extra responsible for her.”

that was the way your brother used to be with you, when he turned legal just before your mom got sent behind bars. you’d always have appreciation for him and in turn, you gained a new wave of respect for yukhei.

“what’s the story behind ms. honour roll being late to school?” it took you a second to realize that he was talking about you and you snorted.

you replied, “i’m surprised you asked. if i were you, i’d be scared of me going off on another rampage.”

“yeah, i’d bet you’d really get mad the second time. maybe even beat me up?” yukhei smirked, making sure you were paying attention to the fact that he’d obeyed the next stop sign they crossed paths with. you rolled your eyes.

“you’d end up just like one of them roman emperors,” you mused, watching a trace of confusion emerge on his handsome features. “c’mon, that’s from like the second week of our history class.”

yukhei merely shrugged. “i was too distracted.”

“distracted? by what, the teacher’s droning voice?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“nah, this real pretty girl that sat in front of me. so much so that i had to transfer out because i would have probably flunked out.”

before you knew it, he pulled into the parking lot of the school. before being able to announce the arrival, you’d already nearly ripped off your seatbelt and zipped out of the car, yelling a thanks as you scurried off with a deep rouge tinting your cheeks. there was still ten minutes left before the end of second period. yukhei only chuckled, watching you.

dear yukhei,

remember that first night at the drive-in? honestly, i thought you were a real fox. someone i had no chance with. the fact that you gave me a chance scared the hell out of me. you know how many restless nights i had, tossing and turning because i wanted to know why you chose me? out of the girls in the world, you made me feel like a goddamn diamond in a pile of dirt. i’ll never forget that. i’ll never forget the way you made me feel that summer, the first and last one we spent together.

love, your sweets.

after ignoring yukhei at the drive-in, you were positive that was going to be the last you heard from him. however, he still plagued your thoughts like a ghost. you had no idea why, but you knew that it scared you. it was the day after and you arrived to school early, trudging to your locker with a yawn. you thought your eyes were deceiving you, when you pulled open the door to be met with a note flying out of a random crook.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

and, to a lightning shock to the middle of your chest, you looked over to your side to find yukhei. he leaned against a wall of lockers, not even pretending to listen to the two girls talking to him. he was looking straight at you and smiled. you let out an exasperated scoff, wondering if you were dreaming.

you’d received a few more of these love poems before you decided to take matters into your own hands. or, really, it was chenle who forced you to do so. you didn’t dare confide in either sicheng or kunhang about your new admirer. there was no doubt that they’d turn their lip up at the idea of love poems, would probably go on and call yukhei some emasculating name. they also knew of yukhei’s reputation and were a tad over protective.

alright, a “tad” was an understatement. kunhang was furious when he realized yukhei was trying to make a pass at you at the movies and sicheng had to shove him back into the car to prevent a fight. it also seemed that it was so that he could find a different parking spot, away from yukhei and his friends.

although he began courting you from a safe distance, yukhei was not one for subtlety. you noticed that right off the bat when he boldly gave you his number in front of all your friends. the poems in your locker was another thing, as he was always just around the corner to ensure that you knew they were from him.

she walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes; thus mellowed to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies.

the latest of them, discovering the folded up note in your locker once again, had particularly swept you off your feet.

“what if he’s like this with every other girl?” you began to worry, fiddling with the phone cord in your hand.

you were seated in your living room one tuesday night, crossed legged on the ugly floral couch with a joint in between your lips. sicheng and kunhang left just minute prior, leaving you with chenle. he was watching television in your dad’s old armchair, in an identical position as you. neither of you were in the mood to go out, having being burned out by final exams. meanwhile, chenle made your house his second home when he couldn’t get a foot in his own door without his parents yelling at him for any reason they could find.

chenle snorted. “if wong yukhei wrote love poems to every girl he’s been with, i’m pretty sure we would’ve all heard by know.” he took a drag out of his joint. “besides, he only has eyes for you, even when he has other broads hangin’ off of him. everyone’s been noticin’ that the girls’ve been backin’ off of him lately, too.”

at this point, you were no longer scared of the idea of wong yukhei. in fact, it excited you. maybe it was the marijuana doing its usual duty, but you had a sudden surge of energy flowing through your veins.

reaching into the back pocket of your capris, you uncrumpled the first piece of paper that started it all. you hadn’t thrown out the note from the drive-in after all, recovering it just before sicheng insisted that you guys were to move. letting go on the deep breath that was imprisoned in your throat for what seemed like an hour, you slowly began to dial in the number.

“hello?” a familiar deep voice rumbled.

“hi,” you managed to squeak out and you gave chenle the middle finger when you caught him snickering. “i’m looking for yukhei.”

you could practically hear the smile in his voice. “this is him. who’s calling?”

“um, y/n.” you wedged the phone in between the side of your cheek and your shoulder, unconsciously beginning twirling a loose strand of hair.

there was a pause on the other line and you weren’t sure what to make of it, possibly disbelief. “oh. hi, sweets.” yukhei chuckled. “i see you’ve decided to give me a chance.”

“does this mean the notes are gonna stop?” you teased, but deep inside, you were hoping the answer was going to be a no.

he simply replied, “’course not. unless you say the word.” there was some fiddling on the other end and you could’ve sworn you heard the sound of a lighter. “when are you free?”

“you askin’ me out, yukhei?” you giggled and chenle rolled his eyes at you, throwing a pillow in your direction. you covered the phone with one hand, telling him to fuck off, before sweetly bringing it back up to your ear.

“how’s friday?” the male exhaled a little loudly—was he smoking, too? you wanted to feel a little bit powerful, so you convinced yourself that it was out of nerves.

you responded a little bit too quickly. “yes. friday sounds good.” swallowing down the realization, you proceeded to give him your address.

“good,” yukhei repeated after you, slowly drawing out the word like molasses. “i’ll pick you up at eight. see you then, sweets.”

the call ended and you sat as still as a statue. closing your eyes, you lost yourself in the daze of smoke and the thought of yukhei. were your ears ringing? the faint hum and static of the television faded out, as you leaned back into the couch with a stupid smile playing at the corners of your lips.

someone cleared their throat. you cracked one eye open and lo and behold, chenle was looking at you like you were a lunatic. in that split second, your face dropped back into annoyance and you hurled the nearest cushion in his direction.

“hey!”

“what?” you snapped.

chenle continued his earlier snickering. “guess that went well, then, huh? i told ya so.”

you put out the joint in front of you and proceeded to bury your face into your hands. your state of disbelief felt permanent, like you were stained with the thoughts of wong yukhei forever. without a word of warning, you began to screech uncontrollably and the younger male nearly jumped out of his seat.

“ahh!! what the fuck, y/n?!” chenle heaved, holding his hand on his heart like he’d been shot. he accidentally knocked over the bag of pretzels that he’d been munching on, spilling it all over the carpet. normally, you would have freaked out over the mess, but you were too entranced in the fact that you had a date with the most handsome boy in school.

that’s when chenle knew you were either: possessed or completely smitten.

the grin on your face was so wide that it hurt, but you blocked out the pain. “we have a date!” with that, you nearly jumped onto the armchair and hauled chenle in a bone crushing hug that left him without any oxygen.

“can’t. . .breathe. .  .” he was blue in the face at this point, struggling to even get his words out.

you giggled and released him, patting his cheek as he did so. chenle gasped dramatically for air, coughing as he did so. he shot you a glare.

“so, when’s the day of this stupid date?” he grumbled, settling back into his spot and began picking up his mess.

returning to the couch, you said, “friday. he said he’s going to pick me up.” you once saw that chevy of his as the devil machine, but now, you were swooning at the thought of it pulling up in front of your house.

“friday?” chenle’s eyebrows suddenly reached his hairline.

you gave him a questioning look. “yeah, it’s a little soon, but—”

“no, no,” he shook his head. “it’s not that. uhh, don’t you remember what’s happening on friday?”

you began to search your brain for any important dates, like a test or a birthday that you should’ve jotted down. “huh?” you came up empty and tilted your head slightly to the side.

“that’s prom night, stupid.”

if you hadn’t been hit with a ton of bricks before, this was an entire goddamn building raining down on you. wong yukhei had not only chased you with love poems and asked you out on a date, but he had asked you out to prom. this was really happening.

you didn’t give a damn about prom night, but you knew what it meant to other girls and it seemed like you just won a year long race between the class of seniors itching to get their hands on yukhei.

he wasn’t the only reason for your disbelief, but it was also the fact that you managed to get roped into attending prom anyway, after months of complaining about it. you groaned, lying down on the couch. this meant you had to go out and buy a freakin’ dress.

my love,

there are two times in my life when i was left absolutely breathless. the first time was when i first met you and i mean really met you. i always knew you in my heart. we were about fifteen when you moved to this town, this town that i’d grown to resent all of my life. i associated these streets with violence and hatred and i wanted nothing more to get away as fast as possible. i was hanging out with ten, loitering at the ice cream place, while i waited for his shift to end. that’s when you came in and you asked me about what flavour was best. i had a crush on you ever since that day, but could never seem to work up the courage to approach you first. yeah, i’m a fucking idiot, i know. i had those other girls following me around, but i could never quite shake off that feeling of, well, you. i’d never felt so damn. . .shy? when a girl made me feel that way, i knew you were special.

the second time was on prom night.

"ah, ah, don’t open that yet.”

you pouted and put the note back in its place, nestled in between the dozen of peonys. they were the colour of the sunset, a soft peach that brought butterflies to your insides. when yukhei had arrived to your front door with these, you nearly gasped out loud because they were so stunning.

the colour was identical to the sky above, as the clouds faded into one another and touches of navy loomed at the base of the point where the land met the heavens. yukhei’s windows were rolled all the way down and you let the wind penetrate against your being, caressing the locks of your curled hair. you’d applied an absurd amount of hairspray to keep it that way, so you weren’t concerned about the wind ruining the style.

yukhei glanced over to your side. “you can open it at the end of the night. promise.” the more you saw him smile, the more charming it became each time.

when the two of you pulled into the school parking lot, you immediately spotted kunhang and his scratched plymouth. he was leaning against the hood, sweet talking his date, some girl named meixiu that you didn’t know. probably an underclassman, you had no idea. he waved at you and probably just you, as you failed to miss the way his upper lip slightly twitched when yukhei exited his vehicle.

kunhang was the only person you guys were meeting, since both of your friend groups consisted of drop outs. you gave a polite wave to meixiu and gave kunhang a quick side hug. meanwhile, he and yukhei exchanged curt nods, as the parking lot began to reek of testosterone from the stares between the two alone.

“nice threads,” meixiu broke the silence, peering at your dress.

thankfully, you rummaged far enough into the last of your sister’s things that she left behind before moving out and came out with something decent. it was a boatneck satin dress with an empire waist and went down to just above your ankles. under the glare of the sunset, its baby blue hue contrasted beautifully. definitely pretty and saved you money and time. considering your lack of female friends, it would have been a real pain in the ass to have to drag either sicheng or chenle to a boutique.

“thank you,” you smiled at meixiu.

when you opened the door to greet yukhei, he had looked like someone just slapped him. he looked absolutely stunned and began drinking in the way you had dressed up, like an angel appeared in front of him and breathed the word of god. you were just as stunned when you were met with his put together appearance. you always had a soft spot for a tuff leather jacket and calloused hands, but seeing yukhei in a tuxedo made you rethink your preferences.

“wow,” the two of you had sputtered out at the same time and after a pause, began to laugh together.

meanwhile, kunhang merely blinked at your appearance. “turns out you’re a woman after all.” he yelped when you smacked his arm for that comment. “what? just because you walk around in a miniskirt doesn’t mean you’re a lady—” you hit him again.

“a pretty damn fine one at that,” yukhei snaked an arm around your waist and you relaxed slightly. “ready to head in?”

that baby blue dress. the way you lost yourself in the music on the dancefloor without a care in the world. my god, i wish i could capture that memory in my mind forever. i was still so goddamn shy and the only way i could express my feelings was through letters. some things never change, huh?

yours truly, yukhei.

the rest of your night was just as you imagined it would turn out. some lame music, bad refreshments, and glares from literally every girl on the dancefloor when they saw who you arrived with. all eyes were on the two of you when you walked in through the doors, though you knew it was partly out of curiosity to see who wong yukhei would bring to prom.

suddenly, you were beginning to be treated different. guys you’d never spoken to for four years cornered you into conversations that you had no interest in. girls complimented your dress and not in the way meixiu did, but like panthers sneaking up to stalk their prey. you nearly finished the contents of yukhei’s hidden flask out of annoyance.

“easy there, sweets,” he said, eyes wide when you slipped him his almost empty flask.

you laughed a bit. “sorry. i’m just slowly starting to get tired.”

“sleepy?” he asked, brushing a stray curl of hair out of your face.

the two of you were leaning on a wall, silently bopping your heads to the tune of the bluesy guitar playing throughout the school gymnasium. yukhei, you discovered, was a really good dancer. although shy at first, the majority of your night was spent on the dancefloor. you were sure you picked up on a few of his moves, even. you teased him about it on your way to the back, after he declared that he was parched.

“no, not that kind of tired. i mean, like—” you gave a quick side glance to a group of girls to your left that had been glaring in your direction all night,“—tired of that.”

it wasn’t as though you were overly concerned with the other girls, but it was really starting to get on your nerves.

“then, let’s get out of here?”

sure, the night was still young, but something twinkled in yukhei’s eyes and you knew that the date was far from over. you looked over at the crowd, not being able to find kunhang. he’d live if you didn’t tell him a goodbye. you shrugged and tapped your nails against your clutch.

“get out here, where?” you asked reluctantly, wincing as you did so. the last thing you wanted to do in that moment was make an assumption, but you also wanted to set clear boundaries before the night went on.

yukhei raised his eyebrows. “i mean, like, we could go grab a burger or somethin’. i’m starving.” he chuckled, but you smiled at his response.

“alright. i’m good with that.”

you didn’t even notice yukhei grabbing your head and lacing your fingers with his own—it just felt so natural. he gently led you back to the main entrance and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles ever so slightly flexed underneath his suit and the way he styled his hair into perfect swirls with gel and the crystal clear confidence in his eyes and—

“oh, ho, so you ended up working up the nerve to ask y/n out after all?” there was no mistake about it, that voice belonged to your old history teacher. it was the voice you heard in your nightmares, after all. “gimme some skin, yukhei!”

the old man sat in front of the entrance, where the tickets had been checked at the beginning of the night. presumably to catch any drunk teenagers stumbling out of the gymnasium, he was the only chaperone outside of the main floor.

you furrowed your eyebrows together. yukhei awkwardly shook hands with the teacher. then, you remembered what yukhei had told you before when he gave you a ride to school. your lips parted slightly.

��you stole away one of my favourite students, you know that, ms. y/n?” he continued.

turning to yukhei, whose ears began to transform into a brilliant bubblegum colour, you said, “you weren’t joking about that?”

“why would i be joking?” yukhei chuckled.

you paused and shrugged. “i dunno. i thought it was just one of them cheesy things guys say. like you were just trying to make me swoon or somethin’.”

“what? aw, c’mon, sweets, i can do better than that!” yukhei exclaimed and poked your side, causing you to giggle and yelp.

your old history teacher rolled your eyes at the two of you. “just go on, go home!” he began shooing the two of you away like some puppies.

yukhei continued leading you out of the building, only until you stopped in the middle of the parking lot when you heard a familiar song. it was unmistakable, you would have recognized the record from miles away. he froze, noticing the way you had done the same.

“are you alright?” he stepped forward, reaching out to touch your arm.

you felt a little silly, but you said it anyway. “they’re playing my favourite song. you think we could. . .?” you trailed off, hoping he would agree.

there wasn’t a guy you knew that absolutely detested the beach boys. sicheng whined like he was in pain every time you put one of their records one. you had to basically hide all of their music from your brother, taking them away from the main living room shelf in fear that he would eventually trash them one day. yukhei pressed his lips together, listening to the song—clearly he was no exception.

“you’re into these fools, too?” he teased.

yukhei began stripping himself of his suit jacket, placing it over your shoulders and you immediately revelled in the warmth and faint scent of his cologne on the fabric. the night had fully set in and a dull chill kissed your bare skin. under the moonlight, the man looked immaculate.

you scoffed. “they have good music!” and that they did, but it was something about the group that made you sway in place and felt like you were high on love.

“why don’t we just dance here?”

the parking lot was empty save for the two of you and the countless of cars. even the streets were dead silent and the only sounds in the air were the beach boys telling you to not worry and the soft rustling of the leaves. then, there was yukhei. his same damn charming smirk that seemed to have already captured your heart, but was not nearly as powerful as the thoughts he spilled out into words for you on paper.

you automatically wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands found a place on your waist, like the two of you had done this millions of time before in another life.

dear y/n,

you are the stars.

yukhei.

[jemelle]

reflections {ncis}

rating: g

pairing: n/a, ziva david & abby sciuto

summary: 'Family. That’s what they are, aren’t they?' (or: Ziva & Abby celebrate Hanukkah)

a/n: set season 3 aka 2005. written for day 10 of the holiday special organized by @blakes-dictionxry, though i did stretch the prompt (when do i not?) i’m not Jewish, so if i’ve misrepresented something, please let me know! thank you for reading and chag chanukah sameach!

my masterlist

you can also read this story on ao3 here!

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." – Edith Wharton

Ziva is supposed to be on vacation. Right now, she should be at a nice hotel outside of Annapolis, taking a bubble bath and reading the kind of magazines that Tony would never let her live down. It’s the day after Christmas, after all. Judging from the way some people in this country act, if anyone should be able to convince people to hold off on committing crimes for a few days, it’s the Christian God. Yet somehow, she’s still at work.

The phone call had come at eight in the morning, jolting Ziva out of a rare lie-in. She had reached for the receiver in the darkness, cursing loudly in Hebrew as her hand banged into the lamp on the side table.

“What is it?” she had groused without bothering to check the caller ID, voice still heavy from sleep. There was only one person who would dare disturb her this early, and she already had a good idea of what Gibbs was going to say.

“We got a case,” was the response, much as she had expected. Ziva had sighed, hanging up and running a hand through her unkempt hair. She really did not get paid enough for this.

In the end, it had turned out to be a simple case. One hard look at the brother and he had confessed, a jealous rage taken too far. No red herrings, no international crime syndicates. A waste of their investigative skills, if she’s being honest. 

The case itself had finished around four in the afternoon, but then there was the paperwork, and it was entirely possible Ziva had been putting off last week’s work as well. By the time she’s finished all of that, it’s too late to drive to her (non-refundable, she feels the need to add) reservation if she wants to arrive at a reasonable hour.

She’s getting ready to leave, promising herself that she can still salvage what’s left of this day, when McGee tells her that she’s needed urgently in Abby’s lab. As far as Ziva can remember, she hasn’t asked Abby for anything recently, so she approaches the lab carefully, half-expecting to find a sobbing Abby on the floor. Why Tony and Tim expect her to be able to deal with emotions, she’ll never understand. She may be a woman, but Ziva thinks she’s proven time and time again that emotional connection is not her forte.

The lights are dimmed when Ziva rounds the corner into Abby’s lab, but Abby herself is nowhere to be seen. Instead, Ziva sees a neatly set table with two place settings and, strangely, a hanukkiah. 

Tonight is the second night of Hanukkah. Ziva knows that– she had packed her own hanukkiah in her suitcase, intending to light it and pray when she reached her hotel room. But, to the best of Ziva’s knowledge, Abby isn’t Jewish.

Ziva raps lightly on the door to the lab, watching as Abby emerges from a shadowed back corner of the room. She sure can hide, Ziva will give her that. 

“What is this?” Ziva asks, gesturing at the spread in front of her.

“Happy Hanukkah!” Abby says, as if that answers the question. She steps further out of the shadows and Ziva can see that she’s holding a frying pan. 

“Thank you.” Ziva is confused, to put it mildly. While she appreciates the sentiment, she's still no closer to understanding the rationale behind Abby’s actions.

“Well, I thought… you don’t really have any family in D.C, so I researched what to do!” Abby approaches the table, depositing what Ziva can now see are latkes on the plates. Leaving the pan on the nearest lab surface, she flicks on the lights, displaying blue and white garlands hung around the room. “I even got you a present!”

“Oh, Abby.” She really is touched, especially given the rocky start their relationship had gotten off to. This is a gesture she might expect from Jenny (well, at least the dinner portion. She doesn’t think Jenny has ever been one for tinsel), but Abby doing this is a true testament to her giant heart.

“But?” Abby prompts, and Ziva forgot that while Abby is kind, she is first and foremost always willing to speak her mind. 

Ziva feigns innocence, the best she knows how to. “But what?”

Abby pouts. “There’s a but, I can tell.”

No one is immune to the Abby pout. Ziva relents, sitting down in one of the chairs and motioning for Abby to join her.

“It is just that Hanukkah is not very big in Israel.” 

If Ziva were home right now, she would probably be helping to light Rivka’s family menorah, saying her blessings, and (Ziva’s personal favorite) having latkes and sufganiyot. When she was eight, Ziva had eaten so many sufganiyot that she’d sworn off them forever. Naturally, her family had never let her live that down. They had been a family once, before Eli had left and Tali had died and Ari had become someone she no longer recognized.

“It’s not?” Abby’s voice pulls Ziva out of her memories.

“No. It is a big deal in America because Christmas is such a big deal. Children see all their friends getting presents and they want them too. In Israel, Hanukkah is about family.” Sure, there are parties and festivals, but none of this extravagant gift-giving she has seen in America. Ziva has nothing against adapting traditions, but the American celebrations hold nothing of value to her.

Abby’s face falls, and Ziva mentally kicks herself. “It is lovely, though,” she says, reaching past Abby to dim the lights again. There. Without the garlands in sight, it reminds her much more of the Hanukkahs she remembers.

“I know I wasn’t always… the nicest to you,” Abby says, and Ziva laughs, because that is the understatement of the century. “But… I really like you, Ziva David, and even if I didn’t, you’re part of our family now.”

Family. That’s what they are, aren’t they? Though they are her team by definition, the word team can’t possibly encompass all they meant to her. 

Gibbs is the only one who knows her secret and the only one she would have trusted with it. Tony and McGee are always by her side, ready to insult or defend her at a moment’s notice. Ducky is an ever-friendly ear and Jimmy a kind presence. Ziva includes Jenny in her count as well, though she isn’t sure Jenny would have included herself; she is always watching out for them, playing the games none of the rest of them want. And here is Abby, so different from Ziva in almost every regard, trying to make her feel at home.

If she were more sentimental, Ziva would call it a miracle. She had lost her first family a long time ago, even if Eli and Rivka are still alive. That a group of people are willing to accept her, to give her a second chance, makes her heart swell and her eyes water in an utterly un-Ziva fashion.

A tear must escape her eye, because before she knows it Abby is handing her a tissue. Ziva takes it, only slightly mortified, dabbing at her eyes until they’re dry. 

“I am okay,” she says in response to Abby’s unasked question. 

Wordlessly, Abby pulls a square box out of her pocket and slides it across the table. It’s wrapped in patterned paper, sparkling white stars against a midnight blue sky. Ziva slides a careful finger under the seam of the paper, trying not to rip it. 

Inside is a plain white mug. Ziva picks it up with two hands, spinning it around to reveal a simple Z printed on it.

“Thank you, Abby,” she says sincerely, before chuckling. “Now Tony will not be able to pretend he accidentally forgot which coffee mug is his.”

Abby’s smile drops, and she looks as though she might cry. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, but no sound escapes. Ziva waits patiently, because getting information out of Abby when she’s not ready to speak is like trying to get an internationally wanted criminal to talk.

When she finally speaks, Ziva has to strain to hear her. “I’m sorry… it’s just that the way you said that reminded me of Kate. I miss her.”

“Kate sounds like a wonderful person,” Ziva says. When she had first joined, that might have been a lie. She had quickly gotten sick of hearing how amazing Kate had been, of trying to measure up to a ghost. Now, Ziva knows that she can’t try to be anyone but who she is, and she only wishes she could have met the woman who apparently was more than a match for Tony.

“She was,” Abby responds, and now she’s the one who’s crying.

Ziva leans across the table, letting Abby hold her hands while she sobs. After a little while, Abby lets go, wiping her eyes with another tissue pulled from the depths of her lab coat. Absent-mindedly, Ziva picks up the matchbox lying by the hanukkiah, turning it over in her hands.

“Do you know the story of Hanukkah?” she asks. Abby shakes her head, eyes still watery. Ziva smiles, letting her head fill with memories of Hanukkahs past, she and Tali and Ari all clamoring to be the one to tell the story.

“Well,” Ziva says, striking a match against the box and using the match to light the shammash, the tallest candle in the hanukkiah. She removes the candle from its holder, using it to light the first and second candles, before returning it to its place, Abby watching her raptly the entire time. “Although I could begin in many, many places, our story really starts with a temple in the city of Jerusalem...”

tags: @robins-gf, @chmpgneprblms

[queenofthefallenangels]

“I am going to make sure you never even think of touching my girl ever again. I am going to make sure you wish you never even met her.”

Seth Rollins X OC X Jon Moxley

Rated: M

Tag Team: @sithstatlander​ @xladyxfatex​ @awkward-teenaged-girl​ @steadysuitcasepurseranch @themansbliss​ @katelynirwinhemmingsclifordhood​ @strwbrryshrtckexo​ @bluedragonfly678​ @luleelurah @mohawkmama​ @foreverthenerdprincess​ @aujenaeblaze​ @missnena2194​ @suicidepanda07​ @kelseyann2002​ @princessminjikwon​ @nerdgirlsblog​ @multi-stan-kpop​ @redz0mbie​ @thebornalpha @acon1120​ @jonsmoxley​ @chonisberonica​ @goddessofhardrock​ @1dluver13xx​

@marismar @vampirepixi​ @dietwrestling​ @asktvhead​ @moxslilangel2020​ @ chynagirl13  

Jon’s POV 

Aria and I had planned to go to a restaurant, but at the last minute, I changed my mind. I texted her to meet me at the dock on the beach that wasn’t too far from either of our houses. It was a nice, clear night outside. Stars filling the sky. It was a cool night. A perfect night for a date outside. I wasn’t exactly a romantic, but I wasn’t blind to what most girls’ ideal dates were. It also helped that I had an idea what Aria had wanted. 

I walked towards the dock to see her already there. I stopped to watch her for a bit. She had let her soft blonde hair down as it cascaded down just past her shoulder and curled at the ends. She wore a white baby doll tank top that flowed out and light jean shorts. She had on some wedge sandals to pull the outfit together.. I told her she didn’t need to bother dressing up. She would still look stunning regardless. I was right. She smiled sweetly as she saw me and waved me over. 

I walked over to her as she opened her arms for a hug. “Hey,” she said. 

“Hey,” I responded as the vanilla scent from her hair hit my nostrils. It was the same shampoo she had always used. “I am glad you didn’t mind the change of plans.” “It’s fine, it's a great night for it. Plus, I like this idea better. It’s such a beautiful night.” 

I nodded in agreement as I reached out for her hand. “Let’s go get some ice cream” 

We walked towards the ice cream shop and I ordered two ice cream cones for her and me to share. After we got them we started to walk down the beach. We were silent for most of the walk, minus some small talk. It wasn’t awkward. It just felt good. 

“So, are you going to tell me what brought you here?” She asked me. “I lived here my whole life, so I am interested in why anyone would want to live here?” 

“Well, you never left so there has to be a good reason for you to have still stayed there.” I chuckled as I raised an eyebrow. “I got a job offer at the American Nightmare. I needed a job so I took it.” It wasn’t a lie. Well, sort of. Cody Rhodes, who runs the American Nightmare and the American Dream which sells cars, had asked me to join his group of underground fighters. I didn’t want to at first.   “Why did you stick around?” I asked. 

“I guess I stayed around for my dad, and after he died...my ex. Now, I don’t exactly know where to go.” She shrugged.  “I haven’t been anywhere else.” 

“Where have you always wanted to go?” I asked her. 

She stopped thinking about it for a moment. “I guess maybe England or Paris, I guess that is really cliche to say. I have no idea.” She blushed. I could tell she was embarrassed. I didn’t know why. It was cute though. The way her cheeks went from a pale white to a deep red. “Where did you live before?” She asked me. 

“I was born in Ohio but left when I was 18. I moved around since then. Just trying to find my place in the world.” 

“How do you feel about here?” She asked as she put a piece of her hair behind her ear. 

I looked down at her, “Right now, it seems great.” I paused looking in her eyes. I started to lean down. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her kiss with her. I wanted to kiss her again. To taste her again. As I moved in closer, she seemed to have other plans. Aria had finished her ice cream and was running towards the ocean. I shook my head as I watched her run into the water. I couldn’t help myself, I ran after her. She splashed water on me as I came in. I chuckled as I grabbed her spinning her around. She was giggling the whole time. “Jon!” She yelled as I acted as if I was going to throw her into the water. 

I felt something in that moment that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Real happiness. Sure, everyone has moments of short happiness when they hear a joke or something, but this was real happiness where in this moment nothing else mattered. It was just me and her. That was always where my true happiness was. With Aria. 

Our moment in time was cut short. Her phone began to ring. She blindly answered it. 

“Hello?” Her smile faded too fast. “Because I can do what I want. You can’t tell me what to do, Seth. You aren’t my father.” 

Of course it had to be Seth. He must have been lurking. That’s the only way he could know. I looked around for him. He or one of his goons had to be somewhere. 

“Seth,” Aria sighed before I took her phone and hung up. She looked down as I handed her the phone back. “I am sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean...well, I mean...I should have checked the caller id. I really thought it was Alexa making sure I was okay. She said she might call in case the date was going bad.” She forced a smile. “I really am sorry. I understand if you want to go.” 

I shook my head, “No, but you might want to get a restraining order or something on him. If you broke up, why does he care where you are?” 

She rolled her eyes, “I wish I knew. All he does is cheat and lie when we are together. When we are apart, he becomes,” she paused to find the right words. “Obsessed? I guess that’s why I take him back all the time. That and he didn’t always used to be like this. He used to be sweet.”

I mentally rolled my eyes. “Maybe he didn’t show his real self until later.” I am sure I still have the scars from the hundred of knives that man has put in my back. We all thought he was a good guy. Maybe he was. The world of underground fighting has a way of changing a person. Rollins wanted more attention...more glory. It wasn’t just the love of fighting anymore or whatever it was when we started fighting. He wanted girls all over him. That was an easy part for any man to get caught up in. Before, I had met Aria. I had fallen into that mess. I would take any girl that wanted me. I didn’t care who they were or what they wanted for life. I just wanted them for what they had between their legs. 

“Maybe, but he really does mean well. He was the only one who was there for me when my dad died.” Her words hit me hard like a knife. I had left soon after her dad had died. I wasn’t there for her. I always felt bad that I wasn’t there. I just couldn’t be. 

“I am sorry for what happened to you, but you didn’t ask him to be there for you. Just because he was doesn’t mean he has a right to treat you badly.” 

I could hear a small sigh come from her body. “I know. Just let’s not talk about this. It’s ruining the mood of the date.” 

I nodded as I walked with her. 

--

Aria’s POV

The rest of the date went without a hitch. I loved how easy he was to talk to. I felt relaxed and calm with him. I hadn’t felt that way in awhile with anyone since Dean left. In some way, he reminded me a lot of him. I almost couldn’t shake it. Maybe, it was just my want for Dean to be back so bad was causing me to think Jon could be him. I did miss Dean a lot more than I wanted to admit to anyone. There was so much more to our relationship than just friendship, a lot more. It broke my heart when he left. 

Jon walked me back to Alexa’s apartment. He smiled at me as he leaned down. He hovered over my lips as he put a hand on my hip, pulling me close to him. “I had a great time tonight.” 

“It doesn’t have to end,” I suggested as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Alexa won’t be home until later. We have the whole apartment to ourselves.” 

He smirked his blue eyes crowding over with lust. “I like the sound of that.” He closed the rest of the space between him and I as his soft lips met mine. The world stood still as our lips moved together. 

[livingdeadinsideyourhead]

Free Music in a Capitalist Society - Iggy Pop's Keynote Speech Transcript

Hi, I'm Iggy Pop. I've held a steady job at BBC 6 Music now for almost a year, which is a long time in my game. I always hated radio and the jerks who pushed that shit music into my tender mind, with rare exceptions. When I was a boy, I used to sit for hours suffering through the entire US radio top 40 waiting for that one song by The Beatles and the other one by The Kinks. Had there been anything like John Peel available in my Midwestern town I would have been thrilled. So it's an honor to be here. I understand that. I appreciate it.

Some months ago when the idea of this talk came up I thought it might be okay to talk about free music in a Capitalist society. So that's what I'm gonna try to talk about. A society in which the Capitalist system dominates all the others, and seeks their destruction when they get in its way. Since then, the shit has really hit the fan on the subject, thanks to U2 and Apple. I worked half of my life for free. I didn't really think about that one way or the other, until the masters of the record industry kept complaining that I wasn't making them any money. To tell you the truth, when it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge one unimportant detail. But, a good LP is a being, it's not a product. It has a life-force, a personality, and a history, just like you and me. It can be your friend. Try explaining that to a weasel.

As I learned when I hit 30 +, and realized I was penniless, and almost unable to get my music released, music had become an industrial art and it was the people who excelled at the industry who got to make the art. I had to sell most of my future rights to keep making records to keep going. And now, thanks to digital advances, we have a very large industry, which is laughably maybe almost entirely pirate so nobody can collect shit. Well, it was to be expected. Everybody made a lot of money reselling all of recorded musical history in CD form back in the 90s, but now the cat is out of the bag and the new electronic devices which estrange people from their morals also make it easier to steal music than to pay for it. So there's gonna be a correction.

When I started The Stooges we were organized as a group of Utopian communists. All the money was held communally and we lived together while we shared the pursuit of a radical ideal. We shared all song writing, publishing and royalty credits equally – didn’t matter who wrote it - because we'd seen it on the back of a Doors album and thought it was cool, at least I did. Yeah. I thought songwriting was about the glory, I didn't know you'd get paid for it. We practiced a total immersion to try to forge a new approach which would be something of our own. Something of lasting value. Something that was going to be revealed and created and was not yet known.

We are now in the age of the schemer and the plan is always big, big, big, but it's the nature of the technology created in the service of the various schemes that the pond, while wide, is very shallow. Nobody cares about anything too deeply expect money. Running out of it, getting it. I never sincerely wanted to be rich. There is a, in the US, we have this guy “Do you sincerely wanna be rich? You can do it!” I didn’t sincerely want to be rich. I never sincerely felt like making anyone else that way. That made me a kind of a wild card in the 60's and 70's. I got into the game because it felt good to play and it felt like being free. I'm still hearing today about how my early works with The Stooges were flops. But they're still in print and they sell 45 years later, they sell. Okay, it took 20 or 25 years for the first royalties to roll in. So sue me.

Some of us who couldn't get anywhere for years kept beating our heads against the same wall to no avail. No one did that better than my friends The Ramones. They kept putting out album after album, frustrated that they weren't getting the hit. They even tried Phil Spector and his handgun. After the first couple of records, which made a big impact, they couldn't sustain the quality, but I noticed that every album had at least one great song and I thought, wow if these guys would just stop and give it a rest, society would for sure catch up to them. And that's what's happening now, but they're not around to enjoy it. I used to run into Johnny at a little rehearsal joint in New York and he'd be in a big room all alone with a Marshall stack just going "dum, dum, dum, dum, dum" all my himself. I asked him why and he said if he didn't practice doing that exactly the way he did it live he'd lose it. He was devoted and obsessive, so were Joey and Deedee. I like that. Johnny asked me one day - Iggy don't you hate Offspring and the way they're so popular with that crap they play. That should be us, they stole it from us. I told him look, some guys are born and raised to be the captain of the football team and some guys are just gonna be James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and that's the way it is. Not everybody is meant to be big. Not everybody big is any good.

I only ever wanted the money because it was symbolic of love and the best thing I ever did was to make a lifetime commitment to continue playing music no matter what, which is what I resolved to do at the age of 18. If who you are is who you are that is really hard to steal, and it can lead you in all sorts of useful directions when the road ahead of you is blocked and it will get blocked. Now I'm older and I need all the dough I can get. So I too am concerned about losing those lovely royalties, now that they've finally arrived, in the maze of the Internet. But I'm also diversifying my income, because a stream will dry up. I'm not here to complain about that, I'm here to survive it.

When I was starting out as a full time musician I was walking down the street one bright afternoon in the seedier part of my Midwestern college town. I passed a dive bar and from it emerged a portly balding pallid middle aged musician in a white tux with a drink in one hand and a guitar in the other. He was blinking in the daylight. I had a strong intuition that this was a fate to be avoided. He seemed cut off from society and resigned to an oblivious obscurity. A bar fly. An accessory to booze. So how do you engage society as an artist and get them to pay you? Well, that's a matter of art. And endurance.

To start with, I cannot stress enough the importance of study. I was lucky to work in a discount record store in Ann Arbor Michigan as a stock boy where I was exposed to a little bit of every form of music imaginable on record at the time. I listened to it all whether I liked it or not. Be curious. And I played in my high school orchestra and I learned the joy of the warm organic instruments working together in the service of a classical piece. That sticks with you forever. If anyone out there can get a chance to put an instrument and some knowledge in some kids hand, you've done a great, great thing.

Comparative information is a key to freedom. I found other people who were smarter than me. To teach me. My first pro band was a blues band called The Prime Movers and the leader Michael Erlewine was a very bright hippy beatnik with a beautifully organized record collection in library form of The Blues. I'd never really heard the Blues. That part of our American heritage was kept off the major media. It was system up, people down. No Big Bill Broonzy on BBC for us. Boy I wish! No money in it. But everything I learned from Michael's beautiful library became the building blocks for anything good I've done since. Guys like this are priceless. If you find one, follow him, or her. Get the knowledge.

Once in secondary school in the 60's some class clowns dressed up the tallest guy in school in a trench coat, shades and a fedora and rushed him in to a school dance with great hubbub proclaiming "Del Shannon is here, Del Shannon is here." And until they got to the stage we all believed them, because nobody knew what Del Shannon looked like. He was just a voice on some great records. He had no social ID. By the early 60's that had really changed with the invasion of The Beatles and The Stones. This time TV was added to the mix and print media too. So you knew who they were, or so you thought anyway. I'm mentioning this because the best way to survive the death or change of an industry is to transcend its form. You're better off with an identity of your own or maybe a few of them. Something special.

It is my own personal view having lived through it that in America The Beatles replaced our assassinated president Kennedy, who represented our hopes for a certain kind of society. Didn’t get there. And The Stones replaced our assassinated folk music which our own leaders suppressed for cultural, racial, and financial reasons. It wasn't okay with everybody to be Kennedy or Muddy Waters, but those messages could be accepted if they came through white entertainers from the parent culture. That's why they’re still around.

Years later I had the impression that Apple, the corporation, had successfully co-opted the good feelings that the average American felt about the culture of the Beatles, by kind of stealing the name of their company so I bought a little stock. Good move. 1992. Woo! But look, everybody is subject to the rip off and has to change affiliations from time to time. Even Superman and Barbie were German before America tempted them to come over. Tough luck, Nietzche.

So who owns what anyway. Or as Bob Dylan said "The relationships of ownership." That’s gates of Eden. Nobody knows for long, especially these days. Apparently when BBC radio was founded, the record companies in England wouldn't allow the BBC to play their master recordings because they thought no one would buy them for their personal use if they could hear them free on the radio. So they were really confused about what they had. They didn’t get it. And how people feel about music. ‘Cause it’s a feel thing, and it resists logic. It’s not binary code. Later when CD's came in, the retail merchants in American all panicked because they were just too damn tiny and they thought that Americans want something that looks big, like a vinyl record. Well they had a point but their solution was a kind of Frankenstein called "The Long Box." It didn't fool anybody because half of it was empty. It had a little CD in the bottom. You’d open it up and it was empty. Now we have people in the Sahara using GPS to bury huge wads of Euros under sand dunes for safe keeping. But GPS was created for military spying from the high ground, not radical banking so any sophisticated system, along with the bounty it brings, is subject to primitive hijacking.

I wanna talk about a type of entrepreneur who functions as a kind of popular music patron of the arts. It’s good to know a patron. I call him El Padron because his relationship to the artist is essentially feudal, though benign. He or she (La Padrona) if you will, is someone, usually the product of successful, enlightened parents, who owns a record company, but has had benefit of a very good education, and can see a bigger picture than a petty business person. If they like an artists’ style and it suits them, they'll support you even if you’re not a big money spinner. I can tell you, some of these powerful guys get so bored that if you are fun in the office, you’ll go places. Their ancestors, the old time record crooks just made it their business to make great, great records, but also to rip off the artist 100%, copyright, publishing, royalty splits, agency fees, you name it. If anyone complained the line was "Pay you? We worship you!" God bless Bo Diddley.

By the time I came along, there was a new brand of Padron. People like this are still around and some can help you. One was named Jack Holzman. Jack had a beautiful label called Elektra Records, they put out Judy Collins, Tim Buckley, the Doors and Love. He'd started working in his family record store, like Brian Epstein. He dressed mod and he treated us very gently. He was a civilized man. He obviously loved the arts, but what he really wanted to do was build his business - and he did. He had his own concerns, and style, and you had to serve them, and of course when he sold out, as all indies do, you were stranded culturally in the hands of a cold clumsy conglomerate. But he put us in the right studios with the right producers and he tried to get us seen in the right venues and it really helped. This is a good example of the industry.

Another good guy I met is Sir Richard Branson. I ended up serving my full term at Virgin Records having been removed from every other label. And he created a superior culture there. People were happier and nicer than the weasels at some other places. The first time he tried to sign me it didn't work out, because I had my sights set on A&M, a company I thought would help make me respectable. After all they had Sting! Richard was secretly starting his own company at the time in the US and he phoned me in my tiny flat with no furniture. He said he'd give me a longer term deal with more dough than the other guys and he was very, very polite and soft spoken. But I had just smoked a joint that day and I couldn't make a decision. So I went with the other guys who soon got sick of me. Virgin picked me up again later on the rebound. And on the cheap. Damn. My own fault.

Another kind of indie legend who is slightly more contemporary is Long Gone John of the label Sympathy for the Record Industry. Good name. John is famous with some artists for his disinterest in paying royalties. He has a very interesting music themed folk art collection – its visible online - which includes my leather jacket. I wish he'd give it back. There are lots of indie people with a gift for organization who just kind of collect freaks and throw them up at the wall to see who sticks. You gotta watch 'em.

When you go a step down creatively from the Padrons who are actually entrepreneurs you get to the executives. You don't wanna know these guys. They usually came over from legal or accounting. They have protégés usually called A&R men to do their dirty work. You can become a favorite with them if your fame or image might reflect limelight on their career. They tend to have no personalities to speak of, which is their strength. Strangely they're never really thinking about the good of their parent company as much as old number one. Avoid them. If you’re an artist, they’ll make you sick or suicidal. The only good thing the conglomerate can do for you – and they’ve done it recently for me - is make you really, really ubiquitous. They do that well. But, when the company is your banker, then you are basically gonna be the Beverly Hill Billies. So it's best not to take their money. Especially when you’re young. These are very tough people, and they can hurt you.

So who are the good guys?! They asked me when they read this thing at BBC 6 Music. Well there are lots of them. If fact, today there are more than ever and they are just about all indies, but first I want to mention Peter Gabriel and WOMAD for everything they've done for what seems like forever to help the greatest musicians in the world, the so called world musicians to gain a foothold and make a living in the modern screwed up cash and carry world. Traditional music was never a for profit enterprise, all the best forms were developed as a kind of you’re job in the community. It was pretty good, it was “Yeah, I’m a musician, I’m gonna skip like doing the dishes or taking the trash out.” It's not surprising that all the greatest singers and players come from parts of the world where everybody is broke and the old ways are getting paved over. So it's crucial for everyone that these treasures not be lost. There are other people of means and intelligence who help others in this way like Philip Glass through Tibet House, David Burn with Luaka Bop, Damon Albarn through Honest John Records. Shout out to Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. Almost all the best music is coming out on indies today like XL Matador, Burger, Anti, Epitaph, Mute, Rough Trade, 4 A D, Sub Pop, etc. etc.

But now YouTube is trying to put the squeeze on these people because it's just easier for a power nerd to negotiate with a couple big labels who own the kind of music that people listen to when they're really not that into music, which of course is most people. So they've got the numbers. But the indies kind of have the guns. I've noticed that indies are showing strength at some of the established streaming services like Spotify and Rhapsody – people are choosing that music. And it's also great that some people are starting their own outlets, like Pledge Music, Band Camp or Drip. As the commercial trade swings more into general show biz the indies will be the only place to go for new talent, outside the Mickey Mouse Club, so I think they were right to band together and sign the Fair Digital Deals Declaration.

There are just so many ways to screw an artist that it's unbelievable. In the old vinyl days they would deduct 10% "breakage fees" for records supposedly broken in shipping, whether that happened or not, and now they have unattributed digital revenue, whatever the **** that means. It means money for some guy’s triple bypass. I actually think that what Thom Yorke has done with Bit Torrent is very good. I was gonna say here: “Sure the guy is a pirate at Bit Torrent” but I was warned legally, so I’ll say: “Sure the guy a Bit Torrent is a pirate’s friend” But all pirates want to go legit, just like I wanted to be respectable. It’s normal. After a while people feel like you’re a crook, it’s too hard to do business. So it’s good in this case that Thom Yorke is encouraging a positive change. The music is good. It’s being offered at a low price direct to people who care.

I want to try to define what I am talking about when I say free. For me in the arts or in the media, there are two kinds of free. One kind of free is when the process is something that people just feel for you. You feel a sense of possibility. You feel a lack of constraint. This leads to powerful, energetic, sometimes kind of loony situations.

Vice Media is an interesting case of this because they started as a free handout, using public funds, and they had open, free-wheeling minds. Originally a free handout was called Voice and these kids were like “Just get rid of the old! I don’t wanna be Vice, yeah!” Okay. By taking an immersive approach with no particular preconceptions to their reporting, they've become a huge success, also through corporate advertising, at attracting big, big money investment hundreds of millions of dollars now pumped into Fox Media and a couple of others bigger than that in the US. And they get it because they attract lots of little boy eyeballs. So they brought us Dennis Rodman in North Korea. And it’s kind of a travesty, but it’s kind of spunky. It's interesting that capital investment, for all its posturing, never really leads, it always follows. They follow the action. So if it's money you're after, be the yourself in a consistent way and you might get it. You’ll at least end up getting what you are worth and feel better. Just follow your nose.

The second kind of freedom to me that is important in the media is the idea of giving freely. When you feel or sense that someone that someone is giving you something not out of profit, but out of self-respect, Christian charity, whatever it is. That has a very powerful energy. The Guardian, in my understanding, was founded by an endowment by a successful man with a social conscience who wanted to help create a voice for what I would call the little guy. So they have a kind of moral mission or imperative. This has given them the latitude to try to be interesting, thoughtful, helpful. And they bring Edward Snowden to the world stage. Something that is not pleasant for a lot of people to hear about, but we need to know.

These two approaches couldn't be more different. To justify their new mega bucks Vice will have to expand and expand in capital terms. Presumably they'll have to titillate a dumb, but energetic audience. Of course all capitalist expansions are subject to the big bang – balloon, bust, poof, and you’re gone. As for the Guardian I would imagine that the task involves gaining the trust and support of a more discerning, less definable reader, without spending the principal. There is usually an antipathy between cultural poles, but these two actually have a lot in common in terms of the energy and nuisance to power that they are willing to generate. I wish red and blue could come together somehow.

Sometimes I'd rather read than listen to music. One of my favourite odd books is Bootleg: The Secret History of the Other Recording Industry by Clinton Heylin. I bought the book in the 90's because a couple of my bootlegs were mentioned. I loved my bootlegs. They did a lot for me. I never really thought about the dough much. I liked the titles, like Suck on This, Stow Away DOA or Metalic KO. The packaging was always way more creative and edgy than most of my official stuff. So I just liked being seen and heard, like anybody else. These bootleggers were creative. Here are two quotes from the dust jacket by veteran industry stalwarts on the subject of bootlegs in 1994.

"Bootleg is the thoroughly researched and highly entertaining tale of those colorful brigands, hapless amateurs, and true believers who have done wonders for my record collection. Rock and roll doesn't get more underground than this." – that was David Fricke, the music editor of Rolling Stone "I think that bootlegs keep the flame of the music alive by keeping it out of not only the industry's conception of the artist, but also the artist's conception of the artist." – that was Lenny Kaye from the Patti Smith group, musician, critic and my friend.

Wow!! Sounds heroic and vital!

I wonder what these guys feel about all of this now, because things have changed, haven't they? We are now talking about Megaupload, Kim Dot Com, big money, political power, and varying definitions of theft that are legally way over my head. But I know a con man when I see one. I want to include a rant from an early bootlegger in this discussion because it's so passionate and I just think it's funny.

This is Lou Cohan "If anybody thinks that if I have purchased every single Rolling Stones album in existence, and I have bought all the Rolling Stones albums that have been released in England, France, Japan, Italy, and Brazil that if I have an extra $100 in my pocket instead of buying a Rolling Stones bootleg I am going to buy a John Denver album or a Sinead O'Conner album, they are retarded."

So the guy is trying to say don't try to force me. And don't steal my choice. And the people who don't want the free U2 download are trying to say, don't try to force me. And they've got a point. Part of the process when you buy something from an artist. It’s a kind of anointing, you are giving people love. It’s your choice to give or withhold. You are giving a lot of yourself, besides the money. But in this particular case, without the convention, maybe some people felt like they were robbed of that chance and they have a point. It’s not the only point. These are not bad guys. But now, everybody's a bootlegger, but not as cute, and there are people out there just stealing the stuff and saying don't try to force me to pay. And that act of thieving will become a habit and that’s bad for everything. So we are exchanging the corporate rip off for the public one. Aided by power nerds. Kind of computer Putins. They just wanna get rich and powerful. And now the biggest bands are charging insane ticket prices or giving away music before it can flop, in an effort to stay huge. And there's something in this huge thing that kind of sucks.

Which brings us to Punk. The most punk thing I ever saw in my life was Malcolm McLaren's cardboard box full of dirty old winkle pinkers. It was the first thing I saw walking in the door of Let It Rock in 1972 which was his shop at Worlds End on the Kings Road. It was a huge ugly cardboard bin full of mismatched unpolished dried out winkle pickers without laces at some crazy price like maybe five pounds each. Another 200 yards up the street was Granny Takes a Trip, where they sold proper Rockstar clothes like scarves, velvet jackets, and snake skin platform boy boots. Malcolm's obviously worthless box of shit was like a fire bomb against the status quo because it was saying that these violent shoes have the right idea and they are worth more than your fashion, which serves a false value. This is right out of the French enlightenment.

So is the thieving that big a deal? Ethically, yes, and it destroys people because it's a bad road you take. But I don't think that's the biggest problem for the music biz. I think people are just a little bit bored, and more than a little bit broke. No money. Especially simple working people who have been totally left out, screwed and abandoned. If I had to depend on what I actually get from sales I’d be tending bars between sets. I mean honestly it’s become a patronage system. There’s a lot of corps involved and I don’t fault any of them but it’s not as much fun as playing at the Music Machine in Camden Town in 1977. There is a general atmosphere of resentment, pressure, kind of strange perpetual war, dripping on all the time. And I think that prosecuting some college kid because she shared a file is a lot like sending somebody to Australia 200 years ago for poaching his lordship's rabbit. That's how it must seem to poor people who just want to watch a crappy movie for free after they’ve been working themselves to death all day at Tesco or whatever, you know.

If I wanna make music, at this point in my life I'd rather do what I want, and do it for free, which I do, or cheap, if I can afford to. I can. And fund through alternative means, like a film budget, or a fashion website, both of which I've done. Those seem to be turning out better for me than the official rock n roll company albums I struggle through. Sorry. If I wanna make money, well how about selling car insurance? At least I'm honest. It's an ad and that's all it is. Every free media platform I've ever known has been a front for advertising or propaganda or both. And it always colors the content. In other words, you hear crap on the commercial radio. The licensing of music by films, corps, and TV has become a flood, because these people know they're not a hell of a lot of fun so they throw in some music that is. I'm all for that, because that's the way the door opened for me. I got heard on tv before radio would take a chance. But then I was ok. Good. And others too. I notice there are a lot of people, younger and younger, getting their exposure that way. But it's a personal choice. I think it’s an aesthetic one, not an ethical one.

Now with the Internet people can choose to hear stuff and investigate it in their own way. If they want to see me jump around the Manchester Apollo with a horse tail instead of trying to be a proper Rockstar, they can look. Good. Personally I don't worry too much about how much I get paid for any given thing, because I never expected much in the first place and the whole industry has become bloated in its expectations. Look, Howling Wolf would work for a sandwich. This whole thing started in Honky Tonk bars. It's more important to do something important or just make people feel something and then just trust in God. If you're an entertainer your God is the public. They'll take care of you somehow. I want them to hear my music any old which way. Period. There is an unseen hand that turns the pages of existence in ways no one can predict. But while you’re waiting for God to show up and try to find a good entertainment lawyer.

It's good to remember that this is a dream job, whether you're performing or working in broadcasting, or writing or the biz. So dream. Dream. Be generous, don’t be stingy. Please. I can't help but note that it always seems to be the pursuit of the money that coincides with the great art, but not its arrival. It's just kind of a death agent. It kills everything that fails to reflect its own image, so your home turns into money, your friends turn into money, and your music turns into money. No fun, binary code – zero one, zero one - no risk, no nothing. What you gotta do you gotta do, life's a hurly-burly, so I would say try hard to diversify your skills and interests. Stay away from drugs and talent judges. Get organized. Big or little, that helps a lot.

I'd like you to do better than I did. Keep your dreams out of the stinky business, or you'll go crazy, and the money won't help you. Be careful to maintain a spiritual EXIT. Don't live by this game because it's not worth dying for. Hang onto your hopes. You know what they are. They’re private. Because that's who you really are and if you can hang around long enough you should get paid. I hope it makes you happy. It's the ending that counts, and the best things in life really are free.

[officerrxyes-inactive]

In the Darkest Days

(read on ao3)

Summary:  TK's having a bad mental health day... It's a good thing he has his dad and Carlos to look out for him.

CW: Depression and depressive thoughts.

From the moment TK wakes up, he can tell it will be one of those days. He can feel the weight of the day pushing down on every inch of his body and just the thought of leaving the security of his bed is enough to make him wish he could just fade away to avoid all of his responsibilities. Yes, the dark cloud is hanging over Tyler Kennedy Strand’s head, and it isn't going away anytime soon.

But fading away isn't an option for him today. He can hear his dad downstairs making breakfast. They both have a shift in an hour. Taking note of the current time, he knows he needs to get up so he forces his body through the motions of getting out of bed and decides to take a shower. He’s not normally a morning showers person, usually opting for quick showers when he’s on shift and a longer one when he gets home at night. However, he thinks that maybe the steaming water will wake him up enough for his body, and his brain, to take the hint that shutting down is not an option.

Getting in the shower, he turns the water temperature all the way up so that the water is nearly burning his skin. He knows he should take the time to wash up, but it’s as if his mind and body are not connected. Instead, he just stands there, letting the water droplets roll off of his body and down the drain. After minutes of doing nothing except waste hot water he finally is able to convince his body to turn off the shower and grab a fresh towel.

By the time he gets himself dressed and downstairs he’s already mentally and physically exhausted. It’s also nearly time for them to leave for the station. He feels bad that he’s holding his dad up, yet his thoughts are too clouded for him to dwell on it too much. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he is greeted by his dad’s always enthusiastic demeanor.

“Morning,” Owen says to him. “How do you want your eggs today?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Owen looks up at him, taking in his son's disheveled appearance. He must really look bad because he watches his dad’s face soften as he sighs. “Why don’t you take the shift off and go back to bed?”

He’s aware that his dad is always able to notice the signs that he is having a particularly bad day. The fact that he picked up on it right away though doesn’t make it any better.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine.” He lies, knowing he won’t be. But that doesn’t mean he needs to take special treatment just because his dad also happens to be his captain. Everyone has bad days, he tells himself. They power through it and so can he.

Except his bad days are more than just bad days. A fact that he and his dad are both aware of.

Owen just shakes his head, not taking “no” for an answer. “TK, please. Just go back to bed. I can bring a floater in for your shift and I will tell the rest of the team you are taking a sick day. Please. You won’t be able to help anyone in this mental state.”

TK knows his team would understand; however, he isn’t sure he is ready to disclose to his team that his mental health is bad enough to warrant a day off. He appreciates that his dad understands that without him having to explain it.

“Okay,” he resigns without arguing about it anymore. Arguing takes energy. Energy that he does not have today.

Owen walks over and places a kiss on his forehead. “You’ll call me if you need me, right?”

TK nods, giving his dad a small smile.

“Good,” Owen says, returning the smile and grabbing his keys before exiting their house.

Trodding back into his bedroom, TK takes out his phone to plug it in and sees that he has a missed text from Carlos.

Carlos: Are we still on for dinner tonight?

Sighing, as much he would love to see Carlos, TK knows there’s no way he’d be up for doing anything besides laying in his bed for the rest of the day.

TK: can’t tonight. sorry.

Shutting off his phone and placing it back on the nightstand, TK climbs back into his comfortable bed, ready to let his body shut down for the day.

~~~

Carlos frowns looking down at his phone. Canceling their dates on the day of wasn’t entirely unusual considering both of their hectic work lives. However, TK would normally offer up an explanation for why he had to cancel at the last minute, or at least more than the three words Carlos received today.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he devotes his attention back to the paperwork piling up on his desk. He did his best to stay on top of it but this week had been especially busy at work. All the more reason he was looking forward to seeing TK tonight.

Carlos doesn’t get more than a few lines done before he feels his phone buzzing again. He expects to see TK’s name on the caller ID but instead it reads “Captain Strand.” They had exchanged numbers not long after his relationship with TK became official, but this is the first time Owen has called him. He isn’t even sure how to answer the phone. No matter how many times the other man tells him to just call him “Owen,” Carlos still feels like he owes the man some respect and continues to strictly refer to him as “Captain Strand.”

Deciding to avoid the matter altogether, he answers with a simple “hello?”

“Hi Carlos, it’s Owen. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“Hello sir. Yes of course. What can I do for you?”

“Would you be able to stop by our house and check on TK for me?”

“Sure, I don’t mind. Is everything okay? He did cancel our date for tonight…” Carlos trails off. He wonders what could possibly be going on with TK that he wouldn’t want to see him tonight. And why was Owen worried enough to send him to the rescue?.

“He’s just not feeling well but I bet a visit from you could help. I left a key under the doormat if you want to stop by sometime this afternoon.”

Owen’s response provides more questions than answers as far Carlos is concerned. He decides it’s better not to press the issue anymore though. “Oh, okay.”

“Thank you so much Carlos, I really appreciate it and TK will too.”

The two men hang up, leaving Carlos slightly worried and wondering what on earth is going on with his boyfriend.

~~~

TK isn’t exactly sure how much time has passed since his conversation this morning with his dad. The way the light has shifted in his room indicates that it’s been hours. Yet in his mind it feels like minutes. Or maybe it feels like days. He has no idea, really.

He hasn’t stopped staring up, lost in the trance of watching his ceiling fan spin around. He's tried to sleep but the thoughts in his head are too loud and he cannot find a way to shut them off. Instead, he is choosing to let them run around in his head and let him sink further into his depressive state.

His trance is broken by the sound of the front door opening and closing. TK didn’t think that much time had passed that his dad was home already. Maybe he came home early to check on him, he thinks to himself.

“TK?” the guest calls. The guest who clearly is not his dad as he thought.

Carlos, he realizes.

But TK thought he canceled their date. He should probably go down and see him. Ask why he came. But he can’t seem to move out the cocoon he made for himself in his bed.

Much to his relief, the other man opts for coming right up and softly knocks on the bedroom door before entering his room.

Carlos doesn’t say anything. Instead he walks over and perches himself on the bed, next to TK. He then starts to run his hands through TK’s hair. It feels amazing. He didn’t realize just much he craved someone to be here with him.

“I’m sorry,” TK mumbles into his pillow.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” TK pauses before shifting so that he’s looking at Carlos. He knows his eyes are puffy from the on and off crying all day. If Carlos notices though, he doesn’t show any sign of it. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” TK adds.

“Oh, baby…” Carlos replies.

Before TK can say anything else, Carlos stands up and moves to the other side of the bed, climbing in next to TK. Wrapping his arms around him to spoon him, TK immediately feels comforted by the other man’s presence. Melting into Carlos’ arms, relief floods over him and he can’t stop the tears from rolling down his face. Carlos only holds him tighter, allowing him to let go of all of his bottled emotions.

TK knows this certainly won’t be the last of his bad days. However, knowing he has someone who cares about him this much, through the highs and lows, is enough reassurance to know that he will be okay.

[pancakesfor2]

i think it’s time (for me to rest) - b.b

Pairing: none this just 2.5k of Bucky

Word count: 2.5k ish

Summary: after a battle, Bucky finds something that’ll change the course of his whole life.

A/N: started this literally months ago, finished it within the past two days and it’s literally my favorite thing that I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

The battle had finally ended and all Bucky Barnes wanted to do was get back to the tower. He’d just started an episode of Stranger Things when they’d gotten the call to assemble and he wanted to get back and finish it. He’d ended up all the way across town from the Tower, so he was about to text Tony to send him a ride when he heard what sounded like a baby crying. He’d thought that he was the only person on the street, with everyone else having fled at the sight of the latest monster, so hearing another person, especially a baby was pretty weird.

The crying was so faint that he’d never have been able to pick it before the serum. Luckily, his enhanced hearing lead him straight to a car that’d been flipped upside down during the fight. At first, he couldn’t see the source of the sound, just the car and a woman who was almost definitely dead. The closer he got to the two, the louder crying got. So the only place the kid could he was under the car.

Bucky crouched down to try and get a closer look and just as he thought, the baby was trapped underneath the car. Luckily it didn’t seem to be hurt, just stuck, so he lifted up the car using his metal arm and pulled the baby out from underneath with the other. Getting back up, he cradled the child against his chest and took another look at the woman on the floor. She must’ve been the kid’s mom, but it wasn’t like he could bring her back to life to give her back her kid.

The baby was wearing a little blue dress, and had a bow in their hair, so Bucky assumed that it was a girl. Her sobs had lulled to just whimpers as he stroked her head and murmured, “it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, shh…”

He didn’t really know what to do with the girl, but he couldn’t exactly leave her alone, so he decided to take her back to the tower with him and see if he could find another one of her relatives. The woman had her purse on the ground next to her, so before leaving, Bucky went through it and found her wallet. He figured that having her ID would help Tony to find the rest of the girls’ family.

Satisfied that the rest of the area was clear, he called Tony to send them a ride. He didn’t want to drop the baby, so he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Barnes?” came Tony’s voice through the phone, “Where are you? Fight’s been over for like half an hour, you lose your phone or something?”

“I didn’t lose my phone—I found a baby—her mom is dead, so I’m bringing her back with me,” he explained, “gonna need a car though, can’t really walk the streets with a little girl.”

“I got you Barnes, there’s a car waiting for you just around the block, I’ll see you when you get here.”

At this point, the baby had stopped crying completely and seemed to be fascinated by his metal arm, poking at it and giggling.

One of Bucky’s favorite things about the future was the technology. He was excited by everything from the microwave to the latest tech that Tony cooked up in his lab. Like the driverless car that he’d sent to pick them up.

He didn’t know where it came from, but somehow he knew exactly how to hold the little girl. When he’d just been defrosted, Steve had told him that he’d had sisters back in the 40’s, but he didn’t remember much about them. There wasn’t a car seat, and she couldn’t sit up by herself so he couldn’t exactly strap a seatbelt across her chest, so he held the baby close to him, instinctively rubbing small circles into her back to soothe her. By the time they’d gotten to the garage in the tower basement, she’d fallen asleep, probably tired out from all the crying.

Getting out of the car, he saw Steve waiting for him by the elevators. “Hey Buck!” called Steve from the other side of the room, “Is that the kid?”

“Yeah, quiet down a bit though, she’s sleeping” he said smiling down at the baby in his arms. The two men walked into the elevator, which took them up to the Avenger’s floors of the tower.

As they walked into the living room Steve turned to him, “You wanna drop her off in your room?” he asked, gesturing at the baby as they walked towards the debriefing room.

“Good idea, it can get pretty loud, and poor thing’s already been through enough today. She doesn’t need to face the team on top of it.”

The two parted ways, with Steve going into the meeting room and Bucky continuing on towards his bedroom. He set the little girl down in the middle of his bed, and made a cocoon out of some of his extra blankets. He had to dig out some of the extra soft ones that Tony bought him when he’d first moved into the tower. Satisfied that she wouldn’t roll over and fall out of the bed, he asked Friday let him know if she woke up while he was gone.

He couldn’t figure out what it was, but the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to protect her. For someone who’d spent so long as a murder machine, it was nice to know that he still had the ability to feel protective of another person. Sure he loved Steve, but that was brotherly love, and he definitely didn’t need his protection anymore.

He walked into the meeting room and sat down in his usual seat, between Sam and Tony. Steve was standing at the front of the room and once the last person filed in he started to speak, “Okay! Does anyone want to start us off?”

“It was pretty much a regular battle, nothing special really,” said Sam.

“I don’t know if Barnes would agree with you there,” interjected Tony, being one of the two other Avengers who knew about the baby.

“Uh yeah,” he began, “I found a kid stuck under a car.”

“A kid?” asked Natasha.

“Well—more like a baby really—I heard her crying on my way back here, her mom was dead so I brought her back here,” he explained, looking to see how the rest of the team would react.

“You brought a baby to the tower?” asked Bruce, “You know how dangerous it is here? She could be in serious danger.”

“She’s asleep in my room, how much danger could she possibly be in? Plus it’s safer here than under a car,” replied Bucky. “Anyways, I picked up the mother’s wallet so we can use the ID to find her family.”

The others pitched in with their opinions on Bucky’s decision to bring the baby back to the tower, but before the conversation could get too heated, Steve interjected, “I think we’re done here,” he announced. “Sam was right, nothing special happened—other than the baby of course—but nothing the whole team needs to concern themselves with, everyone but Bucky and Tony is dismissed.”

Once everyone was gone, Tony began to speak, “If you give me the ID I can have Friday run it. I’ll also have her order some clothes and other baby shit.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Steve.

Bucky nodded in agreement, “While you do that, I’m gonna go back to my room to stay with the baby.” He didn’t like leaving her alone for too long, even if she was asleep and under Friday’s watch.

In his bedroom, the baby was still sound asleep, looking as if she hadn’t even moved. Bucky had nothing he really needed to do, well other than his mission report, but that could be done some other time. He was pretty tired, so he decided to take a nap.

While changing into more comfortable clothes, he figured that the kid would probably feel better if she was wearing something cleaner, so he took out his smallest t-shirt. Being careful not to wake her up, he unbuttoned the little dress and slipped it off her, putting his shirt on instead.

Satisfied, he climbed into bed, instinctively pulling the little girl close to his chest. He must’ve been more tired than he thought, because he quickly fell asleep, his last thoughts being that he hoped Tony could find out the baby’s name, because he was getting a little tired of referring to her as “the kid” in his head.

He woke up to the sound of crying. It was only a couple of hours later, and the kid was awake. Luckily, Bucky was a pretty light sleeper, so he was awake right away. He was going to ask Friday what to do about the baby, but as soon as he picked her up she quieted down, wrapping one of her tiny fingers around his larger one. His heart began to race and it was then that he knew he was so gone for her already, and he didn’t even know her name yet.

He was running his fingers through the dark wisps of her hair when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in!” he called, not bothering to get out of bed.

Tony walked into his room and announced, “Thanks to Friday, I know everything about this little one, from her birthday to her social security number!”

“That’s great man, does she have any family?” Bucky didn’t know what he wanted the answer to his question to be. Logically he knew she’d be better off with people actually related to her, but there was a part of him that never wanted to let her go.

“Unfortunately, it was just Rebecca and her mom, meaning now she’s all alone—”

“Wait a second. Did you say Rebecca?” A million years ago he had a sister named Rebecca.

“—yeah that’s her name. So as I was saying, she’ll probably go into the system; she’s young though, so she’ll probably be adopted quickly.

Something about that didn’t sit right with Bucky. He knew orphanages were nothing like the way they were when he was younger, but he didn’t feel right even thinking about the possibility of a little girl with his sister’s name getting lost in the system. “What if—what if I kept her?”

Tony paused, taking in what Bucky had just suggested, “You know you can’t take care of a baby and be an Avenger at the same time,” he said slowly

“What if I don’t want to be an Avenger anymore?” And he didn’t anymore, he hadn’t for a while now really. Over 60 years of fighting was enough, he just wanted to rest.

Tony did a double take, “I’m sorry what?”

“I’ve just—uh—I’ve been fighting for so long you know? And I don’t know if that’s really what I want to do with the rest of my life. I haven’t talked about this to anyone but Steve, but finding this little girl who just happens to share a name with my sister has to be some kind of sign.” He felt like it was the universe giving him a way out, not that he really needed one. If he really wanted to retire, he knew he’d have the support of everyone that mattered behind him.

“Hey man, if you’re serious about this, I’ll do whatever I can to help you out,” said Tony, basically voicing Bucky’s thoughts. “I know the rest of the Avengers will too.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna think it all through tonight, and I’ll tell the team at breakfast tomorrow I guess.”

“Whatever you want Bucky, we’re behind you,” he reiterated, getting up to leave the room. “I think the clothes I ordered are here, I’ll have one of the bots bring them up here, along with some food.”

“Thanks Tony, I really appreciate it.” He was talking about more than the clothes and food, and he knew that Tony what he meant.

-----

The next morning he puts Rebecca in a dress with little Captain America shields on it and brings her down to breakfast with him. The rest of the team are already there, which was great because then he’d only have to make his announcement once.

They were preoccupied with their own conversations, but when he stood at the top of the table and cleared his throat, their attention went to him. “I have an announcement to make. I’ve really enjoyed my time as a part of this team, and I’ll always be grateful to you guys for accepting me the way you did after Steve brought me back, but I think it’s time for me to move on.”

“Is this because of the kid?” interrupted Sam.

“It’s not. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, she was just the final push to really make a decision. I’m tired of fighting,” he smiled down at the baby in his arms, “I think it’s time for me to rest.”

“That’s great Buck,” said Steve, with the others piping up to agree with him.

As Bucky took his seat at the table, Rebecca took ahold of his finger once again and began to giggle. The love that swelled up in his heart was confirmation enough that he’d definitely made the right decision.

fin.

permanant tags (open) : @supernatural-girl97 @viarogers @stuckyandsciencebros @animeflower26 @mood-pancakes @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @magicalmess @momobaby227 also tagging @mypassionsarenysins bc ily

[sweets-fanfics]

Honeymoon [RE] 1

Title: are you an avenger?

Wordcount: 2785

Warnings: Little bit of violence, fluff, cursing

Tag: Let me know if you want to be tagged in this again

A/N: Ok here’s the redo. part 1 is mostly just editing mistakes that have been fixed. any chapter I post with RE means its edited and the new version

________________

“Mrs. Rogers, thank you for coming in early to do a mission. We’ve been having a problem with a certain…mercenary.” Coulson smiled as you sat in front of him.

“It isn't like it was my honeymoon or anything right?” You smiled sweetly but Phil could tell how pissed you actually were. 

“How is the new husband?” He asked trying to make light of the subject. “Bet he's been happy.”

“I wouldn't know. You made May get me in the middle of the night. I had to leave a note. So who is this merc?” you asked opening the file. “Isn't this the loony immortal guy?” 

“Wade Wilson has been a little trouble lately. We are going to send you In as someone who's going to be a sort of assistant. But make sure he stays out of trouble.”

Stay out of trouble they told me. you said to yourself over and over. You'll be out in no time, you were promised. Bullshit. you watched in the shadows as Deadpool shot down a Hydra agent. you trailed him back to some old Jankie apartment. 

“Mr. Wilson?” you asked using a fake smile. “My name is Mrs.” Crap what was my name? “Y/L/N” that'll work. “I've been sent to be your assistant for your… Deadpool activities.”

“Who the hell sent a 12 year old to watch me?” He didn't turn around but continued to keep trying to unlock his door.

“Professor Xavier sent me.” you lied. “And I'm not babysitting I promise. I'm just here to keep you organized. Also I'm not 12, I'm in my twenties.” 

He looked at you for a moment then sighed, “alright come in. Don't break anything I'll let you help me and Al around the house.”

“Al?” you asked. There was no Al in the file. you were completely confused until you walked inside and saw a blind black woman sitting in the front room. “Does she know you live here?”

“Yeah. I know. Sadly. And who are you?” you asked in a grumpy voice.

“I’m a friend of Wade’s.” you said sweetly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Al blindly (yes blindly) raised your hand out for you to shake. you quickly took your hand and shook it softly. “Weak ass handshake. You’re definitely a secretary.” Bitch. “I feel a ring too. You married?” Shit. I forgot to take it off. 

“No. It… It was my mother's.” Sorta a lie, it’s actually Steve’s mother's ring. 

“Hm.”

you decided now was a good time to turn back to Wilson. “So, Mr. Wilson, Anything you need me to do for you?” you said in your nicest voice.

“No. Just go home. I think I’m going to take the rest of the day off.”

“Are you absolu-”

“I’m sure. See ya later little kid.”

“Not a little kid.”

He smirked. “Haha, whatever.” you turned to leave but Wade stopped you. “Hey, You aren’t an Avenger are you?”

your heart stopped for a second. “What the hell would give you that idea?”

“Yeah…. Anyway it’ll probably turn out that you're dating Captain America or something.”

“I have to go.” 

-----

You walked into the apartment as you slipped off your shoes and tossed the keys in the little bowl that sat neatly on a tiny table by the front door. “I’m home.” Then it hit you; was Steve even back yet?

To answer your question Steve poked his head around the corner. “Hey, welcome home.” He disappeared to put something down but then reappeared and came to give you a soft peck on the lips.

you giggled when you saw the apron on him. “What are you wearing?”

“I was cooking dinner for you.” He gave you the half grin that made your heart melt. “It’s all done.” He took your hand and led you into the kitchen. The table for two was set up nicely with a single rose sitting in a vase. 

“Fancy.” you smirked at Steve.

“Sorry. I didn’t have much time to prepare. Seeing as our honeymoon was cut so short.” 

you wrapped your arms around him and smiled. “I’m sorry for that. My mission is horrible though.” 

“I don’t think you can talk about your mission. Right?” You rolled your eyes and looked at him. “So, what are you doing on your mission?”

You grinned, “Well, I’m basically babysitting Wade Wilson.”

Steve sighed, “I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

-------

You knocked on Wade’s bedroom loud and hard the next morning. “Good morning Mr. Wilson.”  Al was somehow making herself a cup of coffee and even handed me a mug. You took a sip and it definitely did not taste like coffee.

“You’re still here?” You could hear him yell into his pillow. “Can you believe her?” You could also hear him talking to someone else but when you opened the door he was all alone.

“Who are you talking to?” 

“The reader…” 

You took a long sigh not understanding him. He’s crazy. Just let him off the hook. He probably had some sort of learning disability before becoming a lab rat. You gave him a sweet smile and handed him the cup of ‘coffee’. “How did you sleep?”

“I fell asleep an hour ago.” He took a big slug of the drink and instantly spit it out and cringed. “How was your date with Captain America?”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you I don’t even know the guy.” Steve this morning had left for a long two week mission this morning so at least you didn’t have to worry about him calling and Wade seeing any caller ID. “What are you doing today?”

“I’m going to go shoot bad guys in the fucking face.” He said to you like he was talking to a toddler.

“Sounds interesting. May I accompany you?”

“Nope. you are going to stay here and help Al.” He put on his red suit and started for the door.

“Pool!” You said crossing your arms.

“Now what!”

“Duffle bag.” 

He stopped and looked at you silently. “Shut the fuck up.” He grumbled grabbing the duffle bag and hurrying out.

You stood in the doorway watching him get in his cab and leave. “Such a mouth on him.”

You could hear Al sit on the couch behind you. “Are you going after him?” she asked.

“Duh.” You pulled out your bag you had hidden with your suit. It pained you to take off the Avenger patches since you were so proud of your title. You went into his room and quickly changed. “Do you mind if I hide my bag in your room?”

“Just put it against the wall so I don’t trip.”

“Don’t tell Wade it’s in their.” 

“No shit Sherlock.”

You rolled your eyes and went out the front door locking it behind you.

-------

~Steve

“Cap?” Sam asked Steve, snapping out of what he was thinking about.

“Hm?” He looked up at the entire team looking at him. He was working with Sam, Clint and the director sent one of his people. A girl named Daisy. “Sorry. I spaced out.”

“Honeymoon’s over.” Clint smirked. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“I have to ask as your teammate.” Clint’s smirk got wider. “Are you so down because you two weren’t able to..” Steve looked at him confused as Daisy rolled her eyes and went back to her laptop. “You know.”

Steve’s face turned bright red as he stayed silent looking at Clint. Sam started to chuckle.

“Is that a yes? A no?”

“Agent Barton, maybe he thinks it’s not your business to know.” Daisy said, eyeing him. “We are getting close so you should probably start flying again.” Steve liked this girl.

Clint groaned annoyed and walked back to the pilot seat.

“We did.” Steve said softly.

“That’s my boy!” Clint clapped his hand as Sam crossed his arms grinning at Steve.

“Dude.” Daisy sighed. “You totally just gave into peer pressure.”

“Pier pressure?” Steve asked.

“Don’t tell me that wasn’t a thing in the forties. I think you’ve finally been here long enough to know what that is.”

“Don’t be too hard on Steve.” Sam smiled. “He hasn’t even been to Disneyland yet.” 

“That’s sad.” Daisy and Clint said together.

“Don’t we have a mission to do?” Steve sighed finally showing how annoyed he was.

-----

Two Years Ago

Tony waited patiently in the elevator with the Secretary of State. “This is why I needed you to not put me on hold.” He mumbled to himself.

“You didn't tell me she was in custody.” Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. “Her brother is going to have a field day.”

“Speaking of Banner, you track him yet?” Thaddeus asked. Tony could tell Thaddeus  was annoyed that he’d been avoiding even searching for Bruce since he disappeared after sokovia.

“Don’t worry. Bruce will pop up eventually. He's going through some stuff.” Tony looked away and mumbled ‘I think’ under his breath.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened at the cell area of the floating prison. The two men walked up to one of the glass cells only to be met with a cold glare.

“Geez. With that kind of look? You’d think I did something wrong.” Tony joked knowing it only made the situation worse. He cleared his throat and looked at the girl with the crazy hair and hands in special gauntlets that Tony was trying to figure out what they were for. “Listen, Y/N, I'm here because I want to talk to you.”

She smirked. “Funny. Now we are going to talk?”

Tony sighed. “Can Y/N and I sit face to face without a glass between us.”

“it might be safer for you if we do it like this.” The Secretary of State warned.

“Just do it.” She hissed.

-----

They sat me down at a stainless steel table and chained my legs down. Tony sat across from me but I could already feel the electricity from the suit he had compacted somewhere on him. I looked over in the corner and saw an extra chair against the wall. “What are the gauntlets for?” Tony asked me.

“I don't play well with others.” I said sarcastically with a grin.

“they minimize her power use.” Thaddeus sighed. “Something happened to her when she was in Sokovia with you guys. She said when she went to rescue Romanoff with her brother she touched something down there and it… Did something to her.”

“You’re… enhanced?” Tony asked me.

“The gauntlets are so I won't shock anyone to death. I only get one water bottle a day because if I had more water I could drown someone. There’s no earth nearby so I can't make a hole and escape. And I don't get AC.”

“That storm outside is her doing.”

I smirked. “I'm officially cooler than iron man.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Tony crossed his arms, “Why didn't you tell anyone?”

I shrugged, “Wanda knew.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Duh. But you could have told us. We would have listened.”

I sighed and crossed my arms. “You would have locked me up like this.”

“You are only here because-”

“Because I didn't fight on your side.” I finished his sentence. “Because I believe in what Cap was saying.”

“I was going to say because you helped Steve break out everyone else.”

“I didn't even use my ability though. I just hacked the computer system.”

Thaddeus sighed, “Tell him how.”

I looked down guilty, “I got through their security using electricity but made it look like I used a computer.”

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You’re making it hard to get you out.” He turned to the Secretary of State. “Can I talk to her alone?”

he grumbled but left willingly. That's when I sat up and waited for the signal. I smiled at Tony sweetly. He automatically looked at me suspicious. “What?”

“Don't you think it's funny?” I asked him. “It's so funny that they think I can't use my abilities if they cover my hands.”

Before Tony had time to react I mustered up all the wind I could and threw the chair at the back of his head knocking him out. I froze my gauntlets and banged them on the table until they shattered and then did the same with the chains on my feet.

By the time I was on my feet the door to come in was opening. I stood my ground ready to fight, but when I saw Steve give me a confused smile, I relaxed. “You’re late.”

“We got busy.”

“Doing what?”

Steve looked down at the knocked out Tony. “Y/N, did you have to knock him out?”

“Did you want to fight him again?”  

Sam walked into the room and looked at Tony. “Holy crap. Damn Y/N, you sure know how to make a point.”

“He threw me in jail. I was a little ‘salty’ about it.”

Wanda groaned, “Do not use that word.” she peaked in the room moving her hair behind her ear. “Americans annoy me so much when they use stupid words like that.”

“Sorry.” I mumbled as I looked at Steve again. He was wearing all black and it looked good on him. “Black strangely suits you.”

“Thanks?”

“Anytime.” I winked at Steve making him blush.

“Uh… Ok. Flirt later.” Sam said in disgust.

------

You watched Deadpool shooting people through the scope of your sniper. It was your personalized weapon. It can be an assault rifle or a sniper. You had become inspired after playing a new videogame. After certain events you promised Steve (and the director) that you would stop using your enhanced abilities. Once in a while, however, you use it to help with certain everyday activities. When you're home alone of course.

You watched as a Hydra agent walked behind Deadpool to surprise attack him. You quickly aimed up and took your shot, taking him out in an instant. Deadpool looked around and when he finally looked in your direction you smiled sweetly and waved. 

You got up from your spot and went to join him. He was finishing off the last guy when you joined him. “What the hell was that?” He asked.

“I’m a sniper.” You shrugged.

“You are an Avenger.”

“I don’t even work with SHIELD. I told you Professor X sent me.” 

“Bullshit! He works with Mutants. What is your mutant gene?” 

You sighed and held up one hand. You made marble sized balls of all the elements and moved them around in your hand.  “I control elements. I was in the military when I got them.”

“So you weren’t born with them?” He asked.

“No. It was an accident. Sorta like yours, minus the never ending torture and overly strong women who love matches.”

“The match thing was in whatever file you read?”

You nodded. “Those two; Francis and Angel worked for a group called Hydra. Sh- The X-men have been hunting them for a while. I believe the Avengers are as well.”

“So those are the bad guys. Due to Copyright, in my movie we just called them bad guys, or Francis’s men.” He put his hands on his hips and stretched back.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Anyway, I have a hot date. So you need to disappear.”

“Are you giving me the rest of the day off? On my first Official day?”

“Leave.” You rolled your eyes and walked off resting your gun on your shoulder. “You’re kinda hot walking away like that.”

“I’m not dating Captain America but I’m not single.”

“Ouch, Shot down without a second glance.”

____________________-

Later that night as you sat on the couch reading over files your phone rang. You assumed it was Wade drunk calling you again and answered without looking at who it was. 

“Now what Wade? You think you found some other way to prove I’m dating Captain America?”

“Hun?” Steve asked confused.

“Oh crap. Hi Sweetie. Sorry. Wade’s drunk.”

“Well at least you're having fun.” You could tell right away something was wrong.

“What happened?” You asked suspiciously.

“Clint keeps asking questions.” You could tell he was embarrassed for some reason.

“About?” You asked but you were already guessing what it might be.

“About our honeymoon.”

“Tell him to stick his questions right up his-”

“Hold on a second.” Steve said cutting you off. He leaned away from the phone talking to someone. “Y/N?” He asked checking if you were still there. “I have to go. This mission might end early. I’ll call you tomorrow night and tell you what’s happening.”

“Oh. Ok. I love you.” You said into the phone sadly.

“I love you Doll. Sleep well.”